- I saw Sicko on Saturday. The 26-ish guy who sold us our tickets at the mega-stadium-forty-three-screen googolplex in Suburban St. Paul had an old-timey waxed curlicue 'stache and well manicured long fingernails. Hmmm. I am guessing he saves up vacation time at MegaMovieLand in order to train for weekends as "Sir Mustacheride" at the Renaissance Fair every year. I would bet serious cash this guy has a life-sized cut outs of Lord of the Rings characters at home. This guy never ever has had sex with anyone but himself. And, to top it off, the movie made me depressed beyond comprehension. I was fighting back tears of anger, and I looked at the 50-something guy next to me just as he happened to glance over- and he was crying. There is no way to not feel defeated and disheartened after this movie. I'm better now, but I want to riot in the streets. Join me?
- After the movie, we went to a neighborhood joint for a beer (I was really unsettled from the movie- seriously. I thought alcohol was a good idea). This would have been a nice after-movie reprieve from the heat, except the loudmouth douche at the bar made relaxing entirely impossible. I couldn't enjoy my nachos or 22-oz. frothy brew one bit. Dear Sir Douche- no one gives a shit about your opinion on the "liberal media", your denial of global warming, your views on talk radio, or what a talented but under appreciated athlete you were in high school in 1978. Give it up. This is why your friend sitting next to you would rather watch t.v. with no volume or subtitles than participate in this retarded conversation. This is why that bitch of a wife left you. You. Are. A. DOUCHE.
- Tonight it rained for a while. Good thing. The heat is turning me into Jack Nicholson a la The Shining. All heat and no cool makes Whiskeymarie a dull girl, all heat and no cool makes Whiskeymarie a dull girl, all heat...I think the Mr. started to worry when I asked him to dance (by himself so I could watch) in the kitchen. Just to entertain me. Tomorrow it is supposed to go back to Spring Break in Dante'ville. I'm starting to lose track of what circle I'm in- I think I'm at the inner ring of the seventh. I'll have to consult my map. Let's see...River STYX (come sail away...) to the left, Harpies to the right...yup, seventh.
- Today, breakfast at the new Luce' in St. Paul. ONE DOLLAR mimosas. Amen. Does this bargain of a lifetime exist in Duluth? Dear Jeebus, I have found thy blessed diner of the 'morn.
- My new bangs, while possibly the most perfectly cut forehead fringes of my life, are cursed. I forgot what heat and a sweaty forehead does to them. I look like I washed my hair with K-Y. This is going to be a LOT of maintenance. At least before I had the shorties I could just sweep the greasy front hair back into the perpetual ponytail. Sheesh.
- Season four of Reno 911. I think I peed a little.
- This was for dinner Sunday- not the most adventurous thing I've made, but really good nonetheless. Spicy ginger-orange salmon salad:
I thought this might balance out the nachos, Sunday-night cheese plate, beers, wine, baked Doritos (let's stop kidding ourselves, shall we? "Baked" does not absolve this sin, my sweets. It merely refers to the state of mind of the inventor), and other miscellaneous crap consumed this weekend.
All of it, I might add...
Totally worth it.
C'mon, life is too short to eat celery. Seriously.
Hope you all had a good weekend.
(me, kissing you on the cheek hello.)