Last night I was so excited about my newfound skill at dropping an image into my blog that I wanted to share my delight with Rod. So I ambushed him while he was on the computer.
The conversation went something like this.
“So…have you checked out my blog yet?” (I’m a gentle ambusher.)
“No, I’m working on an estimate.” He says all serious-like. And, I see that this is so, there are no you tube videos of flying squirrels or banjo playing chickens animating the screen just an exciting array of doors with attendant price lists.
“What do you mean you haven’t checked it out? You’re a fan aren’t you? You put yourself in my fan list. What kind of a fan are you? Apparently not a real fan, just a fake one, an imposter more like...”
“O.K., O.K. I’ll get onto it now.” and he begins to exit the screen.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. Just go into your favourites,” I detect hesitation “you do have me in your favourites, don’t you?”
“I find this easier,” he says with all the earnestness he can muster as he two finger types the letters n - a - n ...into the browser (at least I think that’s what the bar thingy at the very top of internet explorer is called)
“No. Type in my blog site, that’ll get you directly in… You do know the name of my blogsite don’t you?”
The air is still. He continues picking out c - k - e - r into the banner.
“You don’t even know the name of my blog site!? I’ve only been working on it for a year or more. You’re no fan. You should stop calling yourself a fan of mine. I should take you off my fan list. In fact, I think I will…”
“There. There. I’m in,” he announces triumphantly pointing to the computer, hoping to derail where this conversation is going. My last blog post fills the screen. He leans in closer for a better inspection. “Oh…that’s what that means.”
“What? That’s what, what means?”
“Containers of controlled chaos. That phrase has been written on the fridge door for days now. I’ve been afraid to open it. You know I just never know what I’m going to find in there at the best of times and then there’s this message on the door and it’s kind of made me afraid of just what the hell you’re doing in there.”
Poor guy, it must be difficult when someone else with different taste in food is in charge of what you’re eating after all there was the time at the grocery store check out when the cashier (who you’d think would know her produce) blurted out, despite my use of the universal keep-it-down hand gesture with accompanying shushing, “What is this,” waving it about for all to see, “Is this…", she inspects it more closely, "DANDELION?”
“Dandelion, did she say dandelion?” Rod says as I roll my eyes.
“Yes,” I nod to her and then turn to Rod, “It is dandelion, relax you’ve been eating it for months now.”
“I have? And I like it?”
“Apparently, at least until you knew what it was.”
And, for the longest time one of my favourite energy drinks was made with greens. A bottle of the foamy green stuff could be found on the top shelf next to Rod’s container of milk. Years ago I was visiting a hospitalized council member. After viewing bile contents dripping into a container from a tube, coming out of her nose, that was connected to her stomach, for some bizzarre reason, I lost my stomach for it. The very thought of it even now elicits the gag reflex – probably not unlike the one Rod felt each time he went into the fridge to get milk for his tea.
So, what’s with the notice on the fridge you might ask?
Well, I kept on forgetting Candy’s phrase and when it popped back into my mind I was standing in front of the fridge. Not wanting to let it slip away again, I grabbed the closest thing at hand and wrote it down right then and there.
Don’t ask me about 8:43 – I have no idea what that means anymore. It’s been on the door for weeks.
And what about the pots, are they really containers of controlled chaos?
Nope, there’s only recently made rice in one and oats in the other. But I'll give them a few days and they will be. God knows what waits for us in the meat drawer and the veggies are looking a little unruly too!
The conversation went something like this.
“So…have you checked out my blog yet?” (I’m a gentle ambusher.)
“No, I’m working on an estimate.” He says all serious-like. And, I see that this is so, there are no you tube videos of flying squirrels or banjo playing chickens animating the screen just an exciting array of doors with attendant price lists.
“What do you mean you haven’t checked it out? You’re a fan aren’t you? You put yourself in my fan list. What kind of a fan are you? Apparently not a real fan, just a fake one, an imposter more like...”
“O.K., O.K. I’ll get onto it now.” and he begins to exit the screen.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. Just go into your favourites,” I detect hesitation “you do have me in your favourites, don’t you?”
“I find this easier,” he says with all the earnestness he can muster as he two finger types the letters n - a - n ...into the browser (at least I think that’s what the bar thingy at the very top of internet explorer is called)
“No. Type in my blog site, that’ll get you directly in… You do know the name of my blogsite don’t you?”
The air is still. He continues picking out c - k - e - r into the banner.
“You don’t even know the name of my blog site!? I’ve only been working on it for a year or more. You’re no fan. You should stop calling yourself a fan of mine. I should take you off my fan list. In fact, I think I will…”
“There. There. I’m in,” he announces triumphantly pointing to the computer, hoping to derail where this conversation is going. My last blog post fills the screen. He leans in closer for a better inspection. “Oh…that’s what that means.”
“What? That’s what, what means?”
“Containers of controlled chaos. That phrase has been written on the fridge door for days now. I’ve been afraid to open it. You know I just never know what I’m going to find in there at the best of times and then there’s this message on the door and it’s kind of made me afraid of just what the hell you’re doing in there.”
Poor guy, it must be difficult when someone else with different taste in food is in charge of what you’re eating after all there was the time at the grocery store check out when the cashier (who you’d think would know her produce) blurted out, despite my use of the universal keep-it-down hand gesture with accompanying shushing, “What is this,” waving it about for all to see, “Is this…", she inspects it more closely, "DANDELION?”
“Dandelion, did she say dandelion?” Rod says as I roll my eyes.
“Yes,” I nod to her and then turn to Rod, “It is dandelion, relax you’ve been eating it for months now.”
“I have? And I like it?”
“Apparently, at least until you knew what it was.”
And, for the longest time one of my favourite energy drinks was made with greens. A bottle of the foamy green stuff could be found on the top shelf next to Rod’s container of milk. Years ago I was visiting a hospitalized council member. After viewing bile contents dripping into a container from a tube, coming out of her nose, that was connected to her stomach, for some bizzarre reason, I lost my stomach for it. The very thought of it even now elicits the gag reflex – probably not unlike the one Rod felt each time he went into the fridge to get milk for his tea.So, what’s with the notice on the fridge you might ask?
Well, I kept on forgetting Candy’s phrase and when it popped back into my mind I was standing in front of the fridge. Not wanting to let it slip away again, I grabbed the closest thing at hand and wrote it down right then and there.
Don’t ask me about 8:43 – I have no idea what that means anymore. It’s been on the door for weeks.
And what about the pots, are they really containers of controlled chaos?
Nope, there’s only recently made rice in one and oats in the other. But I'll give them a few days and they will be. God knows what waits for us in the meat drawer and the veggies are looking a little unruly too!
So my man, be afraid, be very afraid.
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