October 9, 2011 14 Comments
My parents are visiting this weekend, so it is going to be hard to focus in order to write a blog. Any blog I attempt to write under these circumstances will most likely be distracted and incoherent. Therefore, I am going to write a blog about someone else’s blog.
Maryann also likes margaritas. I’m bringing this up as a side note, hoping that Maryann will stop by and bring me one. I may have mentioned my parents are visiting this weekend and it would be nice for someone to bring me a margarita. Glancing out the window now.
— Several minutes have gone by with no sign of margarita. Hopefully my disappointment will not damper the rest of the blog. On we go.
We were talking about old clocks. I used to work in a really old building. The room I worked in had this cool, completely non-functional, clock wired right into the wall. The building was made back when they didn’t have air conditioning and there were transoms on high ceilings to allow for air flow.
— My dad just came by with a jumpdrive with pictures he wants me to load onto this computer. After an awkward pause, in which I ignored the jumpdrive and kept typing, he said there was “no rush.”
Okay… about my clock… when I found out construction crews would be lowering the ceilings to make the building more energy efficient, I knew the clock was doomed. I pictured it buried behind ceiling tiles, or laying in a pile of construction debris. My mission was to save it.
— My husband just came by looking for the lens cover to his camera. He said it was green… or maybe black. I pretended to look around for it, but didn’t see it. If anyone knows where it is please post a comment. Thanks.
Anyway, the clock was wired directly into the wall with antique electrical-looking wires which I was pretty sure weren’t live. Just in case, there was a guy who worked in the building who, after being sworn to secrecy, agreed to cut the wires for me. You see, I told him that I didn’t know how to cut wires because I was a girl. Looking back, I should have at least held a big board over him, ready to knock him away from a possible electrical current. I am much more thoughtful about these things now. I don’t know why I can’t get more people to do stuff for me.
— Speaking of getting people to do things… it is getting increasingly hard to write this blog without a margarita, MARYANN.
Anyway, the guy didn’t die and now I have this beautiful old clock.
|The time on this clock is accurate exactly twice a day, which is enough for me.|
|This clock actually tells time, but it needs a more sordid past.|
I regret getting this clock so easily now, because the story behind it isn’t very good. Someone please post a huge lie I can tell about how I got this clock.
— My dad has come by twice in the past few minutes to see if I have download the pictures from his jumpdrive. Sigh. I wish Maryann would hurry up with that margarita. Hang on…
Okay, pictures are loaded. Let’s continue.
|This one is helpful when you arrive at office without first having coffee.|
|I would wear this all summer for the irony.|
|There are so many things people should stop doing immediately. Like constantly asking for their jumpdrive back while you are trying to type a blog. Simplify your day by pointing at your shirt.|
|This one is my new excuse for everything. No, I can’t possibly do the Macarena with you, there are most likely man-eating sharks out on the dance floor.
|This one could be dangerous, but I have always found ‘Speed Hump’ signs hilariously funny.|
I would ask you to post further examples, but now my dad is asking if I have seen the picture where we are all looking at a tree, the dog is barking, and NO ONE has updated me on the status of that lens cover. Also, I really need some good stories for that garage-sale clock I have, so you should get busy on that immediately.
Please excuse me now as I spend the rest of the afternoon staring out the window for my margarita. I know for certain Maryann is on her way.
Now my mom wants to make some hot chocolate and doesn’t know where it is. She also has some questions about whether to make it from little packages or from the jar of Oval-tine. After an awkward silence, she says there is “no rush.”
I gotta go.