Sweatermorphosis

When I lived at home, my dad used to walk around the house on some sort of frenzied patrol, flicking off any light that had been left on accidentally. Sometimes he would shut a light off on me while I was still using it, like in the laundry room, ironing, or in the living room, reading. When I did leave a light on in a room that I wasn't occupying, he would, without fail, find me and ask in the same (tiresome) tone, "Do you work for the electric company?"

I used to dream about becoming an electric engineer so that I'd eventually be able to answer him with "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." (Then I would quit my job because electricity bores me.)

I tell you this because I've started doing the same thing! I turn off lights left and right, up and down, lights I'm not using, lights I am using, lights in other people's homes, lights in public places. I'm getting really good at peeing in the dark.

I've heard it said that sooner or later we turn into our parents. Does this mean that I also have my father's compulsive athleticism to look forward to? His inability to throw away old T-shirts? His propensity for stale or expired foodstuffs? Will I, like my mother, eat dinners that consist entirely of vegetables? Judge people who go to Disneyworld on their honeymoon? Bring a sweater to the beach?

Oh, God... it's happening... it's happening...

Pity Palace

Yesterday was Administrative Professionals Appreciation Day, and no one in my office remembered. Needless to say, I've been having a field day with that, mentioning it to all of my co-workers, doing a little redecorating, etc.

Hi, Gene!

I have a dentist's appointment tomorrow afternoon. I typically dread dentist stuff, but I'm totally happy about this appointment because I made it for 2:30! Ha ha! I made it for Tooth Hurty on a Toothsday!!! Oh, I cannot wait to recycle this joke over and over at work tomorrow. It may appear on my blog again, too.

Toothfully, though, I'm a little embarrassed about meeting this particular dentist. A few months ago I asked him to donate a teeth whitening regimen to a work-related silent auction, and he wrote back that he had a pair of dentures he would be willing to donate. I, naturally, wrote him a thank you note and told him he'd make a toothless bidder very happy.

Thank God I found out he was joking about the dentures before I sent him the padded envelope I had prepared. He wrote back, "EFC, Dentures don't really work like that."

Anyway, hopefully he's forgotten my name.

I'm Puzzled

It's snowing in mid-April and I've been busy at work. Am I on Candid Camera? Soon the mean post office lady will put a candy dish out on her counter!

Anyway, some postings back, I mentioned that I was in the market for a new vice. Readers, I was being a five-letter-word-for-silly-that-begins-with-"i" to actually go out hunting for a bad habit. To be sure, my new vice found me. It's crossword puzzles.

I haven't finished a book in a month. In fact, I haven' t even picked up a book except to stick it behind a crossword puzzle. Nor have I been following current events, except for those stories that involve individuals with short, heavily voweled names. Alberto Gonzales? Is he in the news these days? Was I dreaming, or did somebody say something about the Supreme Court stripping women and doctors of their natural and civil rights?

Likewise, Number Ten and I barely speak anymore. We greet each other, I offer her absent-minded pleasantries while eyeing the newspaper on her table, and then she sighs and hands me a pencil. Sometimes she'll attempt to engage me in a conversation about her family, goings-on at her workplace, or some recent item of community news. I pretend to listen, but all the while I'm thinking about a four-letter word for a church recess, a five letter word for a hasty marriage, or a four-letter poetic name for Ireland.

Forgive Me, Readers!

I have been derelict in my blogging duties! It turns out that I'm currently a bit computer-less. I was planning to surf the web this weekend for a good deal on a new computer, but, as you can imagine, that may prove difficult!

Get Your No Good Easter Off My Property

From the happy updates I received throughout yesterday, it sounds as though everyone had a lovely Easter! My parents were out enjoying an early Easter Parade in the French Quarter, Number Ten was strolling on the beach on the Cape with her mother, One Trick Pony was engaged in an Easter Keg Hunt in sunny California. Jesus was doing whatever one does upon returning to life, probably showering and ordering floating Heely's.

Meanwhile, Yeller and I had perhaps the most lackluster Easter on record. After some half-hearted egg-dyeing, we lit a candle, leaned up against the kitchen counter, and ate hummus and Wheat Thins, munching in time to a sad aria that played in the background. Our depressive silence was interrupted only by our occasional laughter at the sad, sad state of our affairs. We tried to save the meal with some Easter candy, but then we remembered that someone else had eaten it all.

And, Mom, the basket you sent still hasn't arrived. Can you believe it?

Speaking of things maternal, yesterday I learned that my mother chose to comment on One Trick Pony's blog and not mine. She has, in fact, never commented on my blog, despite the fact that I have been keeping it for ten months. Yet One Trick Pony, she of Scant and Spasmodic Posting, garners my mother's attention? Oh, the agony. Oh, the betrayal. Oh, the cruelty. Oh, the disappointment. Oh, the evilness. Oh, the... okay, I'll stop.

I bet OTP received an Easter basket from my mother. Admit it, Horsey.

Mouse In The House

Yesterday, Agent Yellow brought me most glad tidings. She's tracked down adult Heely's! Oh, Praise Be to Yeller! Saturday we will venture to the shoe store to pick me up my very own pair. (I will, of course, have to buy men's which means I'm limited to a color combination of red, black, and white. No matter.)

Needless to say, I am counting down the wheel-less minutes. Do you realize what these shoes will mean for me? They will change me! They will revitalize my work life! ("Let me just wheel that urine sample over to the fridge for you, partner.") My home life! ("Hey, Yeller, race you to the back room! What, no wheels on your shoes?") My romantic life! ("I know I'm always at the skate park these days, but I promise, I wheely care about you.").

In other news, Yeller's mom sent her an Easter basket last week, full of chocolate eggs and Peepy goodness. (Still waiting on mine, Mom!) Unfortunately, a mouse has been ransacking Yeller's basket in the night. I have to admit that it's a polite mouse: It only eats one chocolate egg at a time and then it deposits the foil wrapping on top of the wastebasket. (I'm not kidding.)

I should say, it was a polite mouse. I've learned that mouse manners don't matter to Yeller. She set up a trap in her basket, and the rest is his-gory.