DLand - Gotta Lay Off the Pho Before Bedtime

Well, I think the next time I'm feeling down I'm just going to report it to all you kind folks in Dland. Because yesterday just took a swing towards the up and up. Did some laundry and cleaned the kitchen (never did wash a dog - oh well). And the house looks a lot more homey now. Jeremy and I went to this fabulous Vietnamese place called Saigon One last night. I will never understand Asian restaurants and their fascination with the number one. But we had some good pho and some soft rolls dipped in fish sauce and peanut sauce. Yum. I felt really immature, though, becuase the fish sauce smelled ... well, fishy. But it didn't taste fishy! So I just kept dipping my finger in it and licking it and then smelling my fingers. Grin and repeat. My husband thought I had lost my mind. I didn't feel bad, though, because it took him 40 days to order from the menu and only after I berated him and the nice lady came back three times with suggestions. Just close your eyes and pick one, sweet.

Feeling good despite the weird nightmare about sharks last night. Don't sleep in a waterbed if you're dreaming about sharks. Bad idea. I think the \"shark\" was actually the cat attacking my foot but in my dream it was one mean mofo shark and I was laying the smack down on it and trying not to drown. Woke up about 5:17am when me and Sharkie's briney brawl was a draw and decided to put a concerted effort into dreaming about something on land.

Jeremy's beautiful milanese gauntlets came today, delivered by our superhumanly cute Airborne Express guy. The Airborne Express guy's cuteness is probably the most dangerous biological substance that will be delivered to our office. He's definitely my favorite delivery dude. And the gauntlets are superb. Jeremy came over just to try them on during lunch. The right one is a little tight in the cuff but he thinks it will be okay. I got some Charles Atlas poses out of him with his gauntlets on. Very cute. Cuter, even, than the Airborne Express guy (if you could imagine).

I'm also taking this opportunity for some service announcements. Those of you with DiaryLand accounts (and you know who you are) should sign up for a gold membership. It's cheap and it helps out Andrew - who is the mac daddy of Dland. You pay way more for cable and that's mostly garbage. Besides the stats are more specific than the ones you can get from sitemeter.

Also, you all should check out Quoted if you don't already. Catching up on that site last night left me giggling while I was trying to go to sleep. It's encouraging to know that there are witty, intelligent, amazing people out there and all you have to do is read them. So take this information as you please. But that's my two cents worth as the case may be.

DLand - What Month Is It? July?!

I felt like Charlton Heston this afternoon, expecting to see the top of the Statue of Liberty somewhere in the Chesapeake Bay. This is obviously not planet earth I'm standing on or at least not in the 21st century. Because on Earth, it's not 85 degrees F at the end of October! And on my home planet, they don't put up Christmas trees in the mall parking lots in October. Perhaps this wave of patriotism has put everyone in the holiday spirit. But I just find it really unnatural to look at a 30 foot tall electric green Christmas tree from my car when my air conditioning is on. Been in a slight funk lately, so this entry may be funkadelic. Can't explain the funk other than my house smells like dog and I haven't made a groomer appointment for them yet. It's nice enough outside, I could probably wash them myselves but I've grown to like taking them away dirty and picking them up clean. The groomer ladies love our dogs anyways. I think they would be hurt if they couldn't wash them every few weeks.

This funk may also be from feeling antsy about stuff. I just want it to be tomorrow so that the day after that would hurry up and get here. So that I can spend that day waiting for the day after that. Not really sure what I'm waiting for. Maybe the day we find a dream house. Maybe the day we've saved up the money to buy the big beautiful truck of our dreams. Maybe the day when I come home and my house doesn't smell like dog. I'll let y'all know when I get there.

Bossman had never heard of stretch pants. You know, those knit pants with the stirrups on the bottoms? Now, granted, they're not the latest fashion trend and I usually only wear the one pair I own on days when I wake up and seriously consider wearing sweatpants to work. I find these stretch pants a suitable substitute. But he had never heard of them. His excuse was that guys don't wear them, ergo, they have no reason to know what they are. I said most guys don't wear bras and they've certainly heard of those but he discounted that as faulty logic. Bah. What did you and your boss talk about this morning?

Other than that, it's been a hum drum day at the daily grind. I'm hoping to get some laundry done (to renew Sweetpea's faith in the Undie Fairy) and clean the kitchen. Maybe I'll clean my way out of this funk.

DLand - Baby, I'm Miss Tropicana - Your Minute Maid

Jeremy: (hunting for C batteries to rob and put in our new card shuffler) "I don't think we have any C's. We don't have anything with C's in them." Me: "My shirt?"

Jeremy: (looking through boxes and bookcases) "Uh huh, we don't have anything with four C's in them."

Me: "Oh, now you're getting kinky."

So at Capt. Colin's suggestion I've decided to tell you all the orange juice story. It's from a while ago but it came up at Crusades as well.

Now, let's go back to about 1996. Sweetpea and I are not even married yet, but living in sin in our cozy little apartment in Blacksburg. We owned (and still do) this vintage queen size waterbed. Jeremy acquired it from a man by the name of Pushkar in trade for driving fence posts at his farm.

Well the waterbed, being the retro style that it is, has those neat little cabinets and shelves and cubbies. Handy little things. We use them to store our books and earrings and glasses etc. Well, I had decided that I wanted to drink on some O.J. before hitting the hay. I brought a 10 oz. glass of homestyle orange juice (the extra pulpy stuff) to bed with me and set it in said aforementioned cubbie. Well, I start reading and talking to Sweetpea and forget about this orange juice. This, dear readers, is the one piece of the story that is my fault. Cherish it, because it's only this one thing.

Well, we go to bed and suddenly about 3am I wake up cold, wet, sticky and very grumpy. You see, my love, has a habit of being an active sleeper. So he will open the cabinets in the night and shove his arms in the cubbies. Well, this night in his tossing and turning he ran his hand along the head of the bed, into my cubbie, and behind the 10 oz. of cold, extra pulpy orange juice that perched above my head. You can see it coming. The orange juice glass tipped over and dumped all of its contents onto me while I was peacefully sleeping below it. I went from asleep to fist-swinging awake in under two seconds.

Now, fellas, this is not a turn on. Don't think you can use this like whipped cream or chocolate and lick the orange juice off your mate. Because she's just gonna be pissed. Sweetpea was still fast asleep until he was awakened to the tune of "Son of a bitch!" and me leaping out of bed. Did I mention that I had kinda longer hair then and was completely naked in the bed? So I was coated in orange juice. And my pillow was full of it. And my favorite blanket was covered. Sweetpeas side of the bed? Bone dry. We even had these nice Ralph Lauren polished cotton sheets so the orange juice pooled at about the small of my back and my ass instead of soaking into the sheets. I could have drowned had I tried.

Well, all the sheets had to come off the bed. And the pillows and the comforters. It's 3 am folks. Genie's very very cranky. Oh, and there's orange pulp in my hair. It's shower time. The whole time, Jeremy's just looking at me not really sure what to say. Any peep out of him was going to spur my wrath at being soaked in breakfast beverages. So he just sat in the chair in the bedroom in his underwear and perfectly pristine blanket while I stomped around the house. By the time I was out of the shower, I was laughing about it. But we still tease that his idea of foreplay is throwing juice on me.