23 ounces of applesauce will fill you right up. I don't eat the applesauce with high fructose corn syrup in it, just the apples and a little ascorbic acid, please. That corn syrup seems to be in everything, along with partially hydrogenated oil. My mother quit eating the HF corn syrup and dropped twenty pounds instantly. Which reminds me, congratulations to a reader who just quit eating fast food. Next to quitting smoking it's the best thing you can do for you body.
School is flying by today. The rest of the class is still hard at work on their brass cubes, which I can't tell you how happy I am to have finished Friday. I was where they are and it's a bad place. I've graduated to dressing my gravers now. Here's what they look like,
but we're using ours without that wooden handle so they're just long thin square pieces of metal, in various thicknesses, made of high speed steel (HSS). They're very hard and we're grinding them against rocks to get them the right shape. That diamond-shaped end has to be perfectly flat and smooth (sharp is the natural by-product) and 30 degrees, not the 45 which the picture looks like. This is a challenge. The year is 2005 and here we are scraping metal against rocks.
I sent an email last night to a college that has a missing part of my hitchhiker's guide audiotape collection, and am waiting to hear back about the possibility of an interlibrary loan, either to my college or the lovely J's. They may not have heard of St. Paul Technical college in Texas, but they'll surely know of the U of Minnesota. I figure (for a change) she owes me, because I took her to the ER yesterday.
Now, it must be said, first off, that for the lovely a trip to the ER is like one of the rest of us going to the barber. It's no big deal to her. She practically shrieks with pleasur when they stab an IV in her arm. That's stretching it a bit, but she really doesn't mind. Going to the ER is something she's good at. The reason was that the night before we had gone out to celebrate MLK day (which my brother tells me in Tennessee that yesterday multiple times he heard it called "Nigger day"; jesus christ, people, stop living down to your reputations), which we both had off, and which wil lbe the last time we do until spring break, and the gins and tonics make her tummy hurt. It hurt and hurt and would not stop hurting so we did what anyone would who couldn't keep down even water and doesn't have stomach number around. We went to the people who fix it. The doctor was bitchy and treated her like a flake, which the lovely J is not. I see it as a testament to her moral fortitude that her stomach was unaccustomed to strong drink. I didn't feel like making the process any more painful than it already was, though, and sat there and shut up.
Later I would take revenge on a different woman. This one had a dog which was crapping in my yard and obviously had not intention of cleaning it up. I made her feel like an idiot and then I felt better. My little indignant acting job would have made Ed Harris (and my caretaker) proud.
J got treated and I got revenge and for the rest of the day, all was better. Today things are going well, my gut is not as bad as it was the last three days (what was I doing, sleepwalking and eating pound upon pound of cheese?), and there is hope that I might get the audiotapes I need. Life is good.
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