Forty nine degrees? Are you kidding me? Today I got yelled at for having the heat on in my room. This is from the same employee who wanted to know why the room was so cold. What’s gonna happen when it gets warm again and the A/C isn’t on, they questioned? I felt like saying, “It’s October the third, the leaves are beginning to turn, and the day time
temperature struggles to hit 70 degrees on a sunny day, and you’re expecting hot
weather again? Get outta my room. Touch the thermostat and see what happens.”
Who decided to put THE GOOD WIFE on Sunday evenings at nine o’clock when it follows a football game that’s more than likely going into over-time each week? Whose great idea was that, anyway? I came upstairs thinking it wasn’t on yet, and left for twenty minutes. By the time I got back, changed and got into bed, it was half over. Which programming numbskull is responsible for reducing one of the top-rated shows on TV into an afterthought? HMMM?
It was a good thing I had fortified myself with a fig and arugula pizza for supper before I had to face that disappointment. Is that a fantastic combination of flavors, or what? I mean the sweetness of the fig in contrast to the bitterness of the arugula. Sheer genius is what it is. Maybe they should do the programming for CBS.
I don’t know how Confidante and I have managed to avoid killing each other so far. Trying to win an argument with him is like trying to walk up the inside wall of a concrete drainage pipe. You just keep going around and around over your own head getting nowhere. He’s impossible. I’m stubborn. I’ve tried to explain away our differences in logic by the fact that he’s extroverted and I’m introverted. I have a completely different acetylcholine pathway in my brain than he does. I process information differently. He cannot understand how I manage to take seemingly diverse relationships between things and synthesize them into a statement when he can’t follow my train of thought. Seemingly, because to me they make perfect sense. Is that lame or what? Seems like a
personal problem to me. He assumes he finally wears me down into agreeing with him too. Little does he know I’m laughing at the futility of his trying to turn a turnip into a carrot when I like ‘em both.
What he is good at is throwing succinct questions at me to get me prepared for the grilling from the agent I’m supposed to meet on Friday. He missed his calling. He should have gone into trial law. I’m grateful he cares enough to make sure I go in with confidence and enthusiasm, and I will. Of course, I had to promise him a role in the movie version of my book when it comes out. He’d be great playing the role of Sam Furst.
temperature struggles to hit 70 degrees on a sunny day, and you’re expecting hot
weather again? Get outta my room. Touch the thermostat and see what happens.”
Who decided to put THE GOOD WIFE on Sunday evenings at nine o’clock when it follows a football game that’s more than likely going into over-time each week? Whose great idea was that, anyway? I came upstairs thinking it wasn’t on yet, and left for twenty minutes. By the time I got back, changed and got into bed, it was half over. Which programming numbskull is responsible for reducing one of the top-rated shows on TV into an afterthought? HMMM?
It was a good thing I had fortified myself with a fig and arugula pizza for supper before I had to face that disappointment. Is that a fantastic combination of flavors, or what? I mean the sweetness of the fig in contrast to the bitterness of the arugula. Sheer genius is what it is. Maybe they should do the programming for CBS.
I don’t know how Confidante and I have managed to avoid killing each other so far. Trying to win an argument with him is like trying to walk up the inside wall of a concrete drainage pipe. You just keep going around and around over your own head getting nowhere. He’s impossible. I’m stubborn. I’ve tried to explain away our differences in logic by the fact that he’s extroverted and I’m introverted. I have a completely different acetylcholine pathway in my brain than he does. I process information differently. He cannot understand how I manage to take seemingly diverse relationships between things and synthesize them into a statement when he can’t follow my train of thought. Seemingly, because to me they make perfect sense. Is that lame or what? Seems like a
personal problem to me. He assumes he finally wears me down into agreeing with him too. Little does he know I’m laughing at the futility of his trying to turn a turnip into a carrot when I like ‘em both.
What he is good at is throwing succinct questions at me to get me prepared for the grilling from the agent I’m supposed to meet on Friday. He missed his calling. He should have gone into trial law. I’m grateful he cares enough to make sure I go in with confidence and enthusiasm, and I will. Of course, I had to promise him a role in the movie version of my book when it comes out. He’d be great playing the role of Sam Furst.