So, it�s been a few days. Allow me, if you will, to begin at the beginning, and we�ll see where we end up.
Friday was pretty much one of those days that only a certain percentage of the population can really appreciate. Nothing much happened; I spent the night taking care of some really important chores I�d been meaning to take care of, but I had consistently found �procrastinating� one item higher on the �To Do� list. So I took care of chores, and I watched an Alfred Hitchcock movie, and it made me quite happy.
On Saturday, I was awakened by some bastard screaming my very name into the early dawn sky at some unholy hour when even the sun couldn�t be troubled to show its head. I hauled my weary carcass out of bed after ten full minutes of this, and made some very slow progress to the open window. As it turns out, I have a neighbor with a name that sounds very much like mine, and a bunch disrespectful, cat-fucking Sodomites for friends, who like to scream in the early morning hours. I returned to bed.
Shortly thereafter, I was awakened by a �courtesy� call from Citibank, to alert me to some indispensable deal that would make my life like one of those 1950�s-era Home Of The Future trade shows where the clothes fold themselves and the cars run on whole milk. I told Warren from Citibank that he could take his shiny, new platinum Visa, with its nebulous Trusted Customer Benefit Points System, and shove it sideways up his hole. I felt a little guilty, because of how I now kind of work in telemarketing and all, but I say if you wake someone up on a Saturday, you take your chances. I returned to bed.
I was awakened fifteen minutes later by the pealing of the telephone, again. I was I was about to start weeping openly, when I realized it was Lauren! She and Jessica were calling me from the Paris in Rock Vegas, because Heather was stuck at home with Scarlet Fever or Hanta Virus or something, and they were hoping I could do a kind deed and bring her that new book about the nerdy kid that does magic tricks. Harvey Potter, or something.
Basically, Jessica�s copy was coming in the mail that day, and they asked if I could pick it up and deliver it to Heather while performing a striptease. Or something. It�s possible I added some of that on my own. I was very tired. But anyway, I can't resist a good striptease (mine or anyone else's), so I went and got the book. As it turned out, this was slightly more difficult than expected, because it wasn�t where it was supposed to be, but rather trickily hidden elsewhere in a basket under some magazines and while we�re on the topic, could Entertainment Weekly have possibly selected a less flattering photograph of the usually beautiful Hugh Jackman for its cover this week? But I then made off to deliver it.
So I go to Heather�s, and she comes to the door all looking like Barbara Hershey at the end of Beaches (by which I mean [spoiler!] close to death), and yet still ravishing as ever, and I drop off the book (which, of course, she already had -- but she briefly considered hiding it so as not to hurt my feelings, which is awfully nice of her). We then chatted briefly, but I felt bad, because I could tell how miserable she was, what with the bleeding ulcers on the inside of her throat. But then my cell phone rang, and I was whisked away by the call of duty.
See, May Day�s friend, The Notorious P.A.M., was arriving in town from Japan. May Day herself was still on her vacation to the Great White North (i.e. -- Michigan), and I had to play host for PAM in the meantime. We�d never met, but I�d heard great stories about her. Anyway, we met, she napped, we dined, we watched Nearly Famous: Showgirls 2 on E! and laughed about how the choreographer�s name is �Mistinguett�, like, what the fuck is that? On Sunday, we did some shopping in the afternoon, and spent the evening watching DVDs of Sports Night and cursing the name of Aaron Sorkin over pizza, before picking up May Day at the airport.
We then returned to Chateau Day-No, whereupon May Day acquainted me with a bag full of bent kitchen implements she had inherited, that we now call our own. From this day forth, my cheese will always be grated and my sausage will always get thoroughly tong-ed. After a lot of jet lag-induced hi-jinks, it was off to bed with us all.
Today, there was work and there were pina coladas, but I don�t have time or energy for all that now. G�night!
I know. I still can�t access the quiz site. In the meantime, suck on another rerun. Damn my home computer, with its f�d up connection!
