(no subject)

First of all, I do not accept cash, credit cards, money orders, cashier's checks, traveler's checks, personal checks, or anything else.

Second of all, I do not allow bare feet in my house. The only exception is in the shower- but as soon as you step out of the tub, you must put footwear on. Bare feet will not be tolerated.

Third of all, I expect that you will take care of what needs to be taken care of.

Fourth of all, I do not tolerate foul language of any kind. This also includes substitutes for that kind of language such as "heck", "darn", "friggin'" and the like.

Fifth of all, I will always pick what music we will listen to.

Fifth of all, I will not entertain any suggestions of what music we will listen to.

Sixth of all, I will not, under any circumstance, drive you anywhere.

Seventh of all, I prefer that you change your own bed sheets.

Eighth of all, I expect that you will not only get along with the others, but that you will become so close to them that you consider them your primary family.

Ninth of all, I can not make any exceptions to the rule about bare feet.

Tenth of all, I will cook all meals which will consist of pasta without any type of sauce and a potato. The potato will alternate between baked on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, mashed on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and boiled on Saturdays. There will be no condiments of any sort for the potato. There are no substitutions.

Eleventh of all, I will not allow food to be brought into the house or any eating between meals.

Twelfth of all, I will not allow the television to be turned on unless it is 3:00 p.m. At 3:00 p.m., we will watch a 45-minute training video on the topic of the day.

Thirteenth of all, I do not provide books to read. You are allowed to bring a maximum of 20 books, which must all be under 350 pages.

Fourteenth of all, I expect you to wear your designated name tag at all times.

Fifteenth of all, I do not allow photography.

Sixteenth of all, I will deliver your personal mail on a daily basis (Sundays excluded), only after it has been proofread for errors. If there are errors, it will be returned to sender.

Seventeenth of all, I will not tolerate any talk of your pets, children, spouse, immediate family, friends, or coworkers while you are here.

(no subject)

Some questions you may have about today’s post:

1. Why would you come over if I’m not home?
2. How long will you stay?
3. What will you do if I’m not there?
4. How do you know where I live?
5. What will we do if I am home?
6. But I don’t even know you?

Some possible answers to your questions about today’s post:

1. Because I said I was going to come over even if you aren’t home.
2. As long as it takes, or 3 hours and 15 minutes – whichever is longer.
3. Clean out your garage, or if you don’t have a garage, clean out your coat closet.
4. I have your address and a map.
5. Clean out your garage, or if you don’t have a garage, clean out your coat closet.
6. Yes you do. I was over last weekend.

(no subject)

I was going to show you my new camera because it is so cool, but after I snuck into your apartment Friday night and took pictures of all of your books and kitchen appliances, I dropped it in a puddle when I ran home.

Too bad it was raining.

And too bad that the film was ruined. I mean, I'm assuming it was ruined because (1) lots and I mean lots of water came out of the camera when I opened the door to get the film out and (2) when I took it to the drugstore to get developed, the man behind the counter said, "Oh, uh-uh, we can't develop this." And I said "Why not?" (After all, I had dried the film off before bringing it in.) "Like I said, we can't develop this." He looked me straight in the eye, but it was more like a long long stare. I think he had two different colored eyes and a scar below his right eyelid, I mean right below his eyelid so whatever had cut him or scratched him could have easily and severely injured his eyeball. The manager of the drugstore came over and asked, "Is there a problem here?" and I said, "No" and quickly left the store because I think that he was the manager of the Quickstop I worked at when I was 17 and we did not get along. We really did not get along at all.

So now I have this probably perfectly good roll of film and no one to develop it. This morning I woke up early with a great thought- a thought that maybe I could develop the roll of film myself. I looked on-line about how to develop film and what I needed and there were too many things, too many chemicals and different pans to put them in and well, I would need a really dark room and I don't have a really dark room or any room at all to have all of this stuff and besides it would be so expensive, at least $450 and that doesn't compare to the $6.75 it would cost me to get them developed at that god damn drug store.

