About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Tuesday, June 08, 2010

In which your intrepid heroine goes on a date!

Nice guy. Very nice guy. Very tall nice guy (6’4”). We met about 7:00 at the bookstore, then walked down the sidewalk and had Panda Express for dinner and told each other stories for two hours.

The day began well: I realized that my swimsuit is on life support, and I did a little online browsing, but the styles I liked at the price I liked, were temporarily out of stock. So I grabbed my gym bag and my planner, and off I went to Wally World, thinking I would get one of their $16 specials, which is plenty good enough since I will probably need a new size every two or three months anyway. And there it was on the rack: cherry red, halter neck, sarong hem, and $32.

Like the seagulls said: “Mine!” “Mine!” “Mine!” [I felt like Dorothy Lamour during my workout the past two days.]

Came home, fixed lunch, fixed my hair, put everything in the car, remembering to get my cell phone out of the front pocket of the gym bag. Got about *this* far from the entrance to the parking garage at work when I realized that I had forgotten to bring a pair of clogs to switch into once the driving was over.

Sneakers, even nice ones like mine, are not office-appropriate. I confessed my omission to the office manager and asked her if she wanted me to turn around and go home and get my shoes. At which point Attorney A remonstrated, because there was a tape-and-a-half of dictation that needed to go out yesterday. Office manager said I could go on my lunch hour. So I did.

I started typing at 8:30, took a couple of comfort breaks and worked pretty much straight through until 2:15, stopping to run downstairs and bring up a fresh bottle of Cherry Coke. I leaped in the car, drove home like a bat out of Houston, grabbed the margherita flatbread from Friday night’s dinner and nuked it, then ate it on the bat-out-of-Highland-Park return trip. Got into the office at 4:00, just in time to send out my mail and whip up all the paperwork for closing another case. I did the electronic absence thing, and the office manager came up to my desk and asked, “When did you take your lunch?” At 2:15. “If I’d known you were going to eat that late, I’d have told you to just forget about it.” All very well and good, but I had no way of knowing it was going to take me five+ hours to transcribe that report.

And you guys know me; I am the queen of coloring inside the lines.

When I started this post, it was 11:30 last night. I was not twitterpated; I was also not ready to to go sleep.

I fueled most of the day on Cherry Coke and Hot Tamales. With orange chicken for dinner. It is menus like this which probably gave rise to the belief in fire-breathing dragons.

Just sayin’.

Today went much more smoothly. I might have been able to catch my train, but I was in no mood to rush. So I tanked the car, and since I was wearing a dress, decided I would head to the temple after work.

Good decision. On the way home, I grabbed an ice cream cone, then decided to see where one of the roads dead-ended, because I knew it didn’t just run straight into the Trinity River. I found out. I also found a place where I could buy a used Porsche, another place that makes custom boots, an Army-Navy store, and a BBQ that looks promising.

I am not sure if I am more blessed, or more tired, but I promise you that I am a whole lot of both. It is hotter than the hinges of That Proverbial Place outside [and it’s only June]. I would like to put on my old swimsuit and dash over to the pool at the gym and literally chill out. But I need to sleep more than I need to be cool. So I am going to pour myself another glass of water, get my nest situated, and see if I can sleep through the night.

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