Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Evil Plans

August begins Thursday, and as we know August is my birthday month, when I win any argument, do no chores, and get what I want.

More important, it is the first birthday month of the New Era.

Gary has all kinds of time now.  There are restaurants that need sampling, bags of mulch that need spreading, massive root balls that need whittling.

We still haven't finished assembling the shelves I got for Christmas, that's first on the list. Next, I need him to watch all the episodes of Breaking Bad before the final season starts on the 9th. That's about eight episodes a day.

 

New Pope Found Preferable to Pope Classic

You should have heard Gary this afternoon. The topic was the new Pope's Twitter feed.

Gary, emphatically. "This Pope Francis is the best Pope ever. He makes all the other Popes look sick."

"Even the one who is supposed to be a saint now?"

"ALL OF THEM. But especially the Nazi Pope. And he's so brave! Going out in the crowds and mingling with the people!"

"Yes."

"But he's going to die. And if he does, everyone, all the religions, Muslims, everyone, will mourn him."

So, just so you know, Gary feels great loyalty to Pope Francis. Pope Francis is winning the Pope Open. I had no idea there was a Pope competition, but there is, and Francis is winning.

Gary Coins a Term

We were discussing people Gary saw at the funeral, and he described someone as his cousin's daughter.

"So," I said, "Your first cousin once removed."

"Don't use that term. That's a silly term."

"Well, it's the right term. What would you call her?"

He thought a moment. "She's my CousinNiece."

"So what's her daughter," I asked, trying to show him the value of "twice removed."

"My great CousinNiece. Duh."

Honda is Giving Us Fits

Dear Honda,

My husband excels in disaster preparedness. Please do not send any more recall letters to our house like this one:

Honda has decided a defect which relates to motor vehicle safety exists in [your Honda Fit]. ... If the [power window] switch is damaged as a result of water intrusion, it may result in failure of the switch and overheating. An overheating switch may cause smoke, melting, or fire.

Because of the risk of fire, owners are advised to park their vehicle outside until it can be inspected or a replacement switch installed. ... Parts needed to complete this repair will be available in October 2013.

Gary is caught between the Rock Worst Case Scenario and the Hard Place Worst Case Scenario. If we park the car in the garage we run the risk of fire. If we put the car outside, don't we increase the risk of water intrusion and therefore more fire? Would there be enough fire to catch the garage on fire? How high is the garage ceiling? What material is in the car door that would ignite anyway? What if we put a smoke alarm in the garage? Would we hear it if we were asleep and the car caught fire?

I hate you, Honda.

Henrietta Pussycat to the Rescue

The fights during the Nashville / Jacksonville trip were epic and non-ending.

Friday fight: the way I drive (too cautiously) and the way he shrieks about it (like a Chihuahua on fire). I cried.

Saturday fight one: He listened to each Siri driving direction, then had me repeat it, then repeat it a minute later when he forgot, then scream at me to repeat it at the last minute, and then shush me as I was repeating it. I just began hissing the directions in an increasingly sarcastic loop. He finally confessed that he was having some seizure difficulty and couldn't remember anything.

Saturday fight two: After he played the seizure card, I drove home from the concert and was directed by the traffic police to take a wrong turn. Siri led me out through the woods behind Barbara Mandrell's mansion. Gary screamed at me to turn around so loudly that I thought the mass murderers and bears lurking in the woods would come out and tell him to shut up.

Saturday fight three: We discussed the fighting and he asked me why I was crying so much and I sobbed it was because he was screaming at me. He suggested it was because I needed more meds, or that I was going through The Change.

I then realized why I was crying so much. In our early marriage I listened to him, and any critical thing he said broke my heart. When we got separated, my heart hardened like the Pharaoh’s, and if he yelled at me I would just think, "Screw you, jackass." The distance separated me from the drama, and that ended our separation. But now that he's been around so much I feel closer to him again, like we're newly married, and now I'm back to falling apart when he yells. I told him that and he dismissed it.

