A story her folks can be told.
I'm home at the moment with Day 3 of a cold (day one: aching throat; day two: scratchy throat and runny nose; day three: ceaseless ooze of mucus from sinuses, and thanks for that, sinuses), breathing through my mouth and snorking and generally sexing up the joint. No use taking DayQuil, given that text is my anti-drug: the ensuing reaction might
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(I just wrote "FELL." I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY.)
I want to see pictures! PICTURES PICTURES PICTURES.
Your reference to Counselor Troi? Because of that, I went on a wikipedia -- uh, there needs to be a word for a half-hour wasted on wikipedia, bouncing back and forth between entries about a television show you've never watched -- anyway, I now know who Counselor Troi is. And also her plotlines -- the arranged marriage! the actual marriage! -- and those of several other characters. "Characters" means these people are not real. "Characters" means I could've been doing other, more useful things.
DAMMIT, JIM.
We read Samuel 1 in seventh grade. I hated seventh grade, but stories about necromancy are always a good thing. Biblical numerology, on the other hand? IS A LOAD OF CRAP. "Why look, if you add the values of the letters together... you get another number, to which we will randomly assign significance!" "Oh, and look! If you skip letters in between... more randomly-assigned significance!" And then there's the stuff -- I'm including this in the purview of "numerology" though numbers aren't so much involved -- where if you skip between letters and lines, you can spell out *messages.* OOOH.
Even google can't help me with "paraorugas." What?
Remember my confusion with the groundhog? My feeling that, as an adult who has lived in this country her entire life, there should not be whole *species* of animals that are unfamiliar to me? That is how I feel about your nutria. Congratulations.
"Well, individually I did not get drunk, but that did nothing to bring down the average level of wastedness. From a statistical perspective, I was upwards of 2.99 repeating sheets to the wind." Hee.
I have already indicated to you -- using my *voice* on that thing we call the *telephone* -- how much I approve of that video. And also Journey.
"...the other table... begins making frequent, enthusiastic toasts to "WOOOOOOOO!... Meanwhile the middle sister gets completely intoxicated. The Bride family unites in coaxing her to eat something, a process hampered by her having to close one eye in order to line up fork and potato." Hee.
All meat is meant to be consumed rare. You should thank the low lighting for this experience.
I had never heard "Streets of Laredo" before. That song? Is *slow.* Especially since the story-teller is apparently dying through the whole thing.
"took a couple of long walks using the New Orleans equivalent of the right-hand rule, whereby you walk as far as you can until you start to think you're going to get killed, and then you turn a corner." Hee.
"So that's the news from Lake Pontchartrain, where the tourists are drunk, the cowboys are bitter, and all the crime rates are above average." Hee.
I can't believe you went to a *fake* karaoke bar. That much alcohol into the evening, there's no excuse not to go all-out on the self-embarrassment scale.
(I can never believe that "embarrassment" has that many "r"s in it.)
We must needs discuss Ryan's wedding. I am flying into the ATL on Sunday morning, because there were no late flights out on Saturday night. I should be arriving around 10:30ish. Do I have time to go home, shower, put on pretty clothes, and then drive (ride) out to Big Canoe with you for the 5:30 ceremony? Or should I have you meet me (please) at the MARTA stop, and I will prettify when we reach our destination? I am concerned about timing, but also the whole I-am-sharing-a-house-with-strangers-and-I-need-to-monopolize-the-toilet factor. Please advise.
I believe it probably *is* too cold for popsicles in your house, but that is the difference between me and you (and your mom).
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It's mildly important that you have passing familiarity with the first two iterations of "Star Trek," so I'm glad to have prompted your research trip. But forget Troi's plotlines - did you see what they made her wear? Although perhaps it wasn't that much worse for her than for the male actors. At some point between now and the federated future we will all be replaced by molded plastic: no sags, no dangles. And big, crazy hair for everyone who isn't bald.
Para+sol = for the sun. Para+orugas = for the caterpillars. Using "for" in the prescriptive sense.
Nutrias are mammalian kudzu, and there's no reason to know about them unless you live within their range. That was Mom's reaction to the warthog story, though, so I threw it in for a little journalistic balance.
I am much less familiar with "The Streets of Laredo" song family than I am with the female version discussed earlier. But if it's okay by Al, I guess it's okay by me. In this one case.
Based on the map, it seems to take about 90 minutes to get to Big Canoe; we'll call it two hours for the sake of not being stressed. I was planning to leave early enough that I could get dressed up there (not shower, though), since wedding clothes are not the most comfortable for driving. That puts me leaving Atlanta between 2:30 and 3. If you are up here/at your house by noon, you should have plenty of time to prettify whichever way you want.
And of course you could call me if you need to talk it out.
(Okay, so I wanted to see what it would be like to be a friend of mine. Turns out it's kind of frustrating!)
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