I will never again sleep past 8:00 A.M. in the morning.
It’s been determined by someone. I don’t know who. I suspect the kitchen sink may be behind it.
This morning, 8:00 A.M. The phone. Again. Don’t know who it was, didn’t answer it.
Then Clunk KerCHUNK Clunk KerCHUNK! from outside. Our newly-divorced neighbor apparently likes to chop wood. By hand. He does not have a fireplace. Nor a woodburning stove. I think he’s storing up to burn an effigy of his ex-wife. Or maybe his ex-wife herself, don’t know.
Esteban and I both cracked an eye open and looked at each other at this sound.
“I think he’s chopping wood” I say.
“Yes. He finds it relaxing.” Esteban says and then proceeds to fall back asleep.
Esteban can sleep through anything. It’s incredible. The man hears nothing when he’s asleep. Which is probably good, because apparently I snore like a congested water buffalo.
So I laid there and tried to fall back asleep. I had this weird dream about lumberjacks and Sean from “Real World Boston” all releasing their sexual tension by chopping wood. And then they started singing the Monty Pyton song “I’m a Lumberjack and I’m OK”. And then the cross-dressing started. And then I got up because it’s just not restful sleep when you’re dreaming about burly men wearing garter belts and listening to your divorced neighbor “relax” with a fucking axe in his hand six feet away from your head. It’s just not.
Scott sent Esteban an email this morning, accusing him of self-mutilation to get out of housework. Geez, Scott, you freak, would you lay off the guy? Just ’cause I let you look at my breasts doesn’t mean that you can have open-season on Esteban, ‘k? Watch it, or I’ll get Mafia Grandma on your skinny white ass.
I watched “You’ve Got Mail” last night for the 33rd time. That movie leaves me all conflicted. I bawl like a televangelist when she’s closing her store for the last time and she takes that little bell off the door. Then she turns around and sees her mother and her as a little girl, doing the twirling thing. Then she closes the door and you see the sign which says “We have loved being a part of your lives”.
BWAH!
But it bothers me the way the script needed to validate and tie up all the loose ends. To make the audience realize that, well, it was all for the best, really. The little happy feminine store being bowled over by the big corporate masculine store. Would it have been the same movie if Meg Ryan had been Fox Books and Tom Hanks had been the Shop Around The Corner? No, because then Meg Ryan would have had to pursue Tom Hanks and they would have cast a more aggressive woman, such as Sharon “Hootchie Bootchie” Stone. And then they would have had to show her snatch at one point. Perhaps during the coffee shop scene when Tom Hanks would look into the mirror. I don’t know. But I doubt it would have been as good.
It bothers me that I like that movie so much. It’s kind of a dumb movie. But I love Jean Stapleton, especially because she bought Intel at 6. And I also love the wrinkly look that Meg Ryan has when she realizes that it was Tom Hanks all along.
Yes, I’m a big hypocrite and I just don’t care.
(sticks tongue out)
But don’t assume that I don’t care about my car’s tires! And pass the kleenex, damn it!
Currently my right eye is oozing. It’s very gross. I think I might have Pink Eye. And I think I caught it from the guestbook. Unclebob was complaining of pink eye two weeks ago AND he signed it. So if you venture into the guestbook (which, by the way, you definately should. It makes me very happy when someone signs it! Very happy indeed. I do a little dance. Just ask Esteban.) make sure to wash your hands afterwards. I’m just saying. I’m concerned for your welfare.
Esteban’s parents received a very nice peppermill and peppercorns from The Spice House by accident. They called to tell the Penzeys (the owners) this and were told to keep it. They don’t eat pepper, so they gave it to us. We eat pepper. A LOT. Freshly ground pepper… mmmmmm. And I’m sort of thinking it’s all karma because I posted a link to them on Unclebob’s message board, because he said he liked spices a lot. Or it’s a kickback of some sort.
So anyway, I’m posting it here, because, hey, who knows. Maybe they’ll “accidentally” send me some of their excellent extracts. I have the double vanilla one already, but I would love the orange or the almond. Or maybe some of their butcher’s rubs. But check it out, anyway. Because once you try their spices, you’ll throw out any that you have from the grocery store. It’s that much of a difference. I highly recommend their Chicago Steak Seasoning, saffron and Cassia Cinnamon. Yum.
Someone accessed this diary last night by searching for the phrase “Boy Scout Underpants” on Google.
The internet is both a wonderful and terrifying place.
