The Spit, Not the Blood, and the Endless Mouth

Yam yam yammering on and on today. I didn’t post Friday because the kiddos and I were Spring Break-in’ (“Breakin’ II -- Electric Boogaloo”, only we can dance better). I just finished wading through 50 or so work emails (not bad), so I feel the need to spew.

1) I did, indeed, collect 15 vials of my spit, stored them in my freezer (between the Drumstick Ice Cream and the Girl Scout Cookies) and dropped them off at the University Lab this morning. I then had to run to the ‘regular folks’ lab down the street to get my blood drawn for my on-going thyroid problem. Got there, 2 folks ahead of me in line, the lab tech in the room with a client, and she was swearing. The lab tech was swearing. SWEARING. And tap-tap-tapping on her computer. After about 5 minutes of this, she announced to all of us waiting, “Just so you know, our entire network went down. I’ll have to get a computer guy in here to retrieve my data, so you might want to leave and come back later.” FACK. I rilly rilly hate having to re-schedule blood draws. Heck, if you show me the angle, I’ll draw the damn blood myself.

2) Sergei is, indeed, a slip of himself now. He’s so dedicated, I’m so proud. He's a sexy man, and now, even sexier (if that's possible). I’m a slower loser, and though in general I’m slimming down, my belly pooch is laughing at me, laughing and giggling and pointing and begging passers-by to ‘Pillsbury Dough-Boy Poke’ it. Ah well. At least my jeans are saggy and threatening to slide off my hips. That's somethin'....

3) From my email this morning: “"Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities." – Voltaire”. Which reminds me, Sergei has started a political blog, of which I am invited to post. Soon, soon.

4) From the Obsession Department: Since I was a kid, I’ve loved Steely Dan (The group, not the ‘item’ from “Naked Lunch”…although….) Donald Fagen and Walter Becker are just two of the coolest cats around. Donny-boy just released a solo CD, “Morph the Cat", which I dutifully purchased Friday whilst dragging the children hither and yon. I’ve listened to it once, and I think it’ll ‘grow on me’. ("The Nightfly” is definitely his best, "Kamakiriad" second…at least so far.) What kills me is when I see how old he’s getting, and how old other folks are getting, as in ‘Oh my god, Danny Bonaduce is just hella craggy!’ Which means I’M getting old. Fuckkit, I’ll just listen to my cd and not think about it.

5) So wait, the French government wanted to pass a law for people under 26 years of age, so employers could enact 2-year ‘trial periods’ for jobs, in which time the employer could fire without notice. 2 years? TWO? Most American companies have a 6-month trial basis. TWO years? That sucks. But what I don’t get is this double-speak: “The prime minister said he was convinced that the only way of addressing joblessness in France was a better balance between flexibility for employers and security for employees. The new measures would aim to help the most disadvantaged young people find jobs, he said." Wait, wait…flexibility for employers, sure, but where’s the security for employees? If you can let them go for no reason, 1 year and 11 months after you hire them, where’s the security in that? Can someone clear this up for me?

6) Anyone know where I can buy dark chocolate Easter bunnies that don’t cost $35?

7) Call me wacky, but I think this Pianka guy is a nut job.

8) Sergei and I worked in the yard yesterday for hours. HOURS. After bending and stooping and cutting and hauling and raking...for HOURS...today my legs and arms hurt in that good muscle-tear way. Sorta like I had really interesting, really complicated "throw your leg over here, baby" sex. With the trapeze.