Your Feets Too Big

I have noticed that my toes rub inside the sneakers I wear to the gym.  I haven't noticed this with any of my other footwear, so I thought maybe I bought these a half size smaller because they were on sale.  I checked inside the sneaker, though, and it says it's my correct size.

Did the sneakers shrink?  Does that brand run small?  Are my feet growing?  (My mom said this happened to her as she aged, but my dad never mentioned it.)  Maybe this is just another way that I'm abnormal.

The Great White Hunter

Since the weather has warmed up, flying insects keep getting caught inside our shop.  (Why don't my employees ever shut the door?  Were they born in barns?)  A gnat was flitting around the bathroom this morning, so I caught it between my soapy hands as I was washing them and put it out of its misery.  Sure, the poor thing did nothing wrong but fly inside accidentally, but at least it was a clean kill.  ;)

With friends like this, who needs enemies?

My crew member who collects the trash bags on campus surprised me yesterday.  He asked if he's supposed to throw out everything in the collection sites or just the bagged garbage.  He had found a TV set at one of the dorms and a Jeep door at another.

I sent out a campus-wide e-mail, politely asking people to label atypical items with signs that say "trash" and, oh, by the way, did people really mean to throw out the television and the door.

I got just one reply, from a teacher (and how does she know all this?) who said that she thinks the TV belongs to [one of the dorm parents] and, if it's a black Jeep door, it belongs to [student], but if it's a blue Jeep door, it belongs to [student]. I've sent e-mails to the dorm parent and to the administrative assistant for the boarding students' office to verify if these are the correct owners.

My guess is that the boy's friends thought they'd play a joke on him by taking off one of his car doors.  I'm split 50/50 if the TV is really trash or just another prank.

In Case You Missed It

Last Friday (March 23) was the first day of summer.  At least, it was the first day of summer here in The Noog.

You see, we didn't have much of a winter, so spring flowers came early.  We warmed up so quickly, Poof!, the next day, flowers would be fully opened from just buds the day before.  Still, it surprised me when I returned home on Cheesesteak Friday to observe a firefly crawling on the frame of my screen door.

I don't care what the calendar says.  When I see fireflies, I know it's summer.

Them's Fightin' Words

In my dream this morning, a boy was complaining to a man that his Halloween costume looked terrible.  The boy said of the man who designed it, "He's an apostrophe."

"Apostrophe!  Apostrophe!  The man's an apostrophe!" the man said.  Then two boys (in more professional-looking costumes) and another man appeared, repeating what the first man said.

Then the alarm went off, so I don't know what would have happened next.

Being called a punctuation mark would really get my dander up.

A Weak Pun

She wanted to name the baby something that would reflect the fact that they had met online.  He wanted to pass on a family name to the boy.  So, they compromised and called him "URL".

Just Another Busy Weekend

I shouldn't make light of it.  After being lazy the past two or three weekends, I'm glad I finally did something for you to read about.

I set my alarm clock for the usual time and swam and worked out first thing on Saturday morning.  (Hypothesis:  don't swim before my workout because I couldn't complete my upper body exercises as usual.)  I hadn't worked out on Friday because I spent more than my usual time straightening up the weight room:  putting dumbbells and weight plates back on the racks instead of on the floor or scattered about the room or out of order on the racks.  (I figured, with the school being on spring break, the weight room should be in decent shape for a week.)

I had to work a bit, though.  There was a baseball tournament this weekend (who schedules games during spring break?), and I had to empty the trash cans.  After just one game on Thursday night, the cans were just a quarter full.  After just one game on Friday night, they were full to the rim.  I wonder what the difference in attendance was (or whatever reason there was more trash one night than the other).  I also wonder what the cans will be like today, after three games on Saturday.  (Oh well, that's what I have employees for.)

That afternoon, Thing One, her mom, and I drove to Scottsboro, Alabama.  What's so special about a little town in the South that few people have heard of?  It's the home of the Unclaimed Baggage Center -- where all the luggage that doesn't get returned to their owners goes to die.  :)  Seriously, though, all the suitcases, clothes, and assorted other items are put up for sale here.  It sounds good, right?  You might find some good stuff for a bargain, right?

My opinion is that it's just another thrift store.  Most of the store is taken up by clothes (although I am glad to say that they are well organized by gender, style, and size), but I picked up three books for five bucks (total).  (The website has a diagram of the store's departments, if you're curious enough.)  I saw a 100% cashmere overcoat in charcoal gray -- just what I had been looking for -- but it was the wrong size, and it was priced at $300.  Besides, you think I'm going to pay $300 for a used coat when I had bought a new one the previous weekend for a third of that price?  I figure that the prices are good only if you're used to paying retail (and when's the last time I did that?).

