Short Funnies

1. The Man from GM tells me that his philosophy is “Swing at Everything.” I’m pretty sure that, if allowed to count myself, I’m as lucky with the ladies as the Man from GM is, but I appreciate his optimism. Those of you who’ve had to fish his hands out of your pants may not be so appreciative of said optimism.

2. The Man from GM also complains that the girls he gets with are all in bad shape, because, after a while, they start gasping for breath. I laughed and teased him mercilessly and he got mad and said it was a real problem. I’m still 51% sure he knows that’s not really a problem. Okay 43% sure.

3. The Butcher is concerned that I might be becoming an alcoholic again. Oh, Citizens of Earth, the funny is on so many levels. Let’s count them. One, the Butcher is worried about my consumption of mood altering chemicals?! Two, in the past month, not counting the tequila, I’ve had five drinks–one at my cousin’s wedding and four Friday night. I’ve been drunk once, counting the tequila. And, as the Professor can attest, that’s a pretty heavy month for me. Three, again?! I suspect the overblown stories of my college exploits have given him a false impression of how I really spent my time.

4. Though I should probably not admit this so soon after making fun of the Man from GM, I think I’m missing a little basic anatomy knowledge. Okay this is Laffy Taffy. No part of my body looks like this. And maybe I’m taking things too literally, but because I have nothing that looks like this, I cannot figure out what the hell D4L wants me to shake.

Afghan Weather

Okay, last week, I broke down and ran the air one afternoon, and this week, autumn seems to have arrived in full force. We haven’t turned the heat on, as we are Midwesterners, and we refuse to acknowledge that this is cold. But I have pulled out all the afghans, of which we have many, because I like nothing better than to crochet large chunky afghans while watching TV when it’s cold out, and have wrapped myself in them*.

But I have not yet broken down and pulled out the winter coat, even though I could have used it on the walk with the dog this morning.

But let me tell you about my winter coat of awesomeness, which I think, in part, is responsible for my embrace of America’s gun culture.

Let me explain. I used to be the kind of girl who wore cute coats. Long black things with shiny buttons and mysterious hoods. Coats as much at home on the city streets of Chicago as walking to work in rural Illinois.

But, honestly, I traded warmth for fashion.

When I moved down here, I was in the Tractor Supply Company, bemoaning the fact that, compared to Farm & Fleet, their toy section sucks, when a blocky stiff blue thing caught my eye.

I’ll admit, between the farm boys of my youth and the rappers on my TV, I might have been preconditioned to at least try that fucker on. But I was thinking, the whole time, how warm can something that looks like a tent be?

Well, toasty. And it’s not even the warmest coat Carhartt makes.

And all of a sudden, I realized that people who get up early in the morning to go out hunting are not crazed maniacs who love to feel chilled to the bone.

They wear warm clothing. Toasty warm clothing. With pockets big enough to actually hold your mittens.

So, I bought that coat and I wear the shit out of it. And at least once a week all through the winter, whenever someone in the office has to run anything anywhere outside the building, it gets borrowed and appreciated for its awesomeness.

Now, if only I can get folks around here to appreciate the glory of my chunky afghans, because I’ve got more than my fair share.

*However, I’m still wearing sandals, because my cute black heels spent the summer as stretchers for the Butcher’s bowling shoes. I’m not very thrilled about this discovery, especially since they hadn’t really recovered from the art accident that landed them covered in wax.