Seldom at a loss for words.


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Abode: Nine Forward
Interests: Writing, Singing, Working Out

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*A WHOLE NOTHER THING:
A selection of words from my vast vocabulary, including the ubiquitous "the," the always versatile "and," and the more obscure "incontrovertible," arranged in frequently meaningful, sometimes profound, yet often pedestrian sentences and statements, designed with one goal in mind-- that being, to communicate; keeping in mind the oft-used bromide, "Never use two words when one will do the same job as two or more words would have done, unless you just want to take up space and sound important," which is, I must concede, too often a secret objective of mine indeed. And yet, now, the secret is out.




GrandmaBAuntRuth
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Monday, January 30, 2006

Monday, Monday; Can't Trust That Day

I got an R/O (request off) today. They finally had adequate manning to give me the day off. I called in when I was in Rockwood and got the word from Jennifer Quails, then made a U-turn at 188th and headed back toward Nine Forward. I called Brant because he had just texted me. He just got back from Tuscon, AZ last night; he was at a Mock Trial convention. He didn’t like Tuscon. They hadn’t had rain there since October. He also said the people there were decidedly unfriendly. Interesting. He also mentioned that the landing @ PDX last night was especially memorable. Borderline horrifying, it sounded like. Figures, since there were major wind gusts roaring through Portland last night-- multiple power outages have been reported throughout the region.

Anyway, instead of going home, I drove here to Starbucks, grabbed my laptop out of my work bag in the trunk, and set up camp in a nice maroon wing-back chair, where I am now typing these words. I love days off like this. They’re an unexpected pleasure.

Yesterday was Keaton’s birthday. I had talked to him on Friday when he called me. I tried calling him yesterday, and left him a birthday voicemail. He didn’t return my call. He had been in LA all weekend for some USC class stuff, and was returning to San Diego yesterday afternoon/evening. I’ll try and call him later today.

Well, much of my recent time has been occupied with working on movies, pictures and the web site for Abigail. I just love doing that! And with my new iWeb program, it really looks awesome! I love the editing I get to do in the movies. The iMovie program really lets me do professional-looking stuff. I’ve posted two picture pages, and three movies on the site. I sent the URL to Eric’s mom, Pat, back in New York, and she’s forwarded it to other family members. Very good response. Even Eric, who is definitely not one given to being easily impressed said “Oh my gosh, that movie is so cool. We’ve watched it over and over.” Totally reinforces my suspicions that I am an attention junkie.

I recorded a few episodes of a cooking show I’m thinking of starting as a video podcast. I figure I need an outlet for these newly rekindled creative juices (can you kindle a juice?) that are currently pulsing. I’m going to call it something like “Making Food: Kitchen Activities for Men Who Hate Cooking,” or something like that. It’s going to consist of simple, quick things men can do to make food. “It’s not cooking,” I’m going to stress. “I hate cooking.” For example, one of my first episodes will include a simple and quick recipe for a man’s healthy salsa (I’m also going to stress healthy foods). The recipe?: One part store-bought salsa, one part fat-free cottage cheese. Voila! Healthy, protein-rich dip for your (baked, not fried) chips! Dunno if the program’s concept is going to fly or not, but it’ll definitely allow me to let it out. It needs to be let out.

Starbucks is pretty much deserted now-- the morning on-the-way-to-work crowd has come and passed, save the pair of women directly behind me. One of them is telling the other about her love-life. It’s really quite fascinating to eavesdrop. Apparently this guy she has been seeing likes her a lot more than she reciprocates. In fact, she totally wishes this guy would move on. Evidently he wants a LTR and she wishes he’d find someone else. This woman is involved in the credit union industry; she’s talking about her credit union friends. It’s funny how women communicate. So many, many words. Of course who am I to talk (pun intended). I’m probably more verbal than your average male, and indeed, I do let my fingers do a lot of talking (like I am right now), but allow me to express an oft-concluded stereotype: Women process information with their mouths. Men process it with their brains (yeah, yeah, don’t start). So many words, so little time to actually comprehend them.

Wilma has taken to pooping under my dining room table. She recently suffered an injured leg, and that, combined with her cold (is it pneumonia? I can only hope) has made her reticent to walk (or shall I say limp) up the stairs to use the litter box. I don’t know how she hurt her leg. It might be broken. I think she and Seven got into a fight (they do almost every day-- she’s a little bi**h to him; serves her right). Anyway, all she does now is sit on the couch and molt (her dirty, matted hair falls off in large, ugly clumps). Occasionally she rolls her obese body off the couch to hobble over and eat and take water and since the carpet under the dining room table is right there, she avails herself of the woven fabric and takes a dump. Way too much work to walk all the way upstairs. Well, she has actually started recovering from her leg thing, and her cold is much better too. So, my expectation is that since she is now more mobile, she should be able to return to her previous habit of laying the goods in the sand upstairs.

But no.

Saturday she dropped the children off under the table once again, and I spent massive amounts of minutes using the Resolve stuff. (Oh, yeah, she also has started to fancy the rug as a clawing post, ripping the fibers right out of the matte-- another reason I want to kill her.) I cleaned up the mess and sprayed some anti-cat spray stuff on the carpet. It’s supposed to have a scent that animals abhor and should thus be expected to repel them from those areas you treat. But the anti-cat spray either doesn’t work that well, or it actually attracts the ding-bat feline to the spot where it’s sprayed, the unfortunate result being that on Sunday morning I awoke to not two, but three mounds of gooey delight under my dining room table.

Well, that stretched the limits of my tolerance (“Why can’t we just get along?”) and Wilma and I had a little “heart-to-heart” wherein I, rather emphatically, expressed to her in no uncertain terms that I was displeased with her choice of repositories for her excrement. This encounter included me gently, but firmly, rubbing her fat little nose in said shit. She didn’t like that one little bit, and as soon as she was free of my grasp, she retreated upstairs (mind you) to my bedroom closet where I promptly closed the door and allowed her a “time out” to think about what she had done.

Of course, I didn’t keep her in there too long. Heaven knows I wasn’t about to encourage her to start a new repository in my closet. Later in the day I went shopping and when I returned, she rubbed up against my leg as if nothing had happened. We’ll see if her memory serves her well. I promise, she will not win this war-- not in the long run. (This isn’t a threat, Wilma. It’s a promise.)


link | posted by Matt Norquist at 1/30/2006 08:26:00 AM |


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