Have you ever tried to start writing a story about something and gotten stuck on the opening line? Someone smart once told me to start in middle and work their way out. I guess that's what I'll do.

I went to a plumbing supply store today with one of my co-workers. We were doing some field work today on a remediation system. Big environmental sentence there for doing some work, and trying to break or not break things as the case required. Anyway, we needed to find some specific PVC pipe that they don't carry at Lowes. Yes, for all you skeptics and Lowes afficianados, there are items they do not carry.

Anyway, my co-worker and I waltz into this plumbing store in full field regalia. I'm talking several layers of clothing, hats, gloves, coveralls, and ugly hats. Sidebar, I've yet to meet a field person who doesn't own an ugly hat. My own is red, yellow and orange with earflaps. Back to my story.

We walk into the plumbing supply place, carrying a broken piece of PVC that was once a part of the remediation system and announce loudly that we need this piece, this piece and this piece. The plumbers look at us, look at the piece, look at us again and realize we're both female under all those layers. So immediately, they start offering their assistance, at a price, offering to call someone to help us put this item together with the pieces we purchase, and asking just what on earth it is we're going to do, and if we're going to do it ourselves.

My gregarious nature pops into play, and I start answering. Dialogue of the conversation went something like this.

Mister Friendly Plumber (MFP): Are you ladies certain you can put that together yourselves?
Me: Yep. Like we told our boss, we're not dumb girls. Besides, how hard can it be?
MFP: Who do you gals work for anyway?
Me: (looking at clothing of both self and co-worker printed with logo of company on both hats and sweatshirts) Erm...
MFP: What on earth is that wierd looking part for anyway?
Me: It's part of a remediation system.
MFP: Where from?
Me: Well, could be from anywhere. (note bene, clients don't like folks to mention that we're doing work at their sites if we're working with hazardous waste. Just as a general rule).
MFP: You mean you're buying something for someone else?
Me: Erm. No.
MFP: So you do know where that's going to go?
Me: Look, I'm trying to be cryptic and not tell you where this is going.

Am I smooth or what?

Sseji's Fault

So this whole thing is Sseji's fault. I used to keep a blog. It was several years ago, and I detailed all sorts of adventures. I regaled my fans with tales of turtle terror, mistaken identity, lost hijinks and other explorations generally worthy of being explained sampled by a soap opera. Somewhere, within the bowels of the internet, this blog is still in existence. Don't ask me where.

Anyway, Sseji started her blog, and I have to admit I'm jealous. She has pictures, and pretty things. So I thought to myself, Self, you could do that again. So here we go. I think I'm just going to start in the middle and work my way out. That seems to be the best possible option.

The Boy and I have a new kitten. His name is Dante, after either Clerks or the Divine Comedy, take your pick. I was lobbying for Louis, to go along with the other Jazz Cats, Ella and Billie, but I was overruled. Anyway, Dante is black, with a tiny white fu man chu, (sorry, spelling of men's facial hair specialties isn't mine), and tiny tufts of white sticking out of his ears. His current favorite occupations are pouncing, snuggling, harassing the Jazz Cats, and eating, not necessarily in that order.

In other news, I have to go to a baby shower this weekend. Of all the little parties that a female is required to go to, ie tupperware parties, dinner parties, wedding showers, etc, I hate baby showers the most. I even like the person who's shower I'm going to, but the idea of sitting in a crowded, invariably hot, room playing games that went out of fashion in the 40s and talking about vagina's with your relatives is not my idea of a grand time. Add in to this the idea that you're supposed to dress nicely, eat bad cake from a paper plate that's bound to, if you're a klutz like me, fall, break, tear, what have you and spill all over your nice dress that has to be dry cleaned, plus buy a present? You've got to be kidding me. Like I said, least favorite thing.

Cheers!