Oh, God. This again?

 
Date Night
Michelle’s parents had graciously offered to keep Mia and her cousin this past Saturday night, so I made plans for a “date night” with Michelle. Complete with a multiple-choice itinerary (breaking the evening/night into two-hour segments).

To kill time before dinner (it was pretty early and I was not at all hungry), we took a walk around Lake Ella. Then we ventured to our favorite (but neglected), out-of-the-way Thai restaurant and found dinner to be more outstanding than usual; we couldn’t figure out whether it was because it had been so long since we’d been there or if there was some change). Afterward, we went to rent a copy of Red Eye and then pick up (multiple each) desserts from Food Glorious Food. And then home.

The movie was pretty good (not great) and the desserts ranged from “Eh” to “This tastes JUST LIKE an Almond Joy!” The highlight of the evening, though, was Scrabble. We don’t play Scrabble as much as we used to, mostly because Michelle beats me pretty regularly and when she doesn’t (and/or doesn’t score well over 300 points), she declares, “I HATE THIS GAME!” and we go on a Scrabble hiatus. She’s really good (not quite Word Freak good), so I don’t feel too bad when I lose . . . which, again, is fairly often. This game was no different, as she scored just over 300 points and beat me by about 40.

We couldn’t find our camera to get pictures of the racks we had. I wanted to get one of my I E U I E U A rack, or the one where I had three U’s (also all vowels). (After that latter one, Michelle played off a U, and I said, “I hope you don’t have the Q,” because I had all the other U’s. She did, in fact, draw the Q . . . right at the end of the game.) We played a rematch last night and, Sweet Baby Jesus, I’ve never wanted a camera more in my entire life! My opening rack? V A G I N A (and a P). Later, my rack contained F I S T E D, but I had no place to play it. The rematch was quite the thriller as the board was mostly closed-off and we were forced to open it up with non-strategic plays. In the end, it came down to who could play off all the letters the fastest. I finished first and managed to pull within one point. But her one-point letter reduced her score and raised mine, thus flipping the scores and giving me the win, 254-253. I guess the rubber match will be this weekend. Or as soon as possible.

Or, y'know, NEVER.
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 12:13 PM

 
As Seen on T.V.
A couple times this week, I’ve been splitting my television-viewing between “American Idol” with Michelle . . . and women’s figure-skating.

Never been a huge fan of “American Idol,” although that seems to have softened some, starting last season. I missed some of the women’s (and girls’) auditions, but I did see Becky’s. I’m really surprised she’s gone. Reportedly she was the second-worst, but Simon couldn’t say anything nasty about her because she’s attractive. But she sang like she had a dick in her mouth. Simon’s dick. Anyway, glad she’s gone. Score one for the fat and/or unattractive girls (who can sing).

I feel bad about offhandedly predicting that the Japanese girl was gonna win the gold medal in figure skating. But Sasha Cohen was all groin-injured (“Here comes only hope for gold . . . and she’s gonna fall.”) and did fall. And then saying that I had a feeling Slutskaya wasn’t going to win (and she didn’t). I was feeling pretty good about my predictions. Until a couple hours later, when I couldn’t get back to sleep but, in my half-awake state, thought I was a figure-skating coach.

And the men’s curling team are bringing home the bronze. I’m sure you’re all as excited as I am.


In other NOT-seen-on-T.V. news, a friend sent me a link to this video. It really goes the extra mile for family programming promotion.
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 4:52 PM

 
What’s Happening in the World? Because if Current Events Don’t Involve a 42-Pound Rock Sliding Across the Ice, I Have No Idea.
I stopped by Michelle’s office yesterday before lunch to drop off the checkbook (for her dentist appointment).

Me: "Well, I’m off to watch some curling."
Her: "You really should take something for that."

I guess the good news is that we have a break (today) before the semifinals (tomorrow). And then there are the medal matches. This weekend, everything will return to "normal." Until the World Cup in June*.

It’s sad, though, because the U.S. women’s team has been eliminated from medal contention (they even had to concede their final qualifying match against Great Britain). Which brings up something I’ve been pondering: The U.S. team is mostly attractive and the British team is made up of Scottish woman (decidedly unattractive/not-hot). What if there was a Scottish curling team made up entirely of really hot women. Or a curling team of really hot women with Scottish accents. They’re hot, they have sexy Scottish accents, and they’re good at curling. I’m gonna go on record and say that such a team would be invincible!

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This sentence replaces a three-paragraph section wherein I expressed and defended my decision to discontinue watching "Grey's Anatomy." And this sentence is to let you know that, while my one-sentence summary won’t make me more of a man, it will make me appear as less of a sausage-riding gaybo.

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So, has Cheney shot anyone else lately? Are we still fighting the War on Terror? Have scientists finally discovered the Anti-Bush?


* Actually, honey, there's March Madness next month. And I'm running the bracket here at work because the guy who's done it in the past got fired last month. So it looks like the sports-related dementia will continue.
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 4:49 PM

 
How the Christ Does One Pronounce “Meme” Anyway? Because I Call My Grandmother “Meme,” and I Pronounce That Like “Me-Me.”
Here’s the deal: I think this is gonna be less like a meme and more like a question. Or challenge. Because, as Styro says, “Memes are dumb.”

I used to strive to do things I’d never done before as often as possible. Which was easier when I was young because I hadn’t done anything. But now, due to a lack of trying, my days are basically the same. Week to week, month to month, my life is as predictable as clockwork. I’m not complaining about my life. I’m just saying that the predictability of my life is keeping me from writing anything interesting. (I think. Maybe this is the result of me falling into the flood-swollen river while white water rafting.)

