Why April Will Stink

Just a glimpse into part of the weekend at the Woestman house.  Joey was working on a gargantuan paper and I was bored.  He was in the study and I was in the living room.  Pretty much the entire conversation took place on opposite sides of the house with the two of us hollering back and forth because I had a case of The Boreds so bad that I was incapable of moving from my chair.  (And if Gail Showman heard me say that she'd tell me to go sweep the floor, so it's a good thing she doesn't read this blog.)

Me:  Are you done yet?
Joey:  No.  I have...8 more points left.
Me: trying to read a book but putting it down  How long will 8 points take?
Joey:  Probably two hours.
Me:  Two hours?!  Gosh...that paper is wicked long.  I'm bored.

And, once the floor sweeping word (that would be "bored" for those of you who didn't grow up sweeping Gail's floor just about every Saturday) was uttered, I knew I had to do something.  So I tried to fold the towels.  It took about three times longer than normal because I kept getting distracted by things.  Then I started another load of laundry and considered folding the sheets I had taken out of the dryer.  That was clearly too much effort, so I left them on the floor (I KNOW!!) and went back to my chair to holler back and forth across the house with Joey.

Me:  Did you write some more?
Joey:  Yes.
Me:  Will you be done soon?
Joey:  Still about two hours.

Henry came over and tried to get me to play with him.  But I was too bored to exert the effort required to throw his chocolate covered strawberry toy across the house, so he finally just lay down at my feet.  I decided to order a pizza for dinner because it would require me to go get it.  So I did.  Henry and I left the house at 6:15 and didn't return until 7:15 because I got lost on the way to the pizza place and then found it, only to discover that I had ordered from a totally different location altogether.  Not to be deterred, I had them make me another pizza and I stayed there to wait for it.

After the pizza was consumed and the kitchen was cleaned up, I went into the office.

Me:  So...what about those Half Price Books coupons?
Joey:  I'm almost done.  Want me to go with?  Or maybe you could walk over now and then when you get back I'll be finished.
Me:  Good idea.

So I walked to Half Price books, bought two books which would have each been $13 dollars brand new for a total of $5.50, once the coupons were factored in, and came home.

Joey:  I finished my paper!
Me:  HOORAY!  Now I want you to sit on the couch and read a book for fun for awhile.  I will bake you cookies.
Joey:  OK!

And so he did, and I did.

I'm going to have to come up with something to do the next couple weekends besides hang out with my superfun husband because I think I'm probably a distracting annoyance.  Bring on the first week in May!

Henry's New Trick

Earth Hour part 2

It's one of those lovely spring mornings where the ground is wet, the air is tepid and the birds are jawing back and forth like the Jets and the Sharks. I'm sitting outside the Clubhouse freeloading off the Internets so I can run my Googlebox. I wanted to post some pictures of our successful Earth Hour last night! Let me tell you, it's hard to make lasagne in the dark, especially when using spelt noodles for the first time...those things do not act normally.

Joey whipped out his camera and took several pictures of Cuz trying to read the Bourne Identiy in the dark. Poor Cuz.


Woah, I'm outta battery. Gotta go back home now!

Earth Hour!

I checked my email today and had a jolly email from Laura asking me if I'd seen that Google was black today and if Joey and I were participating in Earth Hour. Seeing that Earth Hour is an environment cause, I was immediately on board and clicked my way over to the page to read about it.

People participating in Earth Hour turn the lights off in their homes from 8pm to 9pm in their respective time zones on March 29 to raise awareness about our massive global energy usage.

That is why, after I'm done posting this post, I am going to go home and make lasagne in the dark. I'm serious. I hope it turns out and I don't burn anything.

Good thing Laura emailed me about it.

Whistle While You Work

OK, so I can't whistle, it's true. (Joey has tried to teach me, but to no avail.) But the concept is still there.

I hate to iron. I hate it even worse than vacuuming and, as all my siblings know from growing up, I will do almost anything to avoid vacuuming. Conveniently Brother actually liked to vacuum, but I always made sure to beat everyone else to the chore chart on Saturdays so I could pick dusting and cleaning the bathrooms and not get stuck running the vacuum. But this has nothing to do with ironing.

