In which I recap.

Dinner last night was wonderful. Good friends, good food, a good bottle of wine. We watched a DVD of Barbara when she was on the Smothers Brothers Show (episode 105) with The Cake back in 1967; it was awesome. Her outfit! Their hair and makeup! So fantastic!

Rehearsal was good. We ran some covers from our existing list, yawn, then worked on an original for awhile, fun, then we worked on another cover — one that I’m singing lead on, yay! — called Push and Pull. I’m really excited about this chart because the groove is just so fucking deep, and dirty, and sexy, and hot… It’s also so sparse that it’s incredibly hard to play, and if that deep fuck groove isn’t achieved it just sounds square and white. Which is Bad. (Can I just say right here that KO absolutely kills? God, I love my drummer.) I’m really looking forward to hearing it come together; we’ve only done it a couple of times so it’s still pretty square. But it’ll get there. Or we won’t be able to perform it. Heh.

After rehearsal I stood outside in PK’s yard with WTC and GSW and chatted until my fingers were frozen. Love those guys. Got home at eleven, went to straight to bed.

Got up this morning and was brushing my hair when Bread asked, “Latté?”

“Don’t have time. Gotta leave,” I said.

“What?” he squawked. “Where? Why?”

“Work. I’m working. Full-time. For awhile.”

“Oh,” he said, hugging me. “Because I’m such a deadbeat?”

“Well, yeah, pretty much,” I said. (I think I should get points for not saying, “No, it’s just so I can get out of the house more.” Snort!) Actually, he’s pretty cool to be around, now that he’s a househusband. He’s mellow, and accommodating, and seems really happy. Maybe I’ll just work full-time and let him be the domestic whore, since I suck at it and he apparently thrives on staying home all the time… all by himself, no one to talk to, all that solitude and space… (We’ll see how long that lasts.) Honestly, f I could actually make enough to support us both I’d totally be into it. No more chores? Do nothing but work, party, and sleep? Sounds hot to me, man.

He’s been working on the future kitchen and living room. He’s gotten more done since he quit his job than he has in the entire past year, so that’s Really Very Good. Half the second story of our house is very much apart, and totally under construction. I took a peek this morning: there’s a framed hole where the breakfast bar will be, all sorts of new walls and things are framed in, there’s even some insulation up. He says he’s about ready to run electrical.

It would be so cool to move upstairs! Fuck I hate the basement.

In which we say good morning to the peacock.

Me: (going out to start the jeep) Well hello there and good morning, peacock!

Him: *preen*

Me: Would you like some kibbles, then?

Him: *cluck-cluck*

Me: Hold on a sec. (goes inside, grabs a handful of dog food, goes outside and scatters it on the ground)

Him: *preen*

Me: Your new tail looks lovely, by the way. Nice work growing that, especially during the winter!

Him: (eating)

Me: Okay then, have a nice day!

= = =
1. Peacocks love to eat dog kibbles.
2. They also shed out — er, moult — their entire tail every fall, and grow a new one for the following spring. The average peacock sports about 150 “eyed” feathers in his plumage.
3. I got a catalog in the mail recently in which bouquets of peacock feathers were selling for $1.25 per feather.

In which we discuss diction and proper pronunciation.

Read the following aloud:

We now know the earth is round.

Now, did you say “thee earth” or “thuh earth”? This is important. Because it’s “thee earth.”

THUH is used before words starting with consonants: thuh cat, thuh door. THEE is used before words that start with a vowel: thee attic, thee elephant.

I bring this up because I just heard a PhD on NPR say “thuh earth,” with a totally unneccessary glottal stop, and it made me crazy.

(I just won’t even mention that I started doing this thuh-before-a-vowel crap myself about five years ago. Get me out of the Midwest, for the love of God!)

In which you update your virus signatures if you haven’t lately.

So tomorrow, February 3rd, an obnoxious little virus, if you have it, will delete your virus protection software and destroy a bunch of your data.

