Weekend Uproar

Of course, we had one of many Weekend Uproars this morning (oh, SNL is starting in a bit, isn’t it?).

Here’s the scene:  I’m in the rocker reading a deliciously funny book; my mom’s on the computer studying the budget; my dad’s trying to fix the handle on the sliding back door again, because it’s constantly being broken somehow.  The kids are both out.  Everything is calm and quiet.

Suddenly, my dad throws down the tools angrily and stomps through the kitchen, to the garage.  He yells loudly, “FUCK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  And then we hear crashing sounds, like things being thrown around, knocked over, and broken.

Then he stomped into his room and was singing something in a loud, taunting, annoying voice.  I couldn’t make out any of the words.  And finally he came out and said in that Voice of Pissed-Off Arrogance, “OOH, he was a REALLY nice person, WASN’T HE!?”

We’re like, “Who?”

“JOB!” he said.  “JOB was a really nice person!  Oh, but he loved God, though, didn’t he?  He went through ALL those tribulations, just because he loved God!  And God REWARRRRDED him in the end, didn’t he!?!?”

Neither of us said anything.  That’s pointless in these situations.

And then he’s back with the tools and the door, just muttering, “Job loved God so much, he killed his whole family, and God blessed him for it—gave him another one!  Just gave him another one.  He was a really nice guy.  God loved Job!  So this means that if somebody came in here and started abusing all of you, oh well that’s fine, I should just let it happen, because God’ll give me a second family, a better one this time!  Ohh, we have a really good God, don’t we?  Some God.”

I’m Ginny, and this has been Weekend Uproar.  Tune in tomorrow—the stories never end.


Red Lobster, a Brother Remark, and a Milo Dream

Hung out with Lisa, Monica, and Gary last night, as a going-away dinner (sort of—only Gary really ate dinner) for Monica.  I had a really good time; I always do when I’m with them, we just rarely ever see each other.  So we chilled at Red Lobster and then went to walk around Walmart and had a lot of fun.

The rest of this is mostly going to be old stuff because I’ve been slacking on the updates.

First of all, I wanted to make note of something that Brother said the other day, because it was just…well, you’ll see.

He had a couple of friends over, and they were all doing that trick where you flick the card off your finger without moving the coin, and I finally said, “Okay, let me try it.”  I figured there was no way I was going to get it, and I was right, I didn’t, but what was cool was when Brother said, “Yeah, let Ginny try it; Ginny can do anything.”

Now contrast that with what Psychobrat used to tell me every single day behind closed doors:  that I was worthless, stupid, ugly, boring, that she couldn’t believe I had any friends at all, that the friends I had talked about me behind my back, that it made perfect sense to her why I had never had a boyfriend, and that I never would, and she didn’t understand my purpose in being.

“Ginny can do anything.”  No wonder Brother and I get along so much better.

I had a yet another dream about Milo.  I had gone to work as a journalist in this building that very much resembled a grocery store—one that I had seen in my dreams before.  There were even people walking in and out of it, like a woman holding a little girl by the hands.  People coming out with shopping carts.  But I don’t think it really looked like a grocery store inside; and besides that, everything was really dark, like the whole dream took place in the middle of the night.

Anyway, so I arrive to work at this place, as a replacement for Milo, it turns out.  (Not sure if I knew him in the dream or not.)  Milo was, tragically, dead, but probably by suicide.  Anyway, nobody was investigating it, which surprised me, because I thought it was all really mysterious, and I was convinced he had been murdered.  I decided to hunt down his murderer.  Everybody thought I was crazy, because he’d died the year before, it was all over, it had been handled.  But I didn’t care.

So then I get a note.  A clue, it seems, actually, left on my desk.  It’s to me specifically, and it’s a clue to find out just what happened to Milo.  (Don’t ask, I have no idea what it said.)  And I follow it, of course, and then I’m just finding more of these all over…and then it turns out that the clues have all been left by Milo–like, ahead of time, I guess.  Creepy.

