Joey, I'm not angry any more
On my way home from work last night I heard "Joey" on one of Dallas' few radio stations that doesn't suck weiner. Man, did that bring back some memories of high school -- me, shut up in my bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the bed, listening to Concrete Blonde's Bloodletting with a tear slowly trickling down my cheek because Trey didn't ask me to the prom. Trey, if you're reading from Australia, you're a stud, dawg.
Emotional moment #2 of the night came when I got home and took Buster for a walk. I was still reminiscing about the high school days of yore, the dog pulling me along behind him, me humming "Joey" to myself, so I wasn't really paying much attention to the lay of the land. Background information you need to know is that Buster is the proud owner of a brown, furry tennis ball that has a long squirrel tail thing attached to it. So we're walking along ("And if you're somewhere drunken passed out on the floor") when I register out of the corner of my eye that Buster has his squirrel tail toy with him. Huh? I take a closer look and learn that it's not his toy that I spy, it's an ACTUAL squirrel tail, attached to the dead squirrel that Buster had picked up off the sidewalk and was now proudly holding in his mouth. I bellowed "NO!" and started praying to sweet baby Jesus that he'd drop it, becuase I sure as hell was not about to touch dead squirrel. Jesus loves me, this I know, because after a few yanks on his leash, Buster reluctantly dropped it. Now we just have to keep and eye out for whatever disease he might have picked up from his new friend, Mr. Dead Squirrel (who, incidentally, is still camped out in the same spot on the sidewalk, looking a little worse for the wear).
This morning BK and I went to pick up our new treadmill. Though the South African gentleman from whom we'd purchased it assured us that is would fit in the CR-V (I know, SO HOTT), it was, in fact, not even close. So our options were a) BK drive home with the car's back door open and without me, or b) take everything out of the box and try to cram in the individual pieces. Option b) worked like a charm, luckily for me.
After depositing that whole mess at home, BK indulged me in a few hours your favorite past-time and mine, Christmas shopping. Mmmm, nothing gets ME in the Christmas spirit like fighting the well-coiffed Galleria crowds. People, they have SANTAS with WHISTLES in the parking lots DIRECTING TRAFFIC. And the Santas aren't half-assing it, either. They're ENERGETIC and EXCITED about getting all those luxury vehicles safely to their shopping destination.
Oh, and last night BK fullfilled his husbandly duty and went to see Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason with me. And he didn't enjoy those zany romantic comedy hijinks one bitty bit, no siree. Tonight it's The Incredibles at the movie grill -- could we BE having any more fun?!?!
Oh, and Salon published my letter -- suck it, Robert Bryce. FACE!
Emotional moment #2 of the night came when I got home and took Buster for a walk. I was still reminiscing about the high school days of yore, the dog pulling me along behind him, me humming "Joey" to myself, so I wasn't really paying much attention to the lay of the land. Background information you need to know is that Buster is the proud owner of a brown, furry tennis ball that has a long squirrel tail thing attached to it. So we're walking along ("And if you're somewhere drunken passed out on the floor") when I register out of the corner of my eye that Buster has his squirrel tail toy with him. Huh? I take a closer look and learn that it's not his toy that I spy, it's an ACTUAL squirrel tail, attached to the dead squirrel that Buster had picked up off the sidewalk and was now proudly holding in his mouth. I bellowed "NO!" and started praying to sweet baby Jesus that he'd drop it, becuase I sure as hell was not about to touch dead squirrel. Jesus loves me, this I know, because after a few yanks on his leash, Buster reluctantly dropped it. Now we just have to keep and eye out for whatever disease he might have picked up from his new friend, Mr. Dead Squirrel (who, incidentally, is still camped out in the same spot on the sidewalk, looking a little worse for the wear).
This morning BK and I went to pick up our new treadmill. Though the South African gentleman from whom we'd purchased it assured us that is would fit in the CR-V (I know, SO HOTT), it was, in fact, not even close. So our options were a) BK drive home with the car's back door open and without me, or b) take everything out of the box and try to cram in the individual pieces. Option b) worked like a charm, luckily for me.
Oh, and last night BK fullfilled his husbandly duty and went to see Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason with me. And he didn't enjoy those zany romantic comedy hijinks one bitty bit, no siree. Tonight it's The Incredibles at the movie grill -- could we BE having any more fun?!?!
Oh, and Salon published my letter -- suck it, Robert Bryce. FACE!
posted by Karo at 11/13/2004 05:24:00 PM
2 Comments:
nice work putting it to ol' Bobby Bryce. Also - it is quite possible that at some point in the early 90s, we were listening to Joey in the throes of teenage angst AT THE SAME TIME!!!!! ah, memories.
WHAT IS GOING ON, KAAAAARO? I keep checking desperately for an update. It is MONDAY AFTERNOON. You haven't posted since SATURDAY? What gives? Entertain your public, please!!!!!!!!!!
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