Pain

We are teaching the numbers from eleven to twenty at A's house. The method that seems to work best with him is a standard "show a card, ask 'What number?'" approach. Today I was on number seven of ten when instead of answering or ignoring me A said, "What number?" He has many communication issues, and uses echolalia, but... I swear, I'm not being paranoid - he said it in exactly the voice I would use if some crazy lady would not stop saying the same two words to me over and over and over and over again... this totally taunting voice... and I couldn't help laughing. He joined me, and then I couldn't stop, which adds fuel to my theory that he said it that way on purpose. I wouldn't put it past him. I mean, I doubt it, but... these kids are amazing. You just never know with them.

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In other work news, today I was bouncing on a giant exercise ball and A tackled me laughing and flipped us over backwards into a bookcase. Luckily I broke our fall with my skull. Youch.

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I finished that book I was listening to in the car, The Lion's Game? I think? (My lazy is showing again.) Anyway, it wasn't as bad as Along Came a Spider, during which I nearly pulled over to void my stomach at least ten times. That's the number of times the main character Alex Cross says, "Finally, something inside of me snapped!" and then gets all verbally up in somebody's face. Or punches a dude. Really, it was terrible. I was on tape eight when I realized I'd rather not have anything more to do with it, but there was only one tape remaining, so I went with it. At the end of chapter EIGHTY-SEVEN, a character said, "The end."

Then the narrator said, "Epilogue:" and I died. The end.

Tupperware? TupperHERE!

Tupperware, here I come.

I know, I know, after the candle party I told everyone I wouldn't do it again, it was too stressful and almost not worth it and I've still got most of those candles in the boxes they came in, but... Well, I like candles more in theory than in practice. I like Tupperware in practice!

At the party I won a free thing specifically for keeping 1/2 an onion in your fridge, which is handy. I bought some measuring spoons, the ones that will sit on the counter without tipping over. They were $10.00 in the bulk bin, but she accepted my $7.00. Had I known I could haggle with her, I might have tried it on more stuff.

I went to the party at my brother's house, and my cousin was there sitting with me on the couch. I was half-hungover, and I was the class-clown of the party, making snarky comments and all. Somebody thought it would be a good idea to buy me a peppermint mocha before I went, and I think that contributed to the hyper. I could *not* stop talking. It was I was replaced by a really funny robot whose only function was to talk. I was embarrassed at myself as it was happening, but I couldn't stop. The words, they just kept spilling from my mouth! It was insane!

Part of what caused me such humor was sitting next to Cousin and realizing at the same moment as she did that practically all of our toys growing up were Tupperware toys. Yeah, we had them all -- the stencils, the plastic ball with cut-outs to put shapes through. We had one of the horns that you pound on something and a ball goes flying out from! That one was definitely the best of the bunch. It made me want to buy that for somebody. Anybody. Heck, I want one for myself again.

Anyway, the party's on January 20th. And you're invited!

Would you like to buy some Tupperware?

Cow, Part II

I had the nicest laugh with my mom yesterday about our cow situation.

What? You thought I was kidding? No, we still have a cow. Two houses down from us. We live in a residential neighborhood. The outskirts, but still. I keep trying to figure out why. Why would one have a cow in one's backyard?

I feel like baking a batch of muffins and taking it over, and when they invite me in for coffee, leading the conversation casually to farm animals. (In this scenario, we live in the suburbs in the fifties.) "So, by the by..."

Then I think, what if they're holding it for a friend? Cowsitting? Then I think, what sort of person buys a cow before they've got the space for it? Don't you just walk past the cow aisle if you don't have... a barn?

I thought maybe I could call our town constable (we have a constable, how jealous does that make you?) and say, "Hypothetically speaking, what should one do if one's neighbor is harboring a cow?"

As of yesterday, it's still there. I'll be sure to keep you updated. Ooh! Maybe I can sneak a picture or two!

Free Flowing

For the past three weeks or so, my bathtub drain hasn't been flowing as it should. It's been stopped up. The water will go down, eventually, but it takes a few hours. Yeah, hours. Gross, I know. I hadn't mentioned it to B, because he feels bad enough about being gone as is, and I hadn't gotten around to asking Dad about it yet. When B got here on Thursday night after taking the Greyhound up here, of course the first thing he wanted to do was take a shower. And of course the first thing he noticed then was that the drain wasn't, well... draining. He mentioned it to Dad when they came over for a cookout on Saturday night, and Dad offered his assistance.

Now, I normally think that one's drains are one's own business, but when someone offers their expertise and I can barely plunge correctly, I'll take it.

Dad came by today and looked at the drain. He plunged for a good long while before sticking his finger down the drain. I shuddered.

Dad: Lots of hair down here.

Me: Yes, but that's not my fault. That's your fault. It didn't come from Mom's side.

Dad: (nods.)

After about five more minutes of expert plunging (I had no idea there was such a finesse to it!), Dad decided we might need to get the snake involved. (Luckily, my dad's the sort who has a snake.) As we talked about the snake, he monkeyed around with the stopper. Flipped it from the down position to the up. And unstopped the drain.

My only consolation is that Bruce didn't try that, either.