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.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Random Tuesday thoughts
Every time I see this commercial:
I want to hurl daggers. What kind of sick joke is this to aspire to be more amazing? Juggle more? I mean really, aren't we doing enough already? Kelly Ripa and Electrolux, you give women a bad name. What’s wrong with aspiring to be even more average? You get more sleep that way.
The new hallways at work are really, REALLY long. Like, hundreds of feet long. When you see someone at the other end, there’s a lot of time to fill before the moment of impact. I need some better filler activities. Pretending to be engrossed in my cuticles/the blank walls/my wedgie for 50 yards is getting old.
My email address accidentally ended up in the hands of a singer. She wrote:
The opening measure of "La Montanara," which eluded me last night, and the passage in "Arrivdecerci Roma" that starts with "Porto in Inghilterra tuoi" both revolve around the A below middle C and middle C. I've found that once I got solid on the opening to "La Montanara," the "Arrivederci Roma" passage fell into place, especially if I keep going on instead of stopping after "Gli love you." A presto!
Is it bad to write back: “Who are you kidding? The opening measure of ‘La Montanara’ always eludes you. How many times do we have to go over it? And the openings revolve around E sharp and B flat. Do you even know your keys? Giuseppe and I have been talking. If you stop one more time after ‘Gli love you,’ it’s arrivederci for you, slutbag!”
Sometimes when I go outside at lunch and my frozen flesh hits the humid air, I hear a distinct sizzle. It makes me feel like a hotdog on a grill. (A very bodacious, svelte wiener, if you need a better visual aid.) I wonder if Kelly Rippa likes hotdogs? Maybe I’ll shoot her an email and ask her.
I said maybe. No need to set the world on fire if I don’t have to.
I think I want to try to bring back the word "bodacious." Will you help me?
Oh RTT, how I missed thee. Thank you, Keely. Grazie!