My seester and I are planning a weekend for us and all our fabulousness in NOLA in late Jan and in an email back and forth with The Mc telling him I’m running away from home he says “what’s NOLA?”
We talk about it that night and he says he’s never heard that before and he thinks I made it up. I’m cereal.
Without divulging what it means or Googling if you don’t already know, please answer honestly: do you know what NOLA is? A simple “yes” or “no” will do…
I couldn’t get out of bed this morning.
I should have been up and out by 6:15, downing coffee, feeding screaming cats and delousing myself. Instead, it was 6:54 by the time I scooched to the end of the bed and fell on the floor. It didn’t improve after that.
Not leaving the house by 6:45 means gridlock on one of the streets that transitions from sleepy neighborhood pavement to a four lane, and this morning I knew full well I’d be locked in for a good twenty minutes of the wait. I had my now standard cup of coffee in my half numb paw and took a swig, wondering if I’d get to see the train this morning (I love it when my drive is timed *just right* so I get to look down the tracks at the big heavy beasts and listen to their rumbling) when a big swill of the brown goodness caught me wrong.
I started doing that surprise cough/choke thing - you know the one - where you have a mouth full of wet and you’re trying not to spew it everywhere? Ten convulsions in I managed to turn down the radio (Steve Inskeep has never seemed so LOUD), turn off the heat and roll down the window.
There’s nothing quite like having coffee explode out of your face, dribble down your chin and the side of your car when you’re in gridlock and can’t escape the eyes of everyone who just saw you do it.
Someone sent along this idea and it’s too good not to share.
It doesn’t matter if you like W, Hilbot, Obama, Biden, Colbert (my fave) or any of the other nut jobs; your opinion doesn’t change the fact that there are wounded soldiers laying in hospital beds no where near their families during the holidays.
So, if you’re sending out snail mail greetings this year and want to share some love with someone who [probably] won’t use your card to draw mustaches on your kids, add this address to your list:
A Recovering American soldier
c/o Walter Reed Army MedicalCenter
6900 Georgia Avenue,NW
Washington,D.C. 20307-5001
UPDATED with info via a colleagues husband who is an LTC GEN stationed in Iraq:
Walter Reed will not directly accept Christmas cards or other cards to recovering soldiers. There is concern that this may be a conduit for those that might want to do harm to service members.
With the cooperation of the Department of Defense, Walter Reed Medical Center, Pitney Bowes and the Red Cross cards can still be sent. If you are so inclined please send to:
We Support You During Your Recovery!
C/o American Red Cross
P.O. 419
Savage, MD 20763-0419
Volunteers will sort the cards for appropriate content and then ship them to Red Cross stations at the military hospitals.
I apologize for any confusion that I may have caused by my earlier message.
Thank you.
Still in beta and I’m on the dang wait list, but I’m super stoked to get out there and play and share pictures of my stash and my projects and steal ideas from brainiac knitters like Missy Gia. Thanks to my knitting teacher for telling me about it months ago, and the always lovely Megan for reminding me.
I lurvez me some knittin’. I also love sleep. Mmmmm. Sleeep.
Just drowning in work and the internets at home were broken last night.
As a teaser of things to come, I will say we took an Xmas portrait last night and it. is. dorkariffic.
This has been the non-blog entry for Tuesday December 4. You may now proceed with your regularly scheduled pissing time away at the office activities.
I write, you read. It's a clean and simple relationship.