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2000-02-15 When I was a small child... Uh-oh. Whenever a post begins like that you can expect writing which is going to try to be profound, or at least not as prosaic as the daily laundry-list of "crap I did." Either that or it'll just be another embarassing life detail to add a little insight to the author's brain. In this case, it's the latter.Oh well...forging bravely ahead... When I was a small child, my favorite symbol was the heart pierced with the arrow. I drew it on anything and everything. There was one in wax crayon on the wall by my bed for years, until my father finally repainted the room. My parents still have a plate decorated with permanent markers, somehow, and my shaky four-year-old "I love you" scrawled next to what my parents referred to as "my trademark." Venus as a boy, indeed. Was there a reason for that little waltz down memory lane? Not particularly, except as a segue into Valentine's Day stuff. [It does, however, explain quite a bit about my iconic design style. (The heart is a ball, is a boat, is a boot...)] Valentine's day was good. Well, heck, any time I spend with The Boyfriend is good. Except that given more than three glasses of wine, I tend to get verbal diarrhea. And last night I got to display my frighteningly small knowledge of X-Files trivia. Something about "Sculler and Muldy" and "The Cigarette Guy". Close but not quite. Which was one of my Mom's nicknames for my father, who also gets the names of things irrevocably wrong. It's one of the nicknames my mother has for my father which you could print in a daily newspaper, anyway... The Boyfriend understands the mess that is me, somehow, and it shows even in his Valentines Day Present. I am indeed lucky, and hardly worthy. The ants attacked my kitchen this weekend. Ants everywhere. I flipped a little, and I think I scared the Boyfriend. He did help me move the fridge, though, so we could see where the little bastards were coming in from. Ew. It was gross under there. I was glad to be able to scrub it. Now, I try to keep my living space relatively non toxic. I tried the new-agey technique of asking the ants to leave. But they didn't listen. In fact, they tried to fake me out by ssending a suicide squad to the counter while secretly sending the rest of the army over to the candy dish on the side counter. So even though I didn't want to have to do it, I ended up gaving them a squirt of toxic liquid death. Shouting, "Take that back to your filthy Ant-Queen, you little bastards!" probably did not inspire the Boyfriend's confidence in my sanity, either. (Answering the phone.) "That's OK, I didn't really want to meet about this project today anyway. It means more work for me, and why would I want to get myself involved in something as banal as that?" (Answering the phone again.) "No, actually, the Ice Oasis is at this number, but in a different area code. No problem. Yes, actually, I do get that question a lot, that's why I know it offhand. Uh-huh. Thanks for calling." Right. It's almost 7, and I'm the last one here in the department. Time to go. _Casey
2003-03-29 - Moving Notice |
