All those who don't want to be at work, but elsewhere pursuing other things or just slounging, raise your hands!

raises both and feet

raises both hands and feet, adds a butt wiggle and a shimmy for emphasis.

Can we stick your cow-orker in a malfunctioning elevator with my ex-boss, her of the utterly incoherent writing skills, and leave them stuck in it until their brains melt into goo, and/or their use of words for communication becomes more communicaty?

I gronk, still, therefore I am. In addition to the gronk, I need to know, do banks still accept un-endorsed checks "for deposit only"?

{{{-t}}}

Beej, much ~ma for you. Also, thanks, because reading your post reminded me I needed to cal my doctor to follow up on the lab work done on blood samples I gave yesterday. We're trying to figure out why I'm so goddamn tired all the time. I think my doctor thinks it's psychosomatic, or lifestyle related, or something. Which is aggravating but she's probably right. If the tests (thyroid, anemia, mono) don't show anything I may ask about anti-d's.

That call reminded me to make another MUCH LESS PLEASANT call to our insurance agent's.

Me: Hi, I'm calling because of some damage that was done to our floor and foundation because of the storms a couple weeks ago. I am not sure where to start -

Her: damage from groundwater is not covered under homeowner insurance, you'd need a separate policy for that.

Me: could you check to see if we have that policy?

Her: Uh, what? (implication: if we had it, we'd know it)

To sum up: I must to call FEMA.

Also, Tom is FUCKING FREAKING OUT about the whole thing and I hate it. I hate all of it.

That sounds like a cluestick might not be enough, askye. Perhaps come IV clue directly into the jugular.

What's the situation with the unendorsed checks, WindSparrow? Deposited through an ATM?

Oh, God, Nora, I'm so sorry.

Hm, askye, the only suggestion I'd have would be to stop him at every single pronoun and vague unfinished thought until he either learns to be preemptively specific or just stops calling you again, ever. All polite and bright and apologetic, but incessant. Like:

"They aren't coming, I called but they aren't coming, they said it'll be tomorrow before they can come and fix it."

"They [Sorry, but they who?] aren't coming [Sorry, but aren't coming where?], I called [Sorry, but who did you call?] but they [Sorry, but is this the same they?] aren't coming, they said [Sorry, but who said?] it'll be tomorrow before they can come and fix it [Sorry, but fix what?]."

But, in general, ugh.

-t, I'm so sorry. And it doesn't even matter that your MIL didn't hear about the second miscarriage. She already knows there was one wanted pregnancy and one miscarriage, and if she had a grain of common sense she'd just assume that you must either (a) be trying again, or (b) have a damn good reason for not trying again, or for not talking about the trying, and she'd HUSH UP. If you bring her into SF at any time during her visit and she crosses my path, consider this fair warning that cluesticking may occur, with an actual stick.

detonates H-bomb

(The H is for hug.)

That sucks, Nora. Come 'round my house tonight and I'll buy you and Tom a beer. Maybe Tom needs a martini tonight?

Beej! You got the kissing disease. It is good to have a solid diagnosis though and it's treatable and now you won't have to linger in the land of perpetually exhausted and crap-feeling. I'm wrapping you in the comfy blanket of heal-ma and giving you a steaming cup of all-better-now.

SA is packing and watching What A Girl Wants for the Colin-porn (Tux? Check. Leather pants? Check. Snarky asides? Check. General Colin-ness? Check). She's lunching with Deb (even though we just had a late breakfast) and then I'm taking her to CalTrain at 5ish so she can scoot down to stay with Perkins over the weekend.

Breakfast With SA

Eggs scrambled with avocado, feta and cheddar; 12-grain toast; bowl of fresh strawberries and peaches; latte.

jz really should "run into" MiL and 'splain this to her.

adorably