First-Person Narrator

Me, when Jimmy came home this afternoon: I accidentally slept almost all day.

Jimmy: Well, it could be worse.

Me: Yeah?

Jimmy: You could have been on fire that whole time.

Me: *laughs, concedes the point*

Me, suddenly remembering: Oh, can you do me a favor?

Jimmy, looking horrified: You want me to set you on fire??

Me: ...I was gonna ask you to take out the recycling, actually.

Me: *looking at a mixed lot of beads on ebay*

Jameson: *boggles at surprisingly low price* That much for a hundred? What are they made of?

Me: Zinc alloy.

Jameson: *ignoring me* I mean, for that price they must be made out of plague. Or...ASSASSINS.

Me: ...Assassins?

Jameson: Little tiny assassins. It must be a trick! Because no one would sell something for that cheap unless it was going to try to kill you.

*Note (for those viewing on DW): I am not upper-case mad, or even lower-case mad - I just made this icon today and love it and wanted to use it.

Jameson: *walking around with sad face*

Me: What's up?

Jameson: I want to hang the Christmas lights, but I can't find the nails.

Me: Those little nails you use for cables? Where were they last?

Jameson: If I knew that, I'd know where they are now.

Me: Not if where they were last was somewhere silly, like the fireplace or the dining room table. Because then I would have put them away in that box in the closet where I put all the tools.

Jameson: *checks the box* *apparently does not find the nails*

Me: I will help you look. *puts on shoes* *checks places in shed* Hm, sorry. I'm out of inspiration.

Jameson: Did you find a hammer?

Me: You couldn't find a hammer? There's one in that box in the closet!

Jameson: *shrugs*

Me: *goes to get hammer* *FINDS NAILS RIGHT NEXT TO IT*

Jameson: ...I love you?

Those of you who read karenhealey's journal are no doubt aware by now that we talk on instant messaging programs with a frequency that approximates "all the damn time," and that one or the other of us is often amusing. Karen usually ends these moments by saying "I AM BLOGGING THIS." But! Sometimes! She says, instead, "YOU MUST BLOG THIS." Thus, this post.

The background here is that Jimmy fell down the stairs at work the other day and hurt his ankle. We thought it might be broken, but fortunately it is only a sprain. Which is not actually entirely fortunate, but we'll take what we can get, here. Anyway, Karen asked after his health, and:

Me: it's fine as long as he holds it perfectly still, so he's kind of stuck on the couch
karenhealey: Did you give him a little bell, so he can feel like an invalid Regency lady?
Me: I'm logged into gchat on my phone. Similar idea.
Me: and then I texted Sam [one of my assistant instructors] and asked him to take class tonight so I could run errands and get Jimmy dinner and stuff, and he was all "sure!" and so phew, one less responsibility
Me: but then he couldn't get the door open
Me: and then he did! yay!
karenhealey: A THRILLING TALE
Me: but then he called after class because he couldn't LOCK the door
karenhealey: SUDEN TWIST
Me: so I was all "okay, lemme put on a bra and I'll be there in 20"
Me: but! ANOTHER TWIST
Me: he called me as I was getting in the car and said it was cool, he spit on the key and then it worked fine
karenhealey: *chokes on mouthful of mango*

That's what you get for being mockingly all-capsy about my laundry lists of daily activities, Karen! MANGO ASPIRATION.

After that, we talked about murder.

(MURDER BY MANGO?!)

Snippets from phone conversation with my father this evening:

Dad: How are you?
Me: Pretty good. I pulled the biggest tonsil stone ever out of my throat last night. So that was sort of painful.
Dad: Thank you for sharing that.
Me: You're welcome! I tried to take pictures, but they kept coming out too blurry.
Dad: *laughs*
Me: Oh, you think I'm joking.

Seriously you guys, it is very hard to get a digital camera to work when you're adjusting it one-handed and pointing the lens into your own mouth, even (especially?) with autofocus.

Last night, as Karen and I puttered around in the kitchen, we discovered a roach. I flailed and squeaked, as I am wont to do when confronted by roaches (though not other insects. Idek), and Karen very valiantly squashed it. And then later, I was doing something else in the kitchen, and I saw a roach that was kind of partially squashed running across the floor. When I had finished jumping and yelping, I grabbed a book, wrapped it in a paper towel, and did a thorough smushing job.

And then I went to tell Karen about it! For SOME REASON, she wasn't actually thrilled to hear that either a) the first roach had survived her squashing and escaped the trash bag or b) there were two roaches in the kitchen in one night. She was clearly missing the point. The point about how I was awesome, and didn't run away shrieking. Annnnyway, I was quick to reassure her that, for some reason, there are always two roaches in the house when there's one.

"It's like the Sith," I explained. "There are always two: a master, and an apprentice."

This is why alla y'all wish you could come be my houseguests. I make you sleep in a room with a Barbie morgue, and there might be a pair of roaches at some point, but I will come into your room in the middle of the night and make hilarious geeky references for your amusement.

I'll also drive you to and from an Applebee's on a Saturday night so you can drink mudslides as big as your head. It's possible that Karen actually appreciates that part more.

Hey, karenhealey! I have an important message for you!
( Read more... )

I usually put the cover on Qwerty's cage around eight or nine at night, by which time he's been quiet and blinking sleepily for a while. Tonight, though, he was still climbing around and chattering until after nine.

Me: I kind've don't want to put him to bed, since he's so chatty, but it's way past his usual bed time. Why isn't he tired?

Jimmy: Seriously. I'm tired and I'm way bigger than he is.

It's true! Jameson is way, way bigger than the parakeet.

Me: Did you finish that thing for Ann?

Jameson: No.

Me: Did you do any dishes?

Jameson: No.

Me: Did you take care of your car registration thing?

Jameson: ...No.

Me: ...Did you put together that storage unit?

Jameson: Yes.

Me: *looks pointedly at non-assembled storage unit*

Jameson: It's a special kind of done. It's quantum-done. So you ruined it just now by measuring it.

Me, turning to Jameson to make a remark: I... You have a duck on your face.

Jameson:


Jameson: Perhaps it is you who have a duck on your face.

Me: ...

Jameson:


ETA: And now, with icon! Feel free to snag if for some reason you want it: