Hanging's too good for me.

I must have been bitten by the decorating bug this week.  I finally hung all my wall decorations in the office and then hung a few more small pictures at home.  Before I can do any more at home, though, I need to buy more of those hooks which you slip nails through.  As far as the office goes, I won't take any pictures to share with you until they patch and paint all the holes on the fourth wall (where the whiteboard was hung before moving with my boss to his own office).

Maybe it was Drew Barrymore.

I checked in with my apartment manager the other day.  She said that the city isn't going to investigate the cause of the fires because there were no (human) fatalities.  Maybe the landlord's insurance company will be interested in determining who the firestarter was.

Them's the brakes.

This morning, I almost became stranded at one of the schools (again).  My backup-backup truck (A110) wouldn't start (again).  Thankfully, the psychic mechanic (do they ever send anyone else out to rescue vehicles?) eventually (after experiencing the same problem I had) got the truck started, and I drove it straight to the transportation department.  (Well, not exactly straight, as I had to make some right and left turns, and the roads are curvy at times.)

I turned in my key, and the woman asked what needed to be fixed.  This time, the psychic mechanic thinks it needs a new starter, so I told the woman that.  "But since it's here," I mentioned some other problems I've noticed but didn't bother reporting, since I didn't want to lose my last-chance truck for months on end.  The brakes need work (seriously, their stopping power is almost non-existent, but since it's the only vehicle available, I risk my life driving it several times a day).  The passenger side, rear tire has a slow leak.  The windshield wiper blades need to be replaced.  "Anything else?" she asked.

Why, yes.  Could they possibly tell me the status of the other two trucks I turned in (A137 in late July and A109 in May)?  Amazingly, A137 (the one that said it was overheating) is supposed to be ready today, once they test drive it to make sure.  I'll believe it when they actually hand me the keys.  As far as A109 (the one I turned in because the very non-specific "check engine" light came on) goes, they haven't been told a thing.

For now, it appears that I'm on foot.  No, wait.  I'll have my boss drive me everywhere until my trucks are fixed!  That should get some results.

It's better than piddle.

"If anybody ever marries you, it will be for the pleasure of hearing you talk piffle," said Harriet, severely.  (Harriet Vane to Lord Peter Wimsey [her future husband] in Strong Poison by Dorothy L. Sayers.)

Aha - a litmus test of relationships!  If anyone ever insults me so endearingly, I'll know I'm onto something good.

I never realized my computer was female.

The computer tech spoke with me today.  He said that he eliminated the power supply and the hard drive as creating my computer problem.  Maybe it's a glitch in the memory or a broken connection in the motherboard.

I guess computer nerds, since the dawn of computing, have always lacked female companionship, hence why they called it the motherboard, instead of a masculine or gender-neutral name.  I also guess that's why I don't understand computers, since I don't understand women, either.

Memories of the Muppets

While I was in my work truck this morning, I heard part of a radio talk show which involved the interview of a man who just completed a biography of Jim Henson.  (Naturally, that book goes onto my wishlist.)  Some of what I heard was nothing more than listeners calling in and reminiscing about the Muppets, but if you're interested, I'll link to the show here.

One Step Forward

I got a referral to one of the client's computer tech's who does work on the side.  He came to my apartment (on a Sunday even!) and fiddled with it -- and was a bit puzzled by the way it's acting.  He says it might be a faulty power supply, and he asked me to bring it to work, where he can test the power supply.  I just dropped it off there (figuring lunchtime would be appropriate -- and since I doubt he's here when I arrive at 5:30 a.m.).  I hope, whatever the issue is, it's an easy fix.

Now how many steps back?

My Visit to Munchkinland

I had occasion today to go inside an elementary school.  One boy told his teacher, "He is tall!"  The teacher replied, "That's a very good observation."  A short while later, another boy told me, "You are tall."

Of course, the way my mind works, I instantly thought of "Existential Blues".

If it's not one thing, it's another.

It appears that my home computer is nothing more than an expensive, electronic paperweight at the moment.  I'll let you know more once I know more.  In the meantime, I'm limited to short posts from my work computer at lunchtime.

At least I'm saying goodbye...

I'm heading to ABQ tomorrow to spend a long weekend with my mother, celebrating her birthday.  I'll be back online Monday.  In the meantime, entertain yourselves with this.

