the ULU is mine!
Well, I'm heading back home for turkey day. The office here
very generously gave me and my coworker ULU knives with our
names engraved in them. You can see ulus at ulu.com of course,
they are used to shave blubber off of whales apparently, which
should come in handy if the buffet line at Ryan's gets too long.
I'm flying out in a few hours, trying to get my stuff together in
such a way that it doesn't look like I dumped dirty clothes into
a bag. If anyone ever sees me fold a shirt correctly I give you
permission to shoot me, I've been replaced by an alien. Oh
well, dump away.
Taking a quick tour of the blogosphere in the few minutes I have
left before I have to pay for another 24 hours of internet access.
The Domestic Engineer has a funny/quaint/scary story about
singing pants and conversations.
If we were really in The Holy Grail, he'd shout back, "You're not fooling anybody, you know!" before hitting me over the head with a plank. But we'll never find out, because just then a melodious chime issues forth from the doctor's crotch. He puts down his pen and reaches deep into his pants pocket.
"Your pants are singing," I say. Maybe I didn't say it. I was thinking it. I was thinking it so loud I was afraid I said it. Because 1) maybe there is no sound and it's all in my head or 2) maybe there is a sound, but such a comment would be risque and in bad taste.
He pulls a tiny cell phone out of his slacks and holds it to his ear with a sigh.
Inaudible monologue follows.
It's always funny when I have to think whether I made a comment
of such bad taste/innappropriate, or if I just said it in my head.
We just finished the day today with a meeting where a client kept
insisting he didn't understand something, when I tried to explain
it a different way, he'd talk over me saying he didn't understand.
The uncomfortable silence occurred when I had stopped talking
due to my imagination playing the loop of me strangling him.
Oh, sorry it's my turn to talk is it?