I should have guilt for not having done a real entry in something like forty-two days. I should, but I don’t.
Lessee, what happened’
Remember the whole ‘Will I lose my job?’ thing followed by the ‘No, we’ve saved your job, but everyone else should pay no attention to the man behind the curtain in India’ thing? Yeah, the axe fell yesterday. Basically, my entire department minus my team, as well as other segments of other departments, will be looking for other sources of income before the end of the year. And then they threw a barbecue today. Sorry you’re going to lose your job, but here’s a bratwurst! Crazy Wisconsin logic. Even more suckage: my fabulous friend Penny (she of the straw method of drinking) was including in the riffing. I predict some seriously irresponsible binge drinking in our future.
Also, I buckled down, stopped being wishy washy, and bought my plane tickets for Journalcon DC. So are you going? You’re not? But you’ll miss my spectacular unavoidable travel injury and be completely unconnected when I whine about it for the entirety of 2005! Although I have now gotten the Shock-O-meter at physical therapy up to a robust 27, which is as high as they will allow me to go lest I start getting involuntary muscle contractions. Which is fine, because after fifteen minutes at 27, I was feeling a little, um, edgy. Like maybe I could kick someone until they cried. Or crack a walnut between my ass cheeks.
Oh, and I turned 33. So yeah, that happened. Seems pretty much the same as 32 did, lots of singing loudly in my car pretending that I’m a rock star followed by episodes of ‘Oh my god, why do we live like wild dogs? No, seriously, go change the cat box! Aaagh, I have no closet space!’ Also, Esteban made me a birthday cake, complete with decorations. Also, he bought enough candles but I only allowed him to put on five, because a sheet cake covered in a lake of melted mult-color wax was really off-putting. Then Abigail looked at the candles and said, ‘She’s not five years old’. Except that we humor Aunty Weet and let her believe she’s not ancient, sweetie.
After cake, I got a celebratory manicure and pedicure at the local nail sweatshop and then went to see Harry Potter with Abby and Mo. I was severely disappointed by the lack of Lucius Malfoy (about whom I have inappropriate thoughts), but luckily the night before I attended a showing of Riddick. Esteban thought I accompanying him as a favor, but in reality, I wanted to take surreptitious peaks at Vin Diesel’s pectorals. Apparently I must be ovulating because the sloped brow/shaved head combo, the monosyllabic grunts, the weird sexual thing going on between him and the girl who apparently aged ten years and got boob implants since the last movie’ it was all good, baybee. There was a close up of his bicep at one point and I might have fainted. Just a little. In which world is it wrong to be hot for a guy who is sex on a stick but cursed with the face of Shrek? Not my world, mister.
(Scene: Saturday morning in the car.)
Esteban : What do you want to do today? Breakfast? You want breakfast?
Weetabix : I don’t care. I am strangely deflated with zero ambition after last weekend.
Esteban : Pancakes? We can go get pancakes?
Weetabix : Sure. Pancakes.
Esteban : What can I do to make you smile?
Weetabix : It’s nothing. Really. I’m fine. I just don’t have ambition.
Esteban : How about if I talk in ze Franch accent all ze day? Oui oui?
Weetabix : (laughing) Yes, do that. Be French Boy all day. I will cue up the French music on the iPod.
Esteban : Oh huh huh, oui oui, you sink ze Franch boy is ze hot, non? Ze Franch musique and ze Franch fries, non?
Weetabix : You’re always hot.
Esteban : Oui oui, eet ez ze way weeth ze Franch men, non? I love you!
Weetabix : Je taime. It’s je taime.
Esteban : I, uh’ do nut know, eh? I have nought been to ze France! But I kees you on ze arm like ze Franch do, mwah mwah mwah!
Weetabix : We should go to France next. I still want to go to Paris.
Esteban : Bah, Paris. It smells like ze pee in Paris!
Weetabix : How would you know?
Esteban : Well’ I am ze Franch, non? And when I sink of ze Paris, I want to.. how you say’ ze Urinate?
Weetabix : (laughing hysterically)
Esteban : Zo, we keep eet in ze pants in America, oui? And’ I haff to wonder, weel you make me talk like zees in ze Restaurante?
Weetabix : No, you don’t have to.
Esteban : For you, I would! John tom! For you!
Weetabix : Je taime!!!
Esteban : Oui!
