Saturday’s dinner. That’s a hamburger under that pale piece of iceberg lettuce. Cooked on the George Foreman grill! Those are oven-baked (homemade) fries, and a bowl o’ pole beans.
Sunday’s dinner – Vietnamese Honey Roasted Chicken (this was the first time I made it – and it’s SO DAMN GOOD) with the skin removed (I forgot to get a picture of the whole chicken before we took it apart), jasmine rice with some of the leftover pan drippings on top, and steamed yellow squash (Wendy suggests serving sliced cucumbers, but we didn’t have any cucumbers, and I didn’t feel like going out, for I am a lazy wench). I didn’t eat that entire chicken breast half, by the way – in fact, I only ate about half of it.
God, you know what I’d do if I were famous like Russell Crowe? I’d totally do a Google search on myself, and then when I ran across this entry of Kymm’s (read the part at the bottom), I’d find out where she lives and just SHOW UP one day, knock on her door and take her to lunch. Because HOW FUCKING COOL would it be to make someone’s year like that, to just show up and see the expression on their face?
If I ever won the lottery, I’d give money to people who could use it, anonymously. You know? Send $10,000 to a single mother of two who’s having a hard time of it and imagine the look on her face when she opens her door to find an envelope of cash sitting there.
The best job in the world has GOT to be working with the group that goes around with Publisher’s Clearing House and hands out those big-ass checks.
Oh, man. Al has a great proposal story. Actually made me tear up, it did.
Although I’m not really a big-wedding kinda gal, sometimes I wish I had the whole big shebang, and walked down the aisle in a white dress and danced at my reception and all that. Hey, Fred and I should renew our vows on our fifth anniversary (this year will be four years) and y’all could come!
I’m just kidding. But it’d be cool, wouldn’t it?
I downloaded If I Close My Eyes Forever from Say’s blog on Friday, and I’ve been listening to it over and over again. I just love the hell out of that song, but when I played it for Fred, he said he’d never heard it. Freak. I had forgotten how much I really like Ozzy, and I downloaded Crazy Train, Momma I’m Coming Home, Bark at the Moon, and Dreamer via Grokster over the weekend. Crazy Train makes me think of the many times I worked the closing shift at McDonald’s, and once we were closed to customers, we’d put Ozzy in the tape player and blast it as loud as the closing manager would let us.
We happened to catch the latest Osbournes episode last night (I already saw it Tuesday night, but Fred hadn’t), and when Ozzy was onstage Fred pointed out that he seems like a completely different person.
He seems to be really THERE, you know? When he’s shuffling around the house, it’s like only about a quarter of his mind is aware of what’s going on, but when he’s on stage (or even in his video, the bit of it that we saw), he seems really sharp and completely aware. I read in Entertainment Weekly recently that he said he only feels alive when he’s drinking or doing drugs.
We watched Domestic Disturbance over the weekend, and it wasn’t bad for completely empty entertainment – but it was a little jarring, the way Vince Vaughn went from apparent good guy to bad guy so quickly, and also the way one second John Travolta didn’t believe his kid, and the next he did. What can you expect from a movie that’s less than ninety minutes long?
Also, John Travolta holds his face EXACTLY like Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade. EXACTLY. I probably wouldn’t have noticed, except that we just watched Slingblade last weekend, and Fred’s been walking around saying "I b’lieve one o’ them fellers was from Arkansas. Mmm-hmm."
We leave one of our windows open part-way for most of the day so that the cats can go out into the back yard if they want. Over the past three days, I’ve rescued approximately 23,987 baby dragonflies, who fly in to check out the situation, and then forget how they got in. It’s not easy to rescue a baby dragonfly, just so you know, because they’re very touchy about being convinced to hop onto a fly swatter and then ride to the nearest open window or door. But I can’t NOT rescue them – that’d just be wrong.
The wasps and flies, on the other hand, are another story altogether. If I can’t get ’em with the fly swatter, I suck ’em into the vacuum cleaner. The big flies make a very satisfying THWOOMP! sound as they fly down the attachment tube.
Some day one of them will figure out how to get out of the vacuum cleaner and come after me.]]>
04/22/2002