You’d best not let this happen.

Consider this a friendly reminder to update your virus definitions and scan your machine! Because you know I’d just hate it if you weren’t all on the ‘net tomorrow, my lovelies.

In which I have luncheon.

I had lunch today with three drop-dead beautiful blondes.

It was an accident. I’d gotten in the jeep and driven around idly, looking for something that sounded good. I ended up walking into Petit Paris and MissT, Mother of God, and Cheerleader were there and asked me to join them.

I felt like the chick with braces at the prom. The wallflower next to all that long, blonde hair. You have to understand that I haven’t brushed my own hair in two days, and I’m wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday — in short, I’ve felt prettier.

I had the soup, and a brie sandwich. I almost ordered a glass of wine but forgot the next time the waitress came by.

The beautiful blondes were planning Mother of God’s upcoming engagement party at Cheerleader’s bar. It’ll be fun. A real party. An occasion, by God, a reason to wear makeup and heels. It’ll be Friday after next, upstairs in the new restaurant above the bar. Appetizers, themed drinks, balloons and decorations. Hostesses in French maid costumes passing out shots.

Followed no doubt by drunken revelry downstairs, after. I’m so excited! A real party!

In which I’m broke, ugly, and underexposed. And at work.

We’re so broke that I’m taking the change jar in today, to the only bank in town with a change machine. I’ll stand there nervously hoping I’ve removed all the cigarette butts and nails and rocks and roaches and pocket fuzz and other weird crap while the teller pours the money into the machine. Most of the change in our change jar comes right out of Bread’s pockets, along with all the other crap that his pockets hold, and the rest is more or less salvaged from the laundry-doing process. I sift through it before I take it in, and it’s probable that the tellers don’t even give a shit when there’s detrius in the coins, but it makes me strangely anxious anyway. With the bills I’ll get in exchange, I’ll buy food: dog food, cat food. People food. (Yes, we’re that broke. Hopefully Bread’s final check will actually come through this week so he can rent a goddamned snake already and I can take a shower sans the fear of getting shit on my ankles.)

I seem to be suffering a second adolescence. I have two gigantic blemishes on my face — one right on the bridge of my nose, and another above my right eyebrow. Bread mentioned them yesterday, asking, “Who’d you piss off to deserve those?” I didn’t tell him I have two more on my back. I’m thirty-seven, fer chrissakes! I’ve had bad skin all my life, and to this very day I bear both the scars and the huge pores. Aren’t I exempt yet? Haven’t I suffered enough?

I’ve only seen four five of the movies that received Oscar nominations this year. And one of those was Batman Begins, which hardly even counts. I’m pleased Reese got a nod for Walk The Line; she nailed that role. I’d like to go to an Oscars party with some cinephiles; unfortunately, I don’t think I know any cinephiles any more. I’d watch the Oscars at home but Bread probably won’t give me the clicker and even if he did watching all those beautiful people in their expensive clothes with their white, white teeth would probably just make me feel ugly, fat, and provincial anyway. But I do love me some Jon Stewart. Cute bastard, ain’t he?

It’s Tuesday, so I’m at work. Work kinda rocks now, what with my groovy new flat screen monitor and all. I wish I had a monitor like this at home!

In which I have no plans.

It’s Friday. I would like to do something fun tonight, but I’m piss poor and I suspect I’ll have debilitating Cramps From Hell™ by the time cocktail hour rolls around.

Last night after work I sat in the bar and drank cocktails and read a book until I was almost drunk. Then I got drive-thru and went to see T. & R. in their new house on Madison. The draperies? Wonderfully hideous! Rache plans to rip ’em all right down. She had on rubber gloves and was scrubbing the inside of the kitchen cabinets.

At band practice, we ran covers for 45 minutes and then went upstairs for a band meeting that lasted until 11:30. I sat on the couch between PK and WTC all warm and cuddly — yum. We discussed sales cycles, products, markets, and recording scenarios. Sounds dry, but it was fun. Love my band.

