Long time, no write

It's been forever, I know. With all that's happening in the world - Paul and Heather divorcing, Brangelina having their baby, the season-end of The Office and My Name Is Earl, and Britney's various dangerous baby-theatrics, who has time to write a blog? Anyway, I promise I'll be better. My goal is to write at least three times a week from now on. So, Stardate May 30, 2006, Captain's Log #1:

I went by the post office the other day to retrieve a package. For some reason, our mail carrier can't leave packages on our front deck if it is raining, slightly drizzling, looks like it might rain, is scheduled to rain sometime soon, or if there are any clouds in the sky. Instead, she leaves a little card that tells us we can pick up the package "the day after tomorrow". So, I left work a few minutes early and rushed over to the P.O., desperately hoping they wouldn't slam and lock the door in my face at 4:49 the way they had the last time I was there.

To tell the truth, the people who work at my P.O. are really nice. A little too nice. I stood in a line of about six people while one postal employee helped an older woman. The woman took her time in deciding how she wanted her package to be mailed, how she wanted to pay for the mailing, and how she needed to change the type of mailing to a cheaper way of mailing. Just as she was about to exit, the mail carrier asked her if she'd like to see the season's newest stamps. I shifted my weight impatiently from one foot to the next while the lady made comments like, "Oh, that's a pretty one! Oh, wait, that one will go with my pink envelopes. Do you have any with flowers? What about bees?"

In the meantime, a younger-looking guy stood at another part of the counter and worked industriously, signing mother's day cards. I couldn't believe they didn't tell him that a) he was way late for mother's day greetings, b) he needed to write his personal messages out in the lobby and stop wasting everyone's time, and c) the next time he needed to stand in a smallish-type space with about ten other people around, he might want to think about taking a shower.

The line wasn't moving. The lady standing in front of me began looking around desperately, as though she suddenly realized she'd misplaced a couple thousand bucks. In a last ditch effort, she began to comb through a supply of mailing boxes to our right. Then she swore softly under her breath and left the line. Yes! I wanted to pump my fist in post office victory. One down and five to go!

The next man in line looked to be about 90 and was using a walker and an oxygen tank. He wheezed and panted, gently swaying from side to side. Pretty Stamp Lady made her final selections, with the ever-courteous help of the postal employee, and left. "Can I help who's next?" called out the postal worker. Good lord. It was going to take Wheezer five years just to make it to the counter. But, with amazing rapidity, the old man wheezed and hacked his way to the front, the wheels of his walker bouncing jauntily along the ground, his oxygen tank swinging mightily to his side. I swore to myself I'd never again judge the old or infirm.

Twenty minutes later, I handed my slip of paper to the smiling lady behind the counter. She cheerfully retrieved my package from the back and then said, "You know, we'll always try to re-deliver these if we don't catch you at home the first time!"

Unless it looks like rain.

Two really embarassing things that have happened to me recently

Last Wednesday, I decided to take advantage of Bagel Day at our company. I'm not the biggest bagel eater in the world, but if something is free, I tend to get some whether I'm all that enamoured with it or not. It runs on my dad's side of the family. I went upstairs and reached for a big, fat, blueberry bagel. I picked up a sharp knife and began sawing away. But, instead of cutting the bagel, the knife merely smushed it. There was a guy standing off to the side, and he started to smirk. I valiently continued, determined to salvage the bagel. I only wanted half. The bagel, however, only smushed up more. I finally took my hands and pulled the bagel apart, breaking it up in the process. I figured the whole bagel was now mine. I could feel Bagel Guy still looking at me, but I refused to so much as glance in his direction. A serated knife was lying off to the side. I picked that up and began sawing away once more. More smush. I gave up, smeared a small amount of cream cheese into a few of the cracks and crevices of the mutilated bagel, and took it up in both my hands. I tried to wad parts of the bagel back togther so I could carry it away without leaving a trail of blueberry bagel crumbs. I looked towards Bagel Guy, who by now had a full-blown grin on his face. I walked away with a straight back and my nose up in the air, determined to salvage what was left of my bagel dignity.

Today a co-worker pointed out that I had toilet paper hanging out of the back of my pants. I don't know how long it had been there. I was probably twirling around the office for hours with people laughing and pointing at my butt.