Cyborgs and pratfalls

Breaking: My boss called me Amy and Rebecca today.  Then, when she caught herself, she said, “At least I haven’t called you Leah!”  Nun humor.

It has come to my attention that there is a direct connection between my mastery of the English language and my proximity to Steve.  Not only do we have so many inside jokes that trying to follow our conversations is like trying to crack a code, sometimes even we do not know what we are saying.  After many minutes of hysteria over something stupid one of us had said or done this weekend, Steve turned to me and asked, “Why does hurting laugh?”  So at least it happens to both of us, this verbal regression.  Steve is, without a doubt, smarter than I am, and we do have the ability to have serious conversations (usually over beer), but why should we, when we are both so good at fully amusing one another?

I watched five movies this weekend, and four of them were about cyborgs.  Steve and I watched Robocop and Robocop 2 because they were free on demand (it’s such a blessing I don’t have television, as I would never leave the house), and neither of us had seen them before.  How such a thing is possible, as my childhood seems to be one long movie-watching experience, I don’t know.  Speaking of my sedentary childhood and also cyborgs: because I hadn’t yet reached my half human/half machine quota for the weekend, last night I watched Terminator and Terminator 2 back to back, by myself.  Although I remembered those movies as being way scarier and less hokey (“in the few hours we shared, we loved a lifetime’s worth.” Blech), I still love them.  I hope you don’t judge me for that; those aren’t even close to the worst movies in my thinning-DVD collection.  I keep trading DVDs for books, but I still have four Schwarzenegger movies.

Okay, you can judge me for that.

The only other thing of note I did this weekend was somehow turn my life into “I Love Lucy,” but with no one to do any ‘splainin’ to.  Let’s just say Dr. Pepper needs to use stronger cardboard in their 12-pack boxes.  And Target should maybe reinforce their paper grocery bags.  And my landlord should do something about the ice on my stairwell.

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