On Tuesday night I walked into the closet after work and was almost knocked over by the pile of ironing that I had been "saving for a rainy day". I'd like to think that someday when I don't have a full time, semi-stressful job I will wear a linen apron and high heels around my house and joyfully iron every shirt as soon as it comes out of the dryer, all while making applesauce and strawberry jam. Unfortunately this is not my reality, though, so I pile the ironing and usually do it once a week. (I think it had been two or three weeks worth, though, because the ironing was starting to weigh down the ironing board.)

"I have to do ironing tonight," I said glumly to Joey. "I hate ironing. It's hot and boring."

"You'll probably be OK," he reassured me.

"Can you set up the ironing board for me? If it's already set up then I'll feel like a loaf if I sit here and look at it knowing that I still have to do ironing this evening."

Joey happily agreed to set up the ironing board (probably because 2 of his pairs of khakis are in that ironing pile) and we moved it out into the large empty space in between the living room and Joey's study. He flopped himself on the futon and started to read this 5 lb. textbook while I filled the water in the iron and made sure it was plugged in.

I could no longer stall. I had to bite the bullet.

"I'm going to put my iPod on while I do this, OK?" I always check first if I wear my iPod in the house.

"Sure," he said.

"That means that I might sing. Loudly. It will keep me from wanting to poke my eye out."

"No problem," he replied.

So I cranked up my iPod and started singing along, rather softly at first. It never takes long, though, before I start to wonder if the neighbors can hear me. But this time I didn't care because I was ironing. Ew. After awhile, though, the song that Sister and I sang at Christmas came up and I forgot that Joey was studying. I forgot that I was ironing. I was pretending that I was back home in Faith Bible Church singin' with Sister and Mom on the piano. Because of my little daydream, I had momentarily forgotten that I was doing ironing and I was probably singing so loud that I was blowing off the rafters. (But then I quickly stopped doing that because I was getting homesick and one should try to avoid homesickness while doing ones least favorite chore.)

Joey got up and went over to the iPod bowl (yes, we have a bowl of iPods) and got out his Shuffle.

"What, is it that bad?" I teased him.

"I can't concentrate," he replied. I guess I don't really blame him. I mean, I was harmonizing with Chris Rice and that's got to sound extremely silly to someone on the other side of the headphones.

And, shortly, after singing my way through the ironing...I was done. Forty minutes after I started. Gosh I hate ironing.

Joey was almost asleep last night when I asked, "If I wanted to walk to Iowa, how long would it take?  Gas prices are wicked high."

He didn't say anything for awhile, I thought he was asleep.  Then, "Three months."

"Oh, that's a long time.  What if...hypothetically speaking...I wanted to saddle up Henry and ride him to Iowa so I wouldn't have to walk.  How long would that take?"

This was a very hypothetical situation since:
a.)  Henry is a dog
b.)  He only weighs 14 pounds and that's a lot, lot less than me
c.)  Henry walks really slow

"I think....6 months."

"Oh," I said, "So I guess I'll never do that then."

"No..." he said, driftily.

A few minutes later I said, "I can't sleep.  I'm not tired at all."

Joey recommended that I go out in the living room and read a book.  (I think maybe he wanted me to leave him alone and not ask him any more hypothetical situation type questions.)

Since posting the previous, Joey found the pictures for me and we discovered that the waterproof case for the camera actually costs more than the camera itself. (I figure we might as well forgo that purchase.)

But here are the pictures. It pretty much looks like a camera.


(That spidery looking thing is called a Gorillapod and you can wind it around tree branches and stuff if you need to take self portraits or group pictures and you're in the wild with no one nearby to hold the camera.)

My New Camera

I'm in big trouble. Two days ago Joey sent me pictures of my cute new camera so I could post them on my blog, but I lost them somewhere on my computer. I have no idea where they got saved when I pulled them out of Mail Big File. And, thus, I have none to show you.

But I finally got my new little point and shoot. It's a teensy little Canon PowerShot, 7.1 megapixels and is about the size of a pack of Trident sticks. It takes wicked awesome pictures that are sure to make my Pops jealous (a major selling point when selecting aforementioned camera) and he has instructed me to "bring it on Boundary Waters".

Joey is now looking into a getting its waterproof case because, knowing us, if we take it up there we'll manage to drop it in the lake.

Because my camera is so tiny I can carry it with me wherever I go now (it's here with me as I speak), which makes me a lot cooler than I ever was before because I can now post all sorts of pictures of the trouble we find ourselves in.

