Wednesday, March 14, 2007

See You Next Tuesday

Really into high school football, Randy Constan, The Wire, spring, new apartment, Easter-egg shaped M&M's, creatively responding versus critiquing, wondering if I will lose my job, Greek salads, turning 27, craving Florida, Ben being on spring break, overly dramatic power pop, Pie Traynor's Glove, and anything spicy.

No longer into cold weather, slush, being gypped out of a day, ugly attitudes, boring jokes, the disengaged knob on my bathtub faucet, the rust stains from the pliers I use to turn the faucet on, not getting paid, and not talking to Kathleen enough.

I met my co-worker's daughter last Friday. She's almost two and we colored together and then I broke her crayon in my giant paw (accidentally). She stared at me with her huge yet beady eyes and stated "You broke it." Then she said it again. Every time she looked at a crayon, smelled a crayon, thought of a crayon, she said it. She seemed more fascinated than upset. Apparently over the weekend she told her grandma I broke it and to beat me up, to give me "Pow-Pow's." But she also named one of her dolls after me. She's clearly my new best friend.

(The head of our I.T. department just walked by--does he recognize the Blogger interface? Probably not, since he just realized email doesn't get sent to a magical place where it is then printed out and placed in an envelope to be mailed instantaneously to its recipient via WonkaVision.)

Somebody, I'm not saying who, farted in the shower this morning and Ben said it sounded like a duck quacking. Ben then proceeded to theorize that the farter could just go on down to the lake and have quite the back-and-forth with the ducks bobbing on the water. That is a perfect example of why Ben and I are infinite--that and the fact that we watch ANTM religiously.

Speaking of which, Natasha perpetually looks like my mom did when she showed up to the punk show I'd organized as a teenager. She was terrified and confused yet tried valiantly to maintain an air of understanding--all this manifesting itself in a smile where all her teeth showed, flared nostrils, squinted eyes and eyebrows violently arched in an effort to stop squinting. But whereas it's precious in my mom's case, it's intolerable in Natasha's.


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