Three-day weekend

When I returned home late, late last night after being away for the Labor Day weekend, I was thrilled to find an open parking place a block from my house. What's more, it was a Tuesday street cleaning spot. Cool. No need to wake up in a car-moving panic in the morning.

Oh. Wait. The realization slowly dawned. Tomorrow is Tuesday.

Mondays off throw me every time.

Why to date a Frenchman

My boyfriend and I are at a restaurant studying our menus. He puts his down before I do.

Me: Qu'est ce que tu desires?
Him: Toi.


Good answer.

Um...94?

In the novel I just finished, the protaganist's mother is declining into dementia. Every time she goes for a check-up, the doctor asks her various things to establish how far gone she is. The usual: her name, the date, the name of the President, and then, invariably, she is asked to count backwards from a hundred by sevens.

By sevens? For the record, in case this skill is ever the thing that stands between me and the loony bin, I just want to state that I can't count backwards by sevens. Not now and probably not when I'm on the brink of senility either.

Wish you were here

This is from an email sent to my friend by a friend of hers who has recently been in Peru. I have no right whatsoever to reproduce it here, but am doing it anyway.

"We mostly had perfect weather on the trek, except for the couple times it hailed and the one night it snowed, and one of our donkeys died."

But where can I get MORE copies?

This morning when I left my apartment I noticed that there was a book propped against the wall. It was in a little nook on the landing where someone would have had to climb the stairs to put it. I looked a little closer and saw that it was entitled Jennifer and the Master: A Unique Erotica by John Vandeveer. In the corner of the cover someone had written in ballpoint pen "Free Copy." I'm hoping it was John Vandeveer himself and that this is just a small part of his vast "unique erotica" guerrilla marketing campaign.