You know. How Billy always wanders around. His mother sends him to get a pencil and he goes to a toy shop, a golf course, hangs out on the playground and at the last minute, comes home. With a pen.
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Cousin Karen's coming to visit for the 4th. I have warned her that the house now looks like something out of "Hoarders". And I'm serious. I may empty the wastebaskets and will def. change the sheets on her bed and stash the laundry, but that's it.
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Scarlett O'Hara to the rescue.
To say that the white folks are greatly outnumbered by the brown folks at work is not an exaggeration of any kind. For five Vishanueswathalmy Burusumpwaddi, you will find one Bob Smith. I work with two guys who are both Indian and both pretty tasty looking. One of them is named Gopal. The other is Vijay. I can never tell who's who. The other day, Gopal (or Vijay) came over to my demi-cubicle and I completely drew a blank.
"And your name," I said, "is..."
"Gopal!"
"I'm sorry, Gopal. I always confuse you with Vijay. That's because I never can decide which of you two is the handsomest."
Gopal, a married man, blushed furiously and laughed. Beside me, Rosy snorted. Gopal went away. I punched her with my elbow. "Shut up. It worked for Scarlett O'Hara and it just worked for me. Doesn't that sound a lot better than 'You all look alike to me'?"
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Some bug crawled up Rosy's ass. I have only an inkling that it has to do with what she's going to do with her house, now that Tony the Guinea has upped sticks. In her heart, she wants to go back to the Bronx. I can see it in her, this ache to go back. I know what that ache feels like, but I wonder if it really is home again.
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Rosy has stopped eating lunch with me.
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I have found Praireprincess's blog. I didn't go looking for it, but she wanted to friend me on Facebook.. She told me where the blog is.
I wish I knew why people that I thought were my friends just disappear. Wolf Woman's parting gifts to me were books. One was called "Living the Science of Mind". The other was a Buddhist monk's musings on anger.
From this, I conclude that she thought I was angry. She gave me those gifts. And that was the last I heard of her.
I wish I knew what it was. It would be nice to have a couple of friends within 25 miles of me before I die.
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I have a piano lesson in an hour. I have not touched the piano for two weeks. I just burned my fingers. I don't want to go. I wonder if I could just ask him to play for me for half an hour? Seriously, what am I paying for?
Maybe Wolf Woman got tired of my seeming inability to complete anything.
Hey, I ended my marriage. Doesn't that count for something?
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I don't feel funny anymore. But at least I'm getting more work done at work.
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I'm listening to a great recorded book, "Pompeii" by Robert Harris.
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I burned my fingers because I was making grits for dinner and they popped right out of the saucepan and onto my hand. That freakin' hurts.
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Is anybody else sick of heroic cripple stories? I am up to the gills with them. The latest came from my Speechifiers Monthly, about a guy who nearly died from burns when he was two years old but is now a freakin' inspiration. Is that a job description? Does anyone realize when they're writing this crap how demeaning it is? Is that idiot on Long Island who sawed off his arm going to have to be the one-armed hero now and for the rest of his life?
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I'm going to my piano lesson. Stay tuned for further fussing.
3 comments:
You broke up with Rosy.
You backed away the day she made the remark about only taking cats to the vet when they are on the point of death.
Perhaps since then things have warmed back up, but even still, she knows you just lost a cat and no doubt feels you want some space, or figures she'll say the wrong thing again, or she's afraid to say anything because you're in the same place and anything she says will remind you she accused you of killing your cats with neglect. (And it is unneccessary to say you did not, I want to weigh in, ou gave the cat extra time with your care.)
Anyway, I've said too much.
Just don't saw your arm off about it, OK?
Queen - No, you have not said too much. Splain to me! I am a social retard. I was raised by a pack of mongrel dogs. There's so much that I just don't get about social interaction.
Marc - Very funny. And how could I not play the piano with only one arm?
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