So today.
First off, how many of you can say that you’ve been serenaded by an accordion on your birthday whilst surrounded by a gaggle of coworkers?
Hmmm?
I’ll bet that number is in the’oh’ twos or threes.
Yeah, so that was a highlight. An accordion. You’ve just got to love the wacksters in Green Bay.
Oh, and Esteban’s gift that induced the Hip Wiggle Of Impending Glee from my normally stoic and reserved husband? A gadgety thingy that you can record your voice and be all Spy Girl and make mp3s with. An incredibly expensive gadgety thing. I’m a bit shocked by how much it actually cost. It’s like holding thirty-five $7 t-shirts in the palm of my hand. But I suppose that the $7 t-shirts don’t have the special value-added geek bonus that thrills Esteban so very much. And the idea there is that I can use that to work on the ten short stories that are floating around in my weary brain, fighting to get a chance at the synapse that goes to my fingers’ when in reality, this diary has got a sumo wrestler’s hold on that bad boy.
So, anyway, I’ve got another mark in the ‘Goofy Little Gadget’ column.
And it’s very pretty. Esteban actually knows me well enough that he considered how pretty it is. It’s a sort of metallic blue. In fact, if I hadn’t rid myself of the Electric Blue manicure last night, I’d be totally color-coordinated.
I haven’t used it yet, other than to make a recording of me saying ‘Oh, it IS recording’. And it’s 10:29 a.m’. no it isn’t’wait&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9-
Yeah. That’s a keeper.
So that was a cool gift. And Chauffi, the little sneaky but devastatingly handsome devil that he is, sent me two books off my wishlist. It’s amazing what kind of incredible friendships one can make through the Internet. We truly live in an incredible time.
I piked at work and took a half-day when I decided that my day would be better spent at the golf range. And then I went to the golf range and decided that I probably should have stayed at work, because I stunk up the place. I even prayed to a higher power to please let me hit one good slam for my birthday, but apparently, one should not bargain with the higher powers’ at least not for a good golf game.
Maybe I can ask the higher powers to take the calories out of the steak I’m going to eat tonight. I mean, what better cause than Operation Hottie?
I was an evil woman yesterday.
Esteban has been especially nice to me after our spout of unpleasantness a few weeks ago. I think he had an epiphany or something. Hence all the flowers. Hence all of the backpeddling. Hence the serious ass kissing.
I’m uncomfortable with it, honestly. I just wanted him to stop acting like an ass. But he has instead transformed into PERFECTMATE which is a bit like living with a Stepford Husband. And it makes me feel really guilty. But then I also succumb to my natural impulses to toy with him.
We were watching a commercial (The frozen blue Mountain Dew commercial, if you really must know’ there’ feel better?) that showed a guy getting his tongue pierced. And Esteban cringed because he is incredibly afraid of needles. Not just a little afraid. He has a serious phobia.
And he also married a very evil woman.
Feeling a bit saucy, I ventured, ‘You should get your tongue pierced, honey.’
Esteban made a face’ oh, it can probably best be described as an impression of Robert DiNero smelling some rancid milk. ‘Are you nuts? Why would I do that?’
I sniffed. ‘I hear it’s very sexual.’
DiNero took a sip of the rancid milk. ‘Are you serious?’
I used my best poker face. ‘Yes, absolutely.’
DiNero faltered, thinking about the actual act of a needle penetrating his tongue. Then gasped ‘Hokay.’
‘You’d get your tongue pierced?’
Barely audible. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘For me?’
His body rigid with stress. ‘Mmmhmmm.’
‘They use a reallllly thick needle.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And you might lose your sense of taste for a bit.’
‘Yup.’
‘What would you tell your friends?’
‘The reason.’
‘You would tell them that you got a big thick tongue barbell embedded in your tongue so you could pleasure your wife?’
‘Um’. Uh-huh.’
‘Really? So I can call and make an appointment down at the scary tattoo place?’
‘Y-y-y-y-yes.’
‘I love you, honey.’
‘I love you too, baby.’
So guys, that should pretty much confirm your darkest suspicions about how truly evil girls are sometimes.
Yup’ I’m so going to hell.
