This entry was nominated and received a Diarist Award for Q1 2004. I am very honored. Things like that remind me that I shouldn’t be nervous about putting up schmoopy or questionable stuff, which is something that all writers struggle with sometimes. Bit of trivia: that first uterus entry almost got deleted before it was posted. In fact, it was so close that I actually hovered for three minutes before just swallowing hard and hitting Post. Anyway, thank you!
Where have I been all this time? Look–July is practically into double digits and I haven’t even updated yet. I can only plead an abnormal amount of house projects over the weekend and also a freelance project that went from zero to sixty in about four seconds and leave it at that. However, the freelance projects have been giving me hope in the doldrums of my summer career angst, and also, they are reminding me how my grammar skills are now about as sharp as a soccer ball. I am seriously lazy with this here page, which is reverse psychology for having been an insufferable grammar Nazi in a past life (until I graduated college). It’s sort of fun to be all schoolmarmy again. Like, over the weekend, I started reading my little Strunk and White. For fun. However, it’s weird because a lot of my style on this here diary involves breaking a few (hundred) of grammar rules, so I foresee a clash of the titans inside my feeble little head, only without the robotic bird and Harry Hamlin wearing a leather thong.
Russell Crowe, on the other hand’ watch out for that chafing, honey.
I took vacation days on Thursday and Friday so that Esteban and I could drive down to Milwaukee and see a concert. It was a last-minute line-up, due to Britney Spear’s ballyhooed knee/pregnancy cancellation, consisting of the Steve Miller Band and the BoDeans. Esteban has serious Steve Miller love, dating back to his teenage years, and while the rest of the world knows the BoDeans only from the Party of Five song, the local-boys-done-good provided the soundtrack for most of my years eighteen through twenty. Plus, it offered a chance to go to Summerfest before the concert. However, that plan was derailed because Joel had our entrance tickets and Joel will run up to the coffin at his own funeral and say ‘Sorry I’m late.’ Instead, Esteban indulged my need to spend large quantities of cash at my favorite mall in Wisconsin while he settled into a comfy chair at Barnes and Noble. I ended up with a bunch of new Aveda prettiness, a new Torrid Tinkerbell shirt (really, why do I need so many?), and some booty from Restoration Hardware’s big sale. Because I will not be happy until my house comes with a list of corporate sponsors, apparently.
Then we went to the concert, which was good, except that Steve Miller came out wearing a white shirt, a black vest, grey hair, and bifocals on the end of his nose. I’ll grant you, Steve Miller has never been exactly the bastion of cool, but with the whole Garrison Keillor costume, he looked like he was about to tell us that it’s been a rainy week in Lake Woebegon rather than to speak of the pompatus of love. Regardless, it was a nice concert, a fine concert, filled with many aging Boomers (although as Esteban pointed out, we were still in junior high the last time Steve Miller had a top ten hit) and also two guys next to Eric who were openly embracing the concept of being a midnight toker. And then Esteban was glaring at me like some maiden aunt. Man, it’s been almost two decades’ you’d think I’d shake my juvey rep by now.
Esteban : Is that Lenny Kravitz?
Weetabix : God, I hope it isn’t, because that would mean that he’s shilling for Target now.
Esteban : You know, when you’ve lost cred with two white people sitting in Green Bay, it’s time to reevaluate how that whole cool thing is working out.
My friend Chauffi has started updating his diary again and his most recent entry is lovely. Just lovely.
