Several weeks ago, I cleaned out and straightened up the garage. We’d bought some shelving units at Lowe’s a few weeks previous to that to help out with the organizing of the garage, and I finally got them put together and put in place and the garage looked pretty damn good.
There was even room in the garage for my car, but rather than actually parking in the garage, I kept parking in front of the garage. It was just so handy to be able to toss stuff in that nice open space of the garage rather than deal with it immediately, you know?
Finally, this past weekend Fred decided it was time to just get my damn car in the garage, and he went out and moved stuff and rearranged, and before I knew it, my car was parked in the garage.
And how many times in the past two days do you suppose I’ve glanced out the window toward the garage and had my heart skip a beat when I realized my car wasn’t there (“MY CAR IS STOLEN!”) and then for a brief moment I’m caught up in the excitement (“I COULD GET A HYBRID!”) before I remember what’s going on (“Oh, right. In the garage. Duh.”)? Approximately one million and thirty times, that little sequence of stupidity has taken place.
Fred, as you guys know, is a computer programmer. He loves – LOVESLOVESLOVES – the work he’s doing right now, and he comes home all filled with excitement about the work he’s doing. He goes on at length about this thing or that thing, and honestly it really goes right over my head. I understand the broad strokes of what he’s doing, but as for the details, despite many hours of listening (pretending to listen), it’s neither interesting nor exciting to me.
Look, he KNOWS I don’t really get the details of what he’s doing, but I’m pretty sure he appreciates my pretending to listen and understand what he’s talking about, just like I appreciate it when he pretends to listen to me yammer on about the cats. Marriage is give and take, y’know, and pretending to listen to his shit so that he’ll pretend to listen to my shit is a pretty good trade-off as far as I’m concerned.
I have picked up two words in the course of “listening” to him talk about the vastly fascinating details of coding, and they are words that amuse me, so when he’s been going on for a long time and I haven’t contributed anything to the conversation, I use them.
He’ll be going on, all “Blah blah this” and “blah blah that”, and I hold up my hand to stem the tide of words, and I give him a very serious and concerned look.
“But is it ROBUST?” I ask him. “And more importantly, is it ELEGANT?”
I don’t know why, but using the words “robust” and “elegant” to describe code makes this know-nothing crack UP.
Okay, take a deep breath. Take my hand. We’ll get through this together, I promise.
Bolitar and Rhyme are off to the adoption center later today. Room has come available, and it’s time for the first two to go. I know, I know. I don’t want them to go, either. But it’s time. Don’t think of this as a sad time – think of it as a happy time! They’re going off to find their forever homes!
(Don’t think I won’t be crying like a great big baby when I leave them there.)
Bolitar and Corbett get in some snuggling.
Something does not agree with Reacher, it appears.
Oh, they just drive me NUTS when they do this. Just stroooooll out there like they’re supposed to be out there! Roll around on the concrete, chew some grass, and give me the looks like “What?”
Rhyme spies a chicken through the fence.
I don’t even remember what was going on here, but Rhyme, up in the air, makes me laugh and laugh.
Marty loves chewing on a good straw.
Miss Melodie, relaxing.
Note, please, that Martin does not seem to be too impressed by Melodie’s foot defense action, here.
Pretty Sheriff Mama takes a moment to relax.
Previously
2009: Thank god for patient geeks who put up with difficult women.
2008: No entry.
2007: I don’t get the Winehouse lurve, but y’all just rock on with your bad selves, I s’pose.
2006: That part where McMurphy is trying to take off her scrubs and the back of her shirt is glued to her back with dried blood brings me to tears every single time I watch it.
2005: Is it just me, or does Eric Schaeffer play an inordinant number of characters named Sam?
2004: My day, in progress.
2003: This entry is comprised of nothing but cat pictures, because I’m clearing off the memory stick to start September fresh, with an empty memory stick.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: He said “Maybe you’re losing slower than me because you BELIEVE you’ll lose slower than me!”