bliumchik | Stanza Day Off Forgive To Do Not Sell At a Discount

You Should Get a PhD in Liberal Arts (like political science, literature, or philosophy)

You're a great thinker and a true philosopher.
You'd make a talented professor or writer.

I went to get pizza this evening, and Dominos were having a leetle bit of trouble.

Pizza Guy: Order for Frank? Order for Frank?
Woman: Is the order for Jess-
Guy: Can I have a double pepperoni with-
Dude: You gave me the wrong-
Chick: Did my brother order a-
Pizza Guy: What?!
Dude: No, listen, you gave me three pizzas instead of-
Pizza Guy: Just leave one on the-
Man: Is there an order for Tom?
Pizza Guy: Just a second sir- ma'am- sorry?
Chick: His name's not on the-
Dude: No, no, listen, none of these pizzas are what I ordered
Woman: Um, hello?
Pizza Guy: Order for Jess? Here! Now, what's the problem?
Guy: I want to order a-
Dude: I ordered two hawaiian and I got three meatlovers!
Chick: Hey, but he's like-
Pizza Guy: What did you say?
Guy: Hello?
Man: Excuse me!
Pizza Guy: ARG.

In the midst of all this I managed to wrestle my way to the counter, convince the guy that yes, I did have a coupon, pay for my pizza, get my change and open the door to leave without knocking over somebody's grandmother, which was no mean feat.

Speaking of grandmothers, mine had a birthday party yesterday at Hakoah. I invited Stan along for company, but when I met him at the UNSW, it turned out that he'd a) run into Laivi, and b) rang Hakoah and been told that their buffet isn't actually on because the Bridge Club is using the room. So he decided to go to Noodle Boy with Laivi, while continued to Hakoah with Forebodings. Sure enough, the buffet room had been inexplicably commandeered by old people with cards. My grandmother, who had a booking, had not been informed. They offered us a discount at the bistro, but my Great-aunt Nadia eventually badgered us into this chinese restauarn she knew. It was actually quite good. They did awesome fried rice.

I was, however, bored stiff in the intervening time as the adults sorted out where we were going and who hadn't arrived yet. So I rang Masha E and bitched, which was productive. I also got stories out of my grandma (the other one, not the birthday one). She refused to talk about herself, and instead told me about my dad's childhood.

Apparantly she'd been in the middle of her compulsory three-year post-uni job in a rural area near the Urals when she had my dad. She only got six weeks maternity leave, so she hired a local wench to babysit. Two weeks later, she comes home one day to find them both gone. Investigating, she finds them a Wench's house, in a dark smoky room, where Wench is drunkenly making out with her boyfriend while my dad sits there, grinning and listening to the music. This at about six months.

Obviously Wench got fired, but the daycare waiting lists were hideously long, so she took him to work at the Gynaecological clinic of the local hospital, where he was mothered by dozens of women with ovary problems. This was all well and good till the district supervisor showed up and turned red. Upon hearing the predicament he immediately intervened in the daycare waiting list. Go figure. Later they hired another local nanny, who taught my dad how to talk at one and a half - only in the feminine form of Russian! Which is amusing.