In order to appear sophisticated and savvy, whenever there’s a company dinner at a restaurant, I go to the restaurant’s menu online and decide what I want to have before I get there.
Then, I memorize the items.
Instead of accepting a menu from the waiter, I say “I already know what I want.”
And I order from memory.
“Have you been here before?” people ask.
Yeah, I come off looking so damn sophisticated. Except when I get food poisoning.
Then, I go online to the hospital’s website, and decide which doctor I want to have before I get there.
Piper was my baby.
Edloe was my Grumpus.
Frisky was my fluffball.
Bruwyn was my Boo.
Myst is my Missy.
Tinny is my squeaky.
And Nardo was my buddy.
Every cat gets their name, and their own special name.
When I give them their special name, it’s for them to keep.
Okay, so I wanted to name Myst “Baby” when we got her.
And both Bruwyn and Myst were the baby panthers.
But nobody ever again will ever be my buddy.
As much as Tinny asks for hugs, and Myst lays in my lap and purrs.
Some things are forever.
For the first few years, things were pretty rough for the orbital colony.
We worked out the pumps and hydroponics working, and achieved near-sustainable levels of efficiency.
There were still some issues with trace elements, nutrient loss, and other problems inherent in a closed entropic environment.
So, we started a marketing plan for the elderly. Invited them to spend their golden years in orbit with reduced gravity.
And they came.
Most didn’t survive the boost to orbit. We fed them to the composter.
The crops come in great now.
But just in case, let’s order up another shipload of geezers.
Jackie Collins the writer died recently.
She made a fortune off of writing tell-all novels about her friends and the gossip they spread about their friends.
If any of her friends pissed her off, their shit appeared in her novels.
Especially if they dished shit on her. Including her skank of a sister.
I know that it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but in her case, what’s wrong with dishing shit on her now? What a bitch!
Now her shit is appearing in the tell-all gossip rags.
Because nobody had the guts to say it at her funeral.
Jack. He was my grandmother’s second husband. He had a little dog from his first marriage named Whiskers. It was a Schnauzer, or was it a Terrier? The dog was really old and slow, and it wasn’t aware of us or anything.
The first night we were there, the dog let out a huge groan and laid down, and it released a puddle of shit. No, a lake of shit. Jack walked through that lake of shit, got down on his knees, and hugged his dead dog. “Good Whiskers,” he said.
If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
It used to be that there were only plain and peanut M&Ms.
Now, they’ve got pretzel, almonds, mint, and all kinds of specialty flavors for the holidays.
And you can get different colors and special messages.
Hershey’s kisses did the same.
They used to be plain chocolate, but they added almonds and swirls and caramel and all kinds of crazy flavors.
There’s so many varieties of KitKat and Snickers and other candy bars, it’s scary.
Which helps me to run past the candy aisle and pick up healthy fruits and vegetables.
(Don’t get me started about the varieties of apples!)
My new iPhone arrives tomorrow.
So, why am I updating my old phone’s operating system to OS 9.0.1?
I don’t know. Just like I didn’t know why I updated it to OS 9 a few days ago.
It’s a habit, I suppose. When they tell me that I need an update, I update.
Sure, I have to find a power cord and a decent WiFi connection, and then I have to wait ten minutes or so while it updates, but I still update it.
Apple has me well trained.
Which is why I keep buying iPhones, I suppose.