Once again, I have almost nothing to say.
No wisdom to impart,† no sex,‡ no knitting.§
[SUMMARY: This could be a long post.¶]
I don't have wisdom, sex or knitting, what do I have?
I can lick the pig.
I take comfort in the thought that no matter how bleak things get, I can usually scrape together enough bits for a respectable pig-licking.#
[SUMMARY: I have a dream...]
First, remember how I wanted to go to Slovenia?%
The fact that there is a Slovenian Pig Stamp doesn't make me want to go any less.
Next, in a long-awaited update to the office trash situation,†† we did finally get our "piggy backs"‡‡ for our trash cans. The trash portion of the system is smaller than a ream of paper. Apparently they haven't seen my trash after a yarn shipment.
[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]
Anyway, I've already thrown my kleenex in the wrong bin twice.
Further updates as the situation warrants.
Now for the co-opt portion of our program:
This is not my story, but Mary Kay doesn't have a blog, so it's not so much *stealing* as it is giving an outlet for Mary Kay's wonderful world.
See, Mary Kay is a Drunken Knitter and shows up at Patrick Carroll's on Tuesday nights with some regularity, but she's a double agent.
A group of acedemicians, of which Mary Kay and her husband (The Professor) are members also meets at Patrick Carroll's on Tuesdays. So Mary Kay rides the fence, spending some time fiber-geeking with us and some time science-geeking with the other crowd.
So last Tuesday, Mary Kay had the most wonderful story, a story whose punchline has innumerable potentials.§§
See, a good friend of The Professor has a .45## in his house for protection.
Now is the time I introduce you to the concept of Ninja Monkeys: "Ninja Monkeys" is a blanket term¶¶ for any threat from assaulter to zombie that may beg the presence of a firearm.%%
So this guy became concerned about what might happen should Ninja Monkeys attack while he's in the shower. His hands would be wet. The gun might slip.
He did what any respectable denizen of the 21st century would do: he Googled aftermarket grips for his gun and came across a saying I'd like to have emblazoned across my boobs:†††
Tacky Even When Wet
And I want to translate it to Latin and use it as part of a coat of arms for the Drunken Knitters.
And Mary Kay and I started using it as a call and refrain@:
Mary Kay: Even when wet!
[SUMMARY: Oh, the places you'll go!]
I just cashed in a whole pile of Kharmic Green Stamps on titanium sporks.‡‡‡
When Dad took me to the Flyfishing Film Fest, they had a bunch of raffle prizes. I was totally hoping I'd win the titanium spork. Unfortunately, it went to the obnoxious, ungrateful wretch behind us, who (besides being loud through the whole event) did nothing but complain that he got a stupid titanium spork.
Some people don't know a good thing when they have it.
I decided it would be a funny and -- probably -- even useful gift for my father for his upcoming birthday, so I Googled it. REI has a flagship store really close to me, so I checked to see if REI carried such a thing.
Their online store has several.
As you may remember, Shane turned 40 recently.§§§ And Hinch is turning 40 soon. And I got it into my head that a titanium spork would be a perfect gift for a 40 year old guy. And I really want one too.
So I need at least four titanium sporks, an errand I haven't yet accomplished.
Let's look in on Hans.
Hans had his golf clubs stolen right out of his car recently. When his insurance company asked for receipts or photographic evidence that he'd ever actually owned golf clubs,¶¶¶ he found... he couldn't prove a damned thing.###
So he has to get an affidavit from a friend saying he golfs and had golf clubs.
Said friend is meeting him at REI.
I asked him to check and see if they have titanium sporks in stock.
Who knew the theft of Hans's golf clubs would turn out to be so beneficial to me?
Oh, yeah. I won't get a good parking space for weeks for all the Kharmic Green Stamps I've cashed in.
[SUMMARY: Somewhere a Buddhist rolls in his grave.]
Oh, cripes. The boss just called and one of my clients%%% is flying in from Houston at 6:00 tonight and is staying at the Brown Palace. She wants to have a business dinner at 7:00 at the Brown to get a head start on tomorrows round of meetings.
Y'all know I love me some Brown Palace. What's not to love? It's elegant, well appointed, upscale, cosy, well executed, helpful, has the best spa in the city and they feed and water me about once a month.
But tonight is Drunken Knitting night. And I'd like to have more notice. And I have to go home and change and put on war paint. And I just don't want to.
This is what Ange calls a White Girl Problem.
[SUMMARY: You'll note it's still a problem.]
UPDATE: Hans JUST came back and REI does, indeed, have titanium sporks in stock.
With the Brown Palace field trip tonight, I doubt I'll have the time or inclination to offload my camera. I have such splendid out-my-office-window pictures too...
Dang. You know it's a bad blogday when the footnotes outnumber the actual texts.
I better get laid soon or y'all will never have anything good to read again.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Duh.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Trust me, this hurts me more than it hurts you.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I actually have been knitting. Some. But how many times can you see the same 4x1 red silk rib before you give up on me entirely?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not long like my usual prolixity (look it up), but long like watched-pot-not-boiling long.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Heheheh. What do you suppose "respectable" means in terms of pig-licking?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Oh, and I still do!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I think I should get credit for the fact that the last office trash story was also under a pig-licking and I didn't try to make it a full post all on its own. I may get writer's block* now and then, but at least I keep office trash politics in perspective.
*FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE: Thinker's block?
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Note the clever pig tie-in.
§§FOOTNOTE (dizzy... confused...): Can potential be plural?
##FOOTNOTE (numbers. We are talking numbers here.): Or a .44. Or a Glock something millimetre. Doesn't matter. For our purposes, a handgun. Can you tell I'm not much of a gun buff?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (why not just club them?): And one that might not be capitalised in anyone else's world.
%%FOOTNOTE (2 percent!): This was superfluous but so much fun. After all, I could probably do this whole story without ever saying "Ninja Monkeys," but why on earth?
†††FOOTNOTE (cross me again...): Not directly on my boobs, mind you. In fact, it would *have* to be on a t-shirt to be really funny, wouldn't it?
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Kinda like an adult beverage version of Marco Polo.
§§§FOOTNOTE (put a foot on the floor and it will stop spinning): You think I just took a total left turn, don't you? You may even think I've forgotten what story I'm telling. A good pig-licking always contains an element of surprise. Or confusion.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (one iron! three iron! five iron!): You'll love the fact that not only was his insurance agent the one who left his car window open so his golf clubs *could* be stolen, but the dink called him a couple of days later to ask him to go golfing.
###FOOTNOTE (triple pounder. With cheese.): Let this be a lesson: make sure you have a picture of you golfing. Even if you're drunk and have that smeary look on your face. You may be called upon one day to prove you had clubs.
%%%FOOTNOTE (3 percent!): I only have two right now, so every client is a big client.