And if I hadn't lost the files I could post some pictures of my camera right now. Joey even had some of it all hooked up on its Gorillapod tripod thingy, but...I can't.

180˚

Two nights ago Joey said, "I have this song I want to play for you. It's by Linkin Park; the Kid sent it to me."

"Linkin Park?"  I asked, surprised.  Two years ago he'd have never mentioned such a thing.

"Yeah, we analyzed the music video at work.  It's really well done artistically, plus the song is cool."

And so Joey cranked up the speakers and "What I've Done" pulsed through our apartment.

"Oh, I know this song," I said a few bars in.

"You do?"  Joey asked.

"Yep...I used to love Linkin Park," I replied.

"I did not know that about you," he told me.  And turned up the music a little bit more and sang along.  Only the song was so loud I could barely hear him.

"Do you think Downstairs Neighbor will get upset?"  I asked loudly.

But he didn't hear me.  He just kept singing along, so I went to start a load of laundry, smiling at this example of just one major changes our lives have gone through in the last couple years.

Linkin Park cranked to 11?  No problem at all.  I could really get used to this whole freedom in Christ thing.

While I was at the gym trying to stay balanced on a half-moon shaped ball and trying not to fall off, Joey was at home getting ready to ride his bike in to work. He came back in the bedroom to make the bed after he finished getting ready and found this...

The Easter Dress

Every year of my entire life I have gotten an Easter dress. Joey has continued the tradition since we've been married and, last week, he said "We need to go shopping for your Easter dress. I have it all picked out, we just need to go buy it."

"OK..." I said, really quite surprised. I figured that I wouldn't get an Easter dress this year, what with living in Dallas and all, but obviously I was wrong. "Are you sure?"

"I like buying you dresses," Joey told me. "Plus I set aside money for it."

Joey took me to the mall and deposited me in front of a short blue dress with a matching jacket.

"The jacket costs more than the dress by, like $20, so we won't get that part until it goes on clearance. But I want you to get this dress right here, go try it on."

I looked at the dress. It was shorter than I normally wore by, like....inches. "It looks short," I said.

"Not too short," he told me, and shooed me off to the fitting room.

I came out of the fitting room and Joey said, "I like it. We're buying it."

And that was that.

George vs. Henry

On Friday morning, we got up at 8:00 and rushed around the house finishing up the cleaning. Henry wandered around aimlessly, as usual, and fell asleep again here and there before we decided we probably should take the kid outside.

Joey drew the short straw, so he called Henry over to the door and opened it up. Henry stopped dead in his his tracks. Outside the door sat George, the cat monstrosity.


"Jenna, George is outside," he called to me.

I completely freaked out, as usual, and ran haphazardly to get the camera. I handed it carefully to Joey and said, "Take tons of pictures."

He took four. (Only four!) Then he called Henry back to the door and tried to get him to go outside. Henry would have none of it. Joey carried him outside and set him down at the top of the stairs. Henry just sat there looking at George and refusing to move. Joey finally had to pick him up, carry him downstairs to do his thing, then carry him back upstairs.

"Wimp," Joey muttered to Henry. He set him down at the top of the stairs again and, just as he did so, George whipped out his paw and popped Henry in the cheek with his claws. Henry yelped and ran inside.
George: 1
Henry: 0

A rare picture of a photographer in the wild

This past weekend we had an SF retreat in Scroggins, TX (couldn't resist) and more pictures will be coming later. (Probably later in the week, actually.)

But when Joey and I were looking through the few pictures we took, we came across the one I'm about to show you.

"Woah!" he said, "A picture of Laura! Without a camera!"

"That is indeed rare," I concurred.

I think it's a cute picture. And since this is my blog and I can do whatever I want, I'm posting it.

Poor Henry

Yesterday afternoon Joey and Henry were playing Henry's favorite game: rough house.  "Rough House" generally involves Henry, his gargantuan CareBear (the one from the Dumpster), and either Joey or I.  Henry was in rare form because we had company, so he was in high spirits and bouncing around like a rabbit - it was pretty cute.  Joey and Henry growling at each other and swiping at each other's paws in a way that would scare my mom for fear of "What if Henry bites him?"

Poor Mom.

Anyways, there they were on the floor, Henry with his front two paws on Joey's knee bouncing and swatting as though his little, furry, freshly-bathed life depended on it.  But suddenly, he let out the most torturous puppy scream I've ever heard and jumped back, limping with his back right leg.

