There was also a guy who wore his sunglasses on his forehead. Not the top of his head or eyes, mind you, but forehead.

G punted and is making me do the weekend round out.

I spent the tail of last week in Catherine’s hood, exploring the Catherine’s hood museums, the annual Taste of Catherine’s hood and Catherine’s hood’s lakeshore. In fact, that’s Catherine in the sombrero right before I got in to my cab headed to some fancy pants bar.



In honor of Zunta, I used one of those cameras that make things look like models that they are always going on about. The club featured a friend who now works for Oprah and the obligatory Harpo fueled gossip meant I clocked a mere 3 hours of sleep on Thursday.

(The time spent attempting to sleep was also dissuaded by a cheapo travel clock with a terribly annoying second hand tick. Normally when snoozing I find some noise in the room comforting but there was something wrong with this clock. The next morning I timed the sweep and 30 seconds on my watch took over 33 on the clock. Now as a youngster my mother the PE teacher always had a stop watch nearby and would have me entertain myself by trying to see how accurately I could count 10 seconds. I can still do it to a few tenths of a second. I guess I was picked up on the clocks difference.

Also adding to the annoyance that day was the fax machine I was using had an incoming message alert that was the same noise the Hatch alarm made in Lost. Just as loud too. My eyes would dart to the wall hoping to see a day-glo map painted by Rawhide from Buckaroo Banzai with liquid detergent in the moments before my legs were crushed by the door. But all I got was a ad for a $199 cruise to Disney World.)

So by the time I rolled home I was too tired to do anything and effectively ruined Friday night for all my friends and family and pets.

Saturday featured the disastrous final game of the Pygmalion Softball league and we lost to our bitter rivals 9-7. By I we, I mean me, because the G figured she could either only play softball or get ready for my old roommate’s wedding and certainly not both. Needless to say, when I got home from sports she was watching TV in her pajamas.

We made ourselves dashing just in time for the arrival from my other old roommate who is on leave from Army and the DMZ in Korea. (He countered any accusations that he abandoned his post during the peninsula’s greatest crisis in 50 years with terrible stories of the sounds coming from the dog meat farm next to his apartment. The process for preparing dog is far from humane. Or dog-ane. But I guess we all fight the War on Terror in different ways.)

Having not looked at the invitation in several months (or ever, thank you) we were only partially aware that the wedding was in Faraway, Virginia and even less aware of the 3 ½ hour gap between the ceremony and reception. And while the wedding was delightful (although all any of us could remember was the strange Han Solo reference the minister made early on) the suggestions included with the invitation concerning the space between the two events were lacking…. A) Putt-Putt Golf or B) Explore the delights of Fair Oaks Mall! Slide down the bacon shaped slide!
We opted for a place called Logan’s Roadhouse, which offers all the blues rock, fried death and black flies of a real roadhouse but in a family-friendly and potato skinned atmosphere. And even though we pounded many beers and ate awful things, we still only ticked off single hour. We even tried just wasting time by flicking peanuts on the floor in the hopes that any potential pursuers would slip and enable our escape.

The reception itself was delightful and we all welcomed B and S into the club of the happily married. See? Don’t they look happy?*



I hope they realize when they get back from Hawaii and they move into their newly bought home that it’ll turn into a huge fucking disaster. They can use our lives as an example.

Everything we own, from home to cars to pet is either destroyed, dirty or growl-y. Our fridge, oven and dishwasher sit alone in the kitchen. There is no sink or cabinets or food. The car is smashed and the guy’s insurance company claims they can not find him. It’s the reason this blog has been neglected/not entertaining the last few weeks. Our lives are like the aftermath of a shit/chainsaw tornado and the mess scattered across the Virginia countryside.

There is a serious case of cheerlessness going on around here. I cannot promise that this site will get better soon.

*This is where I gave up on this post due to the crushing calamity that is our lives.