I don’t know how long this is going to last, y’all. It took me TWO hours to get in to work on Friday because of the “snowstorm” (read: sprinkling of snowflakes on the only road to beat out I-70 in its hatred of me, I-225.) and while I was very grateful that Kanga and Tulip let me go early, I got home around 2:00 only to realize that I had spent about as much time on the road as I had working.
Fortunately, our friend N had a wine and cheese party that night, and I am a firm believer in the wine-and-cheese-make-everything-better philosophy. To top that, my friend K also happened to be at the party, and she gave me THIS flower, because she is just that awesome. I spent most of the evening peeking at it and surreptitiously petting it, wondering why on Earth I haven’t ever bothered to own something so lovely, before. That was promptly answered for me when I brought it home and Tatum took one look at it and was like, Oh! A Box! Joy! And took a swan dive into my orchid.
On the upside, I found a great recipe for kitty strew on the internet, if anyone’s interested.
Then, on Saturday, instead of doing, I don’t know, say, something relaxing and hangover-curing, I decided to get up and ski with some of The Funasaurus’ friends. Somehow, me and my little Honda Civic got talked into driving. And so for three tedious hours we schlepped up to Keystone. We skied, and then tried to come home for dinner, with The Funasaurus and some of our other non-skiing friends. But it took FOUR hours, so we. Ah. Kinda missed dinner. The non-skiers were well into a game of Lord of the Rings Monopoly, post sushi, and were all too happy to rub in their good fortune. Until I pointed out that they were playing Lord of the Rings Monopoly.
Sunday was normal, and Monday I braved I-225 and the icebox office, again. Tulip noticed I had brought a very large travel mug of tea (which she must think I’m addicted to, like some kind of overzealous Brit, however it’s really just to keep my hands warm) and said to help myself to the hot water heater in the kitchen for refills, anytime. Well! Don’t mind if I do.
The hot water heater turns out to be a thing that looks like the product of a toaster and a teapot getting a little too freaky one night. It’s got the basic shape of a teapot, but with a lever that you push down, just like a toaster, and turns red, then it DINGS! When it’s done, and the light goes off. As I was waiting for the thing to toast my water, I noticed that Kanga also has a large collection of gourmet pepper mills. Like, the kind you buy at William Sonoma. I was so busy counting them (NINE!) that I took a sip of my tea without really thinking about the fact that toasters are much more capable of heating things much fucking hotter than, say, a teapot. So I sputtered peach tea all over Kanga and Tulip’s kitchen, and have now lost most of my sense of taste. Or feeling in my mouth, for that matter.
I managed to ask Tulip, around the new blisters on my tongue, about the bizarre assortment of pepper mills, and she was like, “Oh yeah. Most of ‘em don’t even work.”
?!?!?!
And that was that. But you want to know what’s really freaky? Despite the hundreds of pounds of pepper that I am sure are stored on their counter, I couldn’t find a salt shaker, anywhere.
I don’t get these people. We have nothing in common. I certainly don’t enjoy freezing all day while collecting phallic-shaped containers for pepper. And scorning salt. ... I'm willing to bet they would even like Lord of the Rings Monopoly.
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2 comments:
Overzealous? Overzealous? Thats not overzealous. I can assure you we take tea much more importantly than that.
Dantares.
Here's my two cents on feeling inadequate (might have been an earlier post)... despite my bitching about getting older, what the past ten years has brought me is tons of confidence that I lacked in my 20's. Even if I thought I was confident, I was full of crap. I am the first to admit that my husband is way cuter than me... and I'm not saying that with any ounce of self-deprication. It's true. But get this: I have a way better personality. I am so confident in this, and the fact that men respond to it more than any pair of huge knockers, that I'm not worried one bit about being inadequate. If he kicks the bucket, or leaves me for some twinkie who works at Hooters, I'll always find someone who's fatter and older than me who'll be thrilled beyond measure. I know you secretly know this about yourself, too, or you wouldn't be such a good writer of thought who is able to put it out there on the internet. The Funasauraus sounds grand, but you're equally as smart and cute. And hey, since you work for lesbians, did I tell you what they call a gay dinosaur? "Lick-a-lot-of-pus." Come on, that's crude, but funny.
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