soapboxdiner

WOOHOO! I got a keyboard again

Ahhh! I am nearly in keyboard heaven. I've commandeered the old work keyboard and brought it home. Though it is TINY like a laptop board, and crappy and cheap, at least now I can actually partake of one of my favorite passtimes, bitching and moaning to Diaryland. Aren't you and I lucky boys and girls?

Damn I'm tired, y'all. It's a darn good thing I remember how much unemployment sucks, because homegirl is feeling mighty ready to quit this shiznit (this is my new gangsta rap slang. You like?) in deference to perhaps settling down to breed and get fat(ter).

Sad, sad statement, right there.

So... let's see. What's been going on. Tuesday night after work, I rambled my home decorating self on into Fred Meyers to look at paint chips. There were many fine paint chips at Fred Meyers. I liked two. So I bought a pint of each and came home to slap two patches on the recessed walls of the kitchen for a test drive - Halloween and Orange Fiesta they were. Halloween turned out to be a bit dark for my liking, so Orange Fiesta it was!

After the test drive, Marcus and I chatted on the phone, at which point he apologized for standing me up for Saturday night's party-rama entertainment center construction. I told him it was fine and not to worry about it - he was fired.

He retorted, "Fired!?! I haven't even started yet!"

insert high school girl giggles right... here. Not out loud giggles though, because that would, quite obviously, be totally indicative of me being UNCOOL, man. And really, what is a girl without her composure and poise?

So for two days, I have been pondering the significance of the use of the word, "yet" in his statement. Was the word used inoccuously? Was it a Freudian slip indicating his interest? And if so, when will he start making some groovy moves? And if he DOES make some groovy moves, can I use those moves to molest his delicate self? And if I molest him, will he respect me in the morning? Will he think I'm a ho? Cuz I definitely don't want him to think I'm a ho. Well, just until expectations and boundaries are established and we know what we're doing. After that, THEN it will be okay for me to be a ho. We can then be ho's together. We will bond over the ho. It promises to be great fun!

So he needs to hurry up and make some moves one way or the other. It's time for him to step up to the plate, darlings. I've done all the work so far, which hasn't been much, but I've asked for his email and number. I've invited him to my party, I've invited him over to my house. He needs to kiss me, dammit, so I can stop feeling like a big baffoon wondering.

Shit.

So last night, I painted the rest of the wall Fiesta. It looks marvelous, darlings. Except those spots where the caulking shows through. Who knew "nonpaintable" caulk wouldn't hold paint? Sigh. It's the little things.

The Good Neighbor then came to ooh and ahh at the Fiesta Orange wall and stated it was like my very own personal version of Trading Spaces. Her daughter concurred, and then invited me over for more chili/mac & cheese for dinner. As it was 8 in the pm and we hadn't eaten yet, Steven and I happily acquiesced to some nourishment. We sat the kids at the table and ourselves in the living room for a rousing good time with more buttery nipples and the first half of Red Dragon, which I am both happy and sorry to say bears striking similarities to Silence of the Lambs. And despite the fact that Sir Anthony is looking older that butt these days, he's STILL one charismatic mofo. Add to the fact that Ed Norton and Harvey Keitel are also among the cast, I was in stud heaven until 10, at which time I promptly stated I was the walking dead and had to go home for sleep.

I also began the musical selection process for the Gathering de SBD last night, while painting, mind you. I can happy state that there will be much SOS Band, Blondie, Orange Juice Jones, and The Commadors on rotation. But I only have about 90 minutes of tunes in the playlist currently, so I need to get hopping on it, or else face the embarrassing predicament of repeating Well she's a brick HoWWWWSE! three to five times throughout the festivities. And though I can honestly say singing She mighty mightaay, just letting it ALL hang out tops MY list of fun ways to spend an evening, even I have my brick house limits.

And so, darlings, with that thought swirling madly about your brains and mine, I will leave you. And if you are feeling the love as I am, please add your thoughful consideration with my own in wondering, when WILL that man slip the SBD some lip action? I know you're dying with the same anticipation that is nerve ending by nerve ending wittling away at my own life force.

The happiest of tortures, isn't it?

6:30 pm - 04.10.03
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