Deb: "They think a bird's nest in the attic was what started the fire."
Me: "Were the birds smoking?"
Deb (sad headshake): "They must have been."
We are eating gingerbread men and quoting Shrek at each other. "Yes, I know the Muffin man."
Called Mechanic Matt. They found my car parts. "We're gonna start on it this afternoon. So in the next day or so..."
Mechanic Matt, in the grand Midwestern tradition, does not finish sentences. I'm hoping this means it's because his brain is all full up with car knowledgement. So in the next day or so, elephants will be in the park across the street. In the next day or so, I'm leaving for Arizona. In the next day or so, the saucers are landing.
(One of my co-workers somehow speaks without beginning sentences. "...in the storeroom." Asking for clarification does not help. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the thing I'm making up as an excuse. Could you repeat that?" gets you a slightly louder "...in the storeroom." "Oh.")
The local busses, by the way, now have a vending system that gives paper change. You give the busbot two singles, and it ejects a paper card good for 25 cents on your next ride. It also has a Suicide Booth computer voice that announces when the bus passes a time point: "Thirty-third and L streets. You are now dead. Printing receipt."
Why do I use the bundt pan? I know the bundt pan doesn't work. But I used the bundt pan anyway. It didn't work. So I have no cake for Mary when she comes back to work tomorrow after half a year out getting chemolasered. Nor can I walk over to the 24-hour grocery to get something because IT WON'T STOP STORMING.
On the bright side, I don't have to figure out how to carry a cake on the bus. And I have failcake to eat.
Also, I really hope somebody remembered to tell Mary we're in a completely different building now.
Stuffing envelopes forever. Send liquor.
Will everyone please GET THE GODDAMNED HELL OUT OF MY OFFICE!!!
Sometimes, when I get incredibly tired, words don't do the right thing. I get this sort of corner of the eye dyslexia, where words turn into frankly bizarre profanities. "Buggery Bagels." "Bag 'n Dicks." That sort of thing.
I'm pretty sure that this is why, a few minutes ago when Deb was leaving for the day, I nearly told her, "G'night, dogfucker."
I meant to say "G'night, doll."
Fortunately, I didn't say anything at all.
Not much to post lately. Vali and Mary visited for a week, and it was awesome, but I think I'll keep it for myself. We moved offices, which was utterly hideous, and I get an extra five-block walk every morning and evening. The new neighborhood has more shivving winos and unconscious pregnant women than I normally care for. On the other hand, it's close to a doughnut shop.
The most memorable thing I've seen lately was a girl coming out of the Student Union. She had the full Paris Hilton look -- leathery mecha-tan, blonde expensive sheepdogged hair, dress that looked like a nightie, deadly shoes, and that pigeon-toed toddler walk. It was terrifying, like suddenly coming upon a zombie or a werewolf at the Piggly-Wiggly. The end.