I've been attacked.

It was just like they always warn us on Dateline.

I was in the grocery store parking lot, getting into my car, when I got a sharp blow to the back of my head, throwing my face into the doorframe of the car.

And again, just like they always say, I knew my assailant.

And that is why I'm able to draw the following sketch from memory.

Please, if you spot the culprit, please call.

Maybe NOT better than onions.

Due to a unscrupulous Tupperware lid, or a little man in green, a sizable portion of the green jello I brought for today's picnic sloshed onto the back seat of my car.

I should have followed Colsy's suggestion and carried it in a cauldron.

I think it was those mischievous leprechauns.



On the upside, my car now smells very sugary. Like Lucky Charms.

I feel like such a fraud.

People keep asking if they can have one of my cookies. When I tell them yes, but that they're actually breaded eggplant cutlets, the excitement visably fades.



Although it does seem to clear up for them why I'm eating them with a fork.

The Foot-in-Mouth Monologues

"Oh [Customer Service Rep who works out of another office in another state and is visiting our main office for a few days], are you leaving already? Bummer! [Other Rep from that out of state office] called and asked if you were bugging me and I said, 'No, not nearly enough! He's been locked in a room for two days!' Come to think of it, that might have worried her. Oops. You might want to call her and make sure she knows that by 'room' I meant 'meeting.' With coffee and sandwiches and bathroom breaks. Not, like, 'broom closet.'"

Oops.

I think my neighbor is worried for my well-being.

Ok, so it happened like this. I was just sitting at home, chopping up a pile of onions, crying a river over the fumes, watching Scrubs, and there was a knock at the door.

As I opened the door, still weeping, it occurred to me that I prolly should have set my big chopping knife down.
My neighbor looked at me, and stepped back, eyes wide.

"Oh, oh no. I was just chopping onions."

The look on his face said he didn't believe me.
After a brief question about the trash pickup, he practically ran back to his house, no doubt to call county mental health.
Damn it.
This is as bad as the time that a small error in the school office led to my being called in for a suicide intervention.

It's All Very Gift Of The Magi, O. Henry-esque.

I set my sewing bag, the one with the stuff to make Nick's present (flannel pjs and a robe) on the external hard drive thingy of his computer.
Well, Nick says I might have set it next to it, and it might have been him that actually set it ON the hard drive. But he's just saying that to make me feel better.
It's my fault, I'm sure.

His hard drive is dead.

Moment of silence, please.


*bows head*


So Nick was making me some mix cds, because Nick has extraordinary taste in music (and girlfriends), but all the music is gone now.

It's a wonder he still loves me.
I suck.