The Way Things Are






2006-03-15, 12:48 p.m.

Ah, Miz S. You are very kind. Here’s that photo you requested, because we are NOTHING here if not completely at your service. For your convenience, I very helpfully circled the gray root area on the top of my head. Priiiiitty!

No caption does this justice.


You know what really sucks sometimes? It’s when you have a brand new roll of toilet paper, and that bitch is sealed shut on the seam, and you can’t unfurl the paper for use upon your hindparts without destroying the roll.

Well, judging from the evidence I found on my bedroom floor (yay cheap laminate!), Miss Piper, after relieving her tiny bladder right there in the middle of the room, went looking for toilet paper, for she is dainty and well-mannered like that. All she could find was a new roll, stored on the shelf very helpfully at puppy level, and for the life of her, she could not get that roll started without tearing it apart.

In fact, the frustration of the toilet paper roll drove her to abandon cleaning herself up at the scene of the crime, and she took it into the living room, all thoughts of wiping herself forgotten, and settled down on the couch to show that toilet paper who’s its mommy. I had to rescue it from her tiny, needle-like teeth, and return it to the bathroom.

Look! It’s even fluffier now.

Here are the things I did NOT do last night:

1. Workout. I fart in its general direction.

2. Color my hair. I am lazy, and good thing, too, because I preserved the evidence for your viewing pleasure today.

3. Have sex. Please allow me a slight break whilst I seek medical attention for the eyestrain I just suffered from too-vigorous eye-rolling.

Break’s over.

This is worth a whole story, supplemented with interpretive dance, dialog reproduction, and Garrett Morris shouting a translation over my shoulder.

::ring ring!::


(cue sycophantic, eggshell-treading husband inflection) Hello, my sweet. We’re finishing up the last hole, and once we’ve settled up and finished a beer, I’ll be home. But I have to go to Killer’s office at 7, because we’re doing the draft for the tournament this weekend.

(NOTE: Tuesdays are ALWAYS golf Tuesdays, and the draft is some kind of picking teams and gambling thing. Like doing brackets and picking squares for March Madness, but it’s for this 3-round golf thing they are doing this weekend. Fuckers.)


::ring ring!::


Hello, my sweet. It ran a little later at the golf course, so I’m not coming home before I go to Killer’s.

Well, no shit. You’ve got 5 minutes to get there, and we live 15 minutes away.

I know, I know. This should take a couple of hours, I guess from 7 until 9. Or 10. Seeyoutomorrowmorningbye. ::click!::



Did you just say “Seeyoutomorrowmorningbye” and HANG UP ON ME???

I knew you were going to call me back! I knew it!

How could I not? You’llseemetomorrowmorningbye? What the hell?

Well, this could go on for a while, and I’m going to be late, and I’m going to sneak in real quiet so I don’t wake you up. I knew you were going to call me back, though!

I’m pretty sure I’ll still be awake at 10 o’clock. It’s not so much WHAT you said, it’s HOW you said it. With the hanging up really fast. I don’t care when you come home, you don’t hang up on my ass. I know your number. I’ll find you and call you back, no matter how quickly you hang up on me.

OK! Fine!

Fine! Bye! ::click!::

So here’s what I did last night:

1. Petting and playing with dogs: 1 hour.

2. Spinach and mushroom pizza eating: a few minutes.

3. American Idol therapy: 2 hours.

4. Laundry therapy: 30 minutes.

I feel much better.


The best girl singers: Mandisa, Paris, and Katharine.

The one I want to hear over and over again because she’s unique and I love her voice: Melissa. I LOVE her voice. But she’s going to get eliminated, and soon. Like tonight, I think.

The best boy singer: Chris Daughtry, who totally rocked that Stevie Wonder song, and had I been wearing socks, he would have knocked them right off my tender, pink little puppy-nibbled feet.

My prediction: I think Mandisa will win, but my heart now belongs to Chris. And if Melissa releases an album, I’m gittin’ it. I love her rough, rocker chick thang and whiskey-n-cigarettes voice. She might be the Ann Wilson of the 21st century.

… and you kept me alive with your SWEET FLOWIN’ LOOOOVE!


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