Droppings: Counting the chickens before they hatch

May 1, 2002

Counting the chickens before they hatch

Counting the chickens before they hatch

Today, as I was trying to give one of our print sales reps down in Phoenix a hard time about what he named his RV, he gave me an education that the names on those RV's are just cutesy RV model names, not like the name you'd paint on a yacht. Well they're still goofy.

There's a guy that works in our office who has blonde hair that he pulls back in a ponytail, and he drives a blue VW Bug. And so I was driving to lunch yesterday, and I saw this blue VW headed in the opposite direction toward where we work and I saw the blonde hair pulled back and the ponytail. So I put on a big cheesy smile and was waving, and just as we passed each other, the reflections in the windows faded enough for me to see it was some unknown girl with blonde hair & ponytail staring straight ahead, REAL HARD, as if to say crawl back under your rock you filthy stalker. OY! Ha! That gave me a good laugh. One of those embarrassed & not a darn thing you can do about it, underwear hanging on the flagpole, kindof laughs.

A little earlier this evening I heard Giselle nagging Amanda on and on about something. And a couple minutes later, she shows up in front of me "Daddy, can I do x, y and z?" And I know how this game works: "Well what did Mom say?" ::silence:: "What did Mom say?" ::silence:: "What did she sayyyyyyy?" ::silence:: And Giselle is looking up at the ceiling. So I yell out to the other room, "AMANDA?" and I can hear her voice breaking: "WHAT!"..."Ummmm, did you tell Giselle she could do x, y and z?"..."NO!!" And as soon as Giselle hears the 'no', she holds up her hands in the gesture of pleading her case "But I wanted to be sure that both of you were CORRECT!" Ohhhh MAN, I was having the hardest time not busting out laughing as I'm explaining that no she can't do x, y, z, and why it just ain't right to play Mom and Dad against each other 'cause we're always going to find out.

Fooey. More and more, the tips of my fingers feel like I'm wearing rubber gloves and it's really starting to drive me crazy. The chemo seven years ago had a side effect of tearing up the nerves in my extremities and it did its duty. I feel like I'm getting clumsier and clumsier. I was turning around earlier to carry a bowl to the microwave, and it just whisked right out of my hands like it was a slippery fish or something. I drop my keys at the front door all the time, it's like I'm drunk. Maybe this just happens naturally to everybody after they hit 30. I just have a handy scapegoat.

Green shoots of grass are finally starting to peek through in the lawn now like so much five o'clock shadow. One of the cats went on a suicide mission a few days ago and crapped amidst my rose thorn defensive field. The rose canes were all piled up like a campfire with a big turd buried underneath. Man, that cat really took one for the team. I can't help but feel a little bit proud of the rotten varmint. We just bought some cayenne pepper, so I'll start dumping that in the flower bed and see if it makes things more forbidding. I'm also going to look into how to make artificial quicksand.

Feline pride displayed
'Neath a pyre of bloodied thorns
Cats are counting coup

Jeremy

Posted by Jeremy at May 1, 2002 9:47 PM