notes to self.

Since I seem to always be forgetting them:

• ⌘ = Command Key
• ⌥ = Option Key
• ⇧ = Shift Key
• ^ = Ctrl Key
• ⎋ = Esc Key
• ⏏ = Eject
• ⌫ = Delete

As you were.

There really is no way to say that birdwatching is a manly activity.

Note to self. The following phrase will never make you cool.

Me: “I mean, c’mon. My pants repel water.”

Don’t make my mistakes, people! Come here for the worldly experience, stay for the dry monkey!

You mean, the internet is public?

And people can read what I write here on the internet?

Oh, crap.

Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me that a fortnight was not 10 days, like I’ve mistakenly believed for years?

I mean, where the hell did I get the crazy idea that something that comes from f?owert?ene niht (old english, literally “fourteen nights”) was ten days?

At least I didn’t do this in public.

Taking inventory of past obsessions can be a real pain in the keester. Now that it’s done, though, I can finally get around to selling the damn things.

(also in xls format, of course. did you have any doubt?)

Note to self: do not allow an IVR you design to show up on bypass lists.

When it snows in Washington D.C., do not go into work. WORK FROM HOME.

The only way you can get anywhere is with a helicopter. You do not own a helicopter. Work from home when it snows. You’ll get more done.

When your wife gets a haircut, notice.

When your wife gets her first haircut in 16 months, notice quickly.

Do not wait two hours.

It’s not the first night of insomnia that knocks you out.

It’s the second. And the third.

I don’t want to think about the fourth night.

Friday cannot come soon enough this week.

Diet Dr. Pepper + Listerine = Ick.

Note to self #723661: Always call astronomers at the start of their observations, not at the end.

I’m sorry, ash. Please get some sleep.

This whole week I’ve been excited about this weekend. See, it’s springtime here in DC again, the cherry blossoms are out, it’s in the seventies (hard to believe we had snow last weekend); DC can really be nice in spring. So, my thoughts have turned towards my George Foreman grill and having some friends over for a multipurpose cookout on Saturday.

A multipurpose cookout? Why not just call it a BBQ and get it over with?

Well:

1. I have a great respect for real BBQ, and since I’m not smoking my own meat, it’s not really a BBQ,
2. A proposal my wife was on recently was accepted by the VLA, and no one has thrown her or her team a celebration yet,
3. I have a lot of stuff to give away before the move and thought having people over would be a good way to do so, and
4. When veggie burgers and grilled vegetables get put on the menu, it becomes less of a meatfest and more of a cookout.
5. It’s my party, I’ll call it what I want.

So, where was I? Oh yes. I’ve been looking forward to this for the past few days, invited a few friends over, the usual stuff. Aside from the possibility of rain (which is now receeding), things looked smoky good.

At the same time, I’ve been looking forward to going down to Williamsburg this weekend to pick up my wedding album.

On Saturday.

So I’m on the phone with Merrystar last night and explaining all about the menu and how I think we’ll still have it, and then I break in to how excited I am about going to get the album, and maybe we could stop at the outlet stores on the way down at Potomac Mills.

Suddenly it hits me: I’m planning two events, in two cities, for the same exact time.

“Did you know you went to bed at 4 am last night?” my wife asks me. I realize it’s a relevant question.

“Uh, no, I didn’t,” I reply, though that explains a heck of a lot, like why I thought I could be in two places at once.

Note to self #47082: check to see if social schedule requires advanced technology before issuing invitations.