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Okay, seriously. What is WRONG with people?


This picture makes me laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

Monday, August 1, 2005

I kind of wish that there was no such thing as HBO On Demand, or TiVo, or even reruns, because then I could be all "OMG DID YOU SEE SIX FEET UNDER LAST NIGHT" and we could talk about what happened - because if you had missed it, well, sucks to be you. However, since I'm sure some of you will be watching last night's episode in like twelve years when the last season finally comes out on DVD, I have to keep my big fat piehole shut. DAMMIT.

P.S. Brenda was abducted by aliens. There, I said it! God, I could not keep that in one second longer.


We are in the midst of refinancing our house in order to build a garage. Because our office is currently filled with scuba tanks. Like, eleven of them. Also, drysuits. And camping gear. And everything we took out of the nursery in order to make it more "baby-friendly" and less "filled with piles of random crap including Jenna Jameson's literary oeuvre, 'How to Make Love Like a Porn Star'".

Operation Enduring Storage Space has been in the works for quite a while, as JB battled with the city of Bellevue over the fact that any structure we build has to have a twenty-foot setback from the street, despite the fact that the street in front of our house deadends (red tape: the city has rights to push it through someday). This means a 2-car garage can't be built in the ONE space where it makes perfect sense - where our tiny carport is - so he's spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to make a different location work.

As JB learned, I am about as awesome at visualization and spacial relations as I am at speaking Swahili, so not only do I suck at Tetris, I'm pretty useless if you need help planning out a garage. Had I been more helpful, we might have the damn thing done already, but as it is we'll - and by "we'll" I mean "people other than myself" - probably start work next spring. Then we can fill it with scuba tanks AND outgrown baby clothes, by golly.

We might have considered actually buying a new house that came pre-installed with an existing garage, except for the fact that the market is completely insane right now. A butt-ugly little place just a block from us sold a few weeks ago for, no lie, $359K, despite the fact that it had only two cramped bedrooms, one normal bathroom and one lone toilet sitting next to a washing machine, and, as far as we could tell, exactly one closet. Welcome to Seattle! We hope you have many, many healthy internal organs to sell.

Although we won't be adding the garage right away, we did have an exciting appointment at a title office this morning where we signed a very large stack of documents, fed to us one by one from a woman (our "closer") dressed in a pinstriped micromini skirt with matching Barbie-sized jacket barely buttoned over heaving Wonderbra'd bosom and exposing at least 4 inches of bare belly. I'm no prude, but she was totally NC-17 - I've seen more suggestive businesswear, but it was (briefly) modeled by a dancer on G-String Divas. We'd better re-read that paperwork tonight, maybe her outfit was a strategic ploy to distract us from the fact that the papers all said ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY and she's now pocketing our home equity loan and building her OWN garage. Filled with scuba tanks. And crotchless underwear.


Man, I had a great weekend. JB and I saw Wedding Crashers on Friday night, which I highly recommend for the dinner table handjob scene alone. My aunt hosted a wonderful baby shower for me on Saturday, where I got to spend time with friends and family and their associated dogs and we all ate barbecued ribs and no one had to play any game called "Poopy Diaper" or "Guess Mommy's Belly Circumference" and really, it was just perfect. On Sunday we puttered in the yard, cleaning up and adding a birdbath and washing our Dog-nose-smeared windows, and later I just sat outside with a root beer, a book, and my Hindenburg-sized feet soaking in cold water, and that was pretty much perfect, too.

Then I had to fuck up my whole good-time vibe by installing Tiger on my iMac, mysteriously blowing away its ability to talk to our wireless network, so until we get that figured out we have a cord snaking its way all along the hallway from the computer to the DSL box, which I tripped over 49672 times last night as I lumbered to and from the bathroom. Thanks for making me think different, Apple!

Also, JB decided to give Dog a haircut with his own clippers, and now she looks like she's been infested with mange.



Pssst - August 2nd is JB's 32nd birthday! If you have a second, wish him a happy day in the comments section, would you?


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