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Recent News... Just for Pope Gregory... |
2005-07-26 - 10:01 p.m. Day 4: Did you just call your husband a crackhead? Today, our Mech-girl overslept, yet she squeaked onto the bus just in time. I was in no danger of missing the alarm because my sweet Roland got up at oh-dark-thirty to take trains to Venice. For those weak in Italian geography, this is a 4ish hour train ride each way, then across the bridge to the island city, and water transport along the canals. Crackhead. Meanwhile, back at work, we make kickin' progress, except for the bit where they asked us how the restaurant work out. Heh. Lunch is again in the cafeteria, which GA provides as a benefit to the employees. They have an espresso bar, a PX that sells wine and diet coke, and a game room where the employees spent lunch breaks playing lively card games and playing pool without cues (like table-Bocce) while the television rattles on loudly about Soccer. So, what do you want to do for dinner tonight? What about Roland? they ask. Oh, my crackheaded husband went to Venice for the day. He'll be back sometime tonight and deal with dinner himself. Long pause. Did you just call your husband a crackhead? Hmmm. Note to self, must not use crazy slang at work. After last night's big adventure, the flock decides to dine in the local area of Fiesole, which involves a glorious evening meander around the tiny Tuscan suburb. Perched high above Florence, there's not a bad view in the city. Pink Sheep lost dignity first, trying to climb the fence into the Etruscan ruins. Meanwhile, LH and I found a cat, but it wouldn't stay to be petted. Us tailwaggers take our place in the back of the flock, where Pink Sheep finally explains to LH and Mech-girl the flock theory. Mech-girl says Oh. So you need to stay in the middle of the flock, where it's safe. Yes. says Pink Sheep. The wolves will pick off those on the edges. So, if you look to your left and there's no one there, uh-oh, you're wolf food. Yes, exactly! replies Pink Sheep. I chronicle this conversation to point out it is *not* just me. Most of my coworkers are a bit mad. Eventually, we pick a random restaurant where the Boy and I split a fabulous steak. The food is amazing but the service is awful, but we entertain ourselves by worming confessions out of the male members of the party as to their favorite actresses. Sophia Loren I can see. But the name 'Britney Spears' brought an instant chorus of You think she can act? The rest of the evening developed further on that classic theory of mixing wine and business travel: If you can't remember and there were no witnesses, what's the damage? � � � 
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