Before I Was Gonna Do That Other Thing

Tessa, 

Got up, which really hurt because of yesterday's trip to the gym, so I went into the bathroom for some ibuprofen, but then decided to get dressed before leaving the bedroom -- which is where all my clothes are -- so I went to the closet.  That's when I noticed it was sunny, so I thought, "shorts" and went over to where I stored them last winter, under the bed.  Then I saw my old flip-flops and thought "first flip-flops of 2010."  Put them on and remembered I didn't have shorts on yet, so I took them off and picked out my gray shorts and started for the bathroom.  Turned around for the flip-flops, put them back on and made a mental note to clip my toenails.  Accidentally kicked Snow Bear, who was on the floor.  Put Snow Bear on the bed.  Headed out of the bedroom, but turned around because I might as well make the bed before leaving the room.  Made the bed.

What was I going to get from the bathroom...

Right, toenails.  Wondered why they call flip-flops "thongs".  Decided it might be because of the little strap that goes between your toes, like that part of a thong that goes between the, well, you know where it goes.  Why am I in the bathroom?  I need some caffeine if I'm gonna get this day rolling.  Went to the kitchen, grabbed the tea kettle, and went to the sink to fill it.  Sink was already filled with dishes.  Did some dishes and went to the TV to see where today's bomb blast was and what Martha was doing with potted plants this morning.  Should I move the plants into the sun.  Yes.  Plants need water.  Man do they need water.  Why can't I keep a plant alive for more than half an hour.  If I were a farmer in the middle ages, I would die.  Maybe I'd be a blacksmith instead of a farmer, they don't have to till fields and they get to stoke fires.  I'm a pretty adequate fire stoker.

Why am I holding this plant?  Right, water.  Went to the kitchen for water, and remembered I was gonna make tea.  Filled the kettle and started boiling water.  Where's my blue mug?  Bedroom.  Why did I have it in the bedroom?  Turned off the fan I'd left on, grabbed my blue mug, and returned to the kitchen.  watered the plant, but had to set it down because the water was boiling.  Made tea and brought it out to watch Martha pot some plant with a celebrity.  Is that the guy from V?  What else was he on?  Right: Party of Five.  That was a stupid show.

No, you know what show was stupid?  7th Heaven.  That show made me want to enlist, just because I'm pretty sure Iraqi's don't have shows about American ministers and their huge dumb families.  And what was with the herd of children?  Same thing with Party of Five, Eight is Enough, Malcolm in the Middle: tons of kids on any show about a family.  You only get three or fewer kids if the show is about multiple families (Parenthood, Modern Family, etc.).  Either way, I think Hollywood understands that we need a bare minimum of 4 kids.  5 is better.

Why am I still sore?  That ibuprofen should have kicked in by now.  Aw crap.

I Heart You

I Love Air Supply. My Air Supply

Tessa, 

When I was 8 I asked my teacher if the world might someday run out of air.  I seemed to be using a lot it.  Running, jumping, climbing; if it took oxygen, I was doing it, and I couldn't remember making any to replace all the breathing I'd been doing.

There couldn't be an endless supply of air, right?  Earth -- I remembered from our Solar System unit -- was a blue island, floating in space with no oxygen tubes pumping in new air.  I was worried, because it seemed that the whole of mankind had somehow missed this.

To be fair, that I was afraid at all was mostly Mrs. Wilson's fault.  Our unit on water conservation made it clear that the next drop might indeed be the last one to come out of that faucet.  Our ancestors settled here because of the bounty of wet goodness Minnesota provided.  But let's be honest class: ten thousand lakes won't last forever.

Our unit on electricity was the same.  The cartoon she showed us first how the pluses (+) and minuses (-) flowed into our homes and out of our light bulbs.  But wait: plot twist ahead.  The Plus/Minus Factory wasn't big enough for all the light bulbs in our town.  It was like some municipal teeter-totter: every time you flipped a switch, bathing your basement in incandescent excess, some poor sap across town was suddenly stuck in their basement without a clue as to which direction the stairs were.

On some level, I was angry that this was a problem at all.  Why hadn't the adults thought about this before installing all those faucets and light bulbs?  Why waste time making a cartoon to explain conserving electricity to me!?  You've gotta plug that TV in!  The VCR, too!  Plus, I'm already watching it in a room that's just glowing with unnecessary light bulbs.  I count the bulbs.  Fourteen of them.  Fourteen!  What were adults thinking?

Mrs. Wilson didn't know the answer.  She invited the Principal -- Dr. Macy, PhD. -- into our classroom so 30 children could bring to her attention this clear and present danger.  Dr. Macy told us that we got our air from trees, and we (she said "we" but it was really the adults, again) were cutting all the trees down for paper. (The blatant stupidity of this trade was infuriating.)  Eventually, though probably not in her lifetime she said, the earth would indeed run out of oxygen.

I walked home from the bus stop very slowly.  No running, no climbing.  I went down to my bedroom, turned off the lights, and practiced holding my breath.

