A conversation between me and Beloved last night:
Beloved: What are you doing?
Me: Thinking about my post for tomorrow.
Beloved: Random Thoughts?
Beloved: Do you have any random thoughts?
Me: Do I have any other kind?
Beloved: Well, do you have any you can actually publish?
I love you too dear.
Have you heard about that poor model in Argentina who died after having her ass augmented? According to one news article, “the injections used in her procedure were a synthetic polymer called PMMA. According to Wikipedia, PMMA is often used in the construction industry as a replacement for glass, and is known by many brand names, including Plexiglass.”
Honey, you’re a human being, not a store front window.
I wish I’d known that – I could have saved her life. I could have guaranteed her a regimen that would have substantially increased the size of her backside in six weeks. Okay, yes – everything else would have increased in size along with it (possibly her IQ?), but that’s not the point, now is it?
When I heard about the above, I’m afraid I went off on a bit of a rant (I know – me? Rant?? Surely not).
“I don’t understand this!” I yelled as I stood in the kitchen frying bacon and Beloved went blithely about his business, as he is wont to do when I’m on a tangent. “I’m an organ donor, you know!”
Granted, at my age the only good I’d do is if someone needed a jaw muscle transplant because that seems to be the one thing on my aging body that works as well as did twenty years ago, but again – that’s not the point.
It was about this time that The Young One came strolling through the kitchen, doubtlessly drawn by the aroma of scorching pork product, the dog hot on his heels, both hoping for handout.
“I HAVE ASS TO SPARE, PEOPLE!!” I cried, brandishing my spatula while Scooter simultaneously cringed and looked hopeful.
The Young One was totally nonplussed. “Are you talking about me?”
Ass, kiddo, not smart ass.
The other day at work, I received this IM from Beloved:
Beloved: John Smith wants me to come up for some additional training. Do we have anything going on between the 20th and the 23rd?
Me: Of December?
Beloved: Well, yeah.
Me: You mean besides my birthday?
Yup, you guessed it – I’m spending my birthday in beautiful downtown Kalamazoo, Michigan. Life in the fast lane, folks. (Actually, I could think of worse places to spend my birthday.)
Recommendations for a nice restaurant to have dinner?
You may or may not remember my fit of hysteria over our bathroom decor at work recently. You also may or may not remember the bet I made that the Autumn Horn O’ Plenty would be the decor of choice come Easter. Some of you took me up on that.
I’m pleased to report you’d win the bet, for as sure teenagers should be shipped to a desert island until they’re 25, our Women’s Room Decoration has changed with the seasons.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you with:
To give me credit, I did NOT burst into gales of laughter when I walked into the bathroom after Thanksgiving and saw this little gem sitting on the counter – mostly because I didn’t know what it was.
Confused, I invited Beloved into the women’s room (always a pleasure for him) to take a gander.
“Why does it have water sitting in it?” I asked.
“Well, it’s a fountain,” he replied.
And by golly, he was right. Of course, it’s not a working fountain. I mean, I’m sure it would be, if someone bothered to plug it in; it’s not as if there isn’t an outlet right there.
Then again, the outlet is right next to a sink, and while I’m sure the management is not in the least bit concerned that one of the tenants might electrocute themselves (trust me – they aren’t), the possibility someone might blow a fuse and deprive us all of power is definitely a consideration.
In the meantime, I get to spend the duration of the Holiday Season enjoying the pleasures of plastic snowmen and stagnant water.
It’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.
For more Random Holiday Tuesday Thoughts, head on over and visit Keely at The Un-Mom. I’m sure she has working fountains with reasonably fresh water.