Well in the end, I follow the clues all the way to another country (maybe several, but I definitely end up on the other side of an ocean), where I find…Milo.  Alive.  Turned out he’d set up the whole thing to find me—or, have me find him, rather.

It made so much more sense while I was sleeping, because then I had far more details.

Illogical Logic

Here’s a good, brief example of my dad’s impossible-to-argue-with-illogical-round-logic.

Last night, he was scolding everybody because all the lights were on in the house, all of them, and we’re broke as it is.

“It’s going to be the air conditioning or the lights, take your pick!”

I didn’t say anything.  See, everybody else in the house knows that I, who am very conscientious about saving money, am constantly walking around the house reminding people to turn off lights.  It’s the first thing I do every night when I come home—turn off the lights in the hallway, kitchen, and bathroom, and demand to know why they’re on when nobody is using them.  Every night, Psychobrat has some sort of smartass response about how I’m not paying the electric bills, so I shouldn’t worry about it, she can turn it off if she wants, turn it off myself, yada yada yada.  So yes, they all know.  Except my dad, who refuses to believe anything good of me, ever.

So he’s suggesting to Psychobrat that when she leaves the house in the mornings, she might think about turning off her television, radio, light, and fan, which are all always on all day.  (Not the ceiling fan; I mean my fan that she stole from my room.)

She said something like, “I like to leave them on so they’re already on when I get home.”

He said, “So you just let everything run all day long!?  You don’t come home until 10:00 at night!”

She said, “I like to have a light on when I get home!”

He said, “You could still turn stuff off!  You get home when it’s still light out!”

She gets home when it’s still light out…at 10:00 at night?  Um…okay.

I’m not sure if she responded to that or not, because that was the moment I chose to say, “I always turn all the lights out.  That’s all I ever do is turn lights out, turn televisions and radios off.”

He looked at me for the briefest of moments and then turned right back around to bitch at Psychobrat some more.  Hahaha.  It’s like, “Shut up, O Stupid Daughter, you’re not even worthy of an argument.”  I do, however, love that Psychobrat was getting the bitching instead of me.  I was on his side here, however illogical his logic.

Ah…good times.


Earlier tonight I was saying something about wanting to watch SNL later.  I wasn’t speaking to Psychobrat, yet she felt the need to interject with:  “Why can’t you just say Saturday Night Live?  It sounds stupid when you say ‘SNL’.”

“It sounds…stupid?” I said.  What the hell?

“You sound just like this girl I know who says, ‘L-O-L’ instead of just laughing.”

“…”  (I seriously didn’t know how to respond to this.)

“I hate when people say SNL.  It sounds stupid.”

“And yet, they’ve been saying it for over forty years now.”

“Well, if you don’t watch the show, which I don’t, then you wouldn’t know what it stood for,” she said indignantly.  “You’re just like that girl who says ‘L-O-L’.”

“That’s completely different!” I said.  “You say ‘SNL’ for the same reason people say ‘FBI’ instead of ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation’!”  Should have asked her if she knew what ‘STFU’ meant.

Then, my dad, who had conveniently not been listening to any of the conversation prior to this, chose to speak up and prove Psychbrat’s point.

“What’s SNL?” he said.


I didn’t bother to respond.  My mom did for me.  By this point, I was done with the conversation.

On a new subject…. Milo went job-hunting recently, and had just procured one at CareSpot when, on that very day, this guy who was in one of his classes last semester called and offered him a job at MOSH.  He told Milo that he remembered him, thought he was a cool guy, thought he could offer him something he’d really enjoy, and could he come in, work part-time, and accept (I can’t remember if it was 10 or 14, so I’ll say 12) $12/hr pay to do cool stuff like make dinosaurs (big dinosaurs) and shave fire extinguishers with razors to make rockets?

It’s perfect for Milo, and I told him it was density, so of course he took it.  He called CareSpot back and turned them down.  He’ll be working part-time so he can keep going to school, too.

