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Archive: August 2003

Beach Party

In honor of the sweet, blessed rain, it seems that Kevin has decided to to throw a little beach party in our home office today. He has ((cough)) stolen my idea ((/cough)) and created a playlist of summery songs:

It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere, by Alan Jackson
No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem, by Kenny Chesney
The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful, by St. Jimmy
Two Pina Coladas, by Garth
Una Mas Cerveza, by Tommy Alverson
Tiny Dancer, by Tim McGraw and the Dancehall Doctors
Brown-Eyed Girl, by St. Jimmy (not as good as Van Morrison)
Take Me Out To A Dancehall, by Pat Green
One Particular Harbor, by St. Jimmy of Buffett
Playboys of the Southwestern World, by Blake Shelton
Far Side of the World, by Jimmy That Is Buffet
Laid, by James
Carry On, by Pat Green
Mexico, by The King of the Parrotheads
Late in the Evening, by Paul Simon
Three Days, by Pat Green
We Are the People Our Parents Warned Us About, by Buffett
Escape (The Pina Colada Song), by Rupert Holmes
I Need You Like This Hole In My Head, by Sting
Why Don’t We Get Drunk, by Guess Who?
Margaritaville, by Oh, You Know
So, while the sky may be gray and rainy, we are in full beach mode inside the house. Grab a tiki torch, a bad shirt, a lei, and some Corona, and come on over!

The Wet Hot Husband

Recently, there have been some indications that my husband is reclaiming his youth.
Tonight, while I was on the phone with a sick friend, my husband was outside. Sure, this doesn’t seem like a big thing, but I was on the phone for over an hour, and he was out there the whole time. The dogs were barking like Charles Manson was invading our house. After I hung up, I went out front to check on him, thinking maybe he’d been kidnapped by the Stepford Wives that inhabit our neighborhood. Imagine my surprise when I found him playing in the sprinklers, giggling like a little girl. (Note: He claims he was setting the sprinklers. Uh uh. I don’t think so. I saw you, buddy).
I then followed him (still cackling, by the way) into the back yard, where the process was repeated. He pretended to wrestle with the hose, but I know it was really a plot to soak me (revenge will be mine). By the time we came in, he looked like a drowned rat. He had enough water dripping from him that he could have watered our whole lawn all by himself.
Not bad for a Friday night, Waterboy.

I Hate To Admit It

I’m kind of stubborn when it comes to the music I listen to. Now, I enjoy an extreme variety of musical styles: I’ve been known to listen to Bach and Eminem back to back. However, I usually resist with everything I have when someone goes and covers an already great song. You know how it is: The song you once loved is forever maimed by some talentless individual who happened to have the rights (for more examples, see American Idol. I rest my case.). This has happened twice recently, and I’m sorry to admit, I was loathe to give either one a chance.
The first song was Boys of Summer, my favorite song of all time, the finest song ever written, and not just ‘cuz it’s sung by the Don (aka, the man I was going to marry before Kevin came along). Now, some band called The Ataris has come along and done it over. Horror of horrors: I like it. I didn’t want to like it, but I do. It’s my little boost of adrenaline in the morning. I’m sorry, the Don. I still love you.
The second song is Walking in Memphis, originally done by Marc Cohn. I love this song. I sang it the whole way to Graceland. I sang it while we were in Graceland. I sang it all the way home from Graceland. Now, Lonestar has gone and covered it. Kevin and I were driving down the road the other day when we heard it on the Twister (good job, by the way, Mister Twister. Keep up the whole no commercials thing). We immediately changed the station because we were appalled that someone would have the audacity to cover that song. Then, I heard it two days ago. Then I heard it again. Then Kevin heard it last night. His first words to me when he got home (still singing the song), were “Damn, I like the re-make”. We’ve both finally admitted it. We’ve come clean. It seems we’re not as resistant to change as we once thought.
There. I feel better. I can now listen to both of these covers at top volume. If you need me, I’ll be singing.

And A Good Time Was Had By All

I went to Fort Worth today to hang out with my mom. We went to lunch and then did girly things. A girl needs her mom every now and then.

He Made Me Do It!!!

Kevin made me swear that I wouldn’t out him until he did it first. However, I was compelled to tease a little bit. It seems that he can, indeed, taste the bubbles. Our lives will never again be the same.

It’s Crap Like This

You just got arrested for beating your wife. You await your sentence. Suddenly, it’s handed down. You listen disbelievingly: You have to take classes to learn to perform a Japanese tea ceremony. This is precisely why I stopped blogging about the news. Sure, I have plenty to say on world events (and by the way, thanks, CNN, for having the Episcopal Church crisis notably absent from your front page…way to stay on top of things. Aside: I have always been, and will always continue to be, a proud Episcopalian. I, for one, support the confirmation of Reverend Robinson. Dammit. Now I’m gonna have to do a whole post about this.), but I think we’ve gone a little overboard as a society when things like this start to happen. I’m all for attempting to rehabilitate criminals, but come on. This is a little too alternative, even for me.

Oh, jeez. I’m becoming more and more conservative every day. Help!

I Loves Me Some Bravo

Hmmmmm. The Fab 5 drink Red Bull. Something to think about.

I Can Taste The Bubbles

But I can’t blog about it until someone says it’s ok. Damn.
Don’t go getting excited—-it’s something trivial.

Just A Thought

Everybody has a color that they love, but they just can’t wear. I have two: yellow and orange. Sure, I could ramble on about the sad state of world affairs, but today, this is really the only thing weighing on my mind. Shouldn’t life always be this simple?

You’ve Got To Be Kidding

Do people still really do this? If you don’t like it, then don’t read it. There’s no need to start a fire. At least they exercised equal opportunity, however, by sending their own beliefs up in smoke, too (and by the way, isn’t that the same as buying a first-class ticket to hell?).

Can We Go On That’s Incredible Now?

My dog does something that’s extremely disturbing (albeit entertaining). I’ve had dogs my whole life, and I’ve never encountered this particular, um, habit before. I feel it’s only fair to advise you that what you’re about to read may freak you out. You have been warned.
Every night, right after she eats, my dog belches. Loud. So loud, in fact, that they cannot be labeled mere “burps”. Belches of wall-shaking volume and resonance, actually. Like a frat boy after bonging 12 beers. The way you always tried to when you were in fourth grade. So loud and long that, if she were human, she could belch the entire alphabet. The first time it happened, I blamed Kevin. The next time, I thought it was a sonic boom. Then it became a nightly occurence. Once, she stood right in front of me and let it rip, like she was proud of her gastrointestinal prowess.
Fearing for her digestive health, I asked the vet if this was “normal”. He assured me that dainty little flower that is Chloe was in no danger whatsoever, and this is just a “quirk” of some larger dogs.
So there you have it. It seems we’re outing all our family secrets today…..

I Do!

Date Night tonight consisted of an early dinner and a movie. We went to see American Wedding, which was hilarious. I laughed so hard I cried. So what if we were the oldest people in the theatre? This was by far the funniest of the three, and I can’t wait until it comes out on DVD!!!!

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