Thanks to all for the lovely lovely commentage from yesterday's whinge-o-matic. Feels GOOD, being showered with attention.
And yes, Ron, I think that I'm more a slut than whore, being as how I'm not getting paid for this and all. Whatever. Shoe fits...
Had one of those power protein bars for brekkies this morning. Thought it might give me the energy I needed to run my big ol' meeting with something closer to 'professionalism' than I normally get.
Bonus added side effect: my burps tasted like soap.
So, the simple act of unplugging the projector after the big ol' meeting (BOM for short, and no, I didn't. Bomb. *sigh*) reminded me of high school biology.
I unplugged using the Maynard Heinz HIGHLY disapproved method of yanking hard on the cord until the plug popped out of the wall. This is a no-no, and even now, some 30 YEARS after being in his HS biology class and being taught that lesson, I felt a twinge of guilt for doing thusly.
Maynard made a big impression on me, obviously. Aside from being smoking hot, which he was, he was....smoking hot. This, my friends, is how you make a big impression on teenaged girls, obviously. He had sandy blond hair and an awesome moustache, was young enough to be a possibility, and coached the boys' track team. A smart jock. Swoon.
Of course, being the tremendous geeks that we were, my lab partner Ellen Torrey (HI! If you happen to read this!) set about making up scenarios by which Maynard was hot for Lily, the ultra-blond hot chick who sat in front of the class. Oh man, Lily was everything girly that you could imagine (and which, it must be said, I was most certainly NOT). Waist-length straight ash blond hair, extraordinarily coordinated outfits, slim as an eyelash, perfect makeup, smelled like a Mennonite convent (that's just a guess), and....popular. EVERYTHING I wasn't. Ellen either. Not that there was anything WRONG with us, it was simply that Lily was better, and we both knew it.
Therefore, to take out our ire in a way more creative than outright bitchiness, we imagined scenarios, which we'd whisper to one another during class. If Mr Heinz would pause to look at Lily, which he did with aggravating regularity, one of us would hiss "oooh, Lily, you set me on fire!" and the other would respond with "Ohh, Maynard, you big brute! Ravage me in the coat closet" or some other such nonsense.
One day, Ellen got on a tear. She was reading every move Mr Heinz made, building a story so improbable that each new line broke further into my defenses against outright LOLing, which I try to not do, because then, as now, I am a very loud laugher.
This day though, was to be my undoing. Once the imaginary Lily-Heinz coupling had occurred (complete with sound effects, it must be added), all the pretend and exhausted Mr Heinz could offer up was "ooh Lily (think Kiff from Futurama and you've got he voice about right), you are so wonderful. Come and I will buy you a burrrrrrgerrrrr....." I broke. I snorted, then giggled, and when the tears in my eyes were running down my cheeks, I laughed. Out loud. Brayed, is more like it.
Obviously, all eyes were on the back of the room, where Ellen and I were collapsed in hysterics. Guess they couldn't understand why talk of flatworms was so funny.
Ol' Maynard, to his credit, simply asked 'what's so funny back there?' and got the standard 'nothing' reply.
Because really. He did NOT need to know.
To this day it makes me smile. Being 16, while something I would never do again if I couldn't take with me what I know now, did have its high points.
Oh, and the BOM wasn't NEARLY long enough. At an hour, it ran about 90 minutes short of really getting the work done. So, on to BOM 2 next week.
Thanks so much for reading, and please go about having a wonderful day and an even better weekend. If luck runs with me, by Sunday night the Tiny House will be clothed in a completely new raiment of Undercool blue and as-yet-to-be-determined shade of creamy yellow trim. Looks like a clear October afternoon all over my house. And I love it.