All Things Considered
Opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo.
I'm also inspired by the suggestions you made on my last post. However, you may be sorry that you participated in the writing prompt exercise.
I can't remember any of my dreams lately. But here's what I wish I could have a nice, long dream about: Colin Firth cooking me a gourmet dinner, complete with copious amounts of lovely, lovely wine. The dinner is eaten on a small table in the middle of a vineyard, covered in white linen and candlelight. We might roll around on the grapes afterward, but you're not invited to that part.
It's not really much of a story. We went out for dinner with my friend and her new man (who she thinks might be The One), and afterward M and I went for some wine at the Majestic. There were some loud, obnoxious people behind us who were talking about golf. They kind of sounded like this:
"FUCKING GOLF! FUCK! PAR THREE, FUCKER! FUCKING SAND TRAP! FUCKING FUCKISH BOGEY!"
You get the idea.
If there are two things I couldn't hate more, it's loud, obnoxious people and golf. Anyhow, at some point I turn to my right and see Bogey's left arm swinging toward me as he gesticulates wildly, nearly backhanding me across the face. I startled and might have fallen, FALLEN TO MY DEATH, golf fucker, if my back hadn't been up against a nice, solid wall. I almost stabbed his arm with my fork, but I didn't want to contaminate my hush puppies and rémoulade.
Alex and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Scary Kitchen:
Alex is no longer afraid of the kitchen, though we take extreme care not to make any sudden dishwasher-related moves in his presence. He's back to his old tricks, sitting and staring up at the treat jar with a mournful expression that I'm certain he practices while we're at work.
Funny Story From the Past:
When I was around 5 or 6, my mother showed me a Sears catalog page full of fluffy little girl dresses and asked me which one I wanted for Easter Sunday. Inexplicably, I thought the dresses would come exactly as pictured, exactly the same size as they were on the page, and clearly I was much too tall for a four-inch dress. This dilemma was very distressing, but for some reason I couldn't explain it to my mother. So I chose the dress featured in a half-page photo, even though I didn't like it, simply because it seemed to be the biggest.
People, it was dotted navy blue, not a yummy, pastel color like the others, and it came with a vest that had a fake rose on it. It was hideous.
I am still in therapy from the shame of it all.
Goals/Plans for 2007:
I made one New Year's resolution, and only one. It was to make an appointment with an allergy specialist. I am no longer willing to suffer for nine months of the year.
Have I made the appointment yet?
You may all scream FUCKING GOLF! and backhand me now; I deserve it.
I did one load of darks, one load of lights, and one load of whites that also had three tan towels thrown in. Can I still call it "whites"? M folded most of it. I use Vanilla & Lavender Tide because it makes me feel like I'm enjoying aromatherapy in a swanky day spa every single day.
Except not really.
Story From My Future:
Tomorrow morning I will get up, go to work, and then come home. I will watch the Top Chef finale, but I won't really be into it because sexy, sexy Sam is gone.