A few years ago I was in New Orleans and did the obligatory fortune-teller reading (when you get one they validate your plane tickets so that you can leave the city). The center square of the city is filled with fortune tellers — you can choose perfectly normal looking ones, trendy young women, etc.
In order to get the full fortune-telling experience I chose the craziest looking woman I could find. I mean, I wanted really crazy — missing teeth, big hair, blindness would also be good… I cruised the square a few times evaluating people on the crazy scale before settling on her. It seemed worth it though: as my perception of fortune tellers from movies is that they are usually crazy bayou women with limited english or Zoltan the automated box (who, strangely enough, wasn’t there).
I have to say that my fortune was a disaster. The problem with choosing the crazy person is that they are crazy. And, it turns out, having a loose grip on reality doesn’t necessarily put you in touch with the predictive cosmos. I walked away trying to figure out which ex-boyfriend I was supposed to still be in love with (not a thing) and which of my creative abilities I should use to start a career (definitely not a thing).
My friend who chose the attractive, young, trendy fortune teller on the other hand received a perfectly reasonable fortune about not agreeing with her parents all the time and opening up to being more accepting of men.
You get what you pay for I suppose.
I had an entirely different post in mind today, but after logging on there is something important I must address. You can find it in the image below. Go ahead and take a minute…
Yes, that’s correct. Someone reached my blog by searching for the word “sex” on the internet. Not only must he / she have been disappointed, but this is the internet! How many pages of google results would you have to search through before finding this site — which (I’m proud to say) is the least sexy thing on the internet. 15? 47? 100? How many sex search results can 1 person handle?!?
Listen bottle of pet-odor remover, I’m sick of playing games. One last time — are you, or are you not safe for children?
Why I oughtta…
That I would miss a day of blogging because I was too busy watching the movie Twilight.
Shit. I don’t think anyone could have seen that one coming.
Well, that’s a predictable and boring conclusion to the flooding story.
I don’t know what I was hoping for. Maybe something like “Meteor”, ”Swamp Monster” or “Glacier”. But none of those things really exist.
Today a co-worker came by my desk to grab a signature and then rushed out into the hallway. I heard him shouting:“Oh no, what’s going on? Emergency! Emergency! Do you need help? Oh no!! Get out!”
In response, I sat calmly at my desk and continued working, like everyone else in the room. If working in a building with regular fire-drills has taught me anything; it’s that I’m not going to bother getting up from my desk until someone explicitly tells me I have to. Now that I think about it, I think fire drills have taught me not to panic (or even react at all) to emergency situations.
It wasn’t until warm murky water started sliding up to my desk that I realized something was wrong. And the first thing to go through my head was: “Wow, there’s an emergency here. Why didn’t anyone tell me about this??”
When I left the building the water was still coming in pretty heavily. On the one hand my bag and a few boxes got wet, the electronics might be damaged, and who knows if that water was clean. But on the other hand I was allowed to evacuate the door by my car rather than having to sign out at the security desk, so I think we can call this a victory!
Stay Tuned for Tomorrow’s Post: “Wow that (TBD) had a lot of water in it”
Speaking of Winnie the Pooh, what the &$#* is wrong with Eeyore?!? And how are lines like this included in a children’s book?
- Thank you, Pooh,” answered Eeyore. “You’re a real friend,” said he. “Not Like Some,” he said.
- “Good morning, Pooh Bear,” said Eeyore gloomily. “If it is a good morning, which I doubt,” said he.
- One can’t complain. I have my friends. Someone spoke to me only yesterday.
Finally, how is no one getting him some serious help?
Thanks to everyone who weighed-in on the bear issue. The general consensus is that it’s amazing I’ve survived as long as I have considering what an easy target I am for bears.
Learn more about different kinds of bears.
While on a drive with friends this weekend we speculated on what you’re supposed to do in a bear attack. The answers were:
Frances – I think you’re supposed to make yourself big
Jeff – No, you punch it in the nose.
Ben – You’re supposed to make a loud noise, like banging pots and pans together
Me – I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to cover your head an play dead
We still don’t know what the answer is. But even more significant is the fact that, in the case of a bear attack, 3 out of 4 of us would wind up dead.
Years ago my family was at Friendly’s and my father ordered his usual — a Jim Dandy. (The heart-stopper of sundaes.) This particular visit however, was different. No longer would he stand for runny sundaes or ones smaller than the 5 giant scoops depicted in the menu picture. So, he asked the waitress for:
“I want one that looks like the picutre. I don’t want one that’s small or melted, but I want a real Jim Dandy, like that one!”
When our food arrived the family was blown away. It was the most beautiful Jim Dandy we had ever seen! My excited father grabbed his spoon, ready to dig-in to the work of art…
“Plink”
Yes indeed. Plink. The waitress had brought my father the plastic sundae from the store window. Behind us was the entire waitstaff that had come out to see the gag in action, and behind them was a just-OK looking Jim Dandy for my dad.