And now he and his sister have found an apartment in San Marco, really close to where he works, and right in his price range, so they’re moving in there at the end of this month.

San Marco is also where Mo lives, so the whole thing is very convenient for him.

Everything seems to be going just so well for him right now; I’m very happy for him.

As for me, I’m just hoping to be accepted to UCF, but I have my doubts.  It’s not like I have the greatest GPA in the world, and from everything I hear, it’s really difficult to get in there.  I’ve never been one who’s good with academic competition.

So, considering I do get accepted there, I’ll be moving down with Cort at the end of summer.  I’d been assuming I’d be coming back here all the time on weekends, but so many people say things like, “Well, you’ll be down there,” as though I’m not going to see Jacksonville at all while I’m there, like once I get there I won’t want to come back.

And if I do come back once in a while, I can’t see him wanting to spend much time with me, since he’s got his girlfriend.  I know how that goes.  In fact, as soon as he moves out, I expect to hear pretty much nothing from him.

I think he’ll probably write my parents a really nice note, thanking them for everything they’ve done for him, and that’s cool; I’d think it strange if he didn’t do that.

I just hope he doesn’t write me one, too.  I really don’t want that.  I don’t want him to think of me as his charity case (and odd choice of words, I know, as it would seem to be the other way around).

This is another topic entirely, but I’m always saying that I feel like I’ve lived two lives:  The one in Virginia, and the one here.  It seriously doesn’t feel to me like the same lifetime, because both parts have been so different.

Recently, however, I’ve begun to realize that Virginia…doesn’t even feel like another life at all…it feels more like a dream that I had a really, really long time ago.  I mean, I still talk to a few people from there, but…well, we used to have so many stories that we’d tell over and over again.  People (like my mom, I guess) used to think it was so great how we could remember so many stories so well.  But I’ve been forgetting things.  The only thing I can say is that it feels like it was all a dream.  And that’s weird to me.

And now I have to get my homework done.  *Sigh.*  Another long night, coming up.

A Coca-Cola Bear

This morning, I was watching what appeared to be a British reality show on PBS.  It was called Manor House, and was about these people who move into one and then all play the roles of different members of a household from late-19th-century England.  I was getting pretty into it, but then there was some sort of explosion from my dad about conspiracies, Scientologists, Satanists, John Travolta, Clint Eastwood, etc.

I escaped to Milo’s room and just talked to him about random things for about two hours, after which time I had to leave this situation and go to work.

I should mention the Coca-Cola bear.

About a year ago, when Milo was first moving out of Nicole’s house, I was there one day, and somehow spotted a tiny shiny spot in the carpet.  I picked it up and discovered a little Coca-Cola bear charm.  Nobody seemed to recognize it, and I decided that if we couldn’t figure out whose it was, I wanted to make a necklace out of it.

Later we realized it was Milo’s (which made me want it even more), so I gave it to him.

And then a bit later, when he was moving out, and I was helping him pack, I found the bear sitting on the dresser, and slipped it into this big plastic carton.

I thought he had emptied the contents of this carton (and thus lost the bear again) a long time ago, but I still really wanted this little bear, for some reason.

So this morning, I finally mentioned the bear.  I didn’t want to seem obsessive, so I didn’t say, “I know it’s in such-and-such container”…I just said, “If you find it, I want it,” and he said, “It’s probably long gone by now.”

I got home from work today and went out to his room, and he was emptying that plastic container, which has been under his bed all this time.  I immediately said, “OH!  That’s where the bear is!  Did you find it!?  I want it!”

He said, “What bear?”

I said, “The Coca-Cola bear!”

He said, “Oh…no, I haven’t seen it, but you’re welcome to look…good luck,” and just kinda laughed.

I went digging.  And I found it.  I held it up over my head and heard the Hallelujah chorus.

And then he gave me a boxing kangaroo pen, too.  Too cool.

All In One Morning: Psychobrat, Oz, Racism, Family Feuds, and Cops

Oh, boy.  Did I have an exciting morning, full of typical, pure family entertainment.

My family, that is.  That means something catastrophic involving Psychobrat, her boyfriend (Oz), my dad, racism, family feuds, and of course, the cops!

It all started just before Oz arrived.  We were all sitting around here in the living room, I doing homework, everyone else doing whatever (I wasn’t paying much attention to the world outside of homework).  And then the doorbell rang.  It was a woman who apparently lived down the street.

Seeing that the woman was a POC, and that Psychobrat was in the room, I knew this was going to be good.  I immediately turned off my interview, which was playing into my headphones, and acted like I wasn’t paying attention, while taking in the whole thing.

The exchange between my father and the woman at the door was about Oz himself, who pulled up on the street next to our house and just sat there.  Apparently he had taken the circle that our house sits on at much too quickly a pace and had nearly hit her.  The first thing she said was, “Is that your son in the blue truck?”  My dad told her he wasn’t, and she explained the situation, and he said he would talk to Oz, which didn’t seem to quite cut it.  So he asked her what she would like him to do, and she responded with, “I should have gotten my husband to come and talk to you.  This is just unacceptable,” and started walking away.  He stood there and was just calling after her, “What do you want me to do?  He isn’t my son,” as she walked up behind his truck and wrote down his license plate number.  Then she continued walking away and he was just calling, “What do you want me to do?  Ma’am?  What is your name?  Where do you live?” because, as she had explained that she intended to call the cops and file a report, he wanted to know who she was.  She didn’t answer him and just went home.

Obviously, the woman was a complete bitch.  But what ensued as soon as Oz walked in the door and explained his side of the story (that he had taken the curve at 15 MPH and that she had just been sitting there in the middle of the road) was a bitchfest among my dad and Psychobrat about black people as a whole.

I am perfectly aware how unwise it is to argue with either my dad or Psychobrat, so normally I don’t bother.  This morning, I just couldn’t take it.  After about 5 minutes of, “They all do this and I can’t stand how they all do that,” and I won’t go into detail about it…but I snapped.  I just started yelling at them about how it isn’t all of them, that the two of them are just racist, and the definition of “prejudice”, and that they make me sick, and yada yada yada.  My mom tried to stand up for me in there, making it clear that she was on my side, reiterating the definitions of generalization and hatred, and Psychobrat started denying that she had said anything about “all black people”, which was ludicrous, as she’d just been bitching about them a few minutes before.

After I had had my say, I realized what a mistake it was.  Of course, I was the one in the wrong.  There’s nothing indecent about hating a group of people, or of categorizing them all into a group and saying that because statistics say this and because certain ones do that, that they’re all the same.  No; in the opinions of my sister and my dad, I’m the dumbass.  I announced that I wanted nothing more to do with the conversation and went back to my homework, still catching snippets here and there.

At one point, Psychobrat suggested that she and Oz move to Australia, where there were no black people.

My mom interrupted with, “There are Aborigines in Australia [dumbass].” (She didn’t say, “dumbass,” but I know she had to have been thinking it.)

Psychobrat responded to that by informing us all that Aborigines are not black people.  At this point, I blew my cover by snickering quite loudly.

My mom took Psychobrat and Oz out shopping, and I, in the midst of my homework, was bombarded with questions and comments from my dad.  Finally, I just yelled at him, “I already told you I don’t want to have this conversation!  I am in the middle of homework that is going to take me hours and I’m sorry I said anything!  Next time, I won’t!  I’m an idiot for ever bothering to open my mouth around you!”

I love how he responded to this with, “That’s right,” and a triumphant little laugh.

The doorbell rings, and it’s the cops.  My dad goes outside to talk to them for a while, and they file their report, and then he takes my brother shopping.  And it’s just Milo and me home (Milo has emerged from his bedroom, now that he knows the initial storm is over.)  I tell Milo the whole story, and we have a good laugh about it, so I calm down some.

