Afternoon Check-up

Hot and sticky here today. Ellie had off today so we made an executive decision that I should leave work early. Going to try to burn through the to-do list so the weekend can be extra lazy. So what is up with the rest of the gang?



        • Are you having those horrendous droughts like they’re having in France and Spain and even in parts of Britain, where the privatized water companies are imposing “hosepipe” bans at the same time as they (the privatized water companies) are leaking millions of gallons of water a day through their neglected pipes and flushing raw sewage into the rivers and seas that surround the green and scepter’d isle?

          • not in my corner of the country….but on the whole yup….waters running low here…we are actually pumping sweet water into the rivers to prevent the salt water getting in

  1. It’s warm over by here but it’s late-summer warm, so it cools off nice at night.

    Friday is a big chore day on the farm.  I just came in to scarf up an eight-ball of coffee and then I’m back out to the barn.

    • Did I ever tell you (all) that I once lost my ATM card due to an unwitting drug transaction in Washington, DC, of all places? Yes. I was staying with a friend of mine, who did not do drugs, and he’s now dead, so who cares, who had a very rich friend, who may also be dead, probably is, who did indeed do a lot of drugs.

      The three of us (Better Half was not along on this caper; this is when he was living in London, thank God) were driving around to go to some seedy gay bar when this friend of a friend said, “Can either of you loan me some money?”

      He’d been very generous to us over the course of my stay, restaurant dinners, bottle service at some nightclub that was hot at the time where we had front row seats to an A-list singer, etc. Who knew that DC, the home of the US Department of Agriculture and the Folger Shakespeare Library, was so glamorous?

      I said, “I can! But you need to stop at an ATM. How much do you need?”

      “Four hundred dollars.”

      Since he had spent at least $400 on me during my four-day stay I said, “Well, sure.”

      At the time in New York the ATMs gave you back your card and then you conducted your business. In DC, the ATMs kept your card and didn’t spit it back out to you until you were done. So I got the $400 and walked out sans card.

      We then proceeded to what looked like a very wealthy neighborhood (it wasn’t Georgetown, and it wasn’t Capitol Hill, that much I knew) and he double parked and ran into a very attractive Romanesque Revival townhouse. He emerged moments later and we three drove on to the seedy gay bar.

      Once there, he ran a tab. I don’t now why he was so generous to me, a stranger, but he seemed to have loads of money. He made several trips to the bathroom, and at some point I asked him what he needed the $400 for.

      “That’s how much an 8-ball costs in DC and my guy doesn’t take credit cards or do credit. In New York it’s cheaper because you have [people from two other nations] and here we only have the fucking [people from a third nation.]”

      To this day I don’t know if he was telling the truth or why he didn’t just go to an ATM himself but sure enough a couple of days after my return to New York, where apparently the 8-balls were (are?) cheaper, I got a FedEx package in my office containing 20 crisp $20 bills and no note.

      Meanwhile I had to call my bank and tell them a DC ATM had swallowed my card and it was a while before I was mailed a new one, so the $400 in cash came in useful.


        • More or less. At the time (the late 90s) Better Half had a cellphone and I didn’t, and his didn’t really work from the UK because he wasn’t on British Telecom (BT) so to talk to him I used to call him from my office to his office, five hours ahead. He didn’t have a direct line, his assigned “PA” (personal assistant) answered his calls and was the gatekeeper. A more useless and irredeemably numpty employee I’ve never met. But it was the height of Blairite “Cool Britainnia” and…anyways.

          Once I got past Scary Spice (that was our name for the PA, and the Spice Girls were all the rage at the time) I told him about all of this. I still remember this conversation, 25 or so years later.

          “So you kenneled my dog–”

          My dog. I found her at the shelter–”

          “and then went off to DC to visit that [Better Half hated that one friend of mine; expletive deleted] and he had some [unprintable word unless a Black person like Better Half is referring to another Black person, or it’s a rap lyric, but even then…] friend and you lost your ATM card because you–”

          “Focus on the bright side, Better Half. I’m not addicted to cocaine and in a few days you’ll be flown back for your monthly week in New York at HQ and [friend Y] just taught me how to make [I forget what this meal was] so…Anyway, my boss’s assistant is hovering at my door so I have to go. Cheerio!”


  2. “Off” means being in stealth mode on Slack. I was able to do a half-day, and am now cooking ahead. I am looking forward to Lillian making paw print art tomorrow. The boys are not able to participate, due to general misbehavior. 🐕🐕🐕

  3. I worked from home today and my brain clicked over to “ohhh shit you need to clean the entire house” so I’ve been doing 10-20 minutes of cleaning between calls etc.

    The house isn’t clean yet but a few rooms have noticeable improvement, so that’s always good.

  4. My oldest and his girlfriend have decided to split up and live separately but still date, so he’s moving into his new place this weekend. Most of the guys are headed over there now to finish up painting and fixing things. I’m going to watch Grandbaby so he’s out of the way.

    I love my son dearly, but the apartment he’s moving to is kind of a dump. They’ve already had to replace the drop ceiling in the 2 main rooms, repair cracks in the walls, fix drywall and scrub mold in the bathroom, paint everything, replace the backsplash in the kitchen because so many tiles were missing… it’s a historical building that’s 160 years old, so some work is expected, but the guy that owns it is basically a slumlord and my sons and their friends have been doing all this themselves. I know he plans to give the guy all the receipts for materials, and I hope he makes good on that.

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