The Way Things Are



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You guys are the best.
2006-03-13, 12:15 p.m.

You guys! You are all like my very best girlfriends, except that for the most part, you live only in the computer. But whether its advice on dressing myself, or how to make friends, or controlling foot sweat, or just commiserating with me on the friends thing, you guys are the best.

As I was driving in this morning, approaching the first of the three cow tunnels I cross, I saw that my favorite herd of cattle was actually passing through the underpass. So I stopped and took a couple of pictures, because the very idea of a livestock underpass completely enchants me.

Im sure wherever the hobbits and faeries live, there are rock-walled livestock underpasses.


Caption this photo.

NEXT TOPIC:

I had two occasions for a Go Laura! the past few days, and herein will I relate both of them to you now.

1. First, on Friday afternoon, I was in my Admins office, digging through a box of documents (affectionately referred to in our office as a Box o Dox) and she had her radio playing. I asked Is that Bell Biv Devoe? and she replied Go Laura!

Hey, I am HIP TO THE JIVE!*

2. Second, on Saturday, I went to a co-workers wedding, and called my sister EB on my way home to let her know that yes indeed, hot dogs were served at the reception, and what I was wearing came up in conversation.

Im wearing a brown wrap dress with a little black and tan-colored pattern on it - you know, with the little tie around the empire waist and some black open-toed high-heeled sandals with straps across the top of my foot and a very discreet little toe-thong thing that helps keep them on my sweaty foot, as directed by The Internet.

Go Laura!

I told her, well, if The Internet tells me to do something, I run out and do it without asking questions. And in fact, I had run out that morning with a picture of the shoes I wanted in my head, and as decreed in the prophecy, I found them for $30. Next time I wear them to work, Ill show em to you.

NEW BRIEF TOPIC:

When you call somebody, and their receptionist asks you Is she expecting your call?, what do you say? Im always tempted to say No, this is the call wherein I tell her to be expecting my call. Ill call ya right back. BYE.

CAREENING WILDLY TO THE NEXT TOPIC:

We had a good weekend, me and DW and Lil Guy and our brood of dogs. Not to turn this into a dog-blog, but I will brag on Miss Piper here for just a moment, for all you dog-people. It is amazing to all of us (who live in my house with me) what she has learned in just one week. She is learning not to jump up on us, she is learning to go hang out by the door and look out wistfully when she needs to go outside, and she is learning to eat her dog food without me sitting on the floor next to her, encouraging her. Sheesh. I would like for her to learn not to chew on the corner of the living room rug, QUICKLY.

Mrs. Beans WOLFS her food down, and then comes back in and tries to find something ANYTHING else to eat. We feed her plenty her weight is very stable, and shes very healthy and healthy-looking, but Beans would eat non-stop until she exploded if we let her.

Miss Piper, however, will eat until shes full. Shes very old-fashioned and leaves a little something on her plate when shes done. I have to keep rattling her food bowl with my toe to keep her interested in her food. She very pointedly walks away when shes done, and no amount of toe-rattling will bring her back.

Of course, if I left the bowl within reach, Mrs. Beans would wolf down Pipers leftovers through her nostrils, no matter how not-hungry she really was.

Anyway, I was talking to DW about Piper and her personality, and her great strides in learning in just a week, and I told him that it makes me sad for Beans, who was a rescued dog and had an apparently tough first year of life, being handed from owner to owner, becoming a more difficult dog each time. It makes me wonder what her first two or three owners did to make her so weird and high-strung and neurotic and undoglike. I cant imagine, and it makes me sad anyway, so I wont speculate.

BACK TO THE GOOD WEEKEND:

Oh, sorry. Nothing really important to report. It was kind of laid-back and fun, and the most exciting things that happened were that DW finally removed one of the big piles of dirt leftover from construction, and LG got stung by a bee inside his mouth.

He was jumping on the trampoline, and I was sitting in a chair nearby, doing some Sdookie, and watching the dogs play, and LG had his can of sweet iced tea nearby. He took a pull, and promptly exclaimed and spit it all out. Then he hollered OW! and said I drank a bee! And it stung me! He dug the stinger out his mouth with his fingernail, and I shooed him inside and told him to eat some ice to keep down the swelling.

He got over it very quickly. I told him to let me know if it he started wheezing or feeling like it was hard to breathe, so I could give him a Benadryl and rush him to the hospital, but that never happened. The kid has been stung by yellow jackets, bees, a scorpion on the bottom of his foot, and now a bee in the mouth (which he did not swallow he spat it out), and hes so nonchalant about it. I told him if he ever needs dental work, getting the shot in his mouth will be nothing compared to what hes already been through. Im sure that made him feel much better, to visualize getting an injection in his mouth.

Well, my friends, Im going to wrap this up now, because I had an anxiety attack** about a work-related matter in the middle of the night Friday night, and I promised God that even if the issue did not get worked out, I would change and quit fucking around so much during the day, and lo and behold, the issue has been worked out, and regardless of that outcome, a promise is a promise, and while I know the good Lord scoffs at me and my promises (I belong to the Church of Cynical Christianity, whose basic tenet is that we all look like ants from up there, and God really doesnt give a shit about the Austin housing market), I have a buttload of work to do and shall now resume doing it.

*My old grandmother used to slap her thigh and throw a foot in the air in a little jig, and holler out I am HIP TO THE JIVE! whenever she astounded us with her knowledge of a somewhat current trend or issue. I love to do that, because it proves that one really is NOT hip to the jive at all.

**When one has an anxiety attack in the middle of the night, and ones reasoning becomes a bit cloudy, it almost seems like a really good idea to call the real estate attorney to talk about the issue causing the anxiety. At 3:00 a.m. I didnt do it, but for a few minutes, amidst the cold sweat and panicky pounding of my heart, it seemed like something I should do.

I got better.

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