Sunday fight: There was no safe in the room into which we could put our valuables, and the safety deposit behind the counter was too narrow. Where shall we hide our stuff? This is the exact same fight we had on our honeymoon, only this time he didn't throw the Bible across the hotel room.

Monday fight: He screamed at me while I was driving in an entirely new city, Jacksonville, and I cried.

Tuesday fight: He screamed at me while I was driving because I waited for the oncoming traffic to pass, when I could have made it before the oncoming traffic T-boned the rental car. I screamed back, "Stop BARKING at me!"

Barking was a good choice for two reasons.

1. An hour later in the midst of the funeral mass, I remembered my ring tone for unwanted calls is a barking dog. I turned off my cell, in case I'd get a sales call from Norwegian Cruise Lines during the funeral.

2. Gary keyed in on the word "barking" and decided to start meowing instead, in the style of Henrietta Pussycat, Mr. Roger's friend from the neighborhood.

 

If Henrietta's voice isn't part of your inner child monologue, I direct you to this YouTube clip:

So, later on when he wanted to scream while I was driving, he just said, "meow meow MEOW meow!" He CHOSE to not scream. (No. You just don't know. This is a breakthrough.)

On the drive home from Nashville, he said, "You know you're driving too slowly when trucks are passing you."

I sighed.

"Meow meowmeow. Meow." Then it was all better. The healing power of Henrietta Pussycat.

Of course, the best part of the drive home was the truck. A truck did indeed pass us, and I slowed to three car lengths away because of the S_______'s fear of trucks.

That's where I was when the truck tire blew out. BOOM! I was transfixed watching the tire parts fly about. Gary screamed, "GET. AWAY. FROM. THE. TRUCK."

"That was helpful," I said, once I got in the next lane over. "That was worth a scream."

"Meow MEOW!"

 

The Hermitage(s)!

Below is the Hermitage, a place in Nashville listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

This is NOT to be confused with the Hermitage, another place in Nashville listed on the National Register of Historic Places, seen below.

Nashville is confusing.

It seems I did my Nashville research too quickly and sloppily. I knew there was a hotel called the Hermitage that would cost a grand for three days, and I quickly averted my eyes. Then in further Nashville research I discovered President Andrew Jackson stayed at the Hermitage.

"Well," I thought, "That's why it's so expensive."

But, I was encouraged, because it was on the National Register of Historic Places, and I read that there are tours. "Well, even if I can't stay at the Hermitage, I'd love to go on that tour."

YES I KNOW NOW THE HERMITAGE HOTEL AND THE HERMITAGE ARE TWO DIFFERENT PLACES.

However, when you are wandering around downtown Nashville and you encounter the Hermitage Hotel, it looks just like a president's home. Of course, that's why I asked the doorman where I could find the tour.

He said, quite apologetically, that they sometimes give tours for guests, and if I wanted to make a reservation and stay at the hotel they would be happy to give me a tour. I backed down and apologized my way down the street. Then I stomped around the outside, muttering "I'm an AMERICAN. Who do they think they are, keeping me out of President Andrew Jackson's home because I can't afford $300 a night? I'm an AMERICAN." Stomp stomp stomp.

The next day, after I'd thumbed through a brochure and found the Hermitage Hotel and the Hermitage are two different National Historic places (!), we drove to the Andrew Jackson residence Hermitage.

I asked the man at the gift shop if anyone else ever confused the two places.

"Yes," he said. "It is very hard to convince those people you can't take their reservations."

That Awkward Moment...

... When your husband goes up during a funeral mass to take communion and realizes he still has his Invisalgns in.

He went ahead and let the priest put the host on his tongue, hoping it would dissolve. Unfortunately the Body of Christ was stale today, so he had to crunch it. He got Jesus all over his plastic teeth.

