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Monday, August 30, 2004
 
Your Hand in Mine
The weekend was jam-packed with activities, both of the fun and not-fun varieties. With Michelle’s parents out of town, we found ourselves cat-sitting . . . which quickly blossomed into full-on house-sitting. (The first night, given our schedule, made sense. But I suspect the second night just boiled down to, “Mmmm, king-size bed . . .”)*

Michelle mentioned watching a movie after Mia went to bed Friday night, and I’m usually quick to jump on that. I think we even had her parents’ copy of The Italian Job lined up (for the job) when I discovered that ESPN was showing back-to-back installments of the World Series of Poker. So, I settled into Texas Hold ‘Em-ification, and Michelle activated her father’s recliner and got caught up on her magazine-reading.

Saturday was another trip to see the Woodvillians. This time, I coaxed Michelle into going because: a) she hardly ever goes, and b) it was the weekend after Mia’s birthday, so I figured they were gonna do some celebratory thing. Which they did. It was actually a surprisingly nice trip, but that is probably partially because I played cribbage with dad rather than talking about things that may or may not matter. (I’ll just say, straight up, that no politics were discussed.) Dad’s wife’s nephew was in from San Antonio, so there was another distraction. And then bad karma was shifted in Michelle’s direction when she escaped excused herself before lunch. In summary, I made it home with our daughter, a clean conscience, and no gunshot wounds. Still, splitting cribbage games with dad . . . hmmm, I’m gonna have to work harder for that rubber match.

Saturday night, I was invited to another poker outing. On the way over, I listened to Explosions in the Sky’s The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place to convince myself that my poker game wasn’t a cold, dead place, either. Luckily, I wasn’t there long enough to find out (i.e., I only lost $15, rather than the customary $20 or $30). The highlight of the night, though, was the last hand, which featured a flop of three aces; the fourth ace turned up in the dealer’s hand. (By contrast, two of my best hands were the first two I got . . . which I folded. Had I played my usual game and not been a throbbing vagina, I could have won my first three hands.)

Yesterday was “Try to Prove Yourself Handy” Day. I had quite a list of handy-esque things to accomplish. And being that I’m handy in the same way that George Bush is a capable president, I think I did okay. First, I successfully took apart the dryer and diagnosed the problem as a faulty element. Then I (mostly) put together our daughter’s new swing set. Until the thunder and lightning and subsequent rain started.

Finally, today, I’ve had two reality-challenging moments: 1) standing at the counter of the Sears parts department while two people were helping one customer and the phone right next to them on the counter was ringing constantly and very, very loudly (I can still hear it echoing in my mind), and 2) seeing a car with a special Georgia plate that read “Give Wildlife a Chance” (or something similar) . . . and the car also had a Bush/Cheney ’04 bumper sticker. Hey, guy, why don’t you just track down some “wildlife” and give it a good ol’ American ass-fuckin’, okay? Because I’m sure the “wildlife” will thank you.**


* Yes, the guest room has a king-size bed.

** especially if you give it the “reach-around” (What post wouldn’t be complete without a anal sex and/or
Full Metal Jacket reference? Apparently many.)