Seen and heard...

...strolling by my office at 5:20, after virtually everyone else is gone:

Some very large dude humming (and then whistling in the stairwell, all the way out the building) "Hail to the Chief."

Tumbleweeds, prairie dogs. Yeah.

I am heading to Santa Fe this weekend.
I had been so focused on a) seeing katiesteele, b) that it will be a tiny bit warmer there c) finding my rock-climbing gear, that I hadn't thought at all about JEWELRY. That's just crazy. Oh, the delights that come with having a scattered brain.
Clearly, there will be some jewelry bought.

But about that rock-climbing gear.
Granted, I haven't been climbing in a long time.
And granted, I am maybe not completely done unpacking from my move yet.
But in Virginia, I knew where my gear was.
Now, I don't know how, in the packing process, my harness and chalk bag wound up in two separate places.
But I am even more puzzled by how I managed to separate my climbing shoes.
Yes, from the harness and the chalk bag. And from each other.
Why would I have done that? How, even? How did I have enough open boxes around at once that I packed those four items separately?

Moral of the story: I am never moving again.

Observation

If you are in your car, and you hit "scan" on your radio (What? I'm driving a 1990 Oldsmobile. You think I'm listening to an iPod in there?), and there are only four stations, and three of them are NPR, and the fourth is alterna-indie-something, you are probably in Vermont.

Awesome, awesome

You know I have no cable, so when I do watch TV, it's online.

Nbc.com has full episodes of a bunch of its older shows online now.

A-Team, anyone? Miami Vice?

All there for your viewing pleasure.

They've got The Alfred Hitchcock Hour, even.
And on abc.com, My So-Called Life.
I feel like this could keep me busy for a while.
Also, everyone? It is your job to tell me when I turn into this guy.

Lousy day

Yesterday was not the very best of days, for no big reason, just lots of little bumps in the road. You know, One Of Those Days. Some days are like that, even in Australia.
So when my friend, who is a teacher in a boarding school, and who I went to visit this weekend, called me and started the conversation with "I have bad news," I braced myself for something traumatic. Obviously, it was only another of the endless little bumps.
"There's been another outbreak of lice. I don't have it, but one of the kids in my house does."
Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeew.
Nobody died.
But Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeew.
Th school nurse said for my friend to tell me that I probably was not infested, but that, as a precaution, I should probably soak my head in vinegar.
Naturally, I was too worn out to do that right away. I did what any responsible louse-head would do. I called another friend to see if she wanted to get a beer. She could not. More bumps in the road. Sigh.
So by about 8, I had given up on my day and put on my pajamas and went to do the vinegar thing.
Obviously, all I had, vinegar-wise, was balsamic with some herby stuff in it and red wine vinegar. A few experiments with the best way to soak one's head in red wine vinegar later, my bathroom looked like I'd murdered someone, and I was on the couch, playing solitaire in my pajamas and smelling like a giant pickle (not for the first time, either*), when my friend called back to say she would, after all, like a beer.
The moral of the story is that I can clean up a murder scene, shower, dry my hair and get dressed in about ten minutes if there is a beer in it for me.


*The first time was in a tent on Masai Mara, having gotten the worst sunburn of my life snorkling at noon on the equator. Yes, vinegar is good for sunburn. No, smelling like a pickle does not make you the most popular gal on the safari van.

Dry gas

People who knew me when I lived in D.C. have likely heard my Dry Gas Rant. For those of you who missed it, it goes roughly like this:

I don't know why I can't find dry gas anywhere around here. In New England, you can walk into any gas station, ask if they have dry gas, and they'll show you where it is, and they might even have a whole section of it.
In Washington, it's like they've never heard of it, and when you try to describe it, they look even more confused.
What? You know, dry gas. Dry gas. It's basically a little bottle of rubbing alcohol you dump into your gas tank* to evaporate the water so it doesn't freeze in the line.
You know, dry gas.

