Real Madrid Goes Shopping

Real Madrid went shopping and bid on a new player, a Portuguese midfielder named Cristiano Ronaldo for... 94,000,000 Euro. That's over 100 million dollars. Enough to save a bank's ass from bank-ruptcy. Or thereabouts.
Not knowing much about soccer, I can only assume that Mr. Ronaldo's considerable skills include being able to kick a ball real good.

In school, if I didn't do well in math or literature my folks would have been all over me like flies on a dead horse, but if I got a C- in gym, and a nasty note from the teacher for not really showing up half the time, nothing happened. After all, my folks were sending me to school to become a doctor/lawyer/quality assurance supervisor, etc., not a field hockey coach. Had I known that ball kicking, or ball hitting, or jumping into a pool and swimming real fast would have put me in the fast lane toward becoming an economy unto myself, I would have changed my priorities.
Now IT IS TOO LATE!!! Even for my own kids, who are past high school. Why oh why did I not visit the gym teacher on conference night, instead of the physics teacher? Why did I let my daughter drop out of gymnastics? What kind of a mother am I, why couldn't I get my priorities straight?!?

Doctors who transplant organs don't make nearly that much, do they? Not even software engineers. Even presidents who are considered to be a god by half the country aren't worth that much. Show me somebody who'll pay over 100 million dollars for President Obama. Right. Nobody.

Real Madrid is convinced that having Mr. Ronaldo will result in enough advertising and what-not to rake in that amount and more. They are probably right. My high school economics teacher committed suicide right after we graduated. I never understood why, but now I think I do.

The Difference Between a Thong and a Wedgie

What's the difference between a wedgie and a thong? No, really - what's the difference? Back in the day, if you wanted to enjoy the feeling of nothing between you and your jeans, all you had to do was make eye contact with the neighborhood bully and presto, free of charge, your underwear was yanked northward, only to be stopped by your important anatomy.

Now you have to pay good money for the privelege, and it's called a thong. What purpose does it serve? The jury is still out on that one. And what is it made of anyways, the material that's left over after they use up the leftovers? It's like paying money for holy air in those little blue boxes. Seems like a rip-off. It should come free in a box of cereal. No, it would get lost in a big old box of cereal. Maybe a box of cracker jacks. Do they still have those? Or maybe in one of those little plastic eggs that cost 50 cents. Or in a box of holy air.

Missing Zebra and Polygamists

Now that Zebra is gone work is really boring. No morning email to discuss our favorite passtime, FLDS, or polygamists. It seems like just two weeks ago we had a polygamy marathon. That isn't a euphamism for an orgy, and no, we did not become sister-wives, but we watched three back-to-back episodes of Big Love, season I, which we had missed because this banana republic plopped us down smack in the second season. We never knew how Nicky and Margene came to marry Bill and Barb. (Strangely, we still don't, even after the first three episodes of season I.) Anyway, I'll always remember that afternoon.

Before we discovered polygamists, we had both commented that we needed a wife in our respective marriages. It would be nice to have someone to do the shopping, clean the house, watch the kids, etc. It's really hard to find good help, and it's quite expensive. Anyway, there was just that stickly little problem of consumation, but we'd cross that bridge when we got there.

My remaining work friends are great, and we spend many a lunch break discussing American Idol and other top quality cultural diversions, but the polygamy bug has not yet bit them.

Zebra's division went belly-up, and they all got their walking papers. Damn recession. It seems like only yesterday, or maybe last month, Zebra and I were discussing our road trip to Utah. Now that probably won't happen. It probably wouldn't happen anyway, but one can dream.

Who Will Paint the Walls

Paint life
Paint shelf life
Paint wall life
Lenth of time between painting walls?
How long does a coat of paint last?
Is not painting walls for 4 years grounds for divorce?

No matter how I type the question, Google has not been forthcoming on this one.

Her side:

Four years seems a bit long, but Mr. O has no problem with it. He could continue with the walls being the same salmon color they were four years ago, but then the salmon was fresh like it had just jumped out of a stream and now it looks like someone clubed it and some of its brains splattered about and then it had to fight its way upstream half dead and exhausted before it could flop about on a rock dying a slow death and looking so crappy that even a starving third-rate bear wouldn't eat it if it begged.

So after about six months of me nagging, Mr. O said if I wanted the walls painted, he would not object to me painting them myself. I've painted some walls in my time but I was young at the time and did not have super glue in my joints, and told him to get someone to paint if he ever wanted to have sex that doesn't involve cash payment again.

So I've been nagging Mr. O. since Obama took office to get someone. Mr. O. does not believe in having household repairs done by people with whom he has never gone to school/played soccer/chatted up at a gas station, so he said he'd check with his out-of-work friend the electrician (heretofor "Ed") if he wants to paint our walls. (It's not like it would cost less. He'll pay Ed more than he'd pay a stranger, just so that nobody will call him cheap.)

Every day since March 9th, Mr. O has had a different reason why he didn't speak to Ed. It's not like he could call him. He claims that Ed does not have a phone. He has to meet Ed in town. He just happened to not run into Ed every day for a month, even though the previous months he ran into Ed every day.

I was forced to take the nagging up a notch, and finally, in an act of desperation, added that if he didn't speak to Ed by the end of the week, in addition to the sex which he doesn't seem to be missing, I would stop making him coffee on Friday mornings. This had some effect. He was up early and on his way to Ed's house (suddenly he knows where he lives?) at 8:00 a.m. to catch him before he left the house.

So it appears I am better at making coffee than love. But I'm gonna get my walls painted!


His side:

There's nothing wrong with the walls. Nothing wrong with the "salmon". She's sick of it, says she wants "butter" or "cream". Maybe "caramel". Seems to me she's just sick of her low carb diet. She's been nagging me up the wall for like 4 months so just to get her off my case, I agreed for her to paint the walls. What's the big deal? She pays good money to go exercise in a gym, and then gets mad at me when I suggest a way to get exercise in the comfort of home. So she got all bent out of shape and wanted to get some guy who neither of us know, and let him paint our walls!

That's when I put my foot down. No damn stranger is gonna paint my walls. I said I'd get Ed to do it, and I will. When I decide. As soon as I run into him, I'll ask him. What's her big hurry? But now she's not making my coffee. I look forward to Friday morning coffee all week and she's cut me off! I just happen to be going to Ed's neighborhood this morning, so I'll probably run into him today.

Money for Nothin' and Your Chicks for Free

Who would have thought that a mere 12 hours a day of sitting on my butt in front of a computer could cause major league tendon issues? Certainly not Mr. Offramp, who did 12 hour shifts of hard core heavy duty physical labor under hazardous conditions for 13 years befor going on disability, non-related. In his words, roughly translated:

"You wuss. You've found America, you just sit on your butt all day 60 seconds from the bathroom and 30 seconds from the coffee machine. You can make phone calls whenever you want and surf on your break. You've got it made. If I had your job I'd pop out of bed and run to work!"

(I didn't have the heart to tell him I don't have to wait for a break to surf. )

Money for nothin' and your chicks for free.

I'll be photoshopping the backgrounds out of 70+ photos over the next two days. He doesn't get it that there could be any pain involved.

So I haven't been online much. Taking it easy. And now I have to post without taking this item anywhere, since I accidentally hit "post" already, and un-posting causes problems.