Self assessment

I could not be the idiotic, ugly, brainless, stinking, imbecilic, foul, heartless, obtuse, short-sighted, moronic bastard who decides to fire a smart, loyal, hard-working company employee of 27 years. I don't have it in me. I'm not a scum-sucking moron.

Instant coffee

[Note: I tried to find a photo of instant coffee online, but it's so wretched and unloved that even Getty doesn't keep pictures of it around. I could buy some Nescafé and take a picture of it, but then I would have spent money on something that I'm about to say I wouldn't use for a million dollars, and that would be kinda, y'know, counterproductive. So I apologize for the lack of graphic, but I think you know what I mean even without a picture.]

I wouldn't drink instant coffee for a million dollars.

I order my beans custom roasted from CoffeeAM.com -- I get five pounds of Kenya AA and one pound of Sumatra Mandheling once every six weeks.

I grind up the beans just before I brew the coffee. (My husband's coffee is sometimes ground up five hours before it's brewed, but that can't be helped. The man works swing shift. I do the best I can, y'know?)

I'll buy coffee beverages from Starbucks, but I won't buy my beans from them. That's how picky I am.

So instant coffee? No. Never. It's barbaric. You can use it in recipes for mocha frosting for cakes, but don't expect it to be suitable for drinking.

Some indignities just cannot be borne.

Ow, I say, ow, again!

Boxing. I don't get it. I don't get it as an activity or a spectacle. It's just barbaric, right?

Ow!

That just looks uncomfortable to me. I'll keep hitting the elliptical, but I don't think there's any danger that I'll ever get carried away.

Not if I had a million dollars

Aw, hell no! Not if I had the million. Not if he had the million. The idea of going to a matchmaker...on TV, no less! I think not. No.

Unless I was really, really desperate. And maybe if I were really, really starved for attention.

Jane Seymour -- with a vengeance

Someone I know accused me of being flippant on this blog. He said that if someone offered me One Million Dollars (US) to wear some Jane Seymour jewelry, I would do it.

I have therefore put some time and thought into this proposition.

And I reiterate my original stance. I would not wear Jane Seymour jewelry for a million dollars. I would not do it in a box. I would not do it with a fox. I do not like ugly jewelry, Sam I Am. I do not like it; I said it again.

I know I'm wrong. I know.

When you grow up in the South and you tell people "I don't like biscuits," they'll invariably come back with "Well, that's because you've never had [insert favorite biscuit producer here]'s biscuits!" I've had people's mothers' biscuits. I've had Hardee's biscuits. I've had fancy cheese biscuits from fancy, cheesy restaurants. I've kept trying biscuits, really I have.

I just don't like biscuits.

I await your judgment.

Out where the buses don't run

Oh, Shirley, Shirley, Shirley. When I went to find a picture of you for this post I happened to stop by your web site. If I hadn't already known you were a nut job, the Swirl to God earrings and Spirit Steering pendant would have convinced me.

This lady crazy.

I don't even like the plane

But I'm not going to jump out of it unless something is on fire. And probably not then, either.