I just met my new neighborhood UPS guy, Bob. Nowhere near as hot as my previous UPS guy -- that dude was smokin' with amazing legs. Bob seems nice enough, but it's just not the same.
It's shit like this which get Unfulfilled Slightly Bored Housewives such as myself through the day with some semblance of sanity.
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New favorite commercial venture: The drive-thru liquor store.
There's one near the children's hospital where Will goes for his out-patient therapy. I took a swing through there yesterday after we finished up with his work-out. It's a beautiful thing. Drive into this little hut, which has cases of every domestic beer you can imagine -- many available in those big old quart bottles. Dude asks me what I want -- I, natch, ask for the Exotic Berry wine coolers. My favorite cheap-o weeknight libation. It's like kool-ade with a kick.
Give him a five-spot. He hands back my change with my four-pack. And we are on our way. There are lots of interesting things to be had at this establishment, including pickled eggs and a wide variety of plain, solid color t-shirts.
Love. It.
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Have recently discovered that our home phone number is just one digit off from that of a local social service agency. Lots of calls asking if I can help pay the light bill. I'm not sure why people get mad when I tell them they've dialed the wrong number. It's not like I called them erroniously. When I was a kid, our phone number at home was one digit off that of a McDonalds. And someone named Gwen, who worked the late shift, sure got a lot of calls at 2:00 in the morning. Phones are funny things. Faceless communication which can be both good and bad. At least it's usually interesting.
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