Where the Elite Meet to Eat

Sunday, when Gary suggested we eat breakfast at Bob Evans next door to our hotel, I moaned. "It's a chain. Why not get some Southern cooking since we're in Nashville?" But, only the security of Bob Evans would do.

I ignored everything but my food and Gary. Gary got extra attention because we were trying to resolve a fight. (This vacation fight has been worse than usual: an endless loop of the "Duties of the car co-pilot" fight.)

After our contentious breakfast I got up to leave and noticed the young African American man at the next table. Here, recorded, are my thoughts.

1. That man looks just like Kanye West.
2. He looks like Kanye because he has a nice smile and because I am a bigot.
3. Oh and, he's wearing the same style of sunglasses Kanye West wears.
4. It would be too funny if that girl he's with was Kim Kardashian.
5. Holy shit that's Kim Kardashian.

By then I'd walked past the table, went around the corner, stopped for Gary to catch up and whispered, "That was Kim and Kanye at the next table."
"Yup," he murmured, as he blew past me. So cool about the celebrities.
When we got outside, he said, in astonishment, "That must be their limousine!"

And there was indeed a stretch limo across the parking lot.

He said, "Wow! I wish I'd seen them."
"You saw them. You were all cool about it. 'Yup,' you said, like, of course Kimye sat next to us at the Bob Evans."
"No, I just said that to shut you up and so we wouldn't insult some random black man by mistaking him for Kanye West."
"Serves you right then."
"You could at least have given me a heads up," he pouted.
"I think, 'That was Kim and Kanye at the next table' is a pretty good heads up."
"Damn. That's true."

Even still, even with the limo sighting, I wondered why they were at Bob Evans in Opryland. Turns out, they're on a road trip across America and stopped in Nashville to see the Beyonce concert at the Grand Old Opry.

Later, after a decent interval, when the risk of a paparazzi attack was over, I texted far too few people about the event.

Hot Mom wanted to know if Baby North West was there. I replied No. She wrote, "F*cking rich people, getting to eat their Bob Evans without hauling the newborn around with them."

The only sign I saw of any baby is that there was a fair amount of material around Kim's midriff. They looked very happy. Kanye had a big smile and Kim was smiling down at her plate contentedly.

Later I tweeted to her that Cracker Barrel is a better breakfast, except for the biscuits. No reply.

Pisses me off that after decades of high quality hotels we run into Kimye next to the Guesthouse International hotel, $99 a night.

The Concert

1. The Nashville man sitting next to me said the venue was actually Barbara Mandrell's farm. This explains the many BNL references to Barbara Mandrell and her lesser known sister, Howie Mandrell.
2. I bought the tickets in April, so I forgot they were VIP tickets. That was a nice surprise. When you have VIP tickets you get to park on Barbara's grass.
3. It was four concerts in one! Boothby Graffoe, Guster, Ben Folds, and BNL.
4. Boothby Graffoe sang his old standards with backup by BNL. Such a lovely guitar player. We walked in on the second song, my favorite, Kittens In a Bag. His bravura performance was during the BNL set, when he came in to carry a rendition of Be My Yoko Ono. I've read many tweets that said it was great, but not why. It was just great physical comedy. If I can find one I'll post a link.
5. Guster walked out to what they felt was complete silence, which was a shame because I think it was one of the best Guster shows I've seen. The weather started to cool off at the same time. It was so hot that day that even though I asked for southern food, Gary dragged me into the only English pub in Nashville and I are bangers and mash. Or I might have been hallucinating.
6. Ben Folds mike was screwed up, or, perhaps he feels his angry piano playing should take precedence over his angry lyrics and that's why we couldn't hear much of anything. I have collaboration on this, the Folds fans behind me complained. I felt good that I was able to discern that it wasn't supposed to sound that muddled.
7. I haven't seen BNL for two years, since I missed the 2012 Last Summer on Earth tour. Last time I saw them it seemed like it was all Ed, all the time, just like a normal band. I am glad to say every band member spoke up this time. Initially years ago, it seemed like two friends riffing, then when Steve left it was one guy who'd lost his best friend talking to you, and now it seems like four best friends hanging out.

