I was surfing around the net yesterday, and I read that you can actually plant the top of a pineapple, and eventually it’ll take root and grow and after like two years, you might end up with a whole new pineapple.
This fascinated and intrigued me, and I of course had to immediately tell Fred about it.
“Hey!” I said. “Did you KNOW that if you plant the top of a pineapple, it will take root and grow? We should grow our own pineapples!”
Fred considered. “So, it takes root and grows into a pineapple tree?”
I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not, so I turned around and gave him a look.
“A pineapple tree,” I said.
“It grows into a pineapple tree, you’re saying, and we could go out and pick our own pineapples?”
I gave him another look.
“Pineapples… do not GROW ON TREES,” I said.
“Oh. They don’t?”
“Um. No.”
“So you plant a pineapple top, and you get one pineapple from it and it takes a couple of years?” he said.
“Yes.”
“That seems like a lot of effort and waiting for two people who aren’t THAT into pineapple.”
Can’t argue with that.
We were driving somewhere last weekend, and AS HE ALWAYS DOES, Fred was weaving all over the road because he was so busy looking at the houses we were passing, or waving his hands in the air to make a super-important point.
“IT WOULD BE NICE IF YOU WERE ABLE TO KEEP THE CAR ON THE ROAD,” I said. I swear to you, I’m 99% sure that my cause of death will be due to Fred driving off the road into a tree (or ditch) because he’s NOT PAYING ATTENTION, driving directly into a car stopped at a red light because he loves to approach red lights at roughly 95 miles per hour, or my having a heart a attack at the way he drives.
(He said the other day, in response to my complaint about his driving, “I have never gotten into an accident!”, because I got into an accident a few years ago in the Lowe’s parking lot (and you think I tell you everything), and I said “Yeah? Well I have never lost my job!” HA HA HA ZING. I guess it’s hard to get fired when your lazy ass hasn’t had a job in ten years, though.)
“I’m ON the road,” he said, annoyed with me for questioning his driving skills.
“Then WHY are we driving down the goddamn rumble strip?” I asked.
“Is that what those are called?” he said. “Really, they’re called rumble strips?”
“Yes,” I said.
“How on earth do you know that?” he asked.
I shrugged. “How on earth do you NOT?”
So of course the question here is, how many of y’all knew that they’re called rumble strips? That’s common knowledge, right?
We were driving through Research Park in Huntsville last weekend, writing down the names of companies so that Fred could go online and see if they were hiring (this was before he realized that Wikipedia has a complete list of all the companies).
Fred pulled into the parking lot of a large company to make sure there weren’t other companies in the same building as the large company. I noticed that, alongside the United States flag, was a flag that was unfamiliar to me. I decided that it must be the flag of the country the company originated in. It wasn’t familiar to me, but aside from the US flag, the Canadian flag, and the Japanese flag, I can’t really identify flags from other countries.
This was definitely not a Canadian or Japanese flag.
I pondered the flag for a few moments, and then pointed it out to Fred. “What country is that flag from, do you know?” I asked. I thought maybe it was the German flag. Or perhaps Switzerland?
(Oh, I guess I do know Great Britain’s flag too, now that I think about it. Duh.)
Fred gave me a look.
“That,” he said carefully, probably restraining himself from out-and-out calling me a great big fucking idiot. “That is the Alabama state flag.”
“Oh.”
Fred snickered.
“Shut up.”
Fred snickered.
“Kiss my ass.”
Fred snickered.
How embarrassing.
“WHAT?”
What you really really need to see (I have GOT to start carrying the camera around with me at all times, I guess) is poor Maura’s big ol’ shaved belly. I was hanging out with her yesterday afternoon, and she was so relaxed and happy that she rolled onto her back and just stayed there, belly exposed, her four paws sticking straight up. It was seriously cute.
She is the MOST laid-back cat I’ve ever seen. She’s always pleased to see me when I walk into the room, and she loves to lay up against me when I sit on the floor. When the hanging-out time is over, she’s mildly puzzled, like “Oh, you have to go? Why would you need to be anywhere else? This room has it all, do you see the toys and the chair and the cat tree? You really have to go? Okay then, bye.” She doesn’t rush the door, she looks curiously out into the hallway at Jake and Elwood, who would dearly love to get into the room with her, and then she goes off to play or sleep or whatever is next in her hectic schedule.
What a baleful look I’m getting here!
“HELLO HI I HAZ A COMPLAINT AND MY COMPLAINT IS THAT I HAVE EYE BOOGERS IN THE CORNERS OF MY EYES AND THEY MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A STREET URCHIN THAT NO ONE CARES FOR BECAUSE IF SOMEONE LOVED ME, THEY’D CLEAN THE CORNERS OF MY EYES OUT BUT OBVIOUSLY NO ONE LOVES ME AND THAT IS MY COMPLAINT THAT I HAZ.”
Reacher’s eyes are changing color, and right now, they pretty much match his fur. Very neat.
Again with the baleful look.
Newt, Tommy, and Jake, hanging out on the patio and taking in some sunshine.
Previously
2009: Y’all are some grumpy motherfuckers, aren’t you?
2008: Detective Boogerton, the grizzled, cranky veteran detective who has seen it all, is disgruntled that his day off has been interrupted.
2007: No entry.
2006: FYI.
2005: Meme.
2004: Lime green would work.
2003: I called Fred at one point and said “Maybe it’s SARS!”
2002: Well, you can just bite my coconut-scented, soft, smooth, butt.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.