"HENRY!!"  I screamed, "What did you do to him?"  I asked Joey.

"I have no idea what happened...I wasn't even touching his back legs,"  Joey said, going over to our poor puppy and scooping him up gently.  Henry had large eyes - larger than usual - and was very quiet and still.

"We killed him!"  I wailed, trying to decide what one does it one's dog-child has a medical emergency on a weekend.  (They don't treat dogs at the local hospital last I checked.)

The guests and Joey hovered around poor Henry and examined his back right leg.  The muscles were tense and shaking.  I felt decidedly sick.  I will be a basket case when this is my own child!  I thought. (But I am not pregnant.)

"Poor Buddy!" I said loudly.  Joey put down the fluffy puppy and he limped over to the chair and lay down in front of it.  I couldn't bear to have my puppy being in pain, so I went over and picked him up and massaged his right leg.  I could feel what seemed to be an icky muscle cramp so I kept rubbing.  After a few moments, his leg stopped twitching and I set him down on the ground.  He walked over to Joey without so much as a hitch in his gitalong and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Wow...what happened?"  I asked.

"I have absolutely no idea.  Maybe he twisted wrong on his leg while he was bouncing around?"  Joey suggested. "Could have been a cramp, too."

In any case, Henry is fine now.  We took him on a nice walk last evening and he pranced along like the trooper he always is.  (He even got his freshly washed paws into something nice and black so they are now a very dark shade of gray.)

We may be, just maybe, too attached to our puppy.

Bob The Bum

The Kid recently said to me, "Lady, read this. I wrote it when I was small."

And so I did.

He was a real strange kid, as you're about to find out. One should mention that, when The Kid wrote the story you're about to read he was unaware of what "snogging" is and didn't realize that "Lea" is actually a woman's name.

Bob The Bum

by Alex Laird

Bob was a very lazy gourd. Ever since Bob was born, 82 years ago at 1212 Gourds Road, Gourdyville Minnesota, he's been sitting around watching sports and TV shows, not paying any attention to the people around him. Bob's parents Amy and Lea Snogging, tried to stop him from watching all those soap operas, comedies and sports games. All the soap operas were bad, some of the comedies were fine, like "Fresh Prince of Bel Air," or "Life with Lou," but some weren't.

Bob would run the remote with his long red tail, and hold his coke with one of his blue hands. In the other hand he would hold a gooey chewy chocolate bar. Bob would listen with his two big white ears, and watch with his 4 regular eyes. He would eat and drink from his two tube eyes, which also served as telescopes. On the top of Bob's head he had red hair. Bob always wore a hat.

Now Bob is old, serious, and grumpy.

Bob's parents died 12 years ago and he was sad, but relieved that he could now watch all the comedies, soap operas, and sports games that he wanted to.

In Bob's spare time, he would call Best Buy and tell them that he was coming in to work. Bob's would eat Pizzas and Tacos every day.

If you can't beat 'em...

Our cozy little apartment has a stackable washer and dryer tucked away in a closet. (The closet has French doors and two weeks ago I walked past and was horrified to notice that the slats were covered in lint and dust. I dropped everything and cleaned them, much to the chagrin of my husband who said, "I bet nobody even noticed that before. I never did and I live here.")

But last Wednesday, the spin cycle on our washer gave up the ghost.

"Joey, something's wrong with this washer. The towels are dripping wet." He came over to analyze and, after a short time, it was decided that our washer was busted and there was nothing left to do but call Maintenance.

The next day when we came home there was a note on our table telling us that our washer and dryer unit was to be replaced.

"I'm so excited!" I squealed. "Maybe the new one will be more energy efficient! And quieter!"

Joey was kind of ambivalent about the whole affair, mostly because the discovery of a new washer-dryer unit came around dinner time and he was hungry.

Later in the evening, though, when I was pulling out whatever had been in the dryer, I thought of something. I glanced down in the space between the washer and the wall and I gasped.

Now, for those of you who may be deceived and think I'm really...neurotic about keeping my house clean, this'll bring you a good dose of reality. (Mom, don't read this next part. You will lose all confidence in my housekeeping abilities.) For the last year, instead of throwing the lint from my dryer away, I have been stuffing it in the space between the washer and the wall. I began doing this after we moved in and I noticed that someone before us had done the same. It was disgusting, true, but all the lint was already down there and lint is disgusting anyway...so I figured I'd just join in.

