I'm Not Adopted

My sister called me today while I was in "my office". That's how we both refer to the coffee shop where I start my days, because ... well, I'm there (pretty much) each day. She was updating me on the latest goings-on with her employment (shaky-ish but probably alright ... her company is being purchased by another) and she mentioned that she had a call later in the day with the company doing the buying.

"Hey", I volunteered "if you have to go there in person, give yourself lots of extra time. They've finally begun to close the off-ramp onto the Avenues to start the retrofit so you'll have to find an alternative route ... along with everyone else."

There was silence on her end, but I knew what she was thinking.

I continued. "OK see - there's this thing called the 'Internet' and it was on the top of the electronic page of your local paper ..."

"Oh FINE, ya' wise ass. Geez - figures you'd know that before I would. Oh hey", she said, changing the subject, "I've got good news. The youngest has topped 100 lbs."

It was my turn to be silent. My youngest niece is going to be 3 years old this year, and I haven't seen her for awhile. How could this have happened? Had my sister been force-feeding my niece bacon fat and potato chips by the ton? Would my parents have to get involved? Would child-protective services need to be called?

"The puppy, Smarty Pants, the puppy. Oh sure ya' know traffic patterns across the US but ..."

"Oh thank GOD", I laughed. "I was thinking I'd have to stage a food intervention or something."

We continued to chat and then I looked up and saw a 1936 Ford driving down the street. I mentioned it to her and, where others would say "yeah so?" or "huh", she said "Cool - 3-window or 5?"

And that's when it dawned on me that I'm probably not adopted.

Reasons I'm Awake At 1am on Monday Morning

I realize that I haven't cleaned the kitchen floor this weekend like I told myself I would and I feel disappointed in myself.

I mentally go through the items in the last two boxes of things I've yet to put away and wonder if packing my high school class photo was all that necessary in the first place.

I hear someone using the garbage bin in the apartment complex nearby and think "who has a garbage emergency at 11:52pm on a Sunday night?"

I get up to sort through the dry cleaning that I keep meaning to bring in, breaking it up into smaller bundles so as to figure out which place I'll decide to make my "regular" cleaners, and then wonder if it just makes sense to give all of it to one place.

I wind up reading every single online review of a restaurant that I didn't even know existed not all that long ago (and that I've not yet been to) and find myself rolling my eyes at some of the comments.

I realize that I'm too warm in my fuzzy new pajamas that my folks gave to me for Christmas and change into a long-sleeved tee shirt ... and wind up putting socks on my feet 15 minutes later when I realize my toes are cold.

I make the mistake of checking the time and say to myself "self? If you don't fall asleep in the next 20 minutes, you're gonna get less than 6 hours of sleep tonight." Half an hour later, I recalculate the threat ... and wonder if maybe the math of the recalculation is what could be preventing me from falling asleep in the first place.

Padding out to the kitchen to get a water for the bedside, I accidentally brush against the Christmas tree and knock off a few of the lowest ornaments. I find secure locations to rehang them and wander back into bed, which is when I realize I still need that water.

I manage to take two sips of water and, as I snuggle deep into the covers, I figure it'd be a good idea to use the restroom before I *really* fall asleep.

I start to convince myself that I'm drifting off when it occurs to me I may have set the alarm wrong for tomorrow morning. I wake myself enough to make sure that's not the case.

I really DO start to fall asleep shortly after 1am, as I'm musing to myself that staying awake to Midnight on New Years Eve was almost an impossible task.

Whachamacallit

Without weighing in on if this year begins a new decade or finishes one, what are we supposed to call it? I mean, how do we refer to ... this? Is it "two thousand ten" or is it "twenty ten"?

I was reading up on this debate, so as not to appear naive ... and came across an article that I'd hoped would answer my question.

It seems the very appropriately named National Association of Good Grammar ... or NAGG ... has decreed that the general population should be saying "twenty ten". I have a nagg-ing (ha!) question, 'tho ... if this is twenty ten, then did we just finish with twenty nine? And did we really decide to elect Bush Jr. president in "twenty"? (Actually, no "we" didn't ... but apparently someone did.)

NAGG's argument is that "twenty" follows "nineteen". And they're right, of course. They also suggested that the word "aught" should have been used for the placeholder zero in the past nine years. However, no one that *I* know walked around saying "Happy twenty aught nine" last year.

(It should be noted that NAGG also has issues with signs in grocery stores that read "10 items or less" ... arguing that they should read "10 items or fewer" and it was when I read this bit of information in the article that I decided NAGG ... was.)

Well ... whatever ya' call it, let's just have a good one.