Today I should be cleaning, but I don’t wanna so I’m not gonna. Plus BoSean’s here, so I feel exempt. He brought us burritoes from Los Portales: I LOVE HIM.

In other news, my hair. I quit brushing it, right? I just washed it yesterday morning and walked around in public with crazy rats’-nested hair. When I walked into the bar last night, P. took one look at me and said, “Rough day?” And the band got a kick out of it, too. I’ve been urged never to brush it again.

In which a toddler is totally cute.

My co-worker, Bucket [he hasn’t updated his site since the last presidency, so don’t bother clicking on the link], had his wife and youngest kid here in the office this morning. I adore Bucket’s wife, MrsS. She’s superior in far too many ways to list. (I forgot to order freakin’ Girl Scout Cookies from her daughters, though. I wonder if it’s too late.)

Anyway. Chance, their youngest? Is so adorable. Tow-headed and shy, but not too shy. He had a little toy train with him. He wouldn’t high-five me, but I got several very cute flirty grins and giggles. When his dad put him down he ran the eighteen inches to his momma’s legs and grabbed on. Then his dad picked up his big foot and tapped Chance’s little diapered butt with it, and the kid immediately dissolved into giggles.

“Hey! You kick him in the ass and he giggles! That’s hot!” I exclaimed.

MrsS took one look at me and practically collapsed into giggles herself. “‘Kick him in the ass and he giggles!'” she repeated. “‘That’s hot!'” she finished, and giggled even harder. It was adorable – cutest thing I’d seen this side of Cute Overload in months. (Then later she called me “a skinny thing,” which of course endeared her to me for-fucking-ever.)

– – –
In other, totally unrelated news, here’s my updated Movies-I-Wanna-See (And-Ideally-In-An-Actual-Theatre) list:

• Nanny McPhee [imdb] [site]
• Roving Mars [imdb] [site]
• Brokeback Mountain [imdb] [site]

– – –
In other other news, on Tuesday PenLohP dropped off this device she’d bought her daughter for Xmas. It won’t work. Since then, half the engineers in the department have played with it and none of us can make it work. This makes me suspect the damned thing is just plain broken, which is bad news because it ain’t returnable. *sigh*

In which I tie up some loose ends.

My recent rash went away all by itself. I think it must have been contact dermatitis because I haven’t had any problems since, and now my skin is peeling a little bit.

I didn’t hold out long: Bread got laid this morning. (Which didn’t keep him from nagging me for more the whole rest of the morning. I told him he was a royal pain in the ass and he giggled.)

He did not snake the drain on Tuesday, though, so we have to take twelve-second showers or the toilet starts bubbling. Ugh.

In which my back hurts and I’m damned grumpy.

Bread woke me up earlier than necessary this morning, like he always does.

He probably used to wake me up early in an effort to share his love and tenderness with me, but now — since I’ve been asking him to give it a rest already for like seven years and he hasn’t — I have to assume he does it just to be a dick.

Anyway, in an effort to get the fuck away from him and stay asleep this morning, I pulled a muscle in my back really quite painfully — that was my first real conscious experience today: brief but searing pain! I was bound in the bedding at the very edge of the bed, and he was hemming me in and poking at me and breathing my air and in general having absolutely no respect for my desire to be asleep until the fucking alarm went off for work, and when I moved (okay, it was more like “when I twitched spastically”) I pulled something and it hurts and now I’m all Quasimodo and crooked and I’ll have to force myself to do some yoga when I get home even though all I really wanna do is take a pain killer and bitch about it.

Oh, okay, yes, I know, I know. When he wakes me up for l’amore sessuale he’s probably not actually thinking, “Gee, this is the 43rd morning in a row I’ve woken her up before dawn and boy will she be pissed,” but in actual fact is probably thinking something more like, “Maybe today I’ll get lucky!”

But I don’t care. I’m still pissed off, and he’s so not gonna get laid before noon ever again.