..all of them.
Wait. That's not me. I know times can get tough, but I can't stay bitter. Sure, between the marathon, job, house hunt and caring for a wife and two cats, I never had time to make a costume for Brandi, but there's always next year. That's also what we're telling ourselves about National Novel Writing Month. We want to convince a bunch of our friends to do it in February. If you're reading this, you're a target. I know February is shorter than the traditional November, but one thing it does not have: Thanksgiving. And since most of America north of Louisville is going to experience 35 minutes of sunlight a day for the next couple of months, you have no excuse but to sit down and work on that Programmer's tan in front of a CRT or LCD. That's the kind of tan that browns the skin around the eyes and makes the middle larger.
Don't make me start cold calling.
Lifesource won't leave me alone. When we move to our apartment about a year and a half ago, I put us on the Do Not Call list, which I think telesales folks just made up as a prank. I can't measure the success or failure of it, though. Maybe if I hadn't signed up for it, I would never have gotten off the phone with the telemarketers, instead of having time to brush at least the top half of my teeth between calls. Lifesource calls the most. Technically not a sales call, they're still plenty aggressive about trying to extract my blood. During the nine months of marathon training, I was afraid of the performance hit I would take and I fell far short of my all-time high of four donations in one year. I hope people really do need my blood. It would be a shame to discover it was being used to feed legions of the undead. I wonder how they feel about the citrate used to keep the blood from clotting. On the one hand, it's hardly naturally found in the undead food chain. On the other hand, neither is yoghurt in ours. Whenever Lifesource calls and Brandi answers, she asks who is calling and hands the phone over, saying, "It's the vampires." Shh! I know that and you know that and but they don't know I know, and I'd rather they took a little bit at a time than all at once. Having to wear a crucifix to the donation center would just suck, no pun intended.
1 comment:
Worlds^h^h^h^h^h^h
This Year's Best Halloween Costume: The Valkyrie at that one party, complete with overblown (overinflated?) Wagnerian Breastplate. She can have my candy anytime. Rawr!
This Year's Worst Halloween Costume: The kid from the local high school's cross county team, who showed up as a cross country team member from the local high school. I almost didn't give him anything. Lucky for him, Evelyn was in control of the candy bowl at the time.
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