Sunday, September 27, 2009

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Although, there is nothing remotely resembling a valley within fifty miles of Indianapolis as far as I know. It reminds me of when I lived in eastern PA and would come home to Michigan. When the plane was coming into Detroit Metro, I was always struck by how flat Michigan was. Now that I live in Indiana, I know what flat really is.

It's a beautiful day; sunny, breezy, not sweltering hot. I didn't get my Indy Star today but I did notice that as of 1 o'clock, the people who live three doors down still hadn't retrieved their copy. I was tempted, oh yes, but instead Martin bought one for me. I had this idea that I would sit out of the patio and read it and cut out my coupons (which are really the highlight of the paper) except it was a little too windy and my stuff kept blowing all over and it was annoying the piss out of me so I came back inside.

The spider is gone. And I feel horrible. Instead of relocating her away from the house, there was a broom involved and the spider, alas, is no more. My friend Tiffany spent a couple days with us this week-end. Tiffany, God love her, could make a truck driver blush sometimes. I'd showed her the spider earlier in the week and when she saw it was still there, she told me, "You need to kill that motherfucker before she drops those suckers and they're all over your house." When I told Martin I'd gotten rid of the spider, he asked me what I did. I told him the cold hearted details: A broom and vigorous flip-flop slapping were involved. He asked why I didn't just move it. That's when I started to feel horrible. I'm sure there is going to be some sort of spider karma in this. Did I mention I loathe spiders? An even bigger one is going to show up in my shower or closet or something.

There has been talk about bathing Bennie The Wonder Dog today. He's generally pretty self-cleaning, but Martin says he is starting to need his annual bath. There is no way I am wrestling the fifty pound dog into the tub and no one else has moved in that direction, so I guess Bennie gets a pass on the bath. Luna also could use a beauty treatment, but we can bathe her in the kitchen sink. Nothing like four pounds of wet pissed off Pomeranian, you know. Who would have guessed a dog can give you such dirty looks?

Saturday Night Live was such a disappointment last night. As evidence of the "cool" perspective, both Martin and I were really looking forward to the season premiere. Megan Fox was hosting, wow, she's such a great comedic actress, I could hardly contain my laughter. Oh yes, that is sarcasm. About the only funny thing about her were the incredibly ugly pair of blue shoes she wore for the monologue. Those shoes were an "Oh honey, NO," fashion moment. Hideous. And where did she get that awful, amateurish Marliyn Monroe tattoo on the inside of her forearm? It looks like something her buddy in the juvenile detention center gave her with a Bic pen and a darning needle. One of the new cast members dropped the F Bomb during a Biker Chick Chat skit that could have had enormous potential yet fell completely flat. U2, who I was actually quite geeked about, played the two least appealing songs from their latest CD. They did, however, play three songs instead the normal two and finished up with Ultraviolet (Light My Way), which has a special place in my heart, since Achtung Baby was the very first CD I ever purchased. Too bad they played the closing credits over it. What, NBC has such a hot line up after SNL they can't just let U2 play out their song without credits on their faces? It's U2 for God's sake!

Mia is curled up on the couch with her Blankey, wearing her most glittery crown, watching Sponge Bob. As you do.

Since I already cut my own bangs this week, I'm thinking of coloring my hair today. Why not go for broke on the possibility of really messing up your hair? That way, when I walk Mia to the bus stop tomorrow, the middle of the Three Rotten Boys that live near us can ask me, "Did you dye your hair?" just like he did last time. I told him, that's not something you ask a lady, just like you don't ask a lady how old she is. He looked at me and says, "So, how old are you?"

These three boys are about five, seven and nine. The seven year old in totally in love with Mia. All summer at the pool, he was pulling out his most impressive seven year old swimming moves, hoping to impress her. "Did you see that, Mia?" he'd holler across the pool after a particularly spectacular cannon ball that managed to splash even those seated near the pool with no intention of actually getting in and getting wet. Like me. Occasionally, when Mia was lying on the deck chair, he would come over and sit with her. Mia would look at him, rather coolly, and say, "Could you not sit on my towel? I don't like that." I christened them the Rotten Boys, but actually they aren't that bad. It's just that there are three of them, and they aid and abet each other. I'm sure their mom, who Never Has Said One Word To Me, Ever, took them to the pool to exhaust them because she let them run around like wild animals. I wonder what's she's doing now to get their ya-yas out, since it's too chilly to swim. I wonder if there is duct tape involved.

I'm disappointed that Martin is back to working eight to five on Mondays. Since Dexter is on late start for school on Mondays, it made it a lot easier to go into the week with Martin not having to be at work until noon. Although,I do have problems remembering that Dex starts an hour late on Monday and freak out when I see him in the morning; "What are you doing here? Why aren't you at school?" I'd never even heard of late start for high school until we moved to Indy. What kind of slacker crap is that?

I don't know how to feel about my recent burst of blog. I neglected it and now I'm blathering all over about all sorts of craziness. I think part of it is that I spend far too much time alone lately. I grew up an only child; I crave my solitude. This is, however, the first time in years, I actually have regular time by myself. I'm alone with my thoughts and I've become a much more introspective thinking person than I used to be.

You, my dear and faithful readers, are either cursed or blessed by this.

1 comment:

Ronni said...

Well, I consider it Blessed.