Excellent show, we'll worth the drive. No other concerts will tempt me for a while.

Miscellany in Nashville

Gary and I had a spirited discussion about the Zimmerman trial over a catfish dinner last night. He pointed out that I have never been in a fight and I am CRAZY to think someone could speak during a fight. He is entirely on Zimmerman's side. (He was set upon by a gang of teens once when he was a janitor. He was armed with a long stick with a metal point, escaped, called the police and they advised him to always choose flight over fight when minors are involved. "You'll never win" and "they'll always side with the kid." So.

The hotel is clean, generally, and the room and hallways are comically large. For some reason we have a microwave and no minibar, which is fine.

To my surprise, what was advertised on Travelocity as "free breakfast, free, wifi" actually means free wifi! Feeble weak wifi, but debugger Gary got on it and learned how you hold an iPad for best wifi reception (menu button at the top) and clambered all over the room to find the best signal (standing on the chair with the iPad pointed at the upper door jamb). He deduced the signal came from the hall. As long as you hold the iPad correctly and point it correctly, it is screaming fast free wifi.

He also worked out what was wrong with the Mini. It was the fuel pump. Gary looked the check engine code that Mini reportedly fixed and it means "your fuel pump is going out."

The plan for today is to goof around Nashville, check out the Hermitage, the ersatz Parthenon, eat chicken and waffles, and see the concert at 6:30. It's 10:30 now, and he still has to get dressed.

I must say he is more positive about goofing around now that he goofs around all day every day like ... like its his job. God knows I've never seen him so relaxed in a hotel room. In fact, he said he liked this place as much as the place in Quebec City. I pointed out the price difference and he loves the Guesthouse International Opryland now. We shall see when he scratches and I say "bedbugs."

A visual pun

Sax and violins.

Gary wants to know where the balcony is.

The bed is almost as firm as ours at home.

Glamping

Well they tried

And there was a point on the toilet paper!

So Let's Just Say ...

So CNN has decided that only a plane crash can break their concentration on the Zimmerman case. (To be fair, for a coup in Egypt they'll look away from Zimmerman for two hours of coverage.)

Now that all the evidence is in, I decided I could form an opinion.

Let's just SAY, for the sake of argument, everything Zimmerman believed was true.

George ZImmerman, in his mind, was protecting and serving and keeping the neighborhood safe. Essentially a cop on the beat, only he was in plainclothes. Officer Zimmerman. Let's make him a Sergeant.

Let's say, Trayvon was a hood. I know, I know, baby with Skittles, but this is for the sake of argument.

If ZImmerman WAS a cop, and a hood sucker-punched him and got on top and pummeled him, how should a real cop react?

I think a real cop would pull out the gun, fire a warning shot, then give chase if the hood ran. I suspect that if this was Sgt. Zimmerman vs a full-grown gangster, Sgt. Zimmerman would be taken off the force and investigated for why he used his gun. Was it merited? Why didn't he take a less lethal course of action first?

This is what happens when an officer uses deadly force in Connecticut. It's allowed if the officer is going to die, or, needs to shoot to "arrest or prevent the escape of someone the officer reasonably believes has committed or attempted to commit a felony involving the infliction or threat of serious physical injury, and, if feasible, the officer has given warning of his or her intent to use deadly physical force."

So, I think that had he been a real cop, if Trayvon had been a real hood, Zimmerman wouldn't have a case. The other cops would say, "So, he said he'd kill you and he ... hmmm ... banged your head against the sidewalk? And you had a gun? And you didn't warn him you had a gun? You couldn't talk?" That wouldn't fly, would it? I'm pretty sure he'd be fired, and then prosecuted for murder, and would lose.

