Weekly, the Three-quel

The weather has officially turned. The rain, she pours. The clouds, they laugh. The wind, he cuts.

I thought it would make it that much more dramatic if I wrote it all stupid like that.

I guess it's time for a Weekly, but I'm not sure because I am all jacked up because I worked both days of this weekend. Whenever I do that, it's like a weird form of jet lag or something. I don't know what day it is, where I am, what I am doing. I just get all messed up. So like now, it feels like a Wednesday. But I don't have that half-the-week-is-over feeling, because I still have to work until Friday. You know what I mean?

Goddammit this is rivieting.

That paragraph right up there, kind of reminds me of some of the conversations I have with Biology Girl. She and I can really get into the minutae of our lives. Somehow, hearing about how she did her laundry and that she slightly overcooked her dinner is fascinating to me. And if I am bursting at the seams to tell someone that I counted out the change in my change jar and hey- I have twenty bucks!- she would be the one to care. Not just humor me, but really care. So that paragraph up there, that one is for her. The rest of you all can just go ahead and un-read it.

On to the Weekly! Weekly #3: the Three-peat!

Weekly TeeVee: I have never seen a full episode of Survivor. I know, I know, as the pop culture librarian, this seems impossible. When it first started, I just couldn't bring myself to watch it, what with all the pseudo-tribal mumbo jumbo on there. As an islander myself, I just couldn't stomach it. Much like I will never, and I mean never, participate in "Hawaiian Shirt Day" at work. It's not like I am offended by it, or begrudge anyone else on this stuff. I just can't go there. So, after all these years, I never jumped on the Survivor bandwagon. But, I did catch the first elimination of this season. Apparently some dude named Chicken was eliminated. Chicken. How does one acquire such a name? Shame on that dude's parents. And when he was voted off, it was the most delicious, most honest expression of disappointment I think I have ever seen. Nordic Boy and I have been quoting Chicken all week. Oh, and on a side note. A personal message to Tim Gunn. Tim, I still love you and everything, but you are boring me to DEATH.

Weekly Music: We all know by now that I have a penchant for making up silly songs. In fact, if you are a bonafide songwriter or recording artist, and someone thinks that your songs are on par with mine, then you have really got a big problem. That means that your song is probably a big old turd. Case in point: I was cleaning the living room the other day, marching around the house singing "babywhereyougetyourbodyfrom, babywhereyougetyourbodyfrom...I got it from my mama, I got it from my mama..." I sang this song for so long, with so much committment, that I turned around to see Nordic Boy staring at me.

Him: Did you make that song up or is that a real song?
Me: Totally real.
Him: It is not. You made that up.
Me: Totally real!
Him: Shut up.
Me: I'm serious! It totally is!
Him: No. Really. I mean shut up.

Weekly Worst Moment: I was in a favorite shoe store of mine, buying a pair of gorgeous boots that I have been waiting two years to find, and as I was paying for the shoes, the saleslady (is that the right term? Retail attendant. Consumer helper. Shopping Elf.) asked to see my driver's license along with my credit card. I handed it over, and she had the gall to say to me: "oh. This isn't the best picture of you, is it?" I laughed a little and said, "yeah," because really, I couldn't argue with that. She went on to say "Wow. It's really unflattering. Not good." Ok lady, stop staring at my Quasimodo photo and give me my goddamn boots. I think she felt a little bad for going on about it because she then said "I mean, you're just much prettier in real life." Nice try, Home Slice, but the camera don't lie.

Weekly Best Moment: Nordic Boy and I have known each other a long time. Loooong. And you know, they say that when you've been together a long time, you start to become the same person. So far, this hasn't happened to us, as far as I can tell. There's no way we will ever look alike (me: shorty brown shortcake; and him: tall drink of blond water), we certainly don't dress alike, and our mannerisms are nowhere near each other. However, our strange, strange sense of humor. It's starting to become one. As we were driving to the hardware store the other day, there was a Chrysler Le Baron right in front of us.

Him: See that car? That kind of car totally reminds me of the Midwest.
Me: Totally.

And then, for no reason at all, at exactly the same time, we both yelled out "Le Barrrron!" in our very best fake French accents. Then we laughed so hard about it, that he had to pull over. Tears were shed. Stomachs cramped up. What is funny about this? Why did we both say it at the same time? Don't know. But it was good times.

Weekly Photo: This is what my sky will look like for the next 5-9 months.


Bust out the wool tights.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl