The dumbfounded question of the week: "What do you mean, there was a miscommunication and Sprint disconnected the wrong T1 line?"

End result? Radio silence for me, and most of my friends, for the past two days. Almost all of us have email accounts and websites on the same machine (omnipotent.net, all hail Gareth!). The techops, dconsecurity, dragoncontv and Huntsville locals mailing lists were all down as a result.

Part One: Women

There's a rule. Don't go to Yarn Expressions on one of their variable-percentage sale days. (Draw a ticket to determine your discount. Most people get 20% off, a few people get more, one person gets 75% off.) Sure, the flyers are lovely, and the possibility of drawing one of the lucky tickets is enticing, but the actual experience of trying to make a purchase at the store on sale day can only be described as craptastic.

Notes from the couch while watching television:

"I'm not exactly sure how that diet pill works, but apparently it makes you turn around and yell 'Yes!'"


"You know, that would be kinda dangerous if that happened to me while I was on an elliptical machine."


"Good thing you don't have to exercise while taking diet pills, I guess."

* * * * *

Now. I've gotta ask you people something. Maybe you know the answer. Maybe you don't.

My schedule lately has dictated slightly later swims than I'd prefer. I love the serenity that comes from knowing that I am solely responsible for any and all of the waves in the pool, and I admit I find it a little funny to see the changing of the lifeguards knowing the only life they are guarding is mine.

Despite being the same people, the nine a.m. - ten a.m. guards are different than the noontime guards. Winter weekday mid-mornings discourage casual swimmers, and the only people likely to be seen jumping in the water are the regulars. Regularity brings chatter: they are the ones that come in every day, who know that Sam's wife just had a baby (and named her Megan Elizabeth) and that Tall Brian (as opposed to Dark Short Brian) is planning a road trip to Florida in a couple of weeks.

I tiptoed back early from Jeff's family's Thanksgiving celebrations, in order to do the house chore I'd been putting off for a month. I'd had a gallon of light blue paint sitting on the back floorboard of my car for a month, and it had been quietly taunting me every time I saw it."You don't have the time or energy to paint with me, do you?"

Every time I got in my car the week of Thanksgiving, I stuck my tongue out at it.

Thursday afternoon, comfortably sleepy on turkey and "fixins" -- although, I might add, at about zero vegetables for the day -- I made myself a plate of Thanksgiving food to go, wrapped it in foil, and drove home. Jeff needed to stay another night at his parents' to work on their computers (it wouldn't be a major holiday for geeks if we didn't work on someone's computer) and I was determined to get this painting done.

Off day, you see. An enforced off day at that.

Lately it's been just - quiet.

I'm okay with that, I think; we've gotten past the rumble and bluster of dragon*con and birthday season, and suddenly here we are staring another set of holidays square in the face. The trees turn slower here than they do in Colorado; the deciduous trees of north Alabama are just now starting to color, and are nowhere near the yellow blaze of aspen that decorated every Colorado street corner in September.