Photos taken at the Roger Williams Flutterby Exhibit
High school reunion
What are the odds? I mean, seriously, what are the freaking odds?
Tonight, after supper, out of sheer boredom (and the fact that we've only one more episode of Doctor Who left in Season Three, and don't want to finish up the season, just yet), I flicked on regular television, and chugging through the channels, just happened to switch on "Wife Swap," an inane piece of prime time crap about two families who switch mothers for a week. Except, the husbands don't sleep in the same rooms as their substitute wives (frankly, I think that would be WAY more entertaining).
First thing I noticed, one of the families lived in Providence, Rhode Island. "Oh, that's close to home," I thought to myself.
Next, they panned into the home in Rhode Island. And THAT's where my jaw dropped.
"Oh my god," I said out loud. "I went to high school with that mother!"
No, seriously. I did. I KNOW I went to high school with one of the mothers. I remembered her from drama club. And, I called up Josie on the phone, just to make certain I wasn't hallucinating. She confirmed it!
And, twenty years later, there she was. Don't it go to show. Same bright red hair. Same pudgy cheeks.
Well, except for one thing. The thing is, this mother was now certifiably CRAZY. No, I'm serious, I mean it. KEEE-RAZY. She's one of those people who takes the Bible literally, and apparently believes that God comes first, the husband second, and the wife comes mail-ordered straight from Stepford. She spent the entire show prattling on about how a woman's sole purpose in life is to serve her man.
Puhlease. It reminds me of that old joke about how God created Eve with three breasts, and she stared down and said, "What am I going to do with this useless boob?" And man was created.
It almost made me want, for the first time in my life, to go to a high school reunion. Just so that I could bring Corbett, and meet up with her. Hell, I might even want to bring Josie, too. Just to see her swoon.
She was actually annoying in high school, too, as I recall...just not THIS annoying. My one over-riding memory of her was after the one-act play festival my senior year, when a play that I wrote won "Best play," and one of the judges said that I had a lot of potential.
Lee-Ann kept staring at me after that, saying, "I can't believe it! we made it, Ted! We made it!"
It was nice, I guess, but and all I could think to myself was, "What the hell is this WE shit?"
I guess I could be thankful. At least she didn't say, "The power of Christ compelled you to win this award!"
"Could you lend me a hand back here?" Corb called out from the trunk of his car.
I climbed out from the passenger side, trading the overbearing blasts of air-conditioned splendor for a humid summer evening. "What do you need me to do?"
"Grab this," he said, and handed me a pile of paper recylables.
Yes, that's right, we were doing our share to save the world. This past year, Corb and I have been trying to be better about setting aside our plastic orange containers, glass pickle jars, and cardboard boxes of cat food. in fact, this past week-end, we even bought a storage container for our deck, so that we can store our recyclables, rather than letting them pile up in our kitchen (I liked to think of this particular corner as our own personal little ghetto...)
Of course, Corb being Corb, he's taken his conservation efforts to an extreme. Lately, he's been shredding all of the paper he uses at work, and dumping it all into a big plastic bag, which he throws into the back of his car every day, so that we can drop it off at the recycling center at our apartment complex. And at the complex, I'm pleased to report that they've recently upgraded our recyclable area, installing brand new, super large dumpsters.
Which is where our problem started...
See, I'm not really used to the new dumpsters, so as I approached the recyclable area, I automatically assumed that the layout was exactly as it had been. Rather than taking the time to read what goes where, I simply opened up the dumpster to my left and started throwing in the paper products, and continued to chatter away. Corb followed suit, grabbing a huge back of shredded paper, dragging it over, chatting away, and then, lifting up his bag to shower a pile of shredded strips into the dumpster.
And, things being what the were, we didn't realize our error until the last strip of paper had made it's way into the dumpster, and Corb slammed the top shut.
"Oh shit," he said.
I looked at the dumpster, and suddenly my eyes grew wide. "Oh, no."
We had committed the ultimate sin. Comingled plastics with paper products.
"What are we going to do?" he asked.
"What else can we do?" I asked, and opened the lid back up. I glanced around, to see if anyone was looking at us. "Transplant!"
It was only when I stuck my hand in that I realized that that was easier said than done. The new dumpsters went up to about my shoulders...and the trash was too far into the dumpster for me to be able to grab it.
There we were, once again, stuck in another bad episode of Lucy. Down we'd strain to grab some of the paper, and walk/run it over to the right dumpster...the one marked PAPER. Only, half of the shredded paper would end up on the ground, and the more we took out, the harder it was to get more out...and the more paper would end up on the ground.
Finally, we just gave up, and slunk away from the recyclable area with our tails between our legs. Branded reco-warriors. Guilty of hopelessly mixing plastic with paper.
I just know that we're going to end up as an article in this month's newsletter. I can totally see it coming. Blazed on the front page: "JUST AS A REMINDER, IT'S IMPORTANT THAT YOU PLACE YOUR PAPER IN THE DUMPSTER MARKED "PAPER." CAN'T YOU DUMB ASSES READ? THAT MEANS YOU, TED! YES, DON'T THINK WE DIDN'T SEE YOU...WE HAVE EYES. WE SEE ALL. AND YOU. WILL. PAY."
Reco-warriors. The scourges of green society.
Look for us on Wife Swap. we're being paired up with two lesbians who jaywalk.