Week’s over halfway done! I am pleased. This has been a hellacious week. Many people here are on vacation which means I’m doing their jobs, and we have that show opening tonight. Whew! Busy busy busy.
Just a note: it is your last day to vote on the should I/should I not read the rest of the Fifty Shades of Grey books poll, if you haven’t already. Here here here! Go, go!
Quick update on the Bloggiversary package for Ken – NO, I didn’t forget about it, don’t be rude – all the shopping is done except for one little thing I have to run out for after work this week, and I have one thing to make, and then, DONE. So now just to wait for delivery on things and then it is ON THE WAY TO GERMANY. Are we all so excited? I am. It is a package of excitement. I can’t wait for him to get it. Don’t worry, you all get to share in the fun – I will make a video of all the goodies before I wrap them up and put them in the box, and Ken has also promised to let you all know what he thinks of everything (man, I hope he doesn’t hate it all, that’d be soul-crushing.) Once I know he has it, I’ll post the video. Because I want him to be surprised. I LOVE SURPRISES. Well, surprising others, anyway. I’m not so keen on surprises myself. I like to PLAN. I am a PLANNER. I’m not saying that getting a surprise in the mail now and then isn’t a happy occurrence (because it is) but, like, people dropping in to say hi without calling first? Or (ugh, SHUDDER) surprise parties where people pop out from behind shit and scream at you?
NO NO NO. No thank you. Don’t even. I will be SO MAD AT YOU. I’ll PRETEND I’m pleased but inside I’m drowning you in a cistern.
Anyway, Tangent McGee, I think I chose wisely and well and Ken will be pleased. I like surprise gift boxes. There is a certain satisfaction in picking out person-specific gifts and neatly placing them in a box and sending them off. I think in another life I might have been a personal shopper.
I am writing this days in advance because I am preparing myself for a week of busy. TONIGHT I am going on an ADVENTURE. I know! Another adventure! I’ve been totally Magellan with the adventuring lately. I am going to a BAR to hang out with TWITTER PEOPLE. I know it! I might get murdered. But probably not. They seem non-shady. I guess all killers must seem non-shady to their victims, otherwise, why would people go anywhere with them in order to get killed? But I have high hopes no murdering will occur.
Strangely, Dad is quite pleased I’m going on this adventure. The first time I mentioned I might go (way back in April – plans fell through two months in a row, but this month I am HELLBENT ON GOING!) he was all NO NO NO! That is where the MURDER HAPPENS! But now he’s all, “When are you going to that bar to hang out with your friends?” He’s very confusing. You can never tell what he’s going to approve of. Most days, whatever I say I’m doing, he says, “I wouldn’t do that.” Things Dad wouldn’t do if he were me:
Currently have a cat
Get an additional cat
Drive anywhere but to work and back
Take public transportation
Visit big cities
Volunteer at the theater
Stop volunteering at the theater
Write anything, ever
Tell anyone anything about myself on the internet
Join or use any social media sites
Talk to strangers
Go to concerts, movies, or plays
Drink anything but orange soda
Do anything my boss tells me to
Argue with anything my boss tells me to do
Talk in front of large groups of people
Talk loudly, anywhere, anytime
Spend any money, ever
I asked him recently what were some things he was completely and totally down with and he and I agreed the only things he was always ok with was me sleeping more and exercising. “What an exciting life I will lead,” I said, “when I sleep 12 hours a day, and exercise the other 12.” He liked this plan very much.
Yet somehow, he has decided that meeting two of my Twitter friends in real life will be a grand adventure and is a very good plan, and keeps asking, “When are you going to do that?” and last month when I couldn’t, he was all, “You ALWAYS have an excuse,” even though my excuse was I had rehearsal until 9 and the event started at 7:30 so by the time I got there it would have been just wrapping up and that wouldn’t have been worth the trip, now would it? No. That’s me, chock-full of excuses. He likes me to give him a rundown of my week every Sunday, so when I told him I was going to hang out at the bar on Monday, he was all, “DON’T YOU CANCEL OUT ON THOSE NICE GUYS AGAIN.” I’m not really sure why all of a sudden he likes them and thinks this is a good idea, but it’s a lot less annoying than hearing a twenty-minute “BRING A RAPE WHISTLE AND A STABBING KNIFE WITH YOU WHEN YOU GO” talk, because those get old fast.
