April 15th, 2003

A Pocket Full of Murder

(no subject)

Apparently it's worse than I'd thought -- or at least, worse than I hoped. Got a call this morning telling me that my hard drive does indeed need replacing -- it's under warranty, fortunately, but these things still take time if not money. So, if all goes very well and the manufacturer ships the new HD out this evening, I'll have my computer back on Thursday night. But otherwise I'll have to wait until (*gulp*) Monday night. A whole week without e-mail or IM! It's amazing how isolated that can make one feel. Obviously I'll have to think of some other controversial subject to bring up here that will bring me lots of comments. :)
A Pocket Full of Murder

(no subject)

I just had the most surreal experience. The doorbell rang and I dashed to answer it, to find a young man in shirt and tie standing there with a clipboard tucked under his arm. He looked like he was in his early twenties, possibly even a bit younger, and the first words out of his mouth were, "Hi. Can I speak to your mother or father?"

I boggled at him. "Excuse... me?"

"Is your Mom or Dad home?" Obviously misinterpreting my baffled silence, he went on, "Or can you tell me when they'll be back?"

"Um," I said, "I'm the lady of the house."

He took a step back. "Oh, you're kidding. I'm sorry! You just -- I mean, you looked young and -- do people make that mistake with you often?"

"No."

"Er, well, I'm really sorry if I embarrassed you. I'm here on behalf of a local golf course and..."

Cynic that I am, I wondered if he were deliberately using that "Where's your parents" line on women in their thirties in the hopes of making them feel so pleased with themselves they'd buy a golf membership. I am not, however, of the mindset that laments lost youth -- or at least, not yet -- so if that was the intention, it misfired. I informed him politely (but with a certain degree of relish, I do admit) that there were no golfers in this household, nor were there ever likely to be, and he slunk off down the driveway to try at the next house over.
A Pocket Full of Murder

(no subject)

So this afternoon I stick a load of laundry into the washer. And as I'm loading, I notice some of the laundry -- specifically some old towels and a washable mop head -- is damp, and I think, "Oh, yeah, all that mess from Sunday (when Nicholas spilled an entire jug of milk over the kitchen floor)". But I wasn't thinking straight. I was thinking "sour milk damp". I was not thinking "heavy-duty hardwood floor cleaner damp". So I walked away, and got distracted, and forgot to wash my hands until later. As in, a couple of hours later. By which time my fingers are starting to hurt. I wash my hands with soap and water and put some cream on them, but they keep turning red and swelling up. Until finally I clue in...

Chemical burns. Which you are supposed to flush with water, right away, for no less than 20 minutes, and then not put any kind of cream on unless ordered by a doctor.

Ouch. Ouchy ouchy ouch.