List-less

I skipped church today. My reason is “I’m a morning person, and I won’t get anything done if I go to church.”

1. My modest goals:

   1. Dust-mop hardwood floors

   2. Dust furniture throughout house (or maybe just living room, dining room and bedroom)

   3. Kitchen Floor (sweep or mop)

   4. Fold all laundry mounded everywhere

   5. Change sheets & make 2 beds

   6. Clean bathroom

   7. Go grocery shopping for Thanksgiving

   8. Write, write, write (class, NaBloPoMo, Josiah, STUPID FALL POEM THAT WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE)

   9. Iron in the evening

2. What I really did:

   1. Hot cereal for breakfast

   2. Read the newspaper (I cannot tell you the last time I read the WHOLE Sunday paper)

   3. Fold laundry

   4. Make bed: Clean sheets, electric blanket, and down duvet are now on my bed

   5. Ate Most Embarrassing Meal Ever for lunch

   6. Fold cotton sheets and put away

   7. Read “Hard Laughter” by Anne LaMott

   8. Look through Food and Wine for interesting Green Bean recipe – (fail)

   9. Nap

   10. Browse internet – (avoided the sink-hole of all time wasting EVER)

   11. Thought about taking a shower

   12. Talk to neighbor (in pajamas) “OMG – you’re ready for bed already?” (as she looks at the clock that says 5:30 pm) “Nooooo, I, uhhh, well, err, was going to take a shower “soon”.

   13. Make baked Penne with Meat Sauce for dinner (so I at least have lunch and dinner for tomorrow)

   14. Write 3 different posts in my head – and end up with this one

So – now that I write it down, there are more things on the “did” list than the “gonna do” list, but somehow I don’t think “write in my mind”, “nap”, and “read” really count as constructive activities.

Also? A cool thing about last night.

I have a neighbor. He lives across the street and on the corner from me. He’s probably been around for 3 or 4 years. I’ve never met him. Sometimes we wave across the street. I met him last night!

I was talking about my job – training people to use software and traveling, and he crept closer. As I moved from crowd to crowd he followed me. Finally we fell into conversation, our jobs are very similar. Except he works for a BIG company, with BIG clients (think Bank of America).

At one point, another neighbor who cooks, joined us. The conversation moved from software, agriculture, and the neighborhood to food. “Damn it Mittany, we keep talking about a dinner group, but it never happens!” she said. Instantly my neighbor pulled out a little note pad and said, “e-Mail address”, as he looked at me. I complied and he said, “Yes, we must all cook together. I have friends who are pros. You talk like a pro. This will be great.”

And so, I think the Mittany Drive dinner group has been christened. I am really excited.

Fun thing about last night:

I am horrid about faces and names. I might remember your face, but chance are, as soon as I say your name, I will completely file it way in “File 22”. An exception is the woman mentioned above. That’s because her name is Mitter too!

So, I’m standing in this group of guys. (go figure) They are reciting movie lines to each other (yawn). When they filled out their name tags (name and relationship to neighbor), one of them wrote “Dude”. On his buddies tag he wrote, “Otto”. Lots of laughter was induced. (I took a drink, since I was clueless)

ANYWAY … at some point in the evening one of them walks up to me, sticks out his hand and says, “Mitter! I’m Jeff!” Because I am so horrid with the name/face thing (and he looked SO familiar, not unusual for a neighborhood gathering) I was all “Oh! Jeff! How great to see you! How’ve you been!”

“Mitter? I don’t think you know me.”

“Oh, I’m SURE we’ve met before! Weren’t you at the Labor Day cookout? It’s ok, I’m bad with names too,” I confide.

“No, I wasn’t there. I just know you because I used to say “Hi” to you in the mornings when you were out in your pajamas picking up your newspaper or taking out your trash before my dog learned how to walk himself.”

Of course, I knew IMMEDIATELY who this man was/is. And it’s true. His dog now “walks himself” down our street – and through the park, then back home each morning. Of course – the real point of his comment was how I have no shame for being out in my pajamas.

“I bet you miss that, don’t you?” I said with a deprecating tone of voice. Because really, flannel pajamas, shorts and t-shirts and my hair wrapped in a towel cannot be fueling many erotic fantasies for this man.