the show. I think they showed the first three (which were on ABC or NBC or whatever the hell channel it was originally on) this past Tuesday (and they’re rerunning them again all weekend), and then they’re starting with the unaired ones this coming Tuesday at 9:00. I REALLY liked that show, so you can bet I’ll be setting the DVR!
Schedule is here.
* * *
Today’s earworm:
I went as far as I could, I tried to find a new face
There isn’t one of these lines that I would erase
I left a million mile of memories on that road
And every step I take I know that I’m not alone
You take the home from the boy, but not the boy from his home
These are my streets, the only life I’ve ever known, who says you can’t go home
(
Who Says You Can’t Go Home?, by Bon Jovi and Jennifer Nettles)
* * *
I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this before, but I’m not a person who bruises easily.
(Oh god. I’m suddenly struck with the intense urge to write a completely oblique entry about how even though you can’t see my bruises on the outside, inside I am bruised like an apple tossed against the wall and when (insert innocuous thing here) happens, although I might be smiling on the outside, on the inside I am GUSHING BLOOD because it bruises my soul, even if you can’t see it, and people should think about what they’re going to say before they go rushing around the internet willy-nilly hurting other people. Must… resist… evil… urge…)
Anyway, physically, I just don’t bruise very easily. My friend Liz bruises if you so much as speak harshly to her – seriously, if she rolls down her car window to use the atm and rests her arm between the punching of PINs and choosing where the money’s coming from and all that, she always has bruises on the underside of her arm. I think someone accused her first husband of abusing her, so bad were the bruises. If I hadn’t seen the bruising process myself, I never would have believed it.
ANYWAY. I was talking about ME. I don’t bruise very easily. So the other day when Fred and I were moving the living room furniture back into the living room, we were on the last piece of furniture, which was the kitchen table and I carried my side of the table – which is pretty heavy as kitchen tables go – resting on my right forearm. And the next morning when I woke up, I had a bruise about the size of a quarter where the table leg had rested.
And I keep looking at it and poking at it, because I think it makes me look VERY BADASS.
I think I might be a little weird.
* * *
Answering the Smart and Sassy
question about tipping reminded me of back when I worked at Fred’s company (I was the office manager, for those of you who didn’t already know that, and I quit because I COULD) and we called a local courier company to deliver a document to someone’s home in Huntsville. Now, I’ve never hired a courier before and I thought it was going to be expensive, but I was stunned to find out that it was only going to cost $5. (Which of course made me want to start hiring a courier to do EVERYTHING. “Yeah, take this two offices down and make sure they sign for it, eh?”) I asked everyone who was around whether or not I was supposed to tip the courier, and none of them knew, ’cause none of THEM had ever hired a courier before, either.
So I called the office and asked the lady who answered the phone if I was supposed to tip the courier. Now, instead of just saying “yes” or “no”, the lady hemmed and hawed and basically gave me a non-answer. And I decided that I’d rather be safe than sorry, so I got $5 cash from one of the owners to tip him.
The guy showed up, and I gave him the envelope to deliver, then I handed over the check for the courier fee, and with the check I handed over the $5. The courier looked at the $5 and the check, and he gave me a puzzled look.
“What’s this?” he said.
“That’s, um,” I stammered. “A tip. For you!”
He shook his head sternly, said “No,” and handed the $5 back to me.
And I felt like the BIGGEST ASSHOLE ON EARTH. Even now, thinking about it, I get embarrassed.
* * *
Also, this entry of
Jane‘s for some reason reminded me of several years ago when my mother sent the spud a
Furby for Christmas. The spud kind of liked it at first, but after a while it kind of took on a creepy aura. The damn thing would just suddenly start SINGING and MOVING for no particular reason, and for an 11 year-old kid, it’s not a great leap of the imagination to think that the damn thing might come to life and kill you in your sleep.
About two weeks after Christmas I was putting laundry away in the spud’s closet, and I found the Furby wrapped in a blanket, shoved behind the toybox – in fact, wedged in there so tightly that even had the damn thing come to life with bad intentions, there’s no way it could have gotten out and done its evil deeds.
And quite frankly, I can’t blame the spud. That thing was fucking creepy.
* * *
The spud, in her prom dress. Hopefully the ankle socks won’t be a part of the final ensemble, but I can’t guarantee anything!
* * *
He keeps his svelte shape by practicing Sugilates regularly.
The Sugilates move known as “lift and lick” is excellent for developing core strength.
The dilemma: Something on the floor.
The solution: Lay on it.
This is a total Mister Boogers look.
All of today’s uploaded pictures (there are a bunch today) are
hither.
* * *
Previously
2005: “Ah JEEZUS, here she goes again with the Gatlinburg! She goes for four days and talks about it for four weeks!”
2004: Oh. My. Eyes.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: Entries I liked.
2000: No entry.]]>