Below is a list of things I did not do this weekend:
- 1) Watch the Oscars
- 2) Invent a cure for stupidity
- 3) Get a pedicure
- 4) Save the whales
- 5) Write the Great Eurasian Novel
- 6) Have a meal with a Nobel Prize Winner
- 7) Share stimulating conversation with an Artic Pony trainer
- 8) Behave in a manner unfitting a young lady of the evening
- 9) Scream at an endangered species
- 10) Lie awake at midnight pondering the real meaning of the blastoderm's involution during embryogenesis
- 11) Eat with chopsticks
- 12) Bathe in honey under a moonlit sky while listening to a jug band play Brahms
- 13) Finish a crossword puzzle in under 5 minutes
- 14) Heave a Molotov cocktail
- 15) Sigh in exasperation
- 16) Wish on a star
- 17) Touch my nose to my knees
- 18) Become an international sensation
- 19) Attempt to climb up the side of a water tower using nothing but my teeth and a pair of rubber dog-grooming gloves
- 20) Host a confabultion of chittering inset-people from a distant planet over cocktails and 'skry-drell,' their snack food of choice which is made from the dried meat of harp seal pups that has been rolled in petroleum jelly and lightly seared in pulverized toenail clippings.
They were on the LIST, of course, but I did not get to them. Why, you might ask? Because Farrago was in town, and when he's in town you STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING and do fun things instead, even IF the insect-people from Zelnort are banging at the door with seal-jerky in hand.
They can wait. Farrago cannot. And so we visited and talked and listened to Cheap Trick and fed ducks and jumped cars (the battery, not actually JUMPING them, for heaven's sake), and cooked and talked and...well you get the idea. There was talking involved. Also eating. Possibly some drinking as well. OK, for SURE some drinking. At which point the talking might have become a little difficult to follow, I'm not entirely certain.
Farrago man, thanks for switching-out the plans. It was good to see you again, and good to change up the routine doings of a regular weekend to spend some time with a traveller from a distant land.
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Somehow it has turned cold again here. This confuses the daffodils, who are up and blooming their fool heads off, except for in our front yard, which is shady until afternoon, making the flowers out front a little lazier than the early-birds in the open yards of our neighbors. Lazy or not, they are UP, and announcing the end of WINTER! But no. it is cold.
Cold air and daffodils do not really mix. Therefore, it is time for Spring, please. To whom should I go to place THAT request?
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Let me say right here that I'm not a huge fan of the litttle styrofoam 'bread' wafters they give out in church for communion. One word: ew.
I am THISCLOSE to volunteering to organize a committee of bread-bakers and slicers who will lovingly craft homemade treats for our church snack. Because really, if you're going to symbolically eat Jesus, you'd at least think it ought to be something you'd look forward to!
Ahem.
You KNOW what I mean, you dirty-minded heathens.
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With that, I leave you. Work calls my name with the sybillant sounds of certain destruction should I not go attend to it assiduously.
You folks have a wonderful afternoon, won't you?
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