Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Tar, finger nicks, and an odd request from Dad.

Quote of the day: “Sometimes the mind, for reasons we don't necessarily understand, just decides to go to the store for a quart of milk.” ~Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider

Song of the day: radio

State of mind: all right

Date: 8/3/05 (J. Hetfield’s birthday. He is 42. That amuses me for some reason.)

I have a cut on my finger and tar on my shoe because yesterday sucked- and yet was somewhat productive.
I finally got the estimate for my car. I left work early yesterday and made it to the body shop with only 20 minutes to spare before they closed. After navigating my way through a maze of vehicles all I want to know is this: what the hell is it with car dealerships and bad parking lots?
The body shop manager was the one who wrote up the estimate and I don’t know if I should be impressed by how busy he must be, because there was a layer of dust so thick on everything in his office that I bet I could cut it with my finger, then count the rings and tell you how long he had been working there. Also, he had last year’s Christmas cards still hanging on his wall. (Well, I am giving him the benefit of the doubt that they were just last years.) After the estimate was totaled he asked me to guess what it was. “Is there a comma in it?” I ask, playing along. He chuckles. What do I care? I’m not paying for it anyhow. Turns out it was just over 1,600.00 dollars. Sucks to be the insurance company of the guy who let the girl who hit me drive his car. (Say that five times fast.)

The cut on my finger is from broken glass after my cats knocked over a couple of storm windows. Glass was everywhere so I guess it was inevitable. It only took an hour to carefully pick up all the larger pieces so I could move the frame and sweep all the smaller pieces into a bag. The cats were, of course, traumatized by the incident for a total of 10 minutes before they started poking around and get in my way as I was trying to clean up.
Due to my paranoia about glass dust cutting their little paws I then mopped the kitchen floor and am now wondering if I wasn’t the victim of a furry conspiracy. Work the fire extinguishers they cannot, but trick me into cleaning…? I wouldn’t put past them. After all, they are the closest to the floor so it probably bothers them the most if I don’t clean it as often as I should.
Tricky bastards.

On an unrelated note: My dad asked me to get him tickets to the Rolling Stones concert for him for his birthday. I was a little startled by this because I never really thought of him as a music fan. I know he hates movie musicals. And sometimes when the song “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston comes on he blares it really loud… which either backs up my ‘not really a music fan’ theory or dementia has started to set in. Truthfully, I think he does it just because he knows my mother hates that song.
My mother, on the other hand, used to have a record collection that would make Dr. Johnny Fever cry with envy. I remember having to haul those things from the house when they moved. Milk crates upon milk crates of heavy vinyl. Patsy Cline, Rosemary Clooney, Nina Simone, Bobby Darrin, Dean Martin (who can sing circles around Frank Sinatra any day BTW), Glen Campbell, Ray Charles, Nat King Cole (who has a voice like velvet!), and many others. (I feel like a K-tel infomercial selling ‘hits of the past!’) For the past few years I’ve been trying to replace some of her collection on CD as well as add and update it. This also means that anytime I buy something by an artist that was big before I was born, she immediately commandeers it as hers. For instance, she took my Ella Fitzgerald CDs and never returned them. Guess they’re hers now.
I actually considered getting the tickets for my dad till I saw how much they were asking. Forget it. Maybe I’ll by him a best of Whitney Houston instead. And ear plugs for my mother.

Angel quote of the day:
Angel: Do you think maybe that I should send her something? Like flowers maybe?
Wesley: Flowers?
Angel: Yeah, you know, to say thanks. Sorry about the migraines. You know, I appreciate you.
Wesley: Yes and while you’re at it, pick me up one of those "Sorry you were shot in the gut" bouquets.

7 comments:

cali said...

Rolling Stones ticks .... music fan?
Please explain the connection to me?

Henry said...

I saw the Stones in `89 and I remember thinking, "Geez these guys are old-good thing they still get out here and have a good time, their fans love it."
Hard to believe that was 15 years ago---goodness gracious.
Serioulsy doesn't Mick qualify for Social Security Benfits by now?

I just cannot picture your Dad at that concert--and I know him fairly well. Odd.

mr. schprock said...

"…Dean Martin (who can sing circles around Frank Sinatra any day BTW)…"

I'd call that an accurate statement.

trinamick said...

Get him a bottle of Geritol and a CD. That's the equivalent of going to their concert.

John said...

I saw the Stones in 2002 at Gillette Stadium. It was a great show, but I think the real draw is sort of the same as NASCAR; you go for the off chance that one of them might die right up on stage.

The only downside to thenight was some...substance...that I never really discovered the origin of, that landed on me while I was standing in line for a t-shirt. I'd rather not talk about it.

NYPinTA said...

"I'd rather not talk about it."

I understand.... you should blog about it.

JustTerry said...

Sorry about your hand, But I am glad you dont have to pay for the dammages to the car. Just read your most recent comments. I have just finished a trifecta of books by Chuck Palahniuk (he should change his name to something that is easier to spell. I finished "fight club" "stranger than fiction" and "Lullabye" all three were really good but "stanger than fiction" is a series of true essays he wrote over his career. and it is my favorite so far. I dont know what I should read next. (I lvoed the dune books but i have recently re read them.)