How Lame I Am

At about 1:00 today I went to the vending machine in the break room and got myself a Snickers bar. There's a mini fridge in my office, so I put it in the freezer right next to the steaks. I set a reminder in Outlook for 4:00 that says "yum." But I don't need the reminder because I haven't stopped thinking about my delicious Snickers bar since I put it in there.

Counting Sheep

When Jude can't sleep, she puts the TV on either QVC, Home Shopping, or one of the blacklight & semen shows on A&E. She feels strongly about the hosts on the shopping channels and, sitting up in bed all bleary having coffee this morning, she described last night's HSN hostess, Kellie, thusly:

"She's an idiot. And she dresses like a ho-bag. I think she's from Canada, which explains a lot because the French don't care how they look on TV. You watch their news shows and their hair, it's like, 'Did you just put on that poly-blend pullover right before the camera came on?' She looks like a trapeze artist walking home from a one night stand through the bad part of Topeka, with that circus music still clanging in her head. She's like a French Vanna White."

This is a mellow town, right here

I was on the train after work yesterday and, just after the doors closed at the Lloyd Center platform, the conductor came on the P.A. and said, "We'll be just another minute. I need to check on something."

I read another page or two and then the train began moving again.

The voice came back on the P.A.: "There was a guy sitting on a bench back there. His eyes were wide open but he wasn't moving and he looked very pale. I poked him a little and, believe it or not, he was asleep. With his eyes open." Beat. "I thought you'd want me to tell you that."

He was absolutely right.