Oh! In your “strange-news-from-home”…well…news, I guess, I got the following story this weekend:
My brother was eating lunch the other day. His cell phone rang. He answered it.
Caller: Hi. I’m calling about the mules.
Bro: Oh, yeah. The mules.
(Note: my brother thought it was a prank call. He has a tendency to assume the world is always screwing with him. ALWAYS.)
Caller: So, you’ve got those mules?
Bro: Sure. Sure I do.
Caller: How much do those mules go for?
Bro: They start at a nickel and go up from there.
Caller: When can I come and see the mules?
(Note the second: WTF? The caller didn’t even bat an eye at nickel mules.)
Bro: Oh, anytime. Anytime. The mules like visitors most at 2am, though. How about 2am?
Caller: I’m asleep at 2am.
Bro: That’s too bad. The mules are really friendly around 2am, and I do a middle-of-the-night two-for-one mule special then.
Caller: How about 11pm?
(Note the third: This guy really had no sense of being effed with, and also, really wanted some nickel mules.)
Bro: Dude, who do you think you’re calling?
Caller: The guy who’s selling the mules in The Free Trader.
(Note the fourth: The Free Trader is a paper where people in the boonies sell things like tractors, mules, and four-wheelers. Also used clothing, and sometimes engagement rings they are no longer using. The Free Trader was an endless source of mirth for me as a child.)
Bro: You have the wrong number. I don’t have any mules.
Caller: This isn’t 123-4567?
(Note the fifth: duh, no, that’s not my brother’s number. If I gave you that, Ken would call him and talk to him about the Ghost of Noonie. Also, honestly? I don’t know my brother’s cell phone number. Because we don’t chat. Ever. EVER ever.)
Bro: No, it is. This number’s in The Free Trader? Selling mules?
Caller: Yeah. So, you don’t have mules?
Now, before I say anything else, please quickly think…what could be the cause of my brother’s number being in The Free Trader under an ad saying mules for sale? (His name wasn’t there, just a basic ad and “call this number.”)
What’d you come up with?
My theory: The Free Trader (a total rinkydink publication) transposed a couple of the numbers a caller sent in, in error, and someone who IS selling mules is all, “Why isn’t my phone ringing? These mules need good homes, yo.”
(This is also my mom’s theory.)
My dad and brother’s theory:
SOMEONE IS OUT TO GET MY BROTHER BY PUTTING THIS AD IN THE FREE TRADER AND DRIVING HIM CRAZY WITH PHONE CALLS IT IS HARRASSMENT HARRASSMENT I TELLS YA!
No, I’m totally not kidding. When I told my dad my theory, he was all “no one up here sells MULES. This is a CRUEL JOKE. Designed to GET BACK AT YOUR BROTHER. Someone’s OUT TO GET HIM.” When I asked him who, he had no answers. When I said, “Don’t you think there’s a better way to get revenge for…I don’t know, something…than a mule-ad? Like, flattening his tires, or maybe TPing his house?” my dad had no answer except “You’re just like your mother HERE TALK TO HER NOW” and he handed the phone off to my mom. Sorry, Dad. I’m not all Mel Gibson about conspiracy theories. I’m sure there are a lot more conspiracies in the world than I’m aware of – I just tend to think most things are mistakes or coincidences rather than conspiracies. This might make me naive, I don’t know.
Also, I like to think Helper Mule placed that ad, trying to be helpful in some way. Like, he can’t help Rooster, but he CAN help my brother somehow. How? Well, I don’t know. Maybe make friends! Friends that are looking for mules! But, because he’s Unhelpful Helper Mule, the plan didn’t go according to plan. Wah-WAH, Helper Mule.
Off to gallivant. Wish me luck. (Well, you’re reading this days later, so I assume you already know if I crashed and burned or there was a murder or whatever.) Or at least that I don’t embarrass myself mightily around new people. Which is a total possibility. A very, very total possibility. Gulp.
(Oh! Also, I missed it yesterday, happy Summer Solstice! My least-favorite, only because, yech, hot and humid, but a solstice nonetheless! Hooray!)