Apocalypse

If the apocalypse actually happens tomorrow, you're all welcome to come over to my house for a post-apocalyptic brunch, say around 11 AM. (Assuming you can navigate the zombie hordes that I assume will be running rampant. My french toast is good, but you won't be able to fully appreciate it if you're suffering from a zombie bite, so please take appropriate precautions.)

We should establish a password though, so my boyfriend knows to not bash you in the head with his home-defense weapon of choice (a baseball bat) when you try to enter the premises. Preferably something that strikes fear into the hearts of our enemies at the same time. You know, something like, "SPOON!!" Yeah, let's go with that.

Contrition

Dear Daylight Savings Time,

I know I said some hurtful things on Monday morning. Things we probably both regret.

But I've had some time to think about it, and maybe I don't really hate you.

Maybe you're right. Maybe the fact that it's still light out when I leave work late is worth a few painfully-early-feeling mornings.

I hope we can put all this animosity behind us.

Love and hugs,
L

Argentine

My brother and I worked out together at lunch today. He's kind enough to let me prattle on about crap like why I love my new running shirt for ten minutes straight. (At least until he picks up our pace enough to ensure I can't get enough oxygen to breathe anymore, much less speak. I'm sure that's not at all strategic on his part though.)

Anyway, he still manages to keep our conversations interesting. (Despite my best efforts to bore him to death.)

***

Me: So did I tell you what I love about my new workout shirt?

JB: No, I don't believe you did. Unless it's that it's super light-weight and breathable. You might have mentioned that. Four or five times.

Me: That too, but it also has this technology where they weave silver or something into the fibers.

JB: Silver? Does that give it a higher SPF rating?

Me: No, it helps it repel...

JB: Vampires!

Me: What? No, odor. It helps repel stinky sweat odor.

JB: And vampires.

Me: Yes, it repels odor and vampires. Which is a valid concern when you're working out in Southern California. Outside. In the middle of the afternoon.

***

Wait, isn't it werewolves who are allergic to silver anyway? Crap. We'd better get that figured out before I walk into a nest of vampires thinking my (amazingly light-weight and breathable) running shirt is going to protect me.

Nomenclature

I think I've mentioned before that I volunteer for a Swedish cultural center. Lately I've been helping plan their Easter brunch. The best part? They call it Eggsexa. I may just have the sense of humor of a 12-year old boy, but I'm pretty sure that's never going to get old...

Seriously thought, I'm pretty sure that's the best name for a party. Ever.

Allegories (or is it Allusions?)

I just tried to convince one of my consultants that his broken Word document was like the platform for the train to Hogwarts. You know, Platform # 9¾? The one that’s invisible, but if you run straight at the very real-seeming wall, you magically don’t crash headfirst into brick but instead end up where you want to go? You know the one I mean.

Only in this case he needed to delete something that didn’t seem to exist in order to fix his problem. (He had a mysterious extra section break that was throwing off his page numbering, if you must know.)

Anyway, the metaphor made more sense in my head. Before I tried to explain it.

Maybe I need better allegories. Or is it allusions? Crap. Now I have to go find literary works to cite that aren’t written for pre-teens AND a dictionary. Lame.

Homonym

I flew to Philadelphia today for work. My carry-on suitcase weighed about 50 pounds because I got to hand carry all of the handouts for the event. (They weren’t printed in time to ship.) My boyfriend kindly dragged my bag down the 3-flights of stairs from our condo to the car, and while wincing under the weight, asked if I was even going to be able to hoist the bag into the overhead bin on the plane.

Since I was walking away at the time, I yelled back to him, across the entire length of our condo complex,

"Have you seen my snatch? I think I can handle it!”

My boyfriend froze for about 5 seconds and then lost it.

Based on the reaction of our neighbors who were around at the time, I’m guessing they didn’t realize that I was referencing my proven ability to complete the weight-lifting move known as a snatch as evidence of my ability to lift a heavy suitcase above my head.

Things like this are why our neighbors hustle their kids past our door on Halloween. (Come back! I promise our candy doesn't contain razor blades!)