Drop drop droppin it down...oh, so gently...
Yeah, those are Pearl Jam lyrics. So what?
This blog will probably be pointless rambling. If you don't like pointless rambling, stop now, you've been forewarned.
My keyboard is really gross. It's got all kinds of specks (I was just checking the specs on the rotary girder...I'm retarded) of food and coffe and god knows what in it. Fortunately, those are all in the cracks, so I don't have to touch them. I once read a "true story" about someone who called tech support because their keyboard quit working. The operator asked what they had done, and they said they had soaked it in the tub cause it was dirty. They weren't sure if that would wreck it or not. Turns out...
I was talking to Rabbit, a.k.a. Abby from work, and I told her that Brett (also from work) and I were taking bets on how long it would take her to fall in love with me. I told her she could join the pool for 5 bucks, but she passed. I told her that she would eventually fall in love with me, it's a hazard I have to deal with, everyone falling in love with me. I think I kinda freaked her out...but I'm training her at work tomorrow, so I guess she'll just have to deal.
I love the way new socks feel. Old socks have that flabby, stretched out feeling to them. But new socks...so tight, so supple, they mold to your foot...ahhh. I can imagine it right now. Normally, I don't like socks. I'm more a flip flop person.
My friend Kris told me the new "cool slang" for flip flops is "flips". I think that sounds stupid. I've called them flops for a good long while. That's way better.
Few things, I think, are more traumatic than blowing out a flip flop. There you are, toes a-waggin in the fresh air, when suddenly BAM!! you're thrown wildly out of control, bouncing off the sides of the corridor, crashing into things willy-nilly. Then you have to take off your flop and do some emergency surgery, usually using duct tape if you're lucky enough to have some on hand. If you have no supplies, you're left with the option of either A) walking around barefooted (or, at least, one bare footed) or 
trying in vain to act like nothing happened and just continue walking. This is a difficult option.
I remember one time, last Spring, Ted and Mel and I were walking down in Canal Park. There were large ice floes, or ledges or something near the shore. I was wearing my recently purchased pair of "sport sandals" (the kind with the big strap on the to) and Mel and Ted were wearing actual shoes. Ted decided it'd be a good idea to go walking on the ice. So I, of course, followed. Ted was a bit further out on the ice than I was, and apparently it was more stable there. I fell through the ice. The water was only like 2 feet deep there, so it wasn't a big deal, but it sure was cold. I was also wearing shorts, so as I tried to climb out, the sharp ice cut and scratched the hell out of my legs.
The ice, of course, claimed one of my sandals. Sad but true.
So Ted and Mel and I walked into one of the overpriced tourist shops in Canal. I bought a 9.00 pair of sandals for about 14 dollars. Mel and Ted said we'd go looking for my lost sandal later, when the ice was gone. We never did.
The new sandals looked sturdy enough to me, and indeed that was the general consensus among my peers. They weren't anything fancy, and when I made people comment on them, that was their general reply. "Wow," Jill said, "I bet those will never break." Jill was proved wrong only two days later, when I blew one out on the way to the Dining Center. I think Jimmy Buffet said it best:
"Blew out a flip-flop
Stepped on a pop top.
Cut my heel had to cruise on back home.
But there's booze in the blender
And soon it'll render
That frozen concotion that helps me hold on."
Raise one up to Jimmy Buffet, my friends, casualty of a Blown Flip Flop.