If you agree with everything the defense says he's guilty by cop standards. Of course he isn't a cop, or trained to be a cop. So hey, don't be a cop. Stay in the car and call someone if you see someone suspiscious.

Granted, if some guy banged my head against the sidewalk, I have no idea what I'd do. My okan is to grab his gun and shoot him in the shoulder. (Oh, and after I shot him in the shoulder I'd drag him under my car and park my car on his arm. His wounded arm. I fine-tune my plan in every dark parking garage.)

That's my view tonight, anyway. Guilty Guilty Guilty.

In Praise of Lifetime Warranties, Event Insurance, and Frequent Flyer Miles

We had planned to go to the BNL concert in Nashville at the end of this week.

However, Gary's aunt died and we're going to a funeral in Florida. It's sad, made sadder because Gary shows his sadness by yelling. He was roaring sad earlier today.

We didn't know when the formalities would be, but Gary likes to prepare for the Worst Case Scenario, in fact he loves to prepare for the Worst Case Scenario. It is tiresome, because I say you don't have a problem until you have a problem, but he says I have to deal with his imaginary problems as if they are real. 

For example, on 6/31 he said, "It will cost seven thousand dollars to clean up from this tornado, we can't go to Quebec." It is nowhere near that amount, and even less today since the siding company is replacing our two bits of siding for free. (Amazing!^TM)

See, it's never as bad as he thinks it'll be, but still he makes me jump. Today it turned in our favor when I looked into canceling the Hutton Hotel in Nashville and found that I had not made a typical pre-paid non-refundable reservation, but instead a normal reservation I had not paid for yet. So, that was easy to cancel.

I then sadly looked at the BNL/Ben Folds/Guster tickets I could not sell, or even give away, since they were will-call and whoever used them would need to pose as me and show my ID. I looked at the total and sighed for the $350 I would lose.

Then I looked at the next line. Another $14. Sigh. Fourteen dollars for ... event insurance?

I bought event insurance for this thing back in April? Hot damn. I am a genius.

After one abortive phone call with a non-native speaker who could not spell my name ("I as in India" is a dead giveaway, young sir), I called back and spoke a Stephanie, who got me all sorted out. Said I just needed the obit off the web site and I'd be reimbursed after I submitted a claim.

So! All monies recovered, bonus siding, and enough Frequent Flyer miles to get us to Florida. "Ha HAH," I thought, "How's this for your Worst Case Scenario, Mr. Gary? In your FACE."

Almost immediately Gary announced that the latest word was that the funeral would be delayed till Tuesday, anyway, so: stand down.

I must admit, had I operated like a normal person and waited for the problem to become a real problem, I would never have noticed my genius decision to buy event insurance. In fact, I suggested to Gary that we use the event insurance anyway, because that's a lot of travel, Nashville to Florida and back, and he was a little aghast that I even suggested that I make an insurance claim I didn't need to make. He even spoke to me gently and reprovingly. Aw.

So, because there's no longer a time conflict, and also because he shamed me over suggesting we not keep the promise to BNL to attend the concert, we're going to the concert, then flying to Florida, and staying at LaQuintas and the like. (Gary wanted to look at the $45 a night hotels, and after I read a few reviews about black mold and ants he let me swank it up to the Quality Inn.)

With the final actual information in hand, I could book the air travel and still have miles left over. As a last minute booking this would have been $1,800, and instead it's free. Those miles have piled up for years because I could never stand to use the same number of miles to buy a $120 flight to Chicago.

So, I am feeling quite the financial wizard tonight. Note to future self: always get the insurance and the extended / lifetime warranty, because one day it will all pay off. Then again, since today WAS the day it all paid off, does that mean we won't have another?

I Climb on to the BBC Sherlock Wagon

Well, this holiday weekend was spent watching Sherlock.

