Done and Done-er

My mind, she is blank.

BLANK, people. Tabula rasa, wite-out, blank. They say that still waters run deep and my mind is very still these days. What about shallow still water? That's what I think I have. A still puddle, if you will. You will, right?

Maybe it's all this news I have been ingesting. I usually suck up a fair amount of news, and these days I am drowning in it. I think Charlie Rose and Stephen Innskeep and Anderson Cooper and even my beloved Jon Stewart are beating my brain into a soupy pulp. (And can I just tell you that I love the name "Innskeep"? There are so many levels to my loving that name. First of all, the double-double letters. You've got two n's AND two e's. Deelightfful. Plus, I imagine that in high school, his friends probably called him "Skeep" or something. In fact, sometimes when I listen to NPR and he comes on, I say it aloud. "SKEEP!" That's like a bad surfer nickname. Hey Skeep, let's go cut out of a cruncher and then headdip a heavy! Also? Just the etymology. Keeper of an inn. Thus Innskeep. It's kind of cool, in an old-fashioned sort of way. Like, I want a name with "keep" in it. What do I keep, though? Nothing, really. In fact, I am known for my capacity to not keep things. Librarian Girl Nothingskeep? That just doesn't sound as cool.)

Did I mention that my mind is a still puddle lately? Just thought I would recap in case you missed it the first time.

Let's see, I could tell you that last week, when I watched the presidential debate, every time Baracko would make a good point, I would yell out "BadaBING!" and everytime McCain would make a good point I would say "Bah-ZOW!" and that was the extent of my political commentary for the evening. Or I could tell you that I have taken to calling Obama "Baracko" because I saw this interview with Michelle Obama where she said that little kids often think her husband's name is Baracko Bama, and now I just can't say it right because that way is more fun. Or I could tell you that I wish that Tina Fey would do a Sarah Palin skit for me every night before I go to bed because for serious I would not get tired of it. Or I could tell you that I wish that Nordic Boy was into Halloween because I kind of had this genius idea that we should dress up as Heidi Klum (him) and Seal (me) and he is so not doing that in a million years even if it would save us from eyeball eating zombies. Or I could tell you that I am not a fan of the side-hug. You know those people that want to hug you, sort of, so they come at you from the side with one arm? Always awkward. Side-huggers, I demand an explanation. Or I could tell you that I spent a good ten full minutes the other night at dinner boring Nordic Boy and BioGirl almost to the point of tears pontificating on my problems with side-hugging. Or I could tell you about the dream I had last night where Woody Allen asked Nordic Boy to be in a movie and when we went to meet with him I accidentally elbowed Woody in the nuts which obviously ruined the deal for everyone.

Or maybe I should tell you that our roof is done. It was actually done about a week ago, but we have been too busy dancing the lambada of happy time for me to mention it. DONE, people. Dee you enn, done. Crocodile Done Dee. New wood, new decking, new insulation, new air ducts, new wiring, new fascia board (yeah I didn't know what that was either), new waterproofing membrane, new EVERYTHING. Our house has a new 'do up top, y'all, and Nordic Boy did it from start to finish. YEE-FRICKIN-HAW!

Trust me, it's exciting to us.

Bada-BING! Bah-ZOW!

I'm out,
Librarian Girl