tobermory's Diaryland Diary


The Grassy Berm

I donít watch tv very often Ė itís not that Iím all smugly intellectual, I just donít have the time. I especially donít watch much with my husband because when we sit down to watch tv we usually are partaking of whatever current Netflix movie we have out so we can feel like we have gotten our monthly $19.99 worth. Iím told that when we finally join the TiVo revolution we will be more productive with our tv watching time. Anyway, we were watching something or other and it was sponsored by UBS Financial. Now, Iím sorry for that company because at my house UBS is a very special acronym used to describe the unpleasant hot weather phenomenon particular to women with ample chests. It stands for Under Boob Sweat. Iím sure theyíre a responsible company that would invest my money with care, but Iíd just be giggling every time I had to talk to my account rep.

Yesterday when I was typing my entry into Word, Word had a particular problem with the word berm. I got the red squiggly thing indicating that berm is not a recognized word or that itís spelled incorrectly. Now, I was pretty sure berm was a word used to describe a topographical feature. A berm is kind of like a smaller knoll or a bumpy thing. But I began to doubt myself. I kept looking at the word berm and as it often happens after youíve been looking at a word for a long time it starts to lose all meaning. Try it yourself - berm, berm, berm. But I had confidence in myself and I posted the entry even though the word berm had begun to look like a random arrangement of letters and not a word. Then, driving to the animal shelter last night I was taking The Route (devised by the czarina of traffic, Megan) and low and behold, there was an official traffic sign depicting a car going over the kind of bump that can bottom out a low-slung car and it said ďBERM AHEAD.Ē Take that MS Word.

So embarrassing. I just burned a bagel in the office toaster and set off the smoke detector in the office on the other side of the wall causing our building mates to come running over to make sure we werenít engulfed in flames of death. Iím not quite sure how that works, but it concerns me a little that: a.) Something as minor as a toaster with burned smell wafting out (no actual smoke or flames) of it will set off the smoke detector, or b.) that the burned smell only sets off the smoke detector next-door behind a wall allowing the folk next door to escape alive at the first signs of a blaze while on our side we sit at our desks unaware and do our best Towering Inferno impersonation.

As I suspected in an earlier entry people involved in specific professions, sports, or hobbies do indeed laugh at the movie and tv depictions of said activities. This was a hot topic at the Tiny Lounge last night. Steve, my contractor husband, is particularly amused whenever people have to crawl through ductwork as they always seem to come out unscathed and clean, whereas in reality, the screws used to fasten lengths of ductwork together usually stick up about an inch into the ductwork which would leave your knees in bloody ribbons as you crawled along, and ductwork harbors really gross microdust and mold that would coat every inch of your clothes and skin. Joe the doctor not surprisingly had his beefs with ER. John the architect referenced movies with architects who come onto building sites and order people around (mmmmík. not in reality unless youíre Helmut Jahn or I.M. Pei). Too bad there were no spankers at the Tiny Lounge so I could ask about Secretary. I do not think that in the Tiny Lounge we have found a replacement for the Hopleaf. It was nice and all, but dare I say it? Too small. Yes, itís nicely decorated, had Boddingtonís on tap, played decent music, but itís too hard to secure places to sit due to the tinyness. I guess the next candidate to try is Long Room on Irving. I know the right bar is out there, we just have to find it.

I canít wait for tonight. I get a Me Night. I have no plans so I can come straight home from work. Steve is heading out to the Ďburbs to see a friend whose father passed away last night and then to play soccer at some obscenely late hour. So I have to house to myself. I can stop at the grocery store on the way home to pick up something for dinner, then I think Iíll vacuum (Dyson actually, but I donít think it has made it to verb status anywhere other than my own vocabulary yet) so the amount of cat hair on the rug doesnít distract me all night, and then Iíll settle in to watch some Netflix and hit the sack early. No, itís not exciting but itís what I want to do and I donít get to have a night all to myself very often. Of course, this is subject to change as I might get a better offer. Alli might be up for a low-key Girlís Night Out or Megan might get back early from her movie-extra experience. I could be tempted by either. What I should really do is check to see if thereís a movie out in the theatres that I donít think anyone would want to see with me and just go by myself. I hate to eat alone I havenít mastered the necessary ťlan that eating alone requires. I need a prop but itís so hard balance a book in one hand and eat with the other and not spill everything into my lap. But going to movies alone I can do with no problem so I should check out that option. Weíll see. Iíll try to update over the weekend but if not, see yíall on Monday.

10:50 a.m. - 2004-03-05


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