But, friends, after a year of lint removal...the lint is now entirely fills the empty space between the washer and the wall (it's a good 2 1/2 inches) and is halfway up the washer.

"JOEY! What do we do? The repairmen are going to get avalanched by lint when they come to change out our washer and...nobody was ever supposed to know that I do this!"

He glanced down at The Lint Problem. "Ooh. Yeah, that's bad. Maybe the vacuum? We could suck it out with one of the attachments?"

"That might work," I said. And then we forgot about it.

Until today. I called the office to find out when they were replacing my unit and was told by a cheerful lady, "Oh, today probably."

The lint!! I thought. I am so in for it when I get home....it will be all over my carpet...and my secret will be totally out. The repairman is going to think I'm the biggest, scurviest housekeeper he's ever encountered and he'll tell all his repairman friends about the lint cache he found in our apartment.

This is what I get for just assuming that stuffing lint down a crack would make it go away.

But you wanna know something really bad? I used to throw the lint behind the dryer when I was a kid. Even though I knew I wasn't supposed to. (I really hope Mom stopped reading way up there or she'll probably make a huge lint mess in my house when they come down in May to pay me back for my childhood disobedience.)

It Came Back To Bite Me

Three years ago I had a dreadfully embarrassing thing happen to me. You know, like the kind that women submit to those ladies magazines? Well, three years ago I worked for a Chiropractor in Iowa and, on one slow afternoon when no one was coming in, we found ourselves flipping through one of those aforementioned ladies magazines that was floating around in the lobby. We were bored.

I had recently shared my embarrassing moment with my coworkers and suddenly one suggested "Jenna! You have to submit it to this magazine, I'm really sure they'd put it in."

"I don't know..." I hedged.

"Do it," they said. I wrote down the email address for submissions and slipped it in my purse.

And so, the next time I was at Kirkendall Public Library I found myself typing an email to a certain magazine's submissions department.

After several weeks of not receiving a response, I got distracted by my upcoming wedding and forgot all about the whole thing.

Imagine my surprise, then, when last month I received an email from the magazine. I almost deleted it without reading it first, but on a whim I opened it up. Was I ever surprised when I read:

"Thank you for submitting your embarrassing moment. We are going to publish it in our April issue. What is the city and state where you live?"

I emailed back with my city and state before thinking about what I had just done.

Oh. My. Gosh. What if people read the magazine and recognize me? I can't even remember what exactly I wrote!! So I freaked myself out but good and started checking the magazine racks at the grocery store with a paranoid frequency.

And then. Yesterday. I received an email from someone I barely know asking me "was that you in the April issue of such-and-such magazine?"

Yes, yes it was me.

I was feeling more embarrassed about submitting The Story than I was about The Story itself. Ugh. At this point, my panic to find a copy of the April issue of such-and-such magazine increased about...tenfold. I had checked both Targets just the day before and had been unsuccessful in finding April, so I figured I had several more days to psych myself up for the impending "was that you?" that I was sure to receive. Come on, how many Jenna Woestmans from Dallas could there possibly be?

That's what I thought too.

Last night we were out on the town with some friends from Iowa who have been down sleeping on our air mattress and getting jumped on by Henry the Evil Fiend, and we passed a Borders.

"Can I stop in there on the way back? I...I need to check something," I asked. Everyone was nice and acquiesced. An hour and a half later, I found myself walking out of the Borders with The April Issue in my hand. It was duly passed around and read by all. (That's what I get, huh?)

And, so, I am finally published. In a ladies magazine which, unless you are a girl and ask extremely nicely, will henceforth remain unnamed.

"You can put this in your portfolio, hon! You got published!" Joey teased me.

Now there's an idea.

Hmmm....

So I was looking at my SiteMeter and noticed that some poor soul in Austria Googled "How to inform someone if mother-in-law died" and they got to MY blog.  I have no idea why The Google thought my blog had any information about how to break the news of a mother-in-law's passing. I feel kind of bad now.

MY mother-in-law is quite alive and well, last I checked. (Although I might need to call her to ensure that my information is still accurate.)  And as I clearly have no experience in this area, I can offer no advice on how to inform anyone their mother-in-law has passed on.

I'm quite glad mine's still here.

The Bike Ride

"Let's take our bikes to White Rock and ride around the lake trails after I finish changing the oil," Joey suggested.