I had that conversation so often when I lived (just barely) below the Mason-Dixon line that I started to wonder if I had exaggerated in my mind how ubiquitous it was up here, or if I had maybe made up dry gas (OK, not really, because I could find it in D.C., a couple of dusty bottles at a time, in auto parts stores).
I didn't need it often, because it rarely gets cold enough to really need it down there, but it makes me feel insecure not to have it on those rare occasions when it is that cold.
You'll all be relieved to know that I have wandered into about five gas stations in three northern states looking for dry gas since I moved, and been directed right to it every time.



*Do not literally dump rubbing alcohol in your gas tank. I considered it, often, but if you damage your car or kill yourself doing that, I will not be held responsible. Though I will be very glad if people with any actual knowledge of cars or chemistry use the comments to discuss what would happen.

And the winner is...

Katie, with a total of 14 points, but not by as much of a landslide as she seemed to think. Carl came in with 11 points, Cousin Mouse's tale of my Lyme Disease scored 9, and my messy room as presented by Cousin Mouse racked up a respectable 6 points.
Thank you all for playing. Based on the specific entrants, first prize and runner-up prizes, will likely all be beer in varying quantities.
Now, we return to stories at my expense by me.

Reminder

Voting ends just before midnight tonight.

The Plow King

Just because I know you've all been very, very worried about this, I wanted to give you an update. I have a new plow guy, who came by yesterday while I was at work and did an outstanding job plowing my snow-covered, ice-encrusted driveway.
Mr. Plow is a loser.
Thank you all for your concern.

Call Mr. Plow; that's my name. That name again is Mr. Plow!

If you e-mailed the guy who plows your driveway to make sure he was coming, and got in response an e-mail along these lines:

hi [bzzzzgrrrl] i left you a note on your door the last time i plowed no one came out side that was about 4 weeks ago letting you know that i was not going to plow anymore

Would you take that to mean that he's mad you didn't come out of your house to pay him the last time he was here, and therefore will not plow you again, or would you take it to mean that he was getting out of the plowing business entirely?

Turning 'em away

Hey, friends. So I was thinking we (yes, I think of all of us as a "we," even though many of you have not met each other and likely never will) needed a project, and I almost stole this one from someone else's blog, but then it seemed like a better idea to just send you over to that blog and suggest you take a stab at it. I have been working on it for myself for days now, because I'm like that, and I have discovered a few things:

• It is very easy to get me to start counting how many words there are in every thought I have, apparently.
• I have a lot of thoughts that are ten words.
  
• I like the breeziness but not the possibility of misinterpretation that comes with the universal "you."

So go here, and do this.
You may post what you come up with in the comments here, but it seems nicer to post them in the comments there. Or both.

Let the voting begin

Yeah, yeah, you're all too funny for words.
Now, we will vote in the most complicated way possible. Please, in the comments, rank the stories in order of funny, from most to least.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, click here.
If you missed Carl's story, click here.
If you missed Katie's story, click here.
If you missed my cousin's first story, click here.
If you missed my cousin's second story, click here.

A few of the stories that missed the cut, due to not being submitted or not being submitted properly:

• My record of locking myself out of my house, contrasted with the time I couldn't get my car door to close at the Peking Gourmet.
• The time I broke my grandmother. (The anniversary of that horrible, horrible day was just last week, in fact.)
• The many apartment floods, one of which went undetected, for weeks on end, only to have it turn into an Alpine scene under the carpet.
• The tacky interaction I have had with Kay, involving giving her some pants, borrowing them back, and then "losing" them.
• The time the only organized thing about my move was that I carefully packed the clothes I'd need for the first two weeks in New Hampshire, and then permitted the movers to put that trunk on the truck, resulting in my having only a black velvet dress, a blue T-shirt, and clothes borrowed from Kay.
• The time I bought a cowboy hat in San Francisco on pride weekend, because in that context, it seemed like something I might ever wear again.
• When I took my first copy-editing test, and the only error I made was missing an omitted “l” in “public financing.”
• Several fashion faux pas, primarily but not exclusively in high school, many of which are quite well-documented.
• Several hair faux pas, primarily but not exclusively in my 20s, many of which are quite well-documented.
• The time I drew my bedroom inside out.
• The time my (almost-)prom date got expelled from school a week before the prom, and also, perhaps obviously, grounded.

