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wooden you
01/13/2007 = 10:09 AM

I believe I shall start off by congratulating JennyTenny for being my 4,800th commenter. Don't get your britches all a-twist over my not giving enough notice. I wouldn't even have noticed myself, had I not just logged in and seen that my comments were at a round number and Jenn was the most recent commenter.

Oh, we're just making up excuses here. I want to smoosh JennyTenny. SMOOOOSHHHHH. She's so adorable. You want to smoosh her too.

[Scene: Other day, in front of telly, watching an ancient, dusty M*A*S*H rerun.]

Colonel Potter: We need whole blood. All my people have donated twice. I'm squeezing turnips here.

Me: And nobody likes the M*A*S*Hed turnips. (laughing hysterically at my own stupid humor)
That Man of Mine: You're disturbed.
Me: You used to laugh at my jokes.
That Man of Mine: You used to be funny.
Me: I'm-a punch you.

Thursday was our wooden anniversary. As in, if I wood have known he was going to stop laughing at my stupid humor after we'd been married for five years, I'm not so sure I wooden have decided to stay common-law instead of going for the paper.

He often says, "You only married me so you'd have an audience."

Not so. I can find an audience anywhere.

I only married him for the cake.

He, on the other hand, only married me so he'd have a date for his wedding.

Still, though. He took me out for a really nice dinner, not to Olive Garden, and gave me a card with some money in it so I could pick out a present.

Me: I can't believe you didn't buy me something. This is one of the easy anniversaries. You just get something wooden.
Him: I thought I'd get you a two-by-four, but I was afraid you'd hit me with it.

The fact that he made the effort to be funny (whether or not he succeeded is debatable; I thought it was cute), is probably the best gift he could have given me.

I'm pretty lucky, all things considered.

It might even be worth sticking around to see when the "richer" bit of the "for richer, for poorer" part is going to start happening.

Fiction:

Nothing going on here.

Especially not at work.

Which is a shame, 'cos I'm bored, bored, bored, and I'd just love to talk about all the nothing that is going on, and how no one at work is harshing all my good mellow in the process, because I want to be dooced. The End.

So I'll leave you to ponder the symbolism of the previous piece of fiction, and move on to pastures new.

Dear Tom Cruise and Katie Kate Holmes:

Let me check again ...

Nope. Still don't care.

Sincerely,

Golf "How Can I Miss You When You Won't Go Away?" Widow

I have caught a case of acute viral nasopharyngitis, or, to call it by its technical name, the icky-snifflies.

It makes the podcast sound even more podcraptacular; however, since this week's episode was recorded before I got sick, you may as well go enjoy it now, before I sound even more nasal than normal, which will be in the episode two weeks from now.

Stay tuned. You know you want to hear that.

I'll be over here. I'm the one burrowed under the quilt, with the Kleenex^®-brand facial tissue, Jamaican ginger beer, and American Gothic DVDs.

I am not making cider, no matter how fricken' good it sounds.

And it does. Good lowered above, that sounds like some good cider.

But really. If I felt well enough to run around buying ingredients and bustling around the kitchen assembling them, I'd be running around doing weekend busy things and bustling around the kitchen assembling kick-ass weekend meals, instead of burrowing under the quilt with Kleenex^®-brand facial tissue.

Burrowing Under the Quilt with Kleenex would be a great album title, if I wasn't convinced I'd have to pay royalties out the nose for it.

Out the nose. Heh.

.:achoo:.

Tags: anniversary, podcast

drinking: coolah
listening to: Urbane Glitter, Time After Time (Cyndi Lauper cover)
coolah: australian for energy beverage fizzy-lifting drink