January 05, 2009

The Uninvited - how to seriously disconcert the new guy in the building. If you need help with your costume let me know, I have made mine by wrapping a black t-shirt around my face with a hooded jacket and cut finger holes in black socks for the gloves. I do not have any black pants so will spray paint my legs on the night.
  • That's brilliant! It also provided some much-needed laughs for today. Well-played by David, the uninvited...
  • The problem I have with the note is not that he was having a party and didn't invite me, it was that he selected a vibrant background of balloons, effectively stating that his party was going to be vibrant and possibly have balloons and that I couldn't come. I find this logic unimpeachable.
  • Dear Jane, I do not have any money so am sending you this drawing I did of a spider instead. I value the drawing at $233.95 so trust that this settles the matter. Regards, David.
  • I liked that one, BlueHorse.
  • Where's the drawing?
  • It's under overdue account. I'm going to pay ALL my bills this way!
  • It only has 7 legs!
  • Thanks fish tick, made me laugh for the first time this year!
  • Move/Kill David Kill David/Move repeat several times.. determine that it was hard enough to move the cane furniture the first time. problem solved.
  • That spider with the missing leg as a "gift" reminds me of an experience in middle school. We had an ex-Marine for our Physical Education teacher who, as you can probably imagine, taught us with military discipline: while waiting for him to arrive, we were to sit in straight, even lines, with good posture, no talking, no shifting. (Sometimes he'd wait outside the gym where we couldn't see him, and if he heard anyone talk or shift in place we'd all get to run extra laps, so we quickly learned to mind.) One day a fly caught the bored attention of a good friend (a boy) sitting next to me. "Anna, look! A fly!" he said. "Shhh!" I replied without moving. "Do you want a fly?" he asked, promptly catching the fly. "You're gonna get caught!" I whispered to him worriedly. "It's for you!" he insisted, and set to work doing God knows what to the fly. After a minute or two, he pushed over a still-wiggling black blob and stated, with great pride, "there, now you're the only girl in the world who has a live fly with no legs or wings. See? It's still alive! You know how hard that is to do?" I hardly knew what to think at the time, but twenty years later I still remember it fondly. (Our teacher didn't come in until much later and hadn't heard any of it, thank goodness.)
  • How hard that is to do for the fly, or *to* the fly? I wonder if you'd have this guy's home address - I'd like to send some people around to visit him...