Happy Thanksgiving
Nov. 25th, 2004 09:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraJeanna sent some money to Jimmy to cover Rocco's cremations costs and two weeks later Jimmy sent her a serape. A really hideous serape.
"Should I be insulted?" she asked.
"It's the thought that counts," I said.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. Jimmy obviously thinks I'm this bag lady wannabe who wears hairy sheep."
"Well, in Jimmy's defense, he probably didn't know he insulted you. He probably thought he was being generous."
"And that's supposed to make it better?"
We gabbed on the phone for an hour this morning. We'd actually been avoiding each other these two months past. On my part, that was entirely due to the fact that I'd fictionalized her into a gob-sucking nymphomaniac in the parking lot of the Sandia casino.
"Do not send Jeanna that story," said Ben when I got off the phone.
"But – she says she wants to read it!"
"She may think she wants to read it. But I can assure you that if she did read it, she would never, ever speak to you again and you'd lose out on inheriting your grandmother's diamond ring when Jeanna disburses her earthly possessions and goes off to live in an ashram in India."
"Maybe," I said, "but I think I'd have the inside track on a very handsome serape."
In other news, yesterday I had one of those too-much-information moments with a cashier at Cost Plus where I'd gone to fetch the Thanksgiving wine. She asked me for my zip code; I gave it to her.
"I always feel a little bit funny when I ask people for their zip codes," she said. "It's none of my business what your zip code is. But all the companies do it. Pretty soon they're going to have little tracking devices on everything you buy. Whatever happened to privacy?"
"Follow the money trail," I said and launched into the corporate history of Wal-Mart, the dangers of unregulated trade and globalism. I think I may have thrown in a Barbara Ehrenreich reference or two. Unfortunately for her, Cost Plus was having a slow day; there was no one on line in back of me, I could rant to my heart's content.
"Well," she said, stepping backwards when I paused for breath, "at least the weather is nice! I hear they're having a lot of bad weather in the midland part of the country."
"And I hope they continue to," I said. "I hope tornados wipe out both the Dakotas. I hope a giant ice storm ravages the entire state of Ohio. I hope a Class 5 hurricane wipes out Florida. Maybe the Kerry voters can put a secret mark on their rafters so God will spare them. But the rest of them – good bye, good riddance."
When I left, I wondered whether they'd caught me on videotape so my pixilated photo could be circulated among the proper government authorities.
"Should I be insulted?" she asked.
"It's the thought that counts," I said.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. Jimmy obviously thinks I'm this bag lady wannabe who wears hairy sheep."
"Well, in Jimmy's defense, he probably didn't know he insulted you. He probably thought he was being generous."
"And that's supposed to make it better?"
We gabbed on the phone for an hour this morning. We'd actually been avoiding each other these two months past. On my part, that was entirely due to the fact that I'd fictionalized her into a gob-sucking nymphomaniac in the parking lot of the Sandia casino.
"Do not send Jeanna that story," said Ben when I got off the phone.
"But – she says she wants to read it!"
"She may think she wants to read it. But I can assure you that if she did read it, she would never, ever speak to you again and you'd lose out on inheriting your grandmother's diamond ring when Jeanna disburses her earthly possessions and goes off to live in an ashram in India."
"Maybe," I said, "but I think I'd have the inside track on a very handsome serape."
In other news, yesterday I had one of those too-much-information moments with a cashier at Cost Plus where I'd gone to fetch the Thanksgiving wine. She asked me for my zip code; I gave it to her.
"I always feel a little bit funny when I ask people for their zip codes," she said. "It's none of my business what your zip code is. But all the companies do it. Pretty soon they're going to have little tracking devices on everything you buy. Whatever happened to privacy?"
"Follow the money trail," I said and launched into the corporate history of Wal-Mart, the dangers of unregulated trade and globalism. I think I may have thrown in a Barbara Ehrenreich reference or two. Unfortunately for her, Cost Plus was having a slow day; there was no one on line in back of me, I could rant to my heart's content.
"Well," she said, stepping backwards when I paused for breath, "at least the weather is nice! I hear they're having a lot of bad weather in the midland part of the country."
"And I hope they continue to," I said. "I hope tornados wipe out both the Dakotas. I hope a giant ice storm ravages the entire state of Ohio. I hope a Class 5 hurricane wipes out Florida. Maybe the Kerry voters can put a secret mark on their rafters so God will spare them. But the rest of them – good bye, good riddance."
When I left, I wondered whether they'd caught me on videotape so my pixilated photo could be circulated among the proper government authorities.
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Date: 2004-11-25 06:04 pm (UTC)Hah!
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Date: 2004-11-27 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-25 07:22 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2004-11-26 05:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-27 05:47 pm (UTC)