<%@LANGUAGE="JAVASCRIPT" CODEPAGE="1252"%> Whisky Pants
     
     
     

Look, I'm not doing this for you, but for my own dark and twisted reasons. Oh, and because everyone else is doing it.

 
 

July 27, 2006

i give good email, damnit

There are some people who you can never satisfy, who live to merely make your life difficult. And there are some who forget that a dry sense of humor does not convey well across email.

I present for your consideration a snippet of today's email transactions with the Dog Chauffeur:

me - "You know how you feel about not drinking? Grouchy, angry, depressed, profane... Well, thats how I feel about dieting. More than anything I'm pissed at my parents for not having provided me with a better metabolism via genetics.

But, its going. I went to the store and picked up some healthy groceries and some of those South Beach Diet frozen meals. One of the recipes calls for some fresh basil and oregano. Can you hook me up? Will cook for fresh ingredients... " [Then I said some really smart stuff about Shakespeare's works. No. Really.]

him - "grouchy, angry, depressed, profane. Roger all...

WRT the above, can I mail you the herbs... [I found this pretty funny, actually. Despite the grouchitude.]

Kidding aside: Not a problem, I have tons, well, pounds, of both. You can get some more 'maters too if you like... When/how would you like the herbs?"

me (part the first) - "How do I want the fresh garden produce? Wear the basil behind your left ear, and the oregano behind the right. Exercise your own judgment on the tomatoes. I trust you. Also, some mint and a couple cucumbers would be lovely. For dramatic effect, you could put the mint between your lips - like a flamenco dancer would with a flower - and put the cukes in your front pockets. I'd say to bring the beer too, but I'm supposed to avoid alcohol till the 3rd. Since I'm having dinner with the Brits tomorrow, you know that diet mandate will be NOT HAPPENING. When do I want it? Well, Saturday would be best since I have to drive up to Emmitsburg on Sunday evening for three days of meetings. I'll see your Percocet and raise you three days worth of Valium/frontal lobotomies..."

me (part the second) - "Other options for herb delivery:1. Artistic/Biblical - Strategically placed herbs a la Adam in the Garden of Eden - maybe you have the tomato in your mouth as if taking a bite out of it... and 2. Roman Bacchanalia - A garland of herbs around your head while wearing a toga."

him - "I'll see what I can do..."

In retrospect, not actually my best work but not bad for a busy workday. All the same - I had expected a slightly more enthusiastic response. Or, at least some acknowlegdment of my naked and earnest attempt to be good humored and amusing in spite of our shared grumpiness. I complained as much to the Slama.

me - "I like for my hard work to be immediately acknowledged in flowery language."
Slama - "I like sex. But that doesn't mean I'm getting any." [Her bf works too damn hard and leaves my girl hanging too often.]
me - [I proceed to laugh way too loudly for a cubicle farm dweller.]

The things we do for home grown produce...

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