The Way Things Are



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I had a conversation
2005-06-09, 1:58 p.m.

I had a conversation with our tile guy yesterday, and if you were a fly on my wall (or a dove perched on the balcony outside), the words would have been only so much noise and might have scared you, but would have sounded like this to you, were you capable of comprehending human speech:

Me: I know DW has been talking to you about how to tile the shower and the bathtub, and he is completely wrong.

Me: Thanks, I am cute. Well, I want it to be pretty. And I want you to be creative, but not go too wild using the more expensive stuff, but use enough of it to make it pretty.

Me: You know, one of those decorative border things with checkerboards, or diamonds or something. You are an artisan, a craftsman. You know what to do to make it pretty. And I am not a micromanager.

Me: Oh, I know you can. I want to walk in there and say “Oh! How pretty!”

Me: Knock my pants off, huh? Can’t wait!

Later on in the day, DW was meeting in person with the tile guy, and started confusing him again, so I got on the phone with him. Let’s listen in on what I said:

Me: No, not the bullnose in bottle green. Just do the bullnose in white, with the decorative green tile beneath. Does that make it easier?

Me: Good. OK, please don’t listen to DW or do what he says. OK! Thanks!

So y’all, the tile guy has promised me bathtub and shower tile that will knock my pants off. Which will make one of DW’s most disturbing dreams come true, in that I will be (at least partially) naked in public.

BIRD UPDATE: For all my guests with ornithophobia, please feel free to skip this section. I’m all about making you feel comfortable and safe. Think of The Way Things Are as your bird-free haven.

Ha. The bird craziness continues. I found my two baby birds – they are in the tree right off the balcony. Way up high. Their mother is hanging out with them. So the over-achiever who left the nest early, and the slow one that I feared might be Darwined out of here are both safe and accounted for in the tree. When I go outside to look at them, their mother flexes and puffs out and gives me very distinct stink-eye, but she is not going to fly away as long as a crazy woman threatens her offspring.

Oh, thank ye God that today is Thursday, as Thursday is the new Friday. We have a wild-people date tonight to go listen to free live music in the park. Our friend is in an old-man band, and they have an old-man gig. I love a date that involves camp chairs, an ice chest and bug spray. Can you say “low maintenance”? And free live music is my middle name. Honestly. Laura Live Music Flea.

Here’s my latest fitness conundrum. As most womenfolk probably do (curse the men! curse them!), I build muscle faster than I lose fat. As I complete Week 6 of Power 90 (go me), I find that my upper body, aka my buzzums (hee! spellcheck wants to call them “buzzers”. BZZZZZ!), have grown alarmingly. I mean, I have to pick through my closet to find a top I can wear without gapping or Hooters-quality tightness and stretching across my considerable girthy chest.

I know. It’ll go back down once the fat starts to just positively MELT off my body. But until then, when I walk into a room, I make it a point to just go ahead and announce “Y’ALL, I KNOW THEY ARE BIG. PLEASE DON’T STARE AT MY MAGNIFICENT RACK FOR ANY LONGER THAN 30 SECONDS OR SO.” You would not believe the attention I get. People can be so rude, can’t they?

You’re looking at them now, I can tell. BZZZZZ!

Day 4 of wearing khaki on the bottom, green on the top is a success. So far, nobody has mentioned it to me. Perhaps they are whispering about me in the break room? Could I be the subject of the latest office drama? Oh, I certainly do hope so. Please let me be the brunt of the drama, please. I will kick ass, and I assure you I will not bother to take names. Fucking drama queens.

Last but not least, Operation Swoop on BS is working out well. I provided Lil Guy a list of questions concerning his badges (hereinafter known as “skeenkeeng batches) and his BS rank, and he got them answered. Let’s just say that he and I will be practicing some knot-tying this weekend, and beyond that, his BSMaster has assured him that he will hit First Class rank at camp this summer. As well as accumulate about half a dozen more skeenkeeng batches.

About the only other thing I have to report today is that I cannot stop sneezing. That is all.

Good day. I SAID GOOD DAY!

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