thoughts on shopping

I'm not one to go shopping just for the fun of it. All that browsing and slow-walking and salesperson avoiding just isn't my idea of a fun time. With that, I offer up some decrees to make the shopping experience a better one:
  • all Tommy Bahama gear shall be banished
  • something akin to a smoke eater shall be installed above all perfume and cologne stations
  • women's sizing shall be adjusted to match men's sizing as men's sizing is fantastically practical**
  • refreshment stations shall be placed as strategic positions through malls and stores and will include, but not be limited to: wine, beer, lemonade, tea, still and sparkling water
  • the transition between the teen area and the stuffy-old-woman area shall be rationalized: I want options, people!

**as a side, I read this article the other day about how more online store fronts were targeting male shoppers as they purchased about the same as women on-line, but did so in a much more "efficient" manner and with less returns. Nary a word was said on the difference in sizing! It's EASY for men to shop on-line and not return anything BECAUSE of the uniform sizing. Hello Oxford shirts! Hello waistband and inseam! The stupid marketing group that crunched all their little numbers completely missed this critical point because they were soooo wrapped up in the idea of women as incessant shoppers that flit about stores while thinking up new casserole dishes. Phew. Rant over for the moment.


doooooby doooooby dooooo

uh, yeah. Did you ever have one of those days where you sort of consider it a crime that you don't have a valet, or a gentleman's personal gentleman (completely disregarding the insidious nature of class which makes such things)? Take this morning for instance: I woke up at a nice time, was quite comfy, nice and cool in the sleeproom... all I needed to make this morning perfect was a valet to hover in with a soft-boiled egg (with miniature salt and pepper containers), toast points, blueberries, and coffee. That can't be too much to ask, can it?

Hmmmm, I think I might be reading too many Jeeves and Wooster stories.


the namesake and bluh

the namesake

That's right. I have a chicken named after me. I feel pretty good about that fact as well. The above picture was from a webcam my friend set up so I could watch all the little peeping chicks hanging out. So cute.

In other news, the Thursday work-a-day hasn't even started and I have already worked about 32 hours this week. I'm such a wimp. I'm starting to go a little stir-crazy. The residence needs work, my brain requires interaction with something other than a computer (hence I blog!), and I need the infernal rain to stop so I can walk outside in frizz-free peace.

That is all.


piles o' things

Piles, piles, piles. Everywhere I look I see piles. Piles o' tax crap. Piles o' laundry.... another pile o' laundry. Piles o' dishes. Piles o' mail. Piles o' crap. Methinks all the piles are impacting my dream world. Last night I happened to visit China. I'm not sure if it is because the multiple piles of laundry are beginning to resemble the Great Wall o' China or not, but that's about all the effort I want to put in to finding out. Hence the piles. Laziness produces piles. Oh sure, one or two piles is fine. But multiple piles in multiple rooms is not. I want to say I've been busy, but I'm not entirely sure I have. Hmmmmmm.... today I attack the laundry piles. And then I play laser tag... 'cause what else does one do after 4 to 5 loads of laundry?


an outage you say?

Question: What happens when your power goes out for 45 minutes some point during the night?

Answer: You wake up 15 minutes before you're supposed to be at work. If you're lucky.


YIKES! from The Onion


bring me my whangee

Spring, spring, spring... so close yet so far. I've seen crocus and daffodils; you know tulips can't be far behind. The only wistful regret I have for the season thus far is that I can't replicate a morning from "Jeeves in the Springtime" by P.G. Wodehouse.

"It's a topping morning, Jeeves."

"Decidedly, sir."

"Spring and all that."

"Yes, sir."

"In the spring, Jeeves, a livelier iris gleams upon the burnished dove."

"So I have been in formed, sir."

"Right-o! Then bring me my whangee, my yellowest shoes, and the old green Homburg. I'm going into the park to do pastoral dances."

"Very good," sir

I don't want to go to work. I want to go to the park to do pastoral dances in my yellowest shoes. I'd even where a green Homburg, jauntily titled to the side. But methinks I'd leave the whangee behind as it would be a topping morning.


Illicit Bubbles!

Illicit Bubbles: spotted!
If one were to look closely at this image, one might see illicit bubbles in the fountain. C. and I spotted this whilst out'n about doing some Sunday movie-watching-craft-hunting-obscure-connector-cable-sleuthing... you know, as you do. It provided a nice little exclamation point to a moderately successful outing. Successful insofar as the movie was good and C. found all her crafting necessities and more. Meanwhile, my quixotic quest to resuscitate my circa 1999 printer with a magical cable-adapter-thingy continues. Next stop Radio Shack! C. assured me my chances of success were good at that particular establishment as that was now their entire business model: making out of date things work with shiny new technology. She was even, dare I say it, confident that they had some cable that would allow users to hook their trusty 8-track players up to their iPods so Kenny Rogers' Greatest Hits could live on in the digital age.

Bubbles. Yeah. They're fun. We're hoping for some green ones on St. Patrick's Day.