Then the doorbell rings again.  I knew before opening it that it was the woman’s husband.

I didn’t know what to do with the stupid dog, so I picked it up and put it in the kitchen, hoping it would get the idea not to go and attack whoever was on the other side of the door.  It didn’t (stupid Falkor).  So I pushed it out of the way, opened the door a little wider, and stepped outside.

The guy said, “I need to speak to the boy who drives the blue pickup truck.”

I said, “He’s not here right now.”

He said, “Is he your brother?”

“No,” I said.  My dad had explained this to his wife.  He’s no relation to us.  Apparently, they hadn’t believed us.  I chose not to be particularly friendly with this man.

“So where is he now?” he said.

“He’s out with my parents.”

Milo, at this moment, was on the phone in the kitchen.  The guy looked in the window and said, “That’s him, isn’t it?  Doesn’t he drive the blue pickup truck?”

“No,” I said coolly.  “He drives a different car.”

“Well, do you know when he’ll be back?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, you tell him when he gets back that I’ll be coming back to talk to him.”

“Okay.  Have a nice day,” I said.

He walked away without a word.

More on this after the husband comes back.

Updated perfume list:

  • Versace Bright Crystal
  • Calvin Klein Euphoria
  • Calvin Klein Reveal – I liked this one a lot.  It was woodsy and warm, with pepper kind of shining through.  It has great lasting power, too!  I still had hints of it at the end of the night.
  • Lancome La Vie Est Belle – Another finalist.  I believe this lasted longer than any other scent I’ve tried so far.  I can’t describe what I like about it, but I can’t get enough of it.
  • Jo Malone London Mimosa & Cardamom
  • Michael Kors Sexy Amber – No, I don’t like this at all.  I thought I did but it smells awful on me!  Medium lasting power.
  • Michael Kors 24K Brilliant Gold
  • Michael Kors Glam Jasmine
  • Michael Kors Sexy Rio De Janeiro – Disgustingly sweet when I first put it on, but I grew fond of it throughout the day.  A gentle scent, good for summer.  Doesn’t last very long, though.  For that reason and because I need to be more selective, it’s coming off the list.
  • Marc Jacobs Decadence
  • Marc Jacobs Daisy
  • Marc Jacobs Daisy Dream
  • Marc Jacobs Daisy Eau So Fresh
  • Miss Dior Blooming Bouquet – When I closed my eyes and smelled this one for the first time, I had instant mental images of white tablecloths, crystal chandeliers, a tuxedoed live band, and the word “elegant”.  Unfortunately, this scent does not appear to be available in an EDP and did not last very long.  It lasted longer than either of the Ralph Lauren scents, however.
  • Dior Poison Girl – Awful!  It immediately smelled as though I had drenched myself in vanilla, which, despite enjoying the flavor of, have always detested the scent of for being too sickeningly sweet.  It was fairly long-lasting, too.
  • Miss Dior Eau de Toilette
  • Miss Dior Eau de Parfum
  • Chanel Chance
  • Chanel Coco Mademoiselle – This one is making the finalists list.  It strikes me as a good spring smell.  I had visions of lying in soft grass, staring at puffy white clouds and feeling a light breeze on my face.  I imagined being at a Renaissance Faire.  It lasted most of the day.  Also, I’d be lying if I said the marketing of smelling like the British Natalie Portman wasn’t working on me somewhat.
  • Chanel Eau Tendre – It was a pleasing smell, but I guess I would just say it was nothing special to me.  Not bad, but I’ve tried other things that stood out to me a lot more.  Long-lasting, though.
  • My Burberry
  • Paco Rabanne Olympea – This is probably the longest-lasting sample I’ve tried so far, and fortunately I liked it.  It had an unusual salty scent and was almost, but not quite, masculine.  Very earthy, which I seem to dig.
  • Paco Rabanne Olympea Intense – Hated it.  Also long-lasting, but it had a disgusting vanilla scent, mixed with pepper.
  • Yves Saint Laurent Black Opium
  • Elizabeth Arden Untold
  • Elizabeth Arden Untold Absolu
  • Modern Muse Le Rouge
  • Vince Camuto Capri – I really liked this one.  It was calming and lasted most of the day.  It described itself as a “cool breeze off the Mediterranean Sea”, and I felt like I could visualize that when I smelled it.
  • Thierry Mugler Alien – I thought I would like this one seeing as it was made up of pretty much all things I enjoy, but maybe I just didn’t like the way they went together?  Something about it was too strong and off-putting, and the thought that crossed my mind was that it was just too “adult” for me somehow.  Long-lasting, though.  I won’t be trying it again, for sure.
  • Thierry Mugler Angel – I couldn’t stand it.  It wasn’t that it smelled bad, but it smelled like something sweet I would like to eat, like a cookie.  I don’t want to smell like a cookie.
  • Ralph Lauren Romance – I actually really liked the scent, but it only lasted for about an hour.  Maybe the concentration was just too low?  But whatever the problem was, I can’t choose as a signature scent something that I’m going to have to reapply several times throughout the day.  That’s not simple enough for me.
  • Ralph Lauren Midnight Romance – Not a fan.  It was too sickeningly sweet and also only lasted around an hour (thank goodness).
  • Jimmy Choo Illicit – Another one I liked but that didn’t last long enough for me to give it another shot.
  • Victoria’s Secret Endless Love – I actually adore this scent.  It smells absolutely enchanting right out of the bottle.  But for some reason, it just doesn’t smell good on me.  So I have to give it a pass.
  • Juicy Couture Gold Couture – This barely lasted at all and just really wasn’t my thing.

