It’s bad when someone is stupid, but it’s really really bad when it’s your own stupid head that is to blame. My computer ate a completely finished freelance article, and I’m sure it’s something I did that was stupid. I’m still not entirely certain what happened there, as in my day job, I spend all day wrangling various versions of files and whatnot, so it’s not like I’m unfamiliar with the concept of saving and renaming. In fact, half the time, my hard drive fills up with extraneous versions of the same files, just a little bit different from the other, a cloning experiment gone crazy. All I know is that an older version of the file got saved on top of my finished and formatted file name and then when it was noticed by someone else, the pounding of the head on the desk began. Anger. Oh the anger.
On recommendation of Pie, I’m now printing out everything in triplicate because as annoying as it would have been to retype two thousand words, I could have finished that in about twenty minutes, rather than the three days it took to redo everything and double my research. Stupid.
Last week, for a day I got to live with two of my favorite people, who crammed two beds and a bird cage into my soon-to-be-finished office. I said goodbye to Fu and was very sad that I had missed all but one morning of her visit to Green Bay. We could have had so much fun, but Vegas was my Everest and plans had already been locked in stone. Or, rather, locked in First Class. Regret. However, I took Fu to the Snooty Deli and then drove her along my thinking road on the Bay and we saw pelicans and hawks and cranes and banana slugs from four thousand miles away. Then there was just one favorite girl and two birds living in my office, one girl whom I passed all squinty eyed and mussy haired in the morning on the way to the bathroom. Pie, for the record, is cuteness and sunshine in the morning, while I am Grendel. And now, the office is empty because on Saturday, Pie moved into her apartment. And now the quest for furniture to fill it, in some kind of live action version of The Sims. Pie, remind me to speak in Simese with you.
Life has been returning to normal after the crazy Vegas adventure. Pie and I went grocery shopping and Pie was health-conscious and got whole grains and grapes, while I was grabbing multiple boxes of Oreo Ice Cream Sandwiches and also lard, which could describe just about everything else in my grocery basket. Wait, and also ten pounds of Jasmine rice because apparently the other grocery stores don’t consider Jasmine rice to be the necessity that it clearly is. People are insane. Just because it has a stripper name doesn’t mean it’s not the best rice ever.
We also went to the art festival. We both bought art and then also won art at the raffle. Or Pie won art and I won a Ritz Cracker dish or something. I don’t remember putting a slip in for the Ritz Cracker dish, quite honestly. I don’t even remember seeing this thing at the raffle. I suspect that I really won the black and white framed photograph I had my eye on, but then someone at the raffle decided to take it and gave me the cracker plate instead. However, I am very happy with my giant photograph of the angel in the cemetery in Milwaukee. It’s sort of silly, because I’ve taken almost the same picture myself, so I think I just wanted validation that it was a good picture. I don’t care. I love that angel.
Tonight, Esteban, Pie and I went to Ward and June’s house for dinner and then swimming, at which point Pie nailed me for the snotty noodle-surfing show-off that I am. You know, this ass fat isn’t good for much, so if it turns me into a champion noodle-surfer, how can I be humble? How? I ask this of you.
Never fear, we have introduced Pie to the wonders of cheese curds, both deep-fried (which were well received) and fresh and squeaky (which she found frightening and offputting) and then I made a horrible pun about being a Kurdish rebel. I still feel shame. My iPod just randomly served up Nenah Cherry’s Buffalo Stance and I listened to the entire thing in penance instead of hitting Next. Gigolo sukka!
In other news, the People came today and locked the cat in the storage room again. Bad People! They didn’t remember the note from last time! Must I write a note each time? Are they punishing the cat because I stuffed a moldy shower curtain into the bathroom garbage so it was overflowing? So many questions.
I’d write more but I think the Kurdish rebel thing messed up my head. Instead, how can you stand the cuteness? I cannot. I wish Fu lived here where I could feed her cheese and ice cream sandwiches and lard. Come to Wisconsin! Everyone! What are you waiting for?
