So, we can kiss and make up now?
Well, coming from the cultural mecca that is Leesburg, GA, I can understand how you could feel that way.
*
just kidding!*
Hey, we done got us some stoplights, a Hardee’s, a Krystal and a convenience store that sells Krispy Kremes. We’re just becoming a right regular town now. 
MWAH That’s me kissing and making up.
Do I have to quit my job? Is that what you people want from me?
I go away for just a few hours and you people get all over the place. I don’t even know what to respond to. Yeah, I ended that last sentence with a preposition. Deal with it. I thought I’d just pop in here to give welby special dispensation to ignore our agreement to act like the friends we are again and post his 1500 word dissertation on Exgineer Posting Naked And Getting Various Parts Of His Body Stuck To Several Items Of Furniture, Home Appliances, Electrical Devices, And A Select Few Varieties Of Frozen Vegetables, but I find that ShibbOleth has dropped a hijack-bomb and we’re all supposed to be discussing Angel Pants’ sex life, which is just bound to get Homebrew all pissed off.* And he did too that one time, because I called you Angel Pants. I warned you about that, and you didn’t believe me.
There were some things I wanted to say to lightingtool and Taters, and a couple of other people, but I forget now.
Oh yeah, one of ‘em was Bumbazine. I bet I could out-boring you. Wanna’ bet? We could have a huge Boring Contest, winner to be determined by counting how many MMPer’s fall asleep talking to us in person. That might be tough to set up, but I think I’d win. Just sayin’.
So, I do one of these utterly useless stream-of-conciousness posts per week. How’s it working for you guys? Should I knock it off? I could actually go to GQ and answer a question. Problem is, nobody ever asks anything about a subject I’m familiar with, or if they do that dratted Anthracite gets in there and answers before I can, and does a better job anyway.**
*Hoowee! Would you just look at that misbegotten bastard child of a sentence. That really sucks.
**I think she’s Una Perrson now. Is that the same poster?
A discussion of Angel Pants’ sex life would win any Boring Contest hands down. I’m gettin’ all sleepy just thinking about it right now. Well, that and the Benadryl I took half an hour ago is taking effect. Nitey Nite Y’all!
No, don’t knock it off. I’m actually enjoying it. Tell me something of a subject you know a little about (generally speaking) and I’ll be glad to ask you a question about it. I’m an inquisitive sort.
I never go to GQ…maybe I should check it out?
SMACK! (that’s my make-up kiss to you)
Sweet dreams, swampy.
Couple-three things:
I am no longer allowed to address swampbear as Angel Pants. Angel Pants the First, who isn’t registered as such so don’t bother looking, has decreed that particular nickname Off Limits. I don’t know why. Hell, most of her male friends are gay, so I’m at a loss as to why I’m not supposed to virtually chuck ribs over the internet with a guy who lives (unfortunately, from my point of view, because I’ll probably never meet him in person) in Georgia. To me, that’s like saying I can’t play with welby because he makes fun of me. Duh, that’s his job.
Crap. Just crap. I feel like I’m freezing out a friend when I don’t want to. Maybe she thought “Angel Pants” was hers and hers alone, and I just missed the memo. <Hank Hill> She pissed me off though, I’ll tell you what.</Hank Hill>
I forgot the rest again.
<Ricky Ricardo>I tried to 'splain!</Ricky Ricardo>
I could sing a couple more verses to cheer you up. 
'Course, since I lack the vocal skills of Bing or any of the Andrews sisters it might just drive you over the edge.
It’s a risky business, singing is.
No, this is on Clearwater Beach north of the traffic circle. It was a lot of fun, there were even gay men there. Not so burly, but I’m sure that Swampy would have approved. We were at the Palm for about two and a half margueritas, then after a beautiful sunset and some serious discussion with some women from Chicago, it was on to Cafe Dolce Vita. My father and I shared a bottle of Chianti Reserva, we had both veal and mushroom raviolis and tuna carpaccio for appetizers, then a wonderful salate and veal pizziola for the main course. Moms had the same except she was drinking white wine. It was a lot of fun except I eventually had to wrangle the elders out before they embarassed themselves.
You know who else is about 40? (Not just Taters?) Brad Pitt. I just saw in the paper yesterday in an interview with him about that “Troy” guy that he’s 40. James Marsters is, I think 41. James Marsters is Spike. If you don’t know who Spike is, it’s not worth explaining. Maybe you could check the IMBD or just not care.
