Failure of the Day: Slow Day: another potpourri
How long is five months to me? Long enough for the pharmacist at Walgreens to know my name.
Wolf! Decided on the title of my novel…no, really. Not telling though.
This week, I have enough work to do, I've won all the Yahtzee games we've played, I got all the bills paid on time, I am still just overwhelmingly in love with the new Metallica CD, and have no overall complaints. I responded to this turn of events by getting really moody. I don't know why.
BofA sent me another offer for cheap life insurance. I've been meaning to get a policy that covers both Chris and I, so I filled the thing out. But then I noticed that it was accidental death policy, so I read more fine print about what kinds of death they paid you for. It excludes sickness, and some other things. And then I have to sit around thinking not just about one of us dying, which is a fairly crappy thing to think about in the first place, but the likelihood of the various causes of our deaths. Now, I'm not squeamish about thinking about this kind of thing—it makes Chris really sad, but I just go, eh, what can you do? Might as well be prepared. But this whole business of having to figure out whether I have $18 a month worth of a chance that I will die in a fiery plane crash seems morbid even to me. Maybe I will hold out for a regular life insurance policy so I can die whatever way I want.
In response to Paul, who recently inquired as to the conventional wisdom about how to kill zombies, I have re-thought my position. I originally thought you wouldn't even have to bother with killing them—you could just out-run them seeing as how they are so slow and shlumpy. But that doesn't really answer the question. So now I think the best way to kill a zombie would be by putting a rock in the middle of the road. The zombie would trip on it, not be able to get up, and then die of thirst.
How long is five months to me? Long enough for the pharmacist at Walgreens to know my name.
Wolf! Decided on the title of my novel…no, really. Not telling though.
This week, I have enough work to do, I've won all the Yahtzee games we've played, I got all the bills paid on time, I am still just overwhelmingly in love with the new Metallica CD, and have no overall complaints. I responded to this turn of events by getting really moody. I don't know why.
BofA sent me another offer for cheap life insurance. I've been meaning to get a policy that covers both Chris and I, so I filled the thing out. But then I noticed that it was accidental death policy, so I read more fine print about what kinds of death they paid you for. It excludes sickness, and some other things. And then I have to sit around thinking not just about one of us dying, which is a fairly crappy thing to think about in the first place, but the likelihood of the various causes of our deaths. Now, I'm not squeamish about thinking about this kind of thing—it makes Chris really sad, but I just go, eh, what can you do? Might as well be prepared. But this whole business of having to figure out whether I have $18 a month worth of a chance that I will die in a fiery plane crash seems morbid even to me. Maybe I will hold out for a regular life insurance policy so I can die whatever way I want.
In response to Paul, who recently inquired as to the conventional wisdom about how to kill zombies, I have re-thought my position. I originally thought you wouldn't even have to bother with killing them—you could just out-run them seeing as how they are so slow and shlumpy. But that doesn't really answer the question. So now I think the best way to kill a zombie would be by putting a rock in the middle of the road. The zombie would trip on it, not be able to get up, and then die of thirst.
posted by Nancy @ 4:03 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home