Not to Mention the Rolling Kind

I drove by an empty lot today and noted that the "will build to suit" sign was posted by a company called Redstone.

I pondered that, if I ever owned a company called Redstone, I would've named it after the rocket used for the Mercury space program.  My brain immediately led to thoughts of cherrystone clams and freestone peaches.  (It's none of your business how many stone I weigh.)

Sharing My Good Mood

I was in a good mood all day today.  I got a decent night's sleep.  I learned that my state tax refund finally was deposited, so I have enough money for an anticipated escrow payment.  I learned into which account my trip reimbursement was deposited, so I no longer will hyperventilate about having next to nothing in my checking account.  I remembered to gas up my car on the way to work.  No employee called me to say, "Um, Cap'n, I broke the mower again."  (Indeed, no employee called me, nor did my bosses!)  I dropped my box of nearly 500 business cards -- and none of them fell from the box!  My meeting with a principal was friendly, and we agreed on the work to be done on her hedge.  I bought bagels to give my mom for her birthday later this week.  (My request for some time off, to visit my mom for her birthday, was approved.)  I aired up my tires and verified proper levels of oil, coolant, and windshield fluid in my car.  (About the only downer for the day, if you can even call it that, was when the mechanic couldn't find where to check the power steering fluid and saw that the transmission checkpoint is almost unreachable and needs a special tool, from which he deduced that it's a closed system and I'll have to have any work done by an (expensive) professional, if, heaven forfend, any of those components breaks down.)  The monthly staff meeting kept me late, but my boss's boss actually had kind words for my crew -- and we had cake!  When I got home, I saw that the unfinished sidewalk has finally been replaced.

So, you'll understand why I had this song on replay in my head today, and you'll pardon me for sharing it's annoyingly chipper, upbeat tune with you.

Getting (a) Shot

I was beleaguered at work by coworkers who kept saying, "You should get a shot for that poison ivy."  They didn't care that the worst part has already passed nor that the gel I got at the drugstore helps me immensely.  Then my boss reported it to the office manager as a workplace injury, which meant paperwork and a trip to the clinic.  I thought peer pressure was for smoking or drinking or something, not for an unnecessary treatment because they're uncomfortable just looking at my rash.

The doctor prescribed a shot (the contents of which I can't remember) and steroid tablets.  The shot was administered by a physician's assistant who told me that he's highly allergic to poison ivy (medical irony?).  He claimed that he was going to inject my hip, but where he jabbed me most certainly was not my hip!

Gee, I don't even know the guy's name, and he expects me to drop trou in front of him?  Medics must have a different view of intimacy than I do.  (It's a good thing I wasn't wearing any of my fancy underwear.)

After what seemed like five minutes, the syringe was empty, and I could pull up my pants and leave.  The first effect of the shot was noticeable when I was leaving my mechanic's office and accidentally backed into the doorjamb, right in the spot where I got the shot.  The second effect was that I started itching in more places than I have the rash.  (This shot is supposed to cure me, right?)  I'm about to go bats.  ("Battier," you're thinking.)  I'm definitely not giving up my anti-itch gel.

As for the pills, steroids are supposed to make me angry, give me pimples, and shrink my manly parts, aren't they?  I read the information enclosed with the pills and figured I ought to take them anyway.  (It mentioned the mood swings but not the other stuff.)  However, if I wake up in the morning, swear loudly at my alarm clock, yank it from the cord (leaving the cord plugged in to the wall), and throw the clock across the room, I'll discontinue their use.  If taken as directed, the supply is used up in six days, so I figure that any potential shrinkage will be minimal and (hopefully) reversible (not that I have much use for those parts of my anatomy in the first place).

Yeah, but you should see the other guy!

My poison ivy scratches look as if I've been in a knife fight.  (As long as I use the gel, it looks worse than it feels.)

Adult Entertainment

Tulsa has more "adult entertainment" establishments than I'm used to seeing in a city.  Well, more than the Noog or ABQ have, at any rate.  (The last time I was in NYC, before Times Square was cleaned up and made family friendly, there were more in a block than Tulsa has spread all over.)

One of them amuses me.  Actually, it's the sign for one of the places which amuses me.  (I've not been inside any of them.)  It advertises after-hours entertainment, from 2:00 a.m. - 4:00 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays, as "legs and eggs".

I didn't have to ponder long before thinking how Hooters could expand their service to breakfast and offer "tits and grits".