Besides, the photos would only be for my benefit. I mean, I wouldn't be able to show them to you or anyone else and say, "Look what I developed myself!" If I did show you or anyone else my home-developed pictures, you or anyone else would probably say, "Wow" and then would want me to develop your or their next roll of film and I would have to do it for free because we're friends. So what I'm saying is that developing your film or anyone else's for free would not eventually pay off my film developing supplies and besides I would have to still buy more chemicals and your or their expectation that I would develop film for free would send everything into such a downward spiral because I would regret so much the fact that you or they want me to spend my valuable time developing your or their pictures of stupid whatever or stupid whoever because besides developing your precious film, I have to work, you know? and do the dishes and laundry and everything else around here and you're and they're not helping me with any of that.

I know I'm going on and on about the film, but I still can't show you my new camera because despite how cool it is, it is really damaged and it is really broken.

(no subject)

Last night I dreamed I danced a dance I only ever dreamed of dancing before!
And I must have really danced the dance I was dreaming I was dancing because my left leg hurts!

(no subject)

Now I don't claim to be a dancer or anything but last weekend I danced a dance I never thought I would ever dance. But it was a dance far different from any old dance- it was a dancer's dance, the dance you dream you can dance but never danced before. So I danced it (with three other dancers) and after 12 minutes or so the dance was over. But it wasn't really over because we danced it the next night, except for Sunday night, which was the final dance. During the dance, I was thinking "God damn, I'm dancing in a dance, with other dancers!". But really there was no time to think this or anything else except the dance while I was dancing it because it was a fast dance, a non-stop dance. For a moment, I thought I was a dancer or that I claimed to be a dancer. Maybe I was a dancer for the 12 minutes it took to dance the dance. Maybe I am a dancer because I did dance the dance I never dreamed I would dance.

(no subject)

We were surprised that we didn't open the refrigerator to start using food as the weapon of choice. We thought of the possibilities of a threatening English cucumber, pineapple top, tip of an artichoke leaf, carrot, celery stalk, asparagus stalk, or whole pickle. Not to mention the plethora of other foods that could be sharpened to a point with the vegetable peeler: broccoli stems, potatoes, more carrots, turnips, rutabagas, parsnips, beets, pears, apples...

We got tired.

I went to the drugstore. I picked up some aspirin. I ate three of them while I waited in line. I ate five more while walking home.

You were arranging food on a platter. Grapes, celery, and parsley, but all rotten.

"What's that? What are you doing? What are you doing?"

"I'm making a salad." A squiggle of ketchup.

"But it's all rotten."

I was mad. Fuming. Angry. Furious. Bent out of shape. And yet somewhat calm as I picked up my weapon of choice from the kitchen counter.

(no subject)

We stepped out of the cab and within five minutes were threatening each other with knives in the kitchen. The white handled paring knife. The black handled one. The other black handled one. The one with a six inch blade that was going dull because we tend to use it all of the time. The bread knife with serrated edge. The one with a pinpoint thin blade that is practically an awl. The cleaver that your dad gave to us wrapped in newspaper. The decorative one with a zigzag blade that my sister gave to us wrapped in Christmas paper. And the slightly curved one we call ?the machete?, with a 12 inch blade that?s great for melons.

Then we moved on to the butter knives- twelve of them in the silverware set that was your great grandmother's. And then twelve more from the set we got for our wedding, which were a bit sharper.

After we had exhausted all of the knives, we moved on to other sharp things. Salad forks and dinner forks from both sets of silverware, plastic forks from takeout last Saturday, blades from the food processor, the blade from the blender (a little awkward), the vegetable peeler (even more awkward and not that sharp), cocktail forks that we found in a box on top of the cabinets, the corkscrew, several ink pens (blue, black, blue-black, and green ink), the cheese grater, a newly sharpened pencil, a pair of scissors left on the microwave, an unbent paperclip, nine or ten thumbtacks, and the small cactus on the windowsill.

Then we moved on to more blunt objects like wooden chopsticks, spoon handles, mixer beaters, the pestle, and, most creatively, the edge of the wire oven rack.