Well, Wilma is ensconced in Ken’s motorized recliner, the hibiscus was never purchased, and Wilma pointed out no one would be watering it anyway. So, I interred the dead one in the yard waste bin and moved on.
Speaking of interred, I got hooked Friday on the Casey Anthony trial. You know, she might be innocent but still be a pathological liar. She reminds me of a 9th grade girl I student-taught. She claimed to have done her report but left it in her locker.Since the real teacher was there as well, the girl and I went down to her locker to get the alleged report. She pulled every single thing out of her locker before she said, “I guess I don’t have it.”
“So you were lying.” I was nineteen.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Big eye roll. Then she went to her guidance counselor and complained about me.
It just amazed me. Had no one ever called her on a lie in her entire life?
So I suppose if I were on the jury, I’d have to start by discounting everything Casey A said, so I wouldn’t be tempted to try her for lying. So the evidence is: duct tape from the home, smell in the trunk, and one decomposing hair. It could have been anyone … well, if you ignore the mother’s guilty behavior. Still, bad moms can have their kids abducted too. I feel it is my place to defend crappy Moms. There but for my Zovia go I.
Speaking of ignoring behavior, we were shopping for Gary’s parents, I didn’t turn a corner to follow Gary quickly enough. He bellowed, “Ellen! Come HERE!” Then he snapped his fingers at me! (Everyone:Oh, no he di’n’t! Yes, he did.) I immediately stopped so I could discuss it with the strangers at the end of the frozen foods. “Did you see that? He just called me like a dog!”
Speaking of Gary and how his coping behaviors, this afternoon Gary had a dream in which he, I, and our niece were wandering around in the twilight, and evidently we all kept cloning into younger versions of ourselves. TWILIGHT. YOUNGER. WHAT COULD THIS MEAN. (Shhh. I know what it means.)
Still speaking of coping, I made him pork steaks and cookies tonight. (If you are from Boston, that’s a blade steak; from elsewhere, that’s a shoulder roast cut thin; and if you are from Saint Louis I didn’t barbecue it because as you know it is too damn hot.)
And speaking of death and crime and coping, I watched The Killing again tonight. Almost nothing happened crime-wise this week, I am still transfixed, and I still don’t know why. Police procedural? Not my cup of tea. Such a good show though. Gary doesn’t like it, that’s how good it is. Mad Men quality.
Another week begins. A little less real drama, a little more fake drama, a little more real-life someone else’s problem on CNN.
7 responses to “Bullets on A Sunday Evening”
My grandfather used to whistle for me. Like a dog. The first time Xman tried it, he got The Look and was told to never, ever do it again. He “forgot” a few times and was once more treated to The Look and no sex.
Becs – No sex! Why punish yourself?
In NJ, a pork steak is a chuck steak.
Tami – Well, I can see how you’d say that, but then what do you call the beef shoulder? It isnt chuck roast> Or chuck steak? Or ground chuck?
Thick cut is chuck roast, ground chuck is ground. Happy cat is happy.
Tami – Pigs is pigs, and cows is cows. Chuck is cows. Pork steak is pigs.
Too funny – I looked up blade steak. In NJ, steak is cows. God knows what we’d call pork steak. Probably shoulder chops.