…half baked and full of cheese!
What Color is Your Brain?
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Going out for mexican food tonight - yum. there was a buy one get one free coupon for a local place on the back of my grocery receipt the other day. K and I only go out if we have a coupon anymore. There’s so many restaurant in the ATL that most of them have coupons somewhere, just to get people in the door!
God I love mexican food!
So I was at choir practice tonight (yeah yeah, I sing in the church choir) and we started practicing a new song. It was an arrangement of “all things bright and beautiful” by John Rutter. It’s a very nice piece. The women sing the first verse, and the men sing the second, and then we all sing together. Basic stuff, really.
Except the men’s verse has a line in it that goes something like this “the majesty of…his purple headed mountain.”
Swear to god. Not mountains. Mountain. And our choir director is a perfectionist, so he made the men sing that part over and over again. Did I mention our choir director is also gay? Over and over again, “his purple headed mountain.”
Am I the only one with a dirty mind out there? I had to bite my tongue to keep from giggling!
I am so going to hell! I don’t belong in church, that’s for damn sure!
This is right down the road from where I’m working right now. Scary!
I got to thinking just now, after reading someone else’s blog, about how I have somehow become the “go to” person in my lab. When something is broken, I am the first one notified. Before we call the computer guy or the maintenance person, they call me. Someone once told me that this is because I have demonstrated competence. At some point in the past, I fixed something or I volunteered for something, and now everyone thinks I know what I’m doing. It’s nice to feel needed, but sometimes I wish they would just figure it out themselves!
In reality, I just have no fear of machines. No company has ever created a computer, printer, or copiers with a “blow up” button (though that would be pretty cool - very Dexter’s laboratory). So pushing buttons to attempt to repair something is always a safe bet - it usually doesn’t make the problem worse, at any rate. Also, many people around here still haven’t figured out the “when in doubt, turn the damned thing off and on again” rule. And as long as you remember what goes where, and don’t lose any screws, you can always take stuff apart. K is often amazed at the kinds of things I’ve done by myself, before I had a useful male (K) around. (in contrast to the often “useless” guys I’ve dated before, who I usually told to “stand over here, hold this, and call 911 if I electrocute myself.”) I guess I get it from my dad, who usually tries household repairs on his own, usually with success. Before K moved in, I lived by myself in my condo. If something went wrong, there was no apartment repair man to come fix it. It was either learn to do it myself, or shell out big bucks to have someone else do it. Of course, dad is only a phone call away when I run into a snag.
Gotta go - the printer is printing streaky. All you have to do is take out the cartridge and shake it side to side to redistribe the powder. I’ve told them this a thousand times, but they want ME to do it. Grrrr. Sometimes being competent is a pain in the ass.
Here’s the fire story
Today has been really quite boring. K just called to ask if we needed anything from Publix besides hamburger rolls. I remember that there was something else we needed, but now can’t for the life of me imagine what it was. Oh well. I’ll have to go to publix yet again tomorrow to get my prescription refilled. Yay Epi-pens. They save my life if I eat a nut, but my insurance company still won’t cover them. My theory being that it’s cheaper for them for me to die. So I have to shell out $130 bucks for two of them every year. Thankfully, I needed the refill because my old ones expired, not because I used them. That would be even more expensive. I’m trying to avoid random medical bills right now. I tend to get sick in clusters, meaning that I can go years without anything more than my yearly checkups, and then have a month where I’m at the doctor’s office 6 times for 3 separate conditions. Hate that. Hate that the nurse there knows my name without looking at my chart (she’s really nice, though).
What was I talking about? Hamburger buns?
Bored bored bored.
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