In which I try not to be a stereotype and fail miserably

I really didn't intend that last post to be the blog equivalent of "does this dress make my butt look fat?" (mandatory answer: no, of course not) but I am delighted to hear from so many of you and to hear about what motivates you to read this. I've never been able to keep a diary, it bores me to tears. Which is perilessly close to saying "I bore me to tears." But this, this blogging thing - it's fun. And I am tickled pink that people like to read this, or at least that your mothers raised you with the manners and good sense to tell polite untruths. So thank you. Thank you very much.

The reason I haven't posted much about adoption related business lately is that there hasn't been anything much to write about. We faxed our documents to the little agency that could, and they promptly looked them over, and told us that even if my boss has known Pili for 2.5 years and thinks she is of good manners, honorable character and never goes to bed without brushing her teeth (she doesn't, it's one of many ways in which she is far better than I), the witness statement, notarized by the gnome in accounting, must be redone to read either two or three years, and renotarized by the gnome in accounting.

Braving the gnome in accounting again is big news for me, but not terribly exciting to write about. The Big Thing for which we still wait is the homestudy from her evilness, Mrs. Vaseline Teeth. She called last week after being absent for two weeks, and told us cheerily that she'd had a great vacation and promised it would be done by Friday. It's 4pm on monday and I have seen nary hair nor tail of said homestudy. She also didn't answer our question about the police report which was supposedly being mailed to her.

I think MVT prefers Pili to me. This makes sense. Pili is so much catching flies with honey. I am so much, for g-d's sake would you just do your $(#@# job already? Pili leaves discreet several day-long pauses between phone messages. I begin to pester people when they do not call me back after several days. In which pester means call them at least once a day and ask with barely veiled hatred, whether someone in their family has died? Because otherwise? There is No. Excuse. For not returning my phone call and if you are on vacation have the courtesy to say so on your out-going message.

I think in some ways, MVT responds to me and my decidely Big City South of Here ways in much the same way I respond to tail-gaters. If you and your gas guzzling substitute for viagara are riding my butt on the interstate when I am going 75, I am going to go 70. And then 65. And then 60. Until you and your Napoleon Complex that is single-handly destroying the ozone layer give up and move over a lane. And then I will be sorely tempted to follow you and return the favor in my peppy little tin can. But I will not, because I have gone to Driving School and I know that Road Rage is Bad. And also because you and your car truck named after the things it is destroying (Denali? Tundra? Yukon? Sequoia?) could smush me into so much art-sweet road jelly.

But I digress. Me nagging MVT does not work. So now I am nagging Pili to nag MVT. Because Pili drives a cute little subaru mandatory lesbian vehicle and would not run me over.