Do not vote for the bulletted unstories above. Vote only by ranking stories 1, 2, 3 and 4.

Update: Voting will close at 11:59 p.m. (Eastern) on Sunday.

Story #4

From the same cousin as Story #3:

The other story harkens WAY back to when City Mouse was a young teenager and we saw her bedroom. It remains the standard for Ultimate Teenage Messy Room against which all others are measured. I have to say many we've seen since have come close if not equal, including our own teens' rooms. Of course, since they are related to City Mouse, there may be something in the genes.

A Cousin

PS. City Mouse's house is very neat and tidy by comparision. Clearly she is Over It.

Story #3

From a cousin:

A decade or two ago I visited City Mouse when she was recovering from Lyme Disease. The disease had temporarily paralyzed one side of her face. City Mouse smiles a lot, as we all know, but this time half her face was smiling, the other half was not, so she appeared to making a sarcastic grin. This had the effect of coloring every statement she made, from "good to see you!" to "why are you laughing at me?" with heavy irony. It was like adding a silent "not" to every statement.

"That's so cruel! (not)"

"Really, stop! (not)"

"I'm not being funny! (not)"

Poor thing!

Story #2

This one from Katie:

the most entertaining and embarrassing [bzzzzgrrrl] story i am privy to that was not just recounted to me by [bzzzzgrrrl] herself was shortly after her move (back) to [where she lives]. perhaps two or three weeks after arriving back in her old stomping grounds, i was on the phone with her for her walk home from work. [bzzzzgrrrl] lives .8 miles from work, with one turn on the way. we may never know for sure the exact route she took this day, but i have made my best family circus approximation. it started with forgetting to turn on her own road and taking the next right instead, and ended with me mapquesting her way back from probate street, .5 miles away from her house in the opposite direction from work.

most important thing to note: the quarter mile she walked down her own street before turning left and wandering around like a fool.

Story #1

This one comes from my friend Carl, and is the first story I got in actual story form, this morning. I will extend the deadline to midnight tonight, if anyone else wants to get in on the action.

My most memorable and slightly embarassing recollection of [bzzzzgrrrl] in 1993 is as follows: [bzzzzgrrrl] and friends decide that for my birthday it would be fun to "kidnap" me and take me as a surprise to a very large, very good brewery in Virginia. [bzzzzgrrrl] chose to take the lead in my capture. So with the rest of our friends surrounding me, [bzzzzgrrrl] grabs me around the shoulders from behind in a bear hug. Since this was surprise, I though [bzzzzgrrrl] just was being playful, and wanted to wrestle. So I immediately dropped to the floor and started to pivot in order to get the pin. So [bzzzzgrrrl] says in her most stern, "your messing up our careful plan" tone of voice: "Stop struggling, Carl, we're just trying to take you out for a good time" Best laid plans of mice and men.

To be fair, I do not actually remember this happening. But it does sound like me. And like Carl.

Expense report

So I have a few friends who, for different reasons, are having a hard time right now. If you are one of those folks, big hug to you right now.
One friend who is having a hard time e-mailed me today, and I e-mailed back with, "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, including but not limited to telling you funny stories at my own expense."
It occurs to me that that is, like, 72 percent of what I have to offer to people generally, and, like, 97 percent of what I have to offer as a blogger.
So, first-ever City Mouse Country contest, in the interest of providing a steady source to those who need it.
If you know me personally, e-mail me (rather than using the "comments" link) with a funny story at my expense. Heck, e-mail me several, if you like.
I will post everything that is true and not too terrifying to put on the Internet where my parents will likely see it. The person who sends the best one will win a prize. "Best" will be determined by voting. Get submissions in by Sunday at 11:59 p.m., but I'll start running them as soon as I start getting them.

*Gasp*

According to my compass/whistle/magnifying glass/thermometer/keychain, it is 80 degrees in my office right now (and my window faces north).
And you thought I'd be cold in New Hampshire.