I say "we." I started watching it on my own. I noticed Stephen Moffits name and thought, "oh that's the Dr. Who guy." After the first five minutes I called Gary in for a Dr. Who fix, because the closest he'll get for a while is Benedict Cumberbatch auditioning for his role as the next Doctor.

And I really enjoyed it, though the sexiest part of Benedict Cumberbatch is his name, if you ask me.

When we went to London in 1994, we stayed two blocks from Baker street ...

in the Dorset Square hotel ...

Which looks distractingly like the set on Sherlock ...

However, the BBC set isn't on Baker street, but a mile down Marylebone by the Euston station.

Here's the "real" Baker Street:

 I've been going mad wondering how they got the tourists away from Madame Tussauds in the middle of the day.

Crowd at the Concert

Okay, let's go back to the beach ball drop at the Cowboy Mouth concert. One of the Twins grew attached to one of the beach balls and wanted to take it home with her, because how else would she remember the concert? (At that time there had "only" been a call-out from the stage.)

Somehow I became the protector of the ball. I stuffed it under my shirt and I looked quite pregnant. I straddled it with my feet. I had it in my arms.

At that time a Man in a Blue Patterned Shirt slowly reached out and gently wrested the ball away from me, explaining, "Mrfsha whrr mmmmhhhh."

"Excuse me," I asked.

"Mmsh mh mhhhhh," he said, slowly this time. Gary gave him a sidelong glance and the Drunkest Man Ever In a Blue Patterned Shirt handed the ball to him. Gary gave it back to me. Damn, I thought, that man is drunk.

A few minutes later, I was on all fours on the ground. If you haven't been to a Cowboy Mouth show, this is part of the crowd participation.

Gary said, "I can't do it. I can't get all the way on the ground. I'm too old."

Drunk Man chimed in. "Zzzaaaaa mhhh muzzsa!"

Gary just looked at Drunk Man's face, said, "I cannot understand you," and turned away. Then, Marcia stepped on my hand and my attention was diverted.

I didn't think of the Drunk again until about forty-five minutes later, when Marcia, Gary, and I were in line waiting for the shuttle. Something made me think of Drunkest Man Ever In A Blue Patterned Shirt, and I whirled to Gary and exclaimed, "Oh, my God, how DRUNK was that drunk guy?"

Gary's face froze. His eyes widened. He whispered "hush" out of the corner of his mouth like a gangster. Then, he looked at Marcia and she began to laugh. Gary looked even more alarmed and stared pointedly at the man standing in line directly in front of me wearing a Blue Patterned Shirt. Oh! THAT'S what made me think of Drunk Guy! He was standing right in front of me! Amazing how the mind works.

It took a little while for Marcia and Gary to stop giggling at me.

Then, the line spread out, Drunk Man was out of earshot and we giggled at him instead. He was being propped up by his friends because he was too drunk to stand. After the Friends of Drunk Man loaded him into a shuttle, there was still an extra seat. I volunteered Marcia, but she demurred. She explained she didn't want him puking on her. Instead she sat with the driver on the next shuttle and made fun of Drunk Man to her.

We caught up to Drunk Man in the parking lot, still being assisted by his friends. They helped him into a passenger seat, thank God. Marcia has a photo of him.

Cowboy Mouth July 4th Concert!

Hot Mom and Mr. Hot Mom have been Cowboy Mouth fans since tending bar in New Orleans twenty years ago. Hot Mom had her birthday party in Chicago this February and attended the Cowboy Mouth concert there. When Hot Family found out Cowboy Mouth would be playing a free concert one highway exit from their home, Hot Mom was over the moon.

Hot Mom and Dad are only half of Hot Family: about twelve years ago they had identical twins. (After five minutes with these twins you forget they're identical, and begin to think of them as "the one who isn't smiling" and "the emotional one." Hot Mom dances at the concert? One girl covers her face with her hands like she's seeing live porn, the other lectures her mom dourly about acting her age.)