I postulated to pea that, as bloggers, we should challenge ourselves to do something different, outside the routine, as much as possible. Like taking a pastry-making class. Joining a dodgeball team. Or putting jawbreakers in your vagina. What should I do? Alternatively, what should you do?
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 4:56 PM

 
". . . I’m Wait-ing for my Val-en-tiiiiiine."
So, the Fourth Annual Glory Hole Valentine’s Dinner went off pretty well. This year, we went to a French restaurant. The food was great. Secrets were revealed. Alcohol was consumed (snobbishly). Waiters were tormented (partially deserved). Furniture was knocked over. Imitations were performed. And generous gestures of goodwill abounded.


In other news, I’m gonna post a meme tomorrow. Actually initiating one myself. Because I never get invited to do one (well, except for that one from K a long time ago but, to be fair, it was fucking long). And after an exchange with pea, I realized that I do very little of note and should really provoke myself (and others) more. So stay tuned for that.
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 4:43 PM

 
Going for the Gold
Michelle’s home, and I’m glad. Even though the week of being a single father was strangely serene. It’s not-too-late on Saturday night and she’s asleep . . . haggard from touring.

And so, now, it’s Olympic season, eh? I like a good story, which is the only thing that keeps me watching. I mean, first, it’s an edited-together summary of some freestyle skiing/jumping thing (mildly more exciting than tomorrow’s Daytona 500, so, not very). But then you Costas-ize it and, PRESTO!. Instant interest. (Of course, in this case, that backfired as the girl from Vermont failed to qualify for the medal round.) Although, I did get to see history being made as an American figure-skating pair landed the first throw triple-axel in Olympic competition. (Either exciting or I’m just as gay as you suspect.)

What I’m really looking forward to, though, is the curling, which starts Monday and goes for a week and a half straight. I think USA is gonna televise a lot of it live (starting at 3 a.m.).

That, and Irina Slutskaya. Hey, you think the U.S. Olympic Committee feel like douches for giving Michelle Kwan that medical exemption?
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 10:56 PM

 
Stats That Shape a Weekend: The Holy-Shit-My-Favorite-Team-Just-Won-the-Super-Bowl Edition (And No, Styro, This Won’t All be About Football)

Hours Since Michelle Left to go on Tour: about 100
Number of Friends Who Stopped by to Watch the Game: five
Friends Left Watching the Game with Me After Halftime: one

I think I’m settling into temporary single-parenthood the way I’d expected. Mia makes it all too easy. And Michelle’s parents keeping Mia on Saturday night helped, too.

The focus of the weekend, obviously, was the Super Bowl. I had been talking and thinking about getting some Iron City (beer) for the occasion (not available in town), but had done nothing to further that cause. On the way to watch UFC at a friend’s house on Saturday night, I stopped off to pick up a six-pack of cider and a can of Scotch ale to make Scotch Apples, and I asked the checkout guy at the liquor store what the possibility was of any store in town selling Iron City. He said they special order beer all the time, but you have to buy at least a case. And it takes two weeks. Dammit.

But, as Fate would have it, I was recounting this story while watching two guys pummel the Holy Hell out of the each other, and Wench (our band’s singer) tells me that her boyfriend (who runs the ultimate hipster bar here in Tallahassee) could probably spare some as he’s recently started selling it.

The Super Bowl gathering devolved at halftime. Wench showed up and sat back in the bedroom with Mia watching Cartoon Network (which was inexplicably playing “Spirited Away” [I think]) while the first half drew to a close. And then everyone had someplace else to go (except Mr. ADD, who never stays for a complete game).
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 12:53 PM

 
State of the Union? Would Be “Strong,” But I’m Not Drunk Enough
I really should be writing about the State of the Union someplace else, but I’m not really going to write about it at all. Other than to let you know that when Michelle got home from band practice and found me watching the address, she said, “I’m surprised you’re not taking notes.” To which I replied, “It’s easier for me to drink when I’m not taking notes.”

You know what was reaffirmed during the speech? That I do have a little crush on Louisiana Senator Mary Landrieu.

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Bush touched on the need to steer the economy away from our “addiction to oil.” Which, y’know, is great. Did you hear that shit about Exxon-Mobil a few days ago? How they netted over $36 billion in profit last year, the most ever in U.S. history? Beating the old record, which was set by . . . Exxon-Mobil in 2004?

This got me thinking about those backward-ass chain emails, where we’re urged to not buy gasoline for a day to stick it to the oil companies. Oh, okay. Well . . . what about tomorrow?

I say fuck that. How about boycotting just one oil company? Every day. Let’s say . . . Exxon-Mobil. Do not buy gas from Exxon and/or Mobil stations (unless you live in a town with one traffic light and one gas station, which begs the question: How are you reading this?). Dump your stock in their company. Dump 401(k) funds that carry Exxon-Mobil stock. I’m serious. I already don’t buy gas from one chain in town (because they suck for other reasons, not really political). I have other options, and I’m going to exercise those.

Spread the word: We know we have to buy gas, but we don’t have to buy it from Exxon-Mobil. (That’s actually several words. Spread ‘em anyway, fuckers.)

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On the non-consumer-driven-Totalitarianism front, Michelle and her band leave for their tour tomorrow. You should check out the parade route and go see them if they’re coming to (or near) your town. I’ll be playing the part of “single father” for a week. But should the Steelers win the Super Bowl, that’ll carry me until Michelle gets back. Plus, I get paid Friday, so I should be able to stock up on alcohol to keep me afloat float in. I’m getting a little nervous that the rescued Crown might disappear. Bring it to me, Mr. GH!
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 12:59 PM