Worked all day, to get you money to buy you things.
Attended Toastmasters tonight, which was great fun. It occurs to me that life would be simpler if anyone were named "Murray". For whatever reason, I called everyone that this evening. I also kept mispronouncing the name of this blog. I did manage to coin a new byline for this blog, and you will see it as of post 700, currently scheduled for Friday, but which may be as early as tomorrow.
(That post will be special. I plan to discuss something I haven't really discussed before. Call it my state of the union address. )
After my TM meeting, I walked one of this evening's guests to a coffee shop and thence to my car, at which time I drove to a local grocery store 'cuz Patricia "asked" me to pick up a couple of items. "Asked". Bwah ha ha. More like, "buy me these after your meeting and bring them to me, post haste, ipso facto, or it will not go well for thee"!
(Hey, remind me of the time I bought maxi pads for Patricia, ok?)
I bought something that no rules of taxonomy I am aware of will permit me to identify; I ate it in the car afterward. Oh, the exciting life I lead! I listened to WCBS 880 AM while I munched away on whatever-the-Hell-it-was. It didn't taste bad, especially with Italian dressing drenched on it. Anything tastes better when it is floating in Italian dressing. It is a fact of life.
I called my parents using my On*Star phone (the car's speakers act as the phone's speakers, so I might hear my mother behind me, or beside me, or both). Turns out that my father needs a blood transfusion, and it will happen this coming Friday. Not good.
I can't possibly help out this time (not with the actual transfusion, you dummy; taking him to the hospital and waiting for him whilst the procedure takes place!). I have several personal things all lined up on Friday like little ducks that I'm gonna blow away, one at a time. Taking my father to the hospital this time is something I cannot do. I will be taking 2 days in March for my parents, and it's impossible for me to help out on the 27th. I am confident that someone else can help out this time.
I drove to Patricia's place, gave her the items she asked for (not maxi pads, thank God), played with Cindy Clawford for a moment, and drove home. I had three messages on my answering machine when I got home. Three! 3! Which is to say, three messages, not "3!" which means 3x2x1. Only one hang up this time, plus a message from my father, and one from my friend Franki, whom I have to call after I get finished with this damned blog post, the one you quit reading five minutes ago when you realized it wasn't going anywhere. But then again, how many of these blog posts go anywhere, anyway?
Is it time for bed yet?