Mentionables

Last Friday, I accompanied JG to his school to be a spectator at the coolest fund raiser ever: a dodgeball tournament! There were over twenty teams competing in a double-elimination bracket, and JG was on the teachers’ team. The kids were so hilarious and cute with their uniforms. There was a team of Planeteers with visors that said, “The power is yours!” Another team wore orange t-shirts emblazoned with “The Orange Ninjas” (although one girl was a “ninga”). There were kids who wore dress shirts and ties with their athletic shorts. One team sprayed their hair red, white, and blue, and their shirts read, in stark permanent marker, “You can’t beat Team America!” The actual dodgeball was fast and intense, and I was immediately plunged into memories of being pelted by insensitive middle school boys. I felt sorry for all of the kids who were the last ones left standing on their teams. The teachers got pummeled by a team of varsity soccer and lacrosse players, but they pulled out three victories before being eliminated. Despite groaning about being “too old for this kind of thing,” everyone seemed to have a good time, and no one got hurt, thankfully.

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JG’s mom and grandmother, Mimi, came to visit for a night this week for really no reason at all. They’re both ladies of leisure these days, and Mimi had never seen our house, so that was just cause to take a gander at Kennett Square. After I got home from work, Mimi gushed to me about how she loved our house, and Ted bothered her dog, Sam, in his puppy way. We walked around the downtown area before having dinner at the Half Moon, where a yak burger and an ostrich fillet were on the specials list. The four of us demolished the mountain of crab nachos, and I thoroughly enjoyed my blue moontini and maple-glazed pork tenderloin. Oh, and Mimi left us a container of chocolate chip cookies. Ah, yes.

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Whenever JG and I drive south on 95, we pass a tourism sign in Maryland for something called Skipjack Martha Lewis. We’ve passed this sign several times, and I always lapse into a fit of giggles. Skipjack Martha Lewis? What is this random collection of words? Is a skipjack like a lumberjack? What could this tourist attraction be? JG raises an eyebrow as I dissolve into laughter in the passenger seat — yet another reason I should not be driving — and we resolve to look up whatever it is when we get home, but we never do. Well, this week, I finally did it. Look, Skipjack Martha Lewis is a boat! With a blog, apparently. Now, I kind of want to take one of their cruises on the bay to see what the deal is. I have my eye on Margarita Night or Havana Night…

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One of our friends gave me a potted gerbera daisy for my birthday, and I brought it to work for a little office cheer. I am the Angel of Death when it comes to plants, so I wasn’t sure how long I could go before killing it. I had a bumpy start by forgetting to water it on the Friday before we left for spring break, and when I came back five days later, the plant was not too sprightly. Nevertheless, I persisted in watering the daisy every other day, just like JG recommended, and — I’ll be darned! The daisy is still alive, a month later! With three whole flowers! Maybe my black thumb is lightening up to be a tiny bit green. I think I’m ready to take on another plant, albeit a hardy one. Maybe a jade plant? Or some bamboo?

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When I started this job, one of my first orders of business, with the consent of my manager, was to clean out the supply closet. I isolated supplies that I figured we used regularly, categorized them (filing, shipping, fasteners, printer supplies), and labeled the sections with bright green sticky notes. The rest of the stuff, including an ancient adding machine, rolls of adding machine paper, rubber approval stamps, and piles of floppy disks, filled up a large cardboard box, which has been gathering dust on a bookshelf ever since. At the time, I told my manager that I suspected that we wouldn’t need these supplies, but if we did, I’d hang on to them for six months before throwing them out. Well, friends, the time has come, and we have not touched even one item in limbo. I triumphantly lifted down the purgatorial box this week and set it out for the housekeeping people. I consider it a moral victory.

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Yesterday, Whoorl’s Gmail status message was something to the effect of, “Very Important Publication coming to MY HOUSE!!!” On an impulse, I sent her an IM saying, “Wha?? That is crazy!” I didn’t expect a response at all, especially since her little activity button was yellow for Idle, and I figure that IMs are for asynchronous communication, so it was fine. Then I saw the box blinking orange and —

Whoorl: YES!!!!!!!!!! to take my photo! what do i wear???!!! ACK!

My jaw just about hit the keyboard. Whoorl was asking me what she should wear for a photo shoot? What kind of alternate universe was this? My mind swirled and I threw out the “pocket-y Gap dress” as a suggestion, referring to a recent purchase Whoorl had posted on Flickr. I was so taken aback to be having this conversation that I was hardly aware of what I was saying, much less truly considering what Whoorl would end up wearing. Besides, that dress was probably the tip of the Whoorl wardrobe iceberg, so what did I know? Then, this morning, I got a e-mail from Whoorl, who felt it was her duty to inform me that she wore the dress after all! I have no idea if my suggestion was any direct factor in that decision, but that doesn’t matter. Is it sad that I think this is a high point in the fashion-oriented segment of my life, limited though it may be? Whatever, I’ll take it!