The sorry saga of the Bonk Bed and other stories
Fiona's been sleeping in our old guest bed which is too big for her bedroom. It leaves her with very little floor space so she doesn't have much room to play in there. We've been meaning to get her a twin sized bed with a trundle or something for future cousin sleepovers, etc. We shopped around and found a great deal on a bunk bed (bonk bed according to Fiona) which converts to two twins. And yes, yes, I know that she's too little to sleep on the top bunk. We don't plan on having the ladder up yet. Anyhow, it was supposed to arrive yesterday and we've been building Fiona up with the excitement. We picked out space themed sheets, we talked about how her stuffed animals will sleep on the top bunk. Every day we did a countdown to bunk bed day. The fateful day arrived and no bunk bed. Andre called the furniture store and they had forgotten to schedule the delivery. After much talkng about how it was "unacceptable" that we were going to have to wait another week, they credited us back our delivery fee. We still have to wait another week though. So are you bored yet? Yeah, that was a pretty boring story. That's what happens when you live in Suburbia, missed deliveries of bunk beds get you all riled up.
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We had an event at the store this weekend aimed at women over the age of 50. I've been taking all the reservations and explaining to people how to get into the store before it opens. Our reservations system is a little backward. Basically, if I'm talking to someone else, all other incoming calls go to voice mail which tells them to leave a message with their name, number and the event they're interested in and then I call them back. Now you whippersnapper 50 year olds have this whole voice mail thing figured out. The 60 year olds seem to have done a pretty good job too. The older crowd however kept leaving me message after message like this, "Hello this is Mrs. Elmer Huffenpuff and I'd like to make a reservation for the event. My phone number is...Hello? HELLO? HELLO?! I don't think there's anyone there. Oh for pete's sake." Click. Two minutes later, "Hello this is Mrs. Huffenpuff and I'd like tickets for the event. My phone number is...Hello? HELLO?" Click. Sigh.
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My Roomba FINALLY arrived! I'm in lazy person's heaven. I'm goofing off on the computer and it's cleaning my kitchen. Thank you IRobot. I love you. Fiona, however, is a little scared of it. She likes watching it run but is convinced that it will eat our toes if we walk around when it's cleaning. She yells at it, "Hey Robot!" from the couch because she's pretty sure it can't climb up and eat her there. When it mutinies and tries to destroy us all I guess she'll be able to say, "I told you so."
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I've had a nagging craving for a HoHo lately. I don't know why, I get them every once in a while, must be the influence of the white trash town I grew up in. They are delicious though, you must admit. Andre ran to the convenience store to get one for me and an apple pie for himself and proudly returned with a DING DONG! Sorry Hostess, but your Ding Dongs are no HoHos.
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The "original" trilogy is on DVD. Except it's not the original trilogy, it's Lucas' reworked version from the 90s, complete with added scenes and special effects. And it's even revised since that re-release. Thanks George, it's too bad I hate those versions and will hate them even more since you've tinkered with them again. George says: "It's like this is the movie I wanted it to be, and I'm sorry you saw half a completed film and fell in love with it. But I want it to be the way I want it to be." Well that's all well and good, but I don't really know how good your judgement is anymore. I mean really, mitochlorians? Jar Jar? A whiny teenage Darth Vader? Andre is talking about getting the REAL original trilogy on laser disk and picking up an old player on ebay or something. Because we're geeks.
. . . . . . . . .
We had an event at the store this weekend aimed at women over the age of 50. I've been taking all the reservations and explaining to people how to get into the store before it opens. Our reservations system is a little backward. Basically, if I'm talking to someone else, all other incoming calls go to voice mail which tells them to leave a message with their name, number and the event they're interested in and then I call them back. Now you whippersnapper 50 year olds have this whole voice mail thing figured out. The 60 year olds seem to have done a pretty good job too. The older crowd however kept leaving me message after message like this, "Hello this is Mrs. Elmer Huffenpuff and I'd like to make a reservation for the event. My phone number is...Hello? HELLO? HELLO?! I don't think there's anyone there. Oh for pete's sake." Click. Two minutes later, "Hello this is Mrs. Huffenpuff and I'd like tickets for the event. My phone number is...Hello? HELLO?" Click. Sigh.
. . . . . . . . .
My Roomba FINALLY arrived! I'm in lazy person's heaven. I'm goofing off on the computer and it's cleaning my kitchen. Thank you IRobot. I love you. Fiona, however, is a little scared of it. She likes watching it run but is convinced that it will eat our toes if we walk around when it's cleaning. She yells at it, "Hey Robot!" from the couch because she's pretty sure it can't climb up and eat her there. When it mutinies and tries to destroy us all I guess she'll be able to say, "I told you so."
. . . . . . . . .
I've had a nagging craving for a HoHo lately. I don't know why, I get them every once in a while, must be the influence of the white trash town I grew up in. They are delicious though, you must admit. Andre ran to the convenience store to get one for me and an apple pie for himself and proudly returned with a DING DONG! Sorry Hostess, but your Ding Dongs are no HoHos.
. . . . . . . . .
The "original" trilogy is on DVD. Except it's not the original trilogy, it's Lucas' reworked version from the 90s, complete with added scenes and special effects. And it's even revised since that re-release. Thanks George, it's too bad I hate those versions and will hate them even more since you've tinkered with them again. George says: "It's like this is the movie I wanted it to be, and I'm sorry you saw half a completed film and fell in love with it. But I want it to be the way I want it to be." Well that's all well and good, but I don't really know how good your judgement is anymore. I mean really, mitochlorians? Jar Jar? A whiny teenage Darth Vader? Andre is talking about getting the REAL original trilogy on laser disk and picking up an old player on ebay or something. Because we're geeks.
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