(Taken from a conversation with Jen outside.)

J: "Are you excited about tonight?"
Me: "For what?"
J: "It's time to watch David and David go head-to-head!"
Me: "...I don't think that's something I ever want to see."

(Think about it.)

There are a number of reasons I love my wife. This is one of them: Blown out of proportion.

The very first thing I thought both while and after reading that article was, "Uh-oh, look out, here comes Big Brother 'Sensitivity'. It's the new 1984." But being the guy I am and believing in regularly double-checking my perceptions, I decide to ask Jen what she thinks about this.

She gives me a look -- the "that is the goddamn dumbest thing I have ever fucking heard" look -- and says, "I'd probably laugh."

"So, you wouldn't be offended by that?"

She rolls her eyes.

"What do you think about the assertion it was rude because a woman coming through the clubhouse might find it uncomfortable?"

"That's stupid."

That, gentlemen, is exactly why I love my wife: because she's not a freakin' idiot.

( ...politics behind the cut... )

I was going to title this post "From Seventy to Snow" and bitch about the damn weather because we had another frickin' blizzard after a week of beautiful temperatures, clear Spring skies, and no snow to be seen anywhere, but then Jen and I had the best bedtime conversation ever last night:

"I wish you were more like the men on TV?"

"Which men do you mean? Like the boxer-brief models? Or maybe the guys from the beer commercials?"

"Ew, no! You know who I mean."

"No. What men? Like...George Lopez? I don't think I can be more Mexican. Though Dave did say I look like a Mexican drug lord, but that was when my hair was longer...and I'm already pretty funny, but I can try to be funnier. Listen, 'Whu-pah!' See, I can