Also in the paper they had a map of where there will be cicadas and where there will not be cicadas. Shibb’s old house (where his kids still live) is definitely in the “will be cicadas” zone. My house (where my kids live) is in the “not cicadas” zone. When I showed the Little Woman that map and pointd out where our house is on it, she was happy. She still needs a badminton raquet for when she goes to work because she works in the “will be cicadas” zone. Something else that’s in the “not cicadas” zone is TornaDope. I’m just sayin’ is all.
Yesterday evening was the Fine Arts Night at Soupo’s school. They had more paper maché than you’d believe. Some of it even looked like something you could look at and say “Ah yes, it’s a plate of Chicken McNuggets!” (“Chicken McNuggets” was just used as an example. There were several other projects you could easily identify. Even without the artist right there with you to explain their vision. One artist’s vision was in fact Chicken McNuggets.)
Ex it’s ok if I can’t be Angel Pants anymore. Angel Pants the First had the name first so it would be only fair she get to claim it. Anyways, you’re always welcome down here, ok?
Shibb how did you know those guys were gay. Did they scream faaaaa-bu-lous while looking at the sunset? That’s a dead giveaway ya know.
Good morning earthpuppy! I’m glad we made up.
Rue what fine art did Soupo grace fine arts with? I’m sure it was the jakiest of all the fine arts projects whatever it was he did.
I get to go to a factory that manufactures crop dusters today. So I get to look at all kinds of big machines and stuff. I am psyched over this!
Well, they did have the Florida “gay accent”. And the one introduced the other as his “partner”. And we were discussing their home. And it was just kind of obvious that they were a couple. But AFAICR the word faaaaa-bu-lous was never used, but they weren’t around for the sunset, this was after. Neither was really your “type”, from what I understand here. There were some guys at the Palm earlier that would have been more your style, but I don’t know about their um, proclivities. It’s always harder for me to spot bear. Guess I’ll have to read that book again.
Great, how’d you like to adopt an eight year old girl for a few weeks. She’s fully trained and has all of her papers. Except for the occasional emotions she’s much simpler than boys.
Well, of course you got distracted, swampy. I hope your cold is better. Mr. Lissar has a bad cold as well as the hand, ad he was coughing every five minutes until 1:30 a.m. and then started again at 6:00 a.m.
I have a cold, too, but it’s not a very coughy cold. I’m really sleepy due to his cold.
I bought marscapone yesterday. What should I make with it?
Just to clarify things:
I naively assumed that nobody but us read this thing. Realistically, why would anybody else care?
Turns out, if you leave the thread open and go outside to have a cigarette you just might come back and find a certain someone with a scowl on her face obsessively searching the SDMB for the term “Angel Pants.” Then you get yelled at. Then you have to go to the jewelry store. Word to the wise.
So swampbear is going to be swampy from now on, because I’ve become accustomed to having my head on top of my neck and I’d like to keep it there. Either way, he’s still my buddy.
Actually, we were both just tired and cranky last night. It turned out not to be such a big deal this morning when we woke up and laughed at ourselves.
I’m sorry, but I just find this whole situation hysterically funny. I love it when jealous SOs take things way out of context. When I was in college my then girlfriend found a woman’s phone number in my wallet (yeah, what in the hell was she doing in my wallet!) “Who the hell is this?”, she asked? I told her to go ahead and call her and find out. It was the number for my very middle-aged financial aid counselor. He he he. Needless to say that relationship ended up on the scrap heap.
Tell me about it.
We had the whole “why in hell were we arguing about that?” discussion this morning.
It fits the pattern. I usually think “this is nothing,” she thinks “there’s something going on here,” and were off.
We have a healthy relationship. It just gets livlier than necessary from time to time.
So Shibb, if I were to take on this “girl”, what marketable skills does she bring to the table? Cooking? Cleaning? Sings with a pleasing voice? I mean if I’m supposed to save her from the Evil Cicada, what do I get out of the deal?
Soupo was very artistic for the show. He made a… thingy out of torn paper. At least I think it was torn paper. I’m pretty sure he’s better with scissors that that. It was a mosaic of a boy. With big ears. I think that was the title: Boy With Big Ears. There was also Horse With Moustache (that looked more like Orange Cow, but who am I to argue with the Artist?) and a clay dinosaur. We couldn’t find his construction paper ant. I’m sure his teacher just didn’t put it out because it would have made all the other construction paper ants look like the pathetic work of children. He also had a picture of fish. It had more Dramatic Tension than you could shake a stick at. One of the fish was just about to EAT another one of the fish! You don’t see daring like that from your usual seven year old.
That just goes to show you Ex, smoking is hazardous to your health.
rue, can you share this “map” of which you speak? I assume that the cicada situation is much like the love bug situation in May and September when you travel south to Florida, only bigger and more menacing. I must know if I am in the “will be cicadas” zone so that I can dig my underground bunker.