The twins carried posterboard signs that read "The Name of the Band is.." and "Cowboy Mouth." The other sides read "Everybody Loves Jill" and a declaration of their love for the band.

Gary asked if they really liked the band or if they liked them because their parents did. "WE LOVE THE BAND" they insisted, outraged that we would even suggest Cowboy Mouth Love is genetic.

The twins followed good sign etiquette during the concert. We were about six feet from the stage, in a prime view-blocking area, but they never held up the signs too long. They held up the signs reading "The Name of the Band is..." "Cowboy Mouth" at the appropriate times, when Fred the lead singer / drummer demaded the call and refrain.

AND THEN.

"Little Darlins with the signs!" Fred yelled, and my heart stopped, "Turn around and show those signs to the audience!"

I. Died. Hot Mom went from over the moon to over Jupiter. I pinched her arm. I squeed, "Oh my GOD a callout from the stage!"

"And they don't even know how great that is!" Youth, wasted on the young.

There was a massive beach ball drop at one point, and the Hot Twins  (I can't call them that) ... and the IdentiTwins and their girlfriend were loving the balls.

"LITTLE DARLINS!" Fred yelled from the stage. "ARE YOU HAVING A GOOD TIME?"

I don't even know what they yelled back, but I know they said something, and he said something, because I thought "CONVERSING WITH THE BAND. CONVERSING. HAVING A CHAT WITH THE BAND IN FRONT OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE. LIVING THE DREAM AT TWELVE." And I don't even think they're twelve yet.

Can you stand it? I know! They won't be able to top that experience, unless someday Bruce Springsteen calls them up on stage like Courtney Cox.

AND. THEN.

In the middle of the finale, Fred looks at them and yells, "Little Darlins, get your butts up here on the stage!"

I don't recall if they looked at Hot Parents for approval. They had to clamber over a barrier and security had to heave them up to the stage. Then, they stood there and soaked in the crowd adulation. Smiling Twin did a cute little bob and curtsy, and Somber Twin cracked a tiny smile, like yeah, you should be looking at me, I am awesome, and I own this stage. Neither was self conscious or embarrassed. I mean, it wasn't like their Mom was dancing or something.

Hot Mom was now in orbit past Voyager 1.

Fred got them to stop posing and hold up the signs behind his drum kit while he called out other, younger, less cool people from the crowd. And the Twins held up the signs high for at least ten minutes. And their arms hurt and they didn't stop. And then afterward they had a photo op with the band and got tshirts and drum sticks.

Life will just be downhill from here, unless they get on a reality show or something.

Easy Ways to Achieve That Messy Look

I have mentioned Susan from Work before: she's the angel with eggplant hair and a bobbed nose. Her most recent visit to the salon changed her do from a blocky jet-black rocker cut to a tidy cap of brown hair.

"I don't like it," she moaned. "It looks too perfect."

Too perfect? Well, everything else on the girl looks perfect, I suppose that must be a burden to have unrelenting perfection.

I suggested wax, and she said she'd tried it to no avail.

That made me feel a little superior, because I don't even need wax to make my hair look untidy.

Let me explain my techinique for acheieving a messy look that I employed just today.

1. Wake up and wash hair.

2. Fall back asleep on wet hair.

3. Wake up and re-wet head-hugging flat hair.

4. Use mousse. Dry into a tidy cap of brown hair.

5. Leave bathroom. Hair is now made untidy by the change in humidity.

6. Leave the house on way to barbeque at Hot Mom's house. Realize you forgot makeup. Return home and apply makeup.

7. Admire hair, which has settled into a nice compromise of tidy and wavy.

8. Return to the hot car and blow air conditioning on hair. This makes it frightened and compliant.

9. Pat hair to manually stabilize it in a 'nice' form. Hair freaks out. Hair is now screwed up.

10. Sweat during the barbeque. Ends of hair decide to wave while roots plaster to head.

11. Go to a remarkable Cowboy Mouth concert to be detailed later. Be hit in the head with a number of beach balls.

(Remember the beach ball, it will be a constant theme through the next few posts, like the red coat girl in Schindler's list. - Ed)

The beach ball further fouls up your hair.