Conspiracy, Cornish Pixies, Birthdays, &c.

So I’m in my mom’s room talking with her tonight, and she says, “What’s Milo doing?”  I said, “Oh, he’s in his room memorizing a speech.”

“You know…your father and sister are real anxious for him to move out,” she said.

I knew it.  I knew it!  Didn’t I say it was the two of them!?

I said, “Of course they are!  And you know why, don’t you!?”

I explained it to her.  She didn’t deny the possibility.  They are trying to push me into depression and insanity, and at the same time, by doing the same thing, they are trying to eliminate my ally.

I finally realized what it reminds me of (besides that children’s book I read in 4th grade—Wait ‘Til Helen Comes).  It reminds me of the story in the Bible about Jacob and Esau (with a complete gender role reversal).

Jacob’s mother wanted him to have the father’s blessing instead of Esau.  She wanted him to have everything, and she helped him plot to ruin Esau, and for what reason?  Just because he was older?

I’m telling you; there are conspiracies and dirty work afoot in our house.  I suspect my dad is the one who turned the thermostat to emergency heat; I suspect him of turning off the Christmas lights on the house; I suspect him of stealing the $60 from Brother’s wallet (which he keeps out in the garage).  He does all of these things in order to blame Milo (or sometimes me, just for the fun of it).  I’m sorry, but that is how I feel.

On the one hand, it makes me feel sort of…sick…but on the other, why should I care?  I’ll be gone soon.

No…I care because my mom and my brother still have to put up with it; and there’s nothing I can really do.  The only way I can protect myself even is by leaving.

I saw an article the other day in USA Today about life expectancy in America being the highest it’s been…I think ever.  Something like…76.7 years, average.  For women it’s about 80 years.

So…on Saturday, my life will be approximately one-quarter over.  I guess I’m experiencing my quarter-life crisis, or something.  I felt sort of panicked when the idea first hit me…I wanted to run and jump around, do something, because standing there thinking didn’t seem to be productive enough.  I felt like I was wasting precious moments, and that, all of a sudden, I could feel all twenty years of my life, and I could see every instant of them all at once, I could sense their being there, I could feel exactly how long it had been and how long twenty years lasted, and I could feel that multiplied times four and see my life at its end…it was a weird sensation.

