sweasel.com

So, it went well with the real estate agent. Kind of. She said the house looks great, stop spending big money. Clean it up, get it on the market, aiming for two weeks. But she didn’t sound optimistic, though she didn’t come right out and say it.

I like my real estate agent. I mean, she’s a real estate agent, so she’s a loathsome reptile, but she speaks in an amusing, roundabout code. Like, when she first hooked me up with a handyman, she said, “you’ll like Mortimer. He’s a wonderful, wonderful man. He’s got the chiseled features and almost gray skin tone of some African chieftan.”

Translation: okay, don’t panic. He’s an old black guy, but you can totally trust him.

So instead of telling me right out not to get my hopes up, she said, “it’ll be lovely and cool down here in the basement this Summer. The market dies out completely in August, so we have to make sure we’re ready to go for the Fall market.”

Got it. Making self comfortable.

Speaking of language, I am so going to start calling McGoo Goo Boy. I owe him. Thanks to him, Uncle B calls me Weas now. Weas! Before that, he called me “Weasel” or “Auntie” or, way back, “Spam.” Dignified. Stately.

Yeah, can you believe I had the nickname “Spam” before the internet was a gleam in Al Gore’s eye? I’ve forgotten why. I had to drop it. My first internet addresses were spam@whatever.com, which was okay for years. Then I started getting angry emails that went, “I’m writing to report a disgusting message that came from your server…”

I’d write back, “Look, I’m not really the spam reporting address for this ISP. I’m just some woman whose nickname is ‘Spam.'”

Until I got this one lady who decided to argue with me about it. Like, “don’t you try to wriggle out of this! I don’t want to see any more emails in my inbox with the word ‘penis’ in them. I mean it!”

I hope things worked out for that lady. I bet she knows a lot more words for “penis” these days.

Welp, gotta go. Friday is pancake day at the company cafeteria. I love pancake day, because they left a crucial comma off the menu: “blueberry pancakes with whipped butter bacon.”

Mmmmm…whipped butter bacon! Can I have mine with lard?