12. When the concert is over, take a golf cart ride back to your car. The breeze is pleasant but further frizzes your hair.

13. Blast the a.c. when you get back to your car.

14. DO NOT LOOK AT YOUR HAIR WHEN YOU GET HOME. Go right to the shower and wash it.

15. Repeat with step 1.

Was I Lonely?

I've been trying to work this blog into my new routine. I have often considered blogging after my nightly 3:30 bathroom visit. I'm always sharp then.

I just feel wrong walking away from Gary when he's here. (Everyone put on your best tortured southern voice and wail "BUT AH LUV HIM.")

But now, Gary is finding ways to not be here. Last night he stayed up till four thirty in the morning, watching movies because he can and he's a man and no one is the boss of him, literally.

I was astonished to see him awake this afternoon when I got home. He's asleep right now at 8:45, as he should be.

He's been snoring since seven, and I have been all alone. And that's when I realized why I haven't been blogging as much: I'm not as lonely. I never thought of myself as having been lonely until tonight. It makes sense.

I certainly didn't feel lonely. I felt pissed that he wasn't there, and that took up all the lonely space. And, you all were there. And now he's here and I need to fit everyone in. (Vaseline.) I need to reclaim some time for myself.

I know his parents have a very structured retirement. They nap at a certain time. They snack, read the paper, play the trumpet, watch tv, all at certain set hour-long intervals. Gary has specifically rebelled against this.

He does spend forty-five minutes every day in the bathroom, but usually that happens when I'm at work. When we first started this I insisted he stop watching tv when I came in, and instead ask me about my day. He doesn't seem inclined to do that anymore, but as soon as a commercial starts or he's done with an article, he comes in trolling for attention. And you know, the second I don't attend to him I'll hear him threaten to go back to work.

And now, he's awake. Let's see how I do. I explain that I am happy in here typing and he can occupy himself for a while.

He answered, "It's good that you have time to yourself. TADA! Present to you!" and he left the room.

Ooo. Now he's in the bathroom. I'm going to work on future posts.

Invent This, Please

This afternoon I called Gary because I had two questions:

a) Did his parents have plans to celebrate the fourth of July?

b) Was he planning to pick me up at work? (He drove me in because the Mini wouldn't start.)

So, here is that phone call, verbatim.

(Ring ring) Gary answers the phone with:

"Ellen! I was just thinking about you! I'm at the grocery store!"

"Oh, don't forget --"

"I got the eggs and croutons."

"Oh, thanks. I have two questions. First, are we going to your parents on the four --"

"I don't know! I'll call them right now!"

(Click.)

Five minutes later he calls back with:

"No! The day is ours!"

"Gary, just slow down and lisssssten. I had two questions --"

"Well fine. Ask your other question."

"I wanted to --"

"Can this wait until I'm done shopping?"

"Ugh, fine. Bye."

 ========= End Scene =========

After this phone call, in which Gary did not listen, in the manner of a man coated in word-resistant lacquer, I tried to analyze why this was so frustrating.

I realized that when he's directly in front of me and not listening, I make outrageous faces that say, "DUMBASS SERIOUSLY LISTEN TO ME," and, "HELLO? HELLO? ANOTHER PERSON OVER HERE TALKING." I got this face vocabulary from my father, who could make a three act play out of being interrupted while he was READING. (Act I: Sigh. Place finger on last word read. Act II: Pained expression. Swivel head slowly. Act III: Raise eyebrow.) At any rate, silent-film facial expressions and noisy body language are useless on the phone.

What I need is a key on my phone I can tap so his phone will vibrate or deliver a low-level shock. Just enough to remind him I am on the line and might have something to say.

Another invention opportunity awaits.