And now for something completely different….

I need to talk about some cheery stuff, here.

The other night, I came home from work and told my mom about discovering Patrick’s name, and she said, “Well, that is a Cornish Pixie—well, no, that’s more of a Shamrock Pixie name, isn’t it?”  And then we both just started giggling; it was hilarious.  I asked, “And how many glasses of wine did you drink?” which just made us laugh even harder.  It was really great.

Speaking of Cornish Pixies (that, by the way, is how Tinny and I have been referring to all the Brits going through our line), tonight this guy came through my line who had this whole Gary Oldman look to him.  I don’t know how to explain that, exactly…the casually elegant style of clothes, his short, graying dark hair, his goatee…he looked like he was about 45 years old, and just had that look to him.

Well, anyway, he was standing in front of me, and he said something that I didn’t hear, so I said, “What was that?”

He said, with an English accent, “Could I have some carrots, please?”

And I said, with an English accent, “Ohh, carrots.”

I didn’t mean to speak in the English accent.  I seriously didn’t mean to.  It just came out of my mouth.  I was astonished; I hope that Bizarro Gary Oldman either did not hear, or at least did not think that I was making fun of him.

At any rate, he was very polite and friendly and…well…um….

As much as I go for the older guys, I can’t say I’ve ever been seriously attracted to one who wasn’t famous.  Not that much older.  I mean, I don’t generally go walking around looking for men in their 40s and up; I’m normally checking out the ones around my own age.  It’s just happenstance that I always like the older ones.

Anyway…I was seriously attracted to this guy.  Like, really.  Is that disturbing?  It’s not like I’ve never been attracted to a 40-something-year-old before…just never one in this close proximity.  And…wow….

Okay, I’ll change the subject now.  So a total of four Cornish Pixies (including Patrick) came through our line tonight.  How great is that?  Then there was this other guy that I could have sworn said something with an English accent…and when I looked up at him, he was wearing British-y clothes, and then Tinny leaned over and said, “Is he a Cornish Pixie?” and I said, “Yeah,” because he had to be, right?

So I looked at the guy and said, “Are you in the play?”

He looked me in the eye and said, “What?  What are you talking about?”

I said, “Oh…well, never mind, then….”

See, a group of actors are here from London to perform Othello.  That’s why there are so many Cornish Pixies about.

Anyway, I said, “I guess he wasn’t one.  And I was so sure that he was!”

Tinny said, “Yeah, so was I!”

Later, said guy walked by to a table, and as he was passing us, he turned and gave me what I swore was a sly smile.  I turned to Tinny, alarmed, and said, “I think he is a Cornish Pixie!  He’s an actor and he’s just messing with us!  Come on—we both heard the accent!  We both saw the clothes!”

Never found out for sure, though.

This just in:  TiNY tells me she found a note we had written during class.  I was apparently being silly as usual while she was really trying to tell me something.  She had written, “Guess what!”  I said, “Wait, let me guess:  I wrote, ‘Chicken butt.'”  TiNY said, “You know yourself all too well.”

Tinny and I (and Jasper, and even Glen in his absence) celebrated our birthdays in the café tonight.  Bob made us a cake, and Cort and Drew and Frank and almost everybody who worked there, it seemed, came over to sing to us.  It was hilarious—“Happy birthday, dear TeshuraGinnyJasperandGlen….”

And then they told us to blow out the candles, and we both took deep breaths, leaned wayyy over….

And then it seemed the entire cafeteria yelled out, “NOT OVER THE FOOD!”

We were like, “Oh, yeah.  Sorry.”  And we stepped to the side a bit.

Combining both our efforts, we were able to blow out, in one breath, a total of four of the five candles on the cake.  Go us.

We also got candy and hilarious birthday cards signed by all our work buddies.

Oh!  And Bryan has been re-hired!  Callooh!  Callay!  (I would link to the “Save Bryan!” entry, but, whatever.  He’s back.)

And I think that’s enough news for one night!