Listening: Angels Don't Fall in Love
and Standing in a Hallway by The Bangles, Wonderful Night
by Fatboy Slim
Reading (perhaps quality): Last of the
Menu Girls by Denise Chavez
Reading (definitely pulp): Tore through
a trashy romance I found cheap at a used bookstore.
Drinking: Cold water.
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April 30, 2005
2:15 pm
(left)
image to show that there once was some nice weather around here
Its been raining on and off all morning,
am snuggled up in a college sweatshirt, flannels and a blankets. Not
that its even that cold, am just enjoying this last bit of winter before
we unequivocally burst into spring/summer.
Dad and Carmen
are still in town - actually have no idea what they're up to now since
I called them earlier this morning (about 10:30?) and haven't gotten
a response. Assume they'll find me whenever they're ready, in the meantime
I've got a fair amount of paperwork, projects, and general catch-up
to do and keep me happily at home.
There is one story I hadn't caught
y'all up on.
So, SS the SS
and I have a long-standing joke about Canadian Geese. How they're inherently
sinister animals that stand around in groups everywhere just waaaaaaatching.
We'll call each other when we see a goose in an odd place, laughingly
speculating on their plot(s).
That said, when I saw a huge plastic
fake Canadian Goose in the window of a shop near home I knew I had to
buy it for her as a welcome home present. The plan? To have it sitting
on her back porch when she go back home - she'd see it, wonder if it
was real, then get the joke and know it was me who'd did it. So I bought
and carried the big (but light) thing home to store it until I could
bring it over to her place. Had to cover it up - though fake upon even
vaguely close inspection on first glance that thing looked seriously
real.
(above) the goose, in its eventual destination on
SS the SS's back porch. See what I mean on the looking real thing?
Eventually I had to get it over to
her house. Being car-free and cheap I elected to take metro. Being a
drama-queen-at-times I started thinking about ways to make the trip
even more interesting. Fielded suggestions from friends, including having
the goose and I wear matching scarves, reading a book aloud to the goose,
or simply carrying on a conversation with it.
In the end I decided to play it straight
- to get on and off the train with as little fanfare as possible. I
knew that a fake goose wouldn't be the weirdest thing on the metro train
but I steeled myself for some comments on the 30 minute ride and started
out.
(above) Me and the goose. It's light but awkward
in so many ways.
Turned out not to be that bad. Some
kids made quacking or honking noises, a woman asked me where I got it
because she wanted one for her lawn, a metro employee came up to me
confessing that she was about to bawl me out for bringing a bird on
the train until she realized it wasn't real. Then the actual setup at
SS the SS's was straightforward. Got off the train, met up with Beley
at the farecard machines, and walked over to SS the SS's. Saw the roomie,
set up the bird, and left.
Spent all the next day waiting for
SS the SS to call and say she'd found the goose. Had talked to her earlier
in the day so knew she arrived home but I was perplexed as to how she
somehow hadn't noticed the large fowl on her back porch.
Found out the next day when I went
over there for drinks. We went out on the porch and SS the SS called
out to her roomie that she was sorry but she'd had to move the roomie's
goose. I rolled my eyes and called her a dork, saying that of course
the goose was for her. She looked at me, looked at the goose, and laughed.
We spent the rest of the evening outside with the bird, discussing names
for it in between other more normal topics.
So I'm thrilled she's back. The whole best-friend-away thing was torture,
one I'm glad I'm no longer suffering.
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Doing (life and related tasks): Some paperwork,
reading, relaxing.
Doing (crafty stuff): Still with the blanket-block knitting.
Wanting: My folks to call. Where the hell
are those two?
Anticipating: You know, I don't know...
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