About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Random Tuesday thoughts
Why do I like this meme so much? And how the hell does Tuesday keep coming up so fast?
I played Jesus in a church play when I was 11. I didn’t want to. I was the new girl at church and someone else got the part I wanted: the bush. At the time I thought Pontius Pilate flew airplanes.
What happened to the man who always wanted to shovel our driveway? Chuck bitched all yesterday morning about his aching back so we wrote “yes” on an index card, but he never showed up. I hope his crooked, wobbly leg didn’t cave in underneath him. You’d think Chuck wouldn’t want someone with a gimpy leg shoveling, but he likes it when other people do his yard work—especially the old Polish guy who mows the lawn and prunes the bushes. Chuck looks out the window and says, “I hope he doesn’t croak” but then tells him to come back in a few weeks. What’s up with Chuck? When we bought the house he said he loved yard work. And why when I wrote “yes” on the index card did I feel like at any moment someone might knock and ask me how much I charge?
Why did I dream last night that I was in a horror movie and that I was the only one who knew it? No one listened when I said that all the classic elements were there: a pool party, teenage chicks in bikinis, blaring music, someone walking around with a knife. For once, I was actually glad the cat woke me up with his meowing. Chuck wasn’t glad when I dug my nails into his thigh and told him if the cat didn’t stop I’d remove his vocal chords with my bare hands.
Speaking of cats, when did Chuck become the Cat Whisperer? No sooner had we brought the first stray he’d been feeding to the shelter than another three show up at our door. I don’t want to be the cat people. Maybe that’s why the shovel man didn’t come over—maybe he couldn’t see the index card over the tops of all the stray cats my husband is feeding. Or maybe he saw all the cats and didn’t think he could climb over them with his gimpy leg to get the shovel. Maybe I should write “the shovel’s by the road” on the next card.
On behalf of the 50,000 people participating in this brilliant meme, thank you Keely.