web page address, so I grabbed one.
I’m still thinking about getting one, but I can’t quite decide which one I want, and exactly how I want it to look. Here are some possibles:
* * *
So, the other night I was trying to explain something that I wanted – something computer-related – to Fred, and I swear to god he looked at me like I was speaking Chinese.
This conversation went on for at least ten minutes, and Fred would do something and then show me, and I’d be like “Um… yeah…” and he’d say “You don’t look happy”, and I’d say “Because that’s not what I was talking about!”
We finally got it figured out, though we about had to resort to line drawings and pantomime. It’s very frustrating when you’re dead certain that what you’re saying is making sense, and the person you’re talking to looks at you like they don’t have a clue what the hell you’re trying to say.
* * *
It appears that some of you on the notify list just aren’t getting your notifies. I don’t know what the holy hell is going on with the notify list, but you might want to try un-subscribing and re-subscribing to the list (go
here for both of those – unsubscribe at the bottom of the page; if you don’t remember your password, you can have it emailed to you); sometimes that fixes it, for some unknown reason. If it still doesn’t work for you, try joining the Yahoogroups notify list, which is linked at the bottom,
here.
I’m sorry some of you are having problems with the notify list; it seems to act kind of flaky sometimes for no apparent reason.
* * *
When we were in Gatlinburg (“JEEZUS, Doris, why the hell did you think I’d like this woman’s journal? ALL she does is babble about that redneck paradise in the mountains!”), we made our usual trip to The Pepper Palace so that Fred could pick up some hot sauce.
On a side note, I just flat-out don’t care for hot and spicy stuff. Even when Fred pulls his BULLSHIT “Oh, it’s not spicy at all, Bessie! It’s flavorful and fruity! Try it, you’ll like it!”, I hate it. It makes my mouth burn, WHICH I DO NOT LIKE, and it leaves a nasty-ass taste in my mouth.
And yet, knowing this, Fred has not given up his quest to force me to adore hot and spicy foods. Last night he held out a little bit of beef jerky for me to try, and I did, and THEN I found that it was hot and spicy beef jerky, and I ended up spending the entire evening burping up nasty spicy beef jerky AND IT SUCKED.
Anyway.
So we were in The Pepper Palace, and Fred was talking to the manager of the place. I saw some hot sauce, the name of which cracked me up, and I whipped out the camera to take a picture. The manager sidled up to me and said “We don’t allow pictures in here…”, and I apologized and put my camera away, and he told Fred some story about how someone had taken pictures of hot sauce and put them up on a web page and faked a webstore, and people thought it was run by the Pepper Palace people, and so they don’t allow photography.
I thought, but did not point out, that all I’d need to do was buy some of the sauce (which I did) and take a picture of it (which I will), and there was really nothing he could do to stop me if I had nefarious purposes in mind for the picture of the hot sauce (which I do not).
Then the manager turned and smiled politely at me. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked.
“Oh, she’s with me. They both are,” he said, gesturing to the spud and I.
“Well,” the manager said with a smile. “Aren’t you the lucky man -”
And I had to walk away, because I knew that “To be accompanied by two such beautiful women” or something similar was going to be the last part of that sentence, and PLEASE, I have NO PATIENCE for that ass-kissing bullshit. If I’d had to be witness to the end of that sentence, I would surely have rolled my eyes so hard they would have popped out of my head and bounced across the store.
There are men who can carry off a line like that without making me want to gag, but this guy wasn’t one of them.
* * *
I just felt something on my foot and got freaked that it might be a SPIDER crawling up my LEG, and so I moved my foot frantically as I pushed my chair away from my desk, and as I flailed my foot around, I kicked Miz Poo, who gave me a wounded look and stomped away.
Apparently it was her tail on my foot that I felt.
Poor Miz Poo. I better go beg her forgiveness.
* * *
In the month since she went off the steroids, Miz Poo has lost half a pound. Clearly she’s thrilled about it.
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