Oh, sweet bed, how thou hast evaded my longings for sleep... Actually, I can't bitch. The bed has been there, I just haven't been in it before 2 a.m. all week. Elections, work, pizza after work, and the fact that I cannot seem to complete any of my household chores until I finish this book have all taken precedence over my need to LAY THE FUCK DOWN. And the thing that sucks about it is, it's not like I've been out partying all week. Greg and I usually have a pint together after I'm done working, as this is our time to unwind, swap stories about our day, and maybe talk to a friend or two. But both of us have been making it a point lately to take better care of ourselves - working out, getting more sleep, spending more time just laying around reading. I've hardly been smoking at all, Greg's not been drinking as much. Yet I still manage to wind up being the one who's being lifted off the couch mid-sentence and carried to bed because if he doesn't physically remove me from the couch, I will sit there and talk until his ears bleed. Don't get me wrong - he's got the chat bug as well. Put together, we could have our own talk show. Or two. And an "After the Show" like Oprah has. And then a web-cam reality show, and a few holiday specials. And don't forget the tantric sex instructional DVD, due out this spring, or as soon our animal magnetism lessens to a degree which makes it remotely possible for us to physically peel ourselves off each other. I mean it. We're stuck back to back on each other right now. Seriously. I had to pull off this crazy contortionist backbend manouver this morning just so he could lean every so slightly forward to take a whiz. (And is it "whiz" if you're talking about pee? or "wizz"? 'cause "whiz" makes it seem as though I mean to say that he kidnapped a ten-year-old genius). Anyway.
Speaking of the sexy rocker, tra-la! there's a show tonight. Onopa, 10 p.m., opening for The Firebird Band (feat. Chris Broach from Braid) and Travis Morrison (of the Dismemberment Plan). Also, in News of My Beloved, the website should be up sometime today! Yay! I will post a link as soon as I find the address (note: the name of the band has been changed from Seahorses to Chariots Race because some other dorks own the word and all variations of it. Bastards. But I like the new name. Not that my opinion matters).
Off I go to calm the storm that is now running circles around the house, churning up the dust and torturing poor Solomon with a shoelace. I let her have chocolate pudding for breakfast. .....
Yeah, I don't really know what to say after that. I'll let your imaginations work for themselves.