Inanity

I despise the current Wendy's marketing campaign. You've seen them - some guy is wearing that Godawful red-haired pigtail wig that replicates the restaurant's logo while engaging in burger conversation.

I like Wendy's. Hell, I own stock in Wendy's. It's my name. But the ad campaign blows. It's stupid. Annoying. That's Wrong*.

*Almost enough so to make me refrain from purchasing that delectable new hamburger comprised of jalepenos, bacon, and two kinds of cheese, melted between two beef patties. Mmmmmm.

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Hiatal Highlights

Aka, bits and pieces of what was happening while I was not blogging.

I took out a mailbox... while driving a company car, with my newest employee along for the thump. Oops.

A couple of very dear friendships were compromised. *Whine warning* Isn't quitting your job after having a baby enough? Must new mommies move out of state, too?

A couple of budding friendships continued to blossom (y'all know who you are, and I love you).

Virtually nothing changed on the home improvement front. So far, I'm okay with that. I'm thrilled to report the water hoses have been put away for the season; of course, the grass-growing efforts dictate that we blow and bag the leaves nearly every freaking weekend. Ah, well.

My parents visited, and it was relatively (pun intended) painless... even when we all went to lunch with Suzanne's mom (yikes!). My dad climbed another step up on his pedestal by commenting, "What is, is" when I mentioned my mother's avoidance of my lesbianism. Perhaps the moment was cuter because he said it in old-mumbly-man-from-Texas Spanish... or just because he's my daddy and his unconditional love and support are a cornerstone of my life.

We replaced our shitty cell phones. Suzanne's new QWERTY keyboard has vastly impacted the speed with which she texts.

We celebrated Dud's 10th birthday. He remains fit and active, and I continue to believe self-delude that he'll live forever.

We saw The Boy perform when his tour brought him to the area. The show was as cheesy as a fondue pot at a Packers tailgating party, but he was undeniably good. He's also being paid well, a dream come true for parentals of a no-longer-child pursuing a career in music theatre. Go, Boy, go!

I'm certain there were other occurrences, good and bad... but that's a fair nutshell. I, um, also missed my blogging relationships, so it's good to be back. :)

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Kinda Like Back Home...

... where, if one orders a "coke" at a restaurant, the inevitable question is, "What kind?". In small-town Southeast Texas, "coke" is synonymous with "soda" or "pop" to the rest of the country.

In Northern Virginia, or at least in MY household, I note a similar misusage:

Suzanne: Would you bring me a couple of those almond rocas on your way back?
Wen: How many is "a couple"?
Suzanne: Four.

To my knowledge, this largesse of coupling does not apply to sexual interactions.

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Y'all have a couple of nice days this Thanksgiving. :)

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Just in Time for Thanksgiving

Wife of weese thought it was bad when I sorta kinda broke the bathroom door during their visit. That was easily repaired, however, with a little wood glue, sanding, and painting. My mother's treatment of the bathroom sink fixture, however, was a bit more vexing.

Note: We intentionally chose a retro-style fixture to match the, um, style of our 1950's home. That fixture, however, was neither old nor cheap. What the hell!?!?

Although Suzanne and I did manage to procrastinate make do for a couple of weeks, there is NO WAY we can expect our Thanksgiving guests to employ the same strategy... is there?

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Big D Wins!

Meaning Dudley, of course. I wouldn't dare gloat about the Cowboys victory over the Redskins in this household. Certainly not.

After that last interception, Pixie turned her back on the game.

Suzanne was smarter. She went grocery shopping.

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Nothing But a Number

'Twas the night before Chr--

No, that's not right. Let's see. It's supposed to be the story of when I turned 40, but that milestone hasn't actually occurred yet. Lest any of you old farts slightly more youth-challenged folks think I'm glorying in that fact, I am not. I have been acutely aware that nearly all of my blogfriends, many of whom I love dearly, are older. Genteel soul that I am, I won't name names nor point fingers. Some are older than others, of course.

Take Teresa. Hell, she's only turning 40. Forty. Big freaking whoop. Forty is young in my mind, particularly as I witness the energy, activity, and joy of those of greater chronological achievement. Of course, it helps that I'll be able to claim to be in the same decade as Suzanne when I do turn 40. I wonder what other distinctions will herald that hallmark?

• As I will no longer be working for the agency that is slowly crushing my spirit, I may be employed in an entirely new profession.
• I will be nearly three years into the Five Year Plan.*
• I will almost certainly still be wearing braces.**
• I will continue to revel in the joy that I glean from our amazing friends and pets.
• My truck will be paid off.
• We'll likely have a much better concept of The Boy's future.
• My yard will be as beautiful as a golf course.
• And, possibly, I'll finally have changed the picture on my Driver's License, replacing the picture from when I moved to Virginia - when I was 28, with short hair.

Why do I feel like I'll look back at this in a couple of years and laugh? Ah, well. This isn't truly about me, anyway. Today is the 40th birthday of my friend, and I wish her all the enjoyment a day may hold.


*More on that later. Maybe.

**Okay, the idea of braces at 40 isn't all that delightful.

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Ahhhh

A monstrous conflagration roaring fire in the fireplace.
Football on the TV.
Fantasy Football on the computers.
Dogs cuddling.
A cocktail or two.
Good friends, sharing.



A damned near perfect weekend.

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no, No, NO

A brief aside while a guest was on the phone.

W: Remind me later to tell you about [my boss's] great nephew.

S: Her right nipple?

WTF?? If you knew my boss, you'd know why I gagged.

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We're Expanding Our Horizons...

Instead of being embarrassed by the number of beer cans in our recycling bin, we're now chagrined by the abundance of beer cartons in our trash. (I'm not sure if the pizza box helps or hurts our image.)


Whatever. Good times.

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Happy Birthday, Baby

While not precisely how I envisioned employing "power tools" spending the hours preceding football, I'm not complaining. We're a good team. :)