Dead Ringer
My friend calls coffee her 'bitch serum.' And it is.
Barry came in this morning with two broken fingers, a splint on his wrist, assorted dislocated, bruised, torn and/or mutilated body parts, and what I suspect may be a concussion. He fell backwards off a ladder while sanding a log on Dr. Francis's log house. While they were at the hospital, Dr. Francis's daughter came in with a sprained ankle. He drove Barry's Jeep to the Hospital and backed into somebody. I'm not sure whose day it was for bad luck, Barry's or Doc's. I've never seen anybody alive or dead who looked more like Billy Bob Thornton than Barry. People on his cruise ship this summer asked for his autograph. Ham that he is, he pretended to be Billy.
I was sipping hot Tang this morning while the snow from my boots melted all over the carpet under my desk, wondering when it's going to stop snowing. There's an email going around with a link to a a short, tacky article that was published in the UCLA Daily Bruin on December 9th about how much it sucked that the Bruins had to play somebody as low-profile as the University of Wyoming in Vegas. I emailed it to the mayor, who is a die-hard Cowboy Joe, a fanatic Wyoming fan, who attended that game. He's the president of the State Bar Association and loves his alma mater; he goes everywhere to see them play. I think it's cute that the author of that article baited the people of our state, but I'm too lazy to write an irate letter enumerating all the great things we've got going for us that he overlooked. I have to shrug and remind myself that there are good things and bad things about living in every state. I lived in California for ten years. I could tell him a thing or two about the things about SoCal that suck, but I don't like to sling racist remarks around on the Internet. If he wasn't so horribly unattractive I would probably write a snide, flirty diatribe and bait him back, which is apparently what he wants: "Those of you in the "cities" of Cheyenne, Cody, Casper or Laramie can e-mail Quinonez at gquinonez@media.ucla.edu, if you know how to use that thing called a computer." As it is I don't really care. I didn't go to the U of WY. My alma mater is on South Grand Avenue in downtown Los Angeles, and they don't have a sports team of any kind, unless you count treading the catwalk among your favorite Olympic events.
I do know how to use that "thing called a computer," and I use it very well and all the time, but what would make it even better is if I had one of these. I have to have one. I have to save up. I have to pretend to work now.
Barry came in this morning with two broken fingers, a splint on his wrist, assorted dislocated, bruised, torn and/or mutilated body parts, and what I suspect may be a concussion. He fell backwards off a ladder while sanding a log on Dr. Francis's log house. While they were at the hospital, Dr. Francis's daughter came in with a sprained ankle. He drove Barry's Jeep to the Hospital and backed into somebody. I'm not sure whose day it was for bad luck, Barry's or Doc's. I've never seen anybody alive or dead who looked more like Billy Bob Thornton than Barry. People on his cruise ship this summer asked for his autograph. Ham that he is, he pretended to be Billy.
I was sipping hot Tang this morning while the snow from my boots melted all over the carpet under my desk, wondering when it's going to stop snowing. There's an email going around with a link to a a short, tacky article that was published in the UCLA Daily Bruin on December 9th about how much it sucked that the Bruins had to play somebody as low-profile as the University of Wyoming in Vegas. I emailed it to the mayor, who is a die-hard Cowboy Joe, a fanatic Wyoming fan, who attended that game. He's the president of the State Bar Association and loves his alma mater; he goes everywhere to see them play. I think it's cute that the author of that article baited the people of our state, but I'm too lazy to write an irate letter enumerating all the great things we've got going for us that he overlooked. I have to shrug and remind myself that there are good things and bad things about living in every state. I lived in California for ten years. I could tell him a thing or two about the things about SoCal that suck, but I don't like to sling racist remarks around on the Internet. If he wasn't so horribly unattractive I would probably write a snide, flirty diatribe and bait him back, which is apparently what he wants: "Those of you in the "cities" of Cheyenne, Cody, Casper or Laramie can e-mail Quinonez at gquinonez@media.ucla.edu, if you know how to use that thing called a computer." As it is I don't really care. I didn't go to the U of WY. My alma mater is on South Grand Avenue in downtown Los Angeles, and they don't have a sports team of any kind, unless you count treading the catwalk among your favorite Olympic events.
I do know how to use that "thing called a computer," and I use it very well and all the time, but what would make it even better is if I had one of these. I have to have one. I have to save up. I have to pretend to work now.
posted by A at
10:17 AM
1 Comments:
I haven't drunk Tang since I was, like, 9, and it never would have occurred to me, then or now, to drink it hot like tea. Tell me, is that something they recommend on the label, or is "beverage innovator" another bullet point on your resume of marvelousness? Either way, I'm going to have a hard time ignoring it the next time I buy groceries.
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