It was a beautiful afternoon yesterday.  The kind where the sun is shining warmly, there's a breeze bringing just enough cool air off the lake to be comfortable, and the Robins are out digging for worms.  I had to agree that it was his best idea all day, so we finished up our chores (it was Spring Cleaning weekend...) and in less than an hour had Thunder and Joey's bike strapped to the back of the car.

"Ohh, it's so warm!" I exclaimed, and rolled down my window.  Joey rolled it back up shortly and turned on the A/C.  "Aww, nuts," I muttered under my breath.  He didn't hear me.

It turned out that just about every single person in Dallas also thought that biking at White Rock was an exceptional idea.  We had a terrible time finding a parking spot but, after several minutes of looking, we prevailed.  Joey unhooked the bikes and got everything set up.  (He's the man at stuff like that, so I let him.) 

"Which way should we go?"  He asked me.

"North!"  I pointed.

Joey hopped on his bike and lead the way.  He was going much, much faster than me.  After about half a mile, he noticed I was lagging behind (I like to look at the scenery!) so he stopped and waited for me.  "I think I'll let you go first," he told me, "That way I don't go off and leave you."

"Well...." I said, "I guess that's fine....But you'll have to keep up!"

And I shot off on Thunder as fast as my little legs would pedal me.  It took him a second, but he finally realized he was going to actually have to pedal fairly hard to keep up with me.  He had lost a lot of ground (because, let's face it, I'm usually not competitive with him...he's way more awesome than me.)  It was to his advantage that I had to stop at Northwest Highway so as to cross safely and not get smote by cars whizzing by.

"How...how fast were you going?"  He asked me.  "That was crazy."

"Oh...20 miles an hour,"  I said, looking down at my bike computer. Then, "Woah!  That's the fastest I've ever gone, and I wasn't even going downhill!  I'm awesome!"  I crowed.  (Spin class must really be working.)

"Yeah, I was really pushing hard to keep up with you," Joey said.

I wish I could tell you all that I maintained my awesome speed racer skills the entirety of the 8 mile ride...but I pretty much died at about 6 miles (the wind was at our faces the entire way back and somewhere between when we left our house and started riding bikes it got wicked strong) and Joey had to coax me into the parking lot with chants of "you can do it!" and "one more sprint!" and "you were so awesome earlier!"

Clearly I made it, but I'm way proud of myself for trouncing Joey, even if it is just that one time.  (I so rarely kick his bum that I have to celebrate it when I actually succeed.)  He's much more awesome than me in everything except...nuts, I can't think of anything.

3.1408

Today is National Pi Day.  It is also Einstein's birthday.  And National Towel Day.

"National Towel Day?!"  You ask, "What....what is that?"

Ahh, gentle reader, if you were but more familiar with the works of Douglas Adams (The guy who wrote Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and other sundry works) you too might know what National Towel Day is. Joey always quotes, "The galaxy is a dangerous place. If you want to survive, you've GOT to know where your towel is" when referring to National Towel Day.

All that being said, today is Joey's favorite day of, like, the entire calendar year.  He has this quirky thing with Pi, in high school he memorized the first hundred or so digits of Pi and has been known to recite them at random and ad nauseum.  So on National Pi Day Joey is always inspired to mathematical greatness.  He is proudly wearing his Pi shirt that bears the symbol of Pi which is made up of hundreds and hundreds of tiny white digits of Pi.

It is truly a shirt for nerds.

Additionally, Joey likes Einstein because he likes math.  He also thinks it's cool that Einstein was born on National Pi Day.  And that it is also National Towel Day.

Could there be a more perfect trifecta?  I ask you.

And so this morning Joey dressed himself in his Pi T-shirt and slung a brown towel over his left shoulder.  "It has to be worn this way," he told me, "It's the proper way."  He also wore pants.

Unfortunately, it turns out that today is not National Towel Day.  He is two months too early - it's is on May 25.  I'm not sure how or why he thought everything was on the same day, but poor, poor Joey.  His towel is now draped over the back of his desk chair and he is not wearing it again until May 25.

(He told me I could blog about this only if I blogged the entire story, which I believe I have done.  So I'm not getting in trouble for any of this, just FYI.)

So it's just National Pi Day and Einstein's birthday after all.  Alas, it's no longer the perfect date on the calendar.

Everybody get your towels ready for May 25, though, and be sure you wear them the correct way.