As Thing One pawed through the racks, looking for clothes suitable for herself or her daughter (she pointedly does not look for clothing at thrift stores, but she looked here), I chatted with her mom and entertained myself by people watching.  There were all genders, ages, colors, shapes, sizes, and even languages.  There were people who wandered back and forth aimlessly (probably bored, while someone they were with was agog at the selection).  There was one guy (I noticed just one) who had to look at each shirt on the rack one by one, even though you obviously could see the colors (yes, they even grouped shirts by color) and patterns from the side.  (Seriously, dude, get out of my way.)

If you are interested enough to go, yeah, I'll drive you, but we're not going on a Saturday.  It was too crowded.  I put up with all the baby carriages and strollers, since I'm not used to being places where they are, but I was ticked off by the woman that parked herself and her shopping cart and her two sons in front of the bookshelf so that she could show all the clothes she had picked out for them.  (Yes, they knew I was there, trying to see the books, but they didn't move.)  Then there was the woman that decided to read the book she had picked off the shelf, rather than buying it and reading it at home.  (Seriously, lady, get out of my way.)

Afterward, we stopped by a restaurant.  (I was hungry before we left The Noog, but, no, we had to go find bargains.)  We wanted to try one in particular (the baggage store's website has a list of local restaurants), but there were no cars in the parking lot, and it looked like someone had scribbled graffiti over all the windows, so we went to the Buenavista Mexican Restaurant instead.  You can well imagine what three New Mexicans thought of the food.  What Southerners call "hot" or "spicy" we call "sex in a canoe".  (You know, effing close to water.)  On the way out, we noticed a wall full of "Best of Jackson County" awards.  What does that say about Jackson County?

I woke up and swam and walked on Sunday morning.  Yay, two days in a row!  As I swam, I kept telling myself to think of the calories I was burning.  Then another part of my brain responded, "Yeah, but you've already burned more calories than you would have if you had stayed in bed, so why not just stop now?"  (I persevered, though.)

The rest of the morning, I alternated between cleaning my apartment and goofing off on the computer.  I even put my outdoor owls (wood, plastic, or metal) and anti-mosquito candles on the porch.  I was finished by lunchtime.  Yay!  It was a beautiful afternoon to relax.  'Tis a pity I didn't have anyone to throw a frisbee with.

Finally, you know I have to include a song that keeps with my theme...

What I noticed (I mean, besides the 1970's clothes and hair) was when they had an overview shot of the crowd, and I looked toward the stage in awe.  "Gee, look how big the TV cameras were back then."

That's me, the glorified turnip shepherd.

I stole this from Fred at Occasional Fish.

Wait.  You thought I was talking about herding my employees?

"Australia Rules" Strike Again!

Thing One was heading to Dillard's and asked if I wanted to tag along.  I said yes then took a look at the "sale and clearance" section of their website before we left, to see if there was anything I might be able to afford.  I saw this double-breasted jacket and wanted to try it on.  (Double-breasted coats look good on me.)  There was just one left in the store.  I had barely put it on when Thing One said "no" most determinedly.  However...  (Yes, you should expect this whenever Thing One and I go shopping together.)

She suggested I try on this jacket.  It's water resistant, lightweight yet warm, fits well, and, most importantly, I look darn good in gray.  Actually, I guess the most important aspect, at least as far as this post goes, is that it was on sale for 65% off (but I do look darn good in gray).  The original price was $120.00 (for a jacket?!), but it was marked down to $42.00

Since we were in the market for deals, and since I didn't succeed with the double-breasted jacket, she handed me this double-breasted peacoat.*  This one looked much better on me than the one which originally interested me, and it was marked down to $69.47.  That's still a bit pricey for me, even with the anticipation of wearing it for (hopefully) many years to come, but the original price was $198.50, and it looks good on me, so how could I possibly turn that down?

But wait, there's more!

For a number of years, I've toyed with the idea of buying a "classic" leather jacket but haven't found one I could afford.  Wait no longer, Cap'n!  A black, lambskin, bomber-style jacket (couldn't find a link to it, but it resembles this one, only with flapped pockets above the waist), originally priced at $395.00, was on sale for $138.25.  (And it looks good on me.)  Did I think that $69.47 was pricey?  Yes, but this is real leather.  And it's a classic style.  (Did I mention it looks good on me?)

I schlepped my deals over to the cash register, which rang up $124.85.  Hang on a minute.  How could that be, we asked the cashier, since the leather bomber itself was $138.25?  Oh, he replied, all outerwear is 50% off today -- yes, on top of the 65% markdown.  (Honest to God, I think Thing One's superpower is happening upon bargains we're totally unaware of.)

All of a sudden, those 100% cashmere overcoats started looking possible, not just looking sharp and feeling oh-so-strokably soft.  The link shows the original price accurately:  $595.00 (and these are American dollars I'm talking about).  The price tag showed the 65% markdown price of $208.25.  But, we know to cut that price in half, so...

Gray jacket (orig. $120.00) = $21.00
Peacoat (orig. $198.50) = $34.73
Bomber (orig. $395.00) = $69.12
Topcoat (orig. $595.00) = $104.12
----------
TOTAL (orig. $1,308.50) = $228.97

Ka-ching!  The savings on the topcoat alone exceeded how much I spent in total.  (Did I really think I couldn't afford to shop, let alone buy, at Dillard's?)

Oh, and that other topcoat I told you about buying a few weeks ago, the one that was only 60% wool?  It's going back to the other store.  I haven't cut the tags off yet, and I always save all my receipts, so I should be able to get a pretty hefty store credit.  (Hmm, what else do I need?)


* Mel Brooks once quipped, "They used to call them 'urine jackets', but they didn't sell."

Alas, no one has ever tried to eat food off of my tummy.

I did already tell my friend Gimpius Maximus about my shopping adventure (since he is a zealot about saving money when making purchases).  He accused me of being "a dinner plate of fashion".

I'm not a dinner plate, am I?  Well, I'm working out in the hopes of becoming a salad plate.  Then again, with my height, I don't think I ever will be anything but a dinner plate.  I know!  I'm trying to stop being stoneware and become Corelle.

Gee, I wonder what it says about me that I have Fiestaware in my kitchen. ;)

Or how about this as a pick-up line:  "Hey, baby, want to come back to my place and check out my bone china?"

One Day at a Time

"I really mean it this time," was what our high school band director said every single time he threatened to give a kid a "white card" for misbehaving and then didn't follow through with it.  Well, that's what I said about resuming swimming and walking on weekend mornings.  I acknowledged that I don't sleep well and am likely to be awake about the usual time on weekends anyway, and there were no excuses of a swim meet at the pool or the bleachers obstructing the indoor track, so I set my alarm for Saturday morning.

It worked out quite well, actually.  I was surprised how much endurance I had for swimming.  (Walking I can handle all the time.)  There was one whammy, though.  Sleeping badly and getting up to exercise is one thing.  Sleeping badly and getting up to exercise with an hour less sleep because of Daylight Savings Crime is another.  When my alarm sounded on Sunday, I shut it off, reset it for two hours later (to make sure I'd have time to shower and eat before the insurance adjuster came to look at my car), and lay down again.  Oh, well.  I can always try for both days again next weekend.

The insurance guy surprised me by how thorough he was.  He found dings on my car (from the hailstorm) that I had overlooked.  He also surprised me with his estimate of what he thinks it'll cost to repair:  about $3,700.  (Yikes!)  However, the company is prepared to cut me a check for that amount (less my $500 deductible).  Now I'm going to get estimates from a couple of repair places, including the one my insurance company recommends.  Of course, I want the job to be done well and correctly, but part of me hopes it'll be completed for less money, so I'll have a little extra.  (Another part of me says not to have the repairs at all, since the dings are so little anyway, and then I'd have all that money...)

I also have another shopping adventure to share with you, but I'll post about that later, when I have the receipts in front of me.

I'm the type of person your mother warned you about.

Sometime during the night, I was awakened by a thunk.  (Thankfully, it wasn't the new, middle rail of my bed breaking, as the old one did.)  It sounded kind of like me knocking my glasses off the nightstand, except I was on the opposite side of the bed, so that was highly unlikely.  Since it was raining, and had been for most of the night, I figured it might've been a branch landing on the roof.

When I got dressed this morning, I saw that it was my old, cutlery tray from the kitchen (I hadn't told you I bought a new one because I couldn't make that sound anhydrously witty), which I had put on top of my carry-on bag on my closet shelf, and which I intend to take back to my condo in NM, which had fallen off the shelf.  (Is that enough "which" clauses?)  Clearly, I need to stop putting things on shelves in my apartment, for this was the second item this year which has fallen in the night and awoken me.  (The floor might get a little cluttered, though.)

That brought to mind the old saying, "Ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night".  Hey, I am a long-legged beasty. :)

Any resemblance between this and someone you know is purely coincidental.

I was just in the mood for this.

It say I comprehends subject/verb tense agreement.

The church across the street from my office has a signboard out front, on which they put sermon topics or inspirational messages (as many churches do).  This week, it reads as follows.  "If actions speak louder than words, then what does yours say?"

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Apparently, a bunch of people (or just someone awfully powerful) was chanting that yesterday.  I just wish they had warned me first.

First, the forecast called for rain Tuesday night and Wednesday.  Then it said it will rain all of Tuesday night through Wednesday.  Then it said we were to get thunderstorms.  Then it said we're going to get a really big storm at 3 p.m.  When I woke this morning, the pavement was dry, but I figured maybe there'd be dew.  Wouldn't you know that the skies were clear, and there was a breeze?

I fertilized the fields yesterday, figuring that the rain would dissolve the pellets.  Then I hoped that the dew would have done something.  Even that didn't happen, so now the fertilizer is likely to burn the grass.  I plan on confessing to Skippy this morning that I've killed every athletic field on campus.

We're supposed to have a sunny, warm day today.  What do you think the chances are that the forecast will be wrong?