The Way Things Are






2005-03-24, 2:53 p.m.

Conversation after American Idol last night:

“Look, they want us to send in our audition tapes! See? It says to send in your audition tape. Let’s do audition tapes, Schmoops!” (he calls me Schmoops)

“Are we just going to dance around the living room in our underwear on tape?”

“We’ll set up the karaoke, and we can accompany each other’s dancing with song.”

“We can trade off! Yeah! I’ll sing while you dance your White Man’s Overbite, yeah, like that, more elbows, and then you can sing while I dance like this.” I proceed to do my William Hung with vacant far-off expression.

“What songs are we going to sing?”

“I want Brick House for my dancing. I think you get Play that Funky Music White Boy.”

“This is going to be so GREAT.”

Note to self:

When eating grocery store Chinese food, don’t experiment. Stick with the fried rice and the lemon chicken. Do not ever eat the lomein.

And I digress:

I am so STOKED about editing that thar html thang here to tack my new special fabulous web journal email address to the contact me button up top. So excited in fact, that I think I will put in some bold type today, and I wonder if there’s such a book as HTML For Dummies? One of these days I’ll be so good at this, I might even put in the picture of DW and the dog lying on the couch together, with the dog looking at me as if I just caught the two of them in bed together. I call it “The Other Woman”.

Stream of consciousness:

Gotta pee. Lil Guy has golf tournament next week (he’s on the Geek Team, I mean, Golf Team at school). Must work. Have deadlines. Fires. People screaming, threatening. Is there beer in the fridge? Is 2:49 p.m. too early to start drinking at work? Is it EVER too early to start drinking at work?

Things fall apart:

Mmmmm. Cake in break room.

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