We don't need no stinkin' counselor...

Last night Mr. W and I were watching a re-run of Scrubs on the Comedy Channel. During one scene, a song from a long time ago was playing. “Here Comes My Baby.”
Me: Hey! I remember that song. I don’t remember who did it, though.
Mr. W: Cat Stevens.
Me: No! I don’t know who it was, but it wasn’t Cat Stevens.
Mr. W: Yes. It’s Cat Stevens.

I got up and walked over to the computer.

Mr. W: Looking it up?
Me: You betcha.

One thing I must confess. The Internet saved my marriage. We would hold on to these arguments, letting them build and grow, (IT WASN’T CAT STEVENS AND YOU DIDN’T TAKE THE GARBAGE OUT LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD ON JUNE 3, 1976!) until they morphed from a little deal to a big deal.

So, I’m at the computer.

Me: Damn!
Mr. W: Cat Stevens.
Me: Yes. But it was made famous by the Tremeloes. THAT’S the version I remember.
Mr. W: But it was Cat Stevens.
Me: Yes. It was Cat Stevens.
Mr. W: So I was…?
Me: Right. You were right.
Mr. W: And you were…?
Me: Smart enough to get on the internet before I was forced to remind you that you failed to fold the laundry, like you said you would, on October 17, 1983.

Life in the slow lane.

I've often said my life is a series of, "If I can just get through..." this event or that happening. I would like to be more focused. Alas, I haven't been in ?? years. I expect it won't happen now. But the problem is I've been missing a lot. I haven't had time to read blogs, never mind a cogent thought to put on mine. Not that "cogent" has ever been among the criteria. Anyway...

Apparently I missed something at Cone's. Did you have to elder someone AGAIN, honey? From the looks of it Fec said something stupid. AGAIN. And I missed it. I'd ask to be brought up to speed but I suspect it would just open up a can of worms. AGAIN. So I won't bother.

Speaking of scouts, Mr. W was out of town so I called him with the good news. "They found him," was all I had to say. Mr. W knew who "him" was. He's been intensely interested in this since he was a boy scout himself and worked for the boy scouts as an adult. We're all glad for the happy ending.

Work is settling down some. Faculty and students are eyeing the end of the semester and settling into the last bit of work. If you want to know what this place is REALLY like, come out here on a Friday afternoon in the spring. The campus is beautiful. The students are out on the grounds with Frisbees and guitars. It is a wonderful place to be. Except for the clink of the bats on the ball fields.

"The rules of college baseball are substantially similar to the Official Baseball
Rules. Exceptions include the following:
The bat may be made of wood or of aluminum or a
metal or composite material that meets NCAA standards."

I HATE that sound. A well-hit baseball should THUNK. Not CLINK! It's unnatural. I WANT THE HARD WOOD. Damn!

So after a few weeks of tough work I'm getting a little break. Uh, Hogg? I'll see your, and raise you one.

Not SO obvious...

Different people see things in different ways. The conversation below is a prime example.

Me: My friends liked the cookies I took into the office today.
Mr. W: Of course they did. They were good cookies.
Me: "C" was so excited. She looked at them. I told her. "You can have some. I made them. There are no nuts in them." "C" is allergic to nuts.
Mr. W: Yeah. I know.
Me: What? Now how do you know that?
Mr. W: Didn't you tell me "C's" a lesbian?