My desk is trying to kill me
My $12 desk is coming apart and flinging razor sharp pieces of veneer at me in an effort to, it would seem, cut me into little bitty pieces. I didn’t check the manufacturer but maybe I should: It’s a desk! It’s a Slicer! Call within the next 9 minutes and we’ll throw in two — TWO — Inside the Shell Egg Scramblers ABSOLUTELY FREE!
No.
I just want a desk that doesn’t try to slice and dice my arms. The vicious veneer has even broken through the clear duct tape that I used to try to protect myself. Oh yes I did. No, I won’t take a picture of the trashy duct-taped desk.
So I need a new desk. Below are some possibilities. Any preferences?
Second Trashy BlogCon debrief
The following things may or may not have happened at the Second Trashy BlogCon at Trasherati’s house last night:
- I drank 3, 4, 27 margaritas (on the rocks with salt) that Trasherati lovingly made for me.
- Trasherati and Sisiggy drank lots of wine.
- We ate fabulous baked ziti provided by Sisiggy.
- Sisiggy complained about all the things that were wrong with the ziti; Trasherati and I were too busy eating it to pay any attention because IT WAS REALLY GOOD (also fabulous for lunch today)
- We mocked and ridiculed Sisiggy’s family because they would rather have Lucky Charms than gorgeous and tasty ziti.
- I drove right off without the cheesecake makings so we didn’t have any dessert.
- Until I broke into a neighbor’s house and stole a Mrs. Smith’s apple pie.
- We actually let Sisiggy gets some words in edgewise.
- We worshipped The Zsa, particularly Trasherati who is a soft touch.
- I slept over on the very comfortable Aerobed and spooned with Rudy. It was good for both of us. (Call me, Rudy!)
- We discussed other bloggers and wondered why they (and we) blog and how we all find each other.
- Trasherati offered to act as my agent and get me a book deal. What in God’s name I would actually write about is still a mystery to me however.
- We were so boisterous and politically incorrect and obnoxious that Sisiggy had to whip out her inhaler in self-defense.
- Trasherati and I considered taking hits off the inhaler until we rememberd we had wine and tequila.
- We laughed until we cried.
- We had a bonfire and danced naked around it.
- We realized that I am not just a lesbian witch pirate but a lesbian witch pirate ninja, which Sisiggy pointed out means that by all rights I should look something like this.
- We were ignored by Trasherati’s cats.
- We had a wonderful time.
The thunder roared; the clouds looked big
…the lightning flashed, and killed the pig!* …kept me awake all night.
Sigh.
I know it is summer and I know I live in a place prone to impressive thunderstorms but come on. I needed sleep and what I got instead was an impressive but unnecessary light show and thunder loud and assertive enough to disturb even the cats. Honestly, I would prefer to not feel the thunder in my ovaries.
And it went on for hours, drifting off and then rolling back around again. And again. Aaaaaand again.
I’m better than I used to be though. From childhood, I found electrical storms terrifying and wasn’t much happier about them as an adult. Now, I only find the super cell storms terrifying and with good reason. The rest are merely annoying.
So hello world! I’m cranky and tired this morning. Consider yourself warned.
(*Does anyone else know this little nursery rhyme thingy besides me?)
The “Pioneer Anomaly”
Pioneer 10 and 11 spacecraft are not where they are supposed to be.
This kind of story reminds us that we don’t know anywhere near as much as we think we know. I’ll be interested to see how our understanding of physics is altered, or completely rewritten, by this.
What could be affecting their speed? Many hypotheses have been suggested:
- the interplanetary plasma and solar wind
- thermal recoil force due to heat from the spacecraft’s nuclear power sources
- mysterious Dark Matter in the galaxy
- a manifestation of new physics
Yes, I will be tracking this story, and yes, I will post updates. I know how people crave physics gossip.
Sox!
I have new fabulous socks made just for me by Cathy:
And if it weren’t literally about 100 degrees right now, I’d be wearing them. The socks rock, Cathy. Thank you!
A much too long conversation about the characteristics of a farm truck
…that briefly overtook the conversation about the Thursday’s confab:
“Too bad you don’t have more of a yard. We could just park in the grass.”
“On cinderblocks.”
“Heh. Or you could both just ride up in the truck together. The farm truck. With no tags.”
“And no rear view mirror.”
“And no front seat, just a feed bucket turned upside down and bolted to the floor.”
“But it does have a gun rack.”
“You forgot the smelly dog of questionable parentage in the bed of the truck…”
“And the long-dead truck/tractor/car battery that has been driven around in the bed of the truck for at least 8 years.
And some random nails.
“That there bat-tree is for Meemaw to sit on….â€
I think we could have gone on like this for days.
Right on, Sisiggy!
By the way, if you’re not reading her column, then shame on you. It’s insightful, articulate, and funny.
Related: Linguini on the Ceiling
The piper of Arlington is back
…and he has a drummer with him.
This time, he was practicing in a brick courtyard beside some office buildings. The acoustics are probably pretty good and the location places him far enough away from the residential area to avoid triggering his a homicide. I love bagpipes as much as the next person but there is a limit to how much I can take. The sounds of pipes off in the distance is sort of vaguely romantic; the sound of pipes outside your window is maddening.
My friend Jess wins the prize for most peculiar bagpipe experience. I hear there’s nothing like being waked up by bagpipes playing the Mickey Mouse theme outside your hotel in Alabama. Top that.