I...(gasp)...Heart...(gasp)...You...

Deep, Dark Well

Tessa, 

I just had this thought: what if everyone chose their own name?  But here's the catch: you choose it when you're 5 years old, and you have to keep it for life.  On their fifth birthday every kid goes into their room, no adults allowed, and decides their own name.

Do you have any idea how much cooler everyone's name would be?  That guy Daryl, in the next cubicle, his name's actually Donatello Monster Truck He-Man Smith.  Catherine, in Accounting?  Don't know her.  Oh, you mean Princess Starry Sparkles My Little Pony Henderson?  The world would be a better place.  Can you imagine voting for Tiger Shark 2% Milk Stevens?  Me too.

Mom says I should journal.  ("Journal," like it's a verb.  I'm going to journal in my journal.  I'm going to go drive around in my drive around.  I don't think it can be a verb and a noun.  Not at the same time, anyway.)  People say its a good way to get your true feelings out, to dig deep and find out what's down there.  You know what thoughts are hiding deep down there?  Shark Bites.  Whatever happened to them?  Those things were the best.  You'd  tear open that silvery package and they'd spill out onto your desk, and you'd quickly take account of how many Great Whites you were blessed with that particular Thursday.  In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to name yourself Shark Bites Johnson.

This is what I've got deep down there.  We could have wasted two hundred bucks to lay back on a couch and have a PhD discover that my deep-seated issues revolve primarily around high-fructose corn syrup and cornstarch.  (Also, if someone told me they were going to take corn and turn it into a fruit snack, I'd say they were crazy.  But they do it every day.  Corn...machine...low rumbling...POOF!, fruit snack.)

Okay, I'm gonna go to the gym, because I have nothing to do until the 26th of April.

I Heart You

Buckets of Rain, Mountains of Laundry, Isthmus of Attention

Tessa, 

When it rains it pours, they say.  The Interview last night went pretty well, I'd say.  Pretty Well to Moderately Hooray-ish.  Somewhere in there.  Although, should I get the job -- knocking on wood, at least I think it's wood (you know, it's from Ikea and I never can tell) -- it won't even start until July.

Then today I got a call from the Census Bureau, they ask me a series of questions ("Can you read? Do you walk upright?  Opposable thumb? Good, good."  The CB loves workers with opposable thumbs), and then offer me a job.  A temp job, 8 weeks worth, leading right up to July.  But it's almost $20 an hour, and 40 hours a week, so I'll take it.  Truth be told, they could have had both my thumbs and the broken middle toe for way less than that.  Amateurs.

Feeling good from my double booking, I decided to stop by and tell the landlord his rent check is on it's way. He said he could care less how long it takes to get our rent, but he did want to know if I'd work on some of the other apartments for them.

"You bet your blue bonnet, I do."  I said to him.
"My what?" he asked.
"I said, uh, 'you bet sure i'm on it wahoo.'"  Confused silence.  "When should I start?"

He said he'd get back to me.  Then -- I know, more?  It's almost too much -- Collins emailed to say he'd be passing along my resume shortly, and was giving it to some friends with mad connections.  Well, he didn't say "mad connections," because Collins doesn't talk like that, because only an idiot says "mad connections" these days.  But he did say he was feeling good about the whole thing, and that makes me feel good about the whole thing.

Okay.  Going to do laundry.

I Heart You

What Tuesday Means to Me

Tessa,

So you were right: for a couple with a one bedroom apartment, we have been hosting an awful lot of people lately.  My Brother, Sister, and Girlfriend of Brother, down from MN the weekend before last.  My Mother/Father combo last weekend.  Then, last night, I decided our friends should come over and watch basketball with us, and that I shouldn't tell you about it until an hour before tipoff.  

Tessa: "Why are you making so many nachos?"

David: "It's not so many nachos."

Tessa: "It's a lot of nachos."

David: "Enough for 8 people?"

Tessa: "Aw, crap."

A doctor once told me that men with attention deficit disorder should kiss their wives feet every night before bed.  There's real wisdom here.

So I thought I'd try to have a quiet Tuesday afternoon before The Interview later this evening.  "The Interview" sounds like a bad Michael Douglas movie.  Nope, just Googled it.  It's a bad Steve Buscemi movie.  Truth be told, Steve Buscemi wouldn't be half as likable as an actor if he had good teeth.  

While we're on the topic of movies, I was at the Red Box the other night and noticed something.  Just try and tell me I'm seeing things:

               

I'm not, right?  I mean, it's not like I found their dopplegangers, but there's a likeness there.  Somebody's art department was asleep at the wheel on this one.  How many people forgot their glasses when they went to the nearest Red Box and wound up with the wrong movie, I wonder?  You're sitting down, ready to see an inspirational tale of an unlikely youth overcoming life's obstacles, and -- BAM! -- you're watching Precious instead.

Okay.  Going to play soccer.

I Heart You