Stolen car

Last night I’m wandering out to my car at quitting time and one of my coworkers is standing in the middle of the parking lot on her cell phone, reporting her 1983 Rustbucket Landyacht stolen to the cops.  It was parked RIGHT NEXT to Ziva.  I commiserated with her and drove her home, which made me a titch late for the coordinating council meeting for church.  I also picked her up this morning because, duh, no car. 

Anyway, we’ve been having a lively and spirited discussion on a wide variety of subjects, and I hadn’t really had the opportunity to talk to her previously, so it’s kinda cool.

a few comments

From treehugger to treemugger in 15 years.  I was never allergic to cottonwoods until this year.  Now my eyes are a punched out advertisement for Gummy Residue, my brain feels too large for my skull and my nose feels all wrong.

Does any Michael’s, anywhere, ever have enough fucking checkout staff?  I never want to darken the door of that establishment ever again.

I saw agricultural workers wearing coolie hats today.

I finally saw a police speed trap that was set up in an appropriate place as far as public safety goes.  That’s like 1 for 10.

Thank God the Canucks won, this town would be a nightmare otherwise.  I still think they’re going to lose it in seven, but that’s because the officiating has sucked dog’s balls.

Ziva is a one eyed jack today.  Paul noticed. I’m going to try to fix it myself.

It’s summer!   The Headwater memorial awning is up.

I bought embroidery floss today for something to do when I’m watching TV.

A plaintive plea

Please, imaginary friends, get OUT OF MY HEAD.  My most recent fanfic style scene has a water demon (Pegaiai, Peg for short)  climbing out of a toilet to get close to the boy she fancies.  Hot chicks climbing out of toilets is the opposite of sextyime.  Especially when you’ve just finished using the toilet for one of its intended purposes.

Griff makes a great recovery though.  He offers her a spare toothbrush and a shower.    Griff, so’s you know, is a great big horndog.

Temperature sensitive

One of the many things I’ve noticed about work is that when the temperature is just right for most of the guys, most of the women are freezing.  When it’s too cold for the MEN, then it’s a frickin meat locker.  Somehow the HVAC is buggered up – to the point where the temperature as measured at a central wall is 3 degrees C different from a point less than 6 meters away.

There is a family of Canada Geese in the pond.  I spotted six turtles swimming around yesterday.  They came out to sun themselves in the late afternoon.

I went home around the regular time and cooked supper and watched another dreadful hockey game.  Mike joined us for dinner and Keith visited briefly.

I am STILL feeling really icky, but I think I may have some idea what to do about it.

The first thing I have to do is sell Ziva.  It means I’ll be visiting my folks less and be a lot less able to assist various family members with things they want to do, but I just can’t justify the harm to the planet, the expense, the reduction in the amount of exercise I get.  My commute to work by bus is about half an hour now, with quite a bit of walking, which I need to do more of anyway.  I just miss her already.  But she’s an expensive habit and I need the money.