Bad news: Bob Marley is no longer with us

This morning, a woman called into the radio station with an urgent question.

Woman: I might have dreamed this because I dream a lot of things, but my friend told me that Bob Marley died. Is this true?

DJ: Um...well, Bob Marley...

Woman: (laughs) Oh! No! Not Bob Marley. But a man with a son.

DJ: A man with a son died....?

Woman: A reggae guy.

DJ: A reggae guy. Um...I'm going to have to go with: you dreamed it.

Now I don't have to stop in order to smell them

Remember this? So do I.

Aside from a sense of bitter disappointment, I walked out of that doctor's appointment with a prescription for a nasal spray. Never having used a nasal spray, I think I lack panache in administering it, but I do try. The most notable quality of this product (aside from mitigating the headaches) is that it smells like roses. I don't know if it is actually "rose scented" or if it just seems that way to me. The result of squirting rose-scented liquid up your nose is somewhat confusing-- olfactorily speaking--as you thereafter encounter various things that never previously smelled of roses, but it is not entirely unpleasant.

Still, as a concept, it lacks the romance of "looking at the world though rose-colored glasses." Squirting stuff up your nose is just not all that poetic, no matter what the result.

Zzzzzz

Last night, I had a dream that a hot Australian guy moved into the garage of my building. He'd put tile down on the floor which apparently made it legal for habitation. Upon waking, this amused me mostly because "hot Australian guy" is not a big ideal of mine. I'm more for "lanky, attractively be-spectacled, tie-wearing, literary guy." I think the buff dream Australian was also a surfer, which, if you're me, is even funnier. However, dream me was all flustered around him. Understandably, that type of guy is not particularly drawn to me, but I was very taken with dream Australian and desperately wanted him to like me. He kindly helped be re-set the level on my water heater (which was located in his "apartment") and then... invited me to have pizza! Sadly, I was already late for my birthday picnic and wasn't able to stay. But, for the record, I was very torn.

Boo!

The blog bully is displeased with the waning posts, but I would argue that the blog bully was spoiled by an unusual flurry of posts that should not be looked upon as the norm. Ahem.

A thing I like very much about the school where I work is that in a huge costume contest--including miscellaneous pop culture icons and the inevitable cross-dressing boys, ultimately it was the girl dressed as a rosemary bush (brown pants and a green shirt festooned with actual rosemary branches) who won the popular vote.

I was also rooting for the large piece of foam toast who had yellow kitchen-sponge butter pats.

Happy Halloween. However, please don't come to my house hoping for candy. I will be hiding in the kitchen, the light from which is not visible from the street, trying to do my Italian homework. In my defense, the past tense is, in its own way, quite scary.

Relaxing or....?

Dear Lady Outside the Sauna,

If you lie on the floor with your naked limbs all akimbo like that and with that towel over your face, you make the locker room look very much like a crime scene.

I thought you'd want to know.

Best wishes,
Kari