We are moving; and between packing up and saying goodbye to our current house, renovating and unpacking our new house, working at my job, and doing the bare minimum at parenting, I have reached my complete maximum mental bandwidth.
We had a one-hour torrential downpour in Grand Forks the other day. Our poor dry ground was not prepared for the equivalent of the sky overturning itself and dumping a lake’s worth of water onto everything, and so the streets and parking lots were flooded in minutes. I was stopped at a traffic light and noticed an employee – a small elderly woman – standing at the entrance to a nearby grocery store, calmly and methodically pushing water out from the entrance using a squeegee. The rain was pounding into swimming pool-sized puddles in front of her, and yet she just kept sweeping the squeegee, sweeping the squeegee, sweeping the squeegee.
This is how I’d describe the current situation in my brain: I have a small elderly woman standing at the entrance to my ear, calmly and methodically sweeping out all information not immediately pertinent to my house, my job, or my family.
My Squeegee-er (Squeegeer?) has made for an interesting brainfellow. For example, I made lunch for the boys and myself last weekend, eating mine while I was putting together the rest. I gave the boys their food, went back into the kitchen, and made myself a second lunch. I was several bites in before I thought, “Man, I’m just not hungry today, I wonder why,” and then realized the reason was because I had already consumed a full meal not ten minutes earlier.
Another time, Kyle gave me a full rundown of a true crime podcast he’d found. I listened intently, asking questions and commenting on what he was telling me. When he was finished, he said, “You should check it out.”
“Check what out?” I said.
“The podcast,” Kyle said.
“What podcast?” I asked.
However, the most distracting part of my Squeegee-er (this seems more correct) is that she whistles while she works, so to speak. A few weeks ago, it was song lyrics; I was minding my own business when the “Dum-dum-dum, good times never seemed so good,” part of “Sweet Caroline” got jammed on repeat somewhere in my brain, playing over and over and over again from morning to night.
Lately, though, it’s been joke punchlines. I woke up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water, and my Squeegee-er whispered, “I’d like some fish and chips.”
The rest of the joke goes like this:
A man walks into a library and up to the front desk.
“I’d like some fish and chips,” he asks.
“This is a library,” says the library.
“Oh, sorry,” says the man. And then, in a whisper, “I’d like some fish and chips.”
Anyways, dear friends, I had a different story planned for this week but it got squeegeed out into the parking lot – so instead here are the punchlines (and the jokes that accompany them) that keep popping into my mind in lieu of other things that should be there:
Morty is speaking to his neighbor, a doctor, over the fence.
“I think my wife may be losing her hearing,” Morty laments.
“Well, there’s a simple test you can try,” says the doctor. “Start out 40 feet away from her and say something in a normal tone. If she doesn’t hear you, move up to 30 feet, then 20 feet, and so on until she responds.”
That night, Morty’s wife is in the kitchen. He goes into the living room and asks,
“Honey, what’s for dinner?”
She doesn’t answer, so he moves to the doorway.
“My love, what’s for dinner?”
No response. He walks up right behind her.
“Dear, what’s for dinner?”
She turns around.
“For the third time, Morty, CHICKEN!”
A man goes ice fishing for the very first time. He sets down his gear and reties his scarf. Suddenly, from the heavens, a voice booms out,
“THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE.”
The man looks around, doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and figures he must be hearing things. He cuts a hole and tosses his line in. Again, a booming voice says,
“THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE.”
This time the man can’t ignore it. He drops his pole and shouts,
“Is that you, Lord?”
To which the voice says,
“NO, THIS IS THE ICE RINK MANAGER. THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE.”
A pirate limps into a bar.
“Um, excuse me,” says the bartender. “Is that a steering wheel in your pants?”
“Arrgg, it is,” said the pirate. “It be drivin’ me nuts.”
A woman goes to a beekeeper to get a dozen bees for her garden. The beekeeper gives her thirteen.
“Oh!” she says. “I think you gave me an extra.”
“Yes,” says the beekeeper. “That’s a freebie.”
I snapped a photo of the aforementioned rainstorm, which is above. Two hours later, it was completely evaporated/soaked in/down the storm sewers. Wild time.
This week’s news is about BTS, young aviators, and loungewear. Read on.
West Fargo’s Eden Smith is a finalist in a worldwide essay competition about the impact of the musical group, BTS. (Fargo Forum)
A Williston ice cream truck has started stocking up treats for puppies, as well as humans. (Williston Herald)
Jocelyne and Monique Lamoureux are the 45th and 46th recipients of North Dakota’s prestigious Theodore Roosevelt Rough Rider Award. (Grand Forks Herald)
The Bismarck Community Food Co-Op has been holding free cooking classes for people looking to learn how to do food prep. (KX Net)
Kids are flying high at the Fargo Air Museum’s Youth Aviation Camp. (KVRR)
Fargo’s Sydney Craig has created a clothing line – t-shirts, hoodies, joggers, crew necks, and loungewear – alongside local artists in order to promote mental health. (Fargo Forum)
McDowell Dam celebrated its 10th Annual Fun Day, where all of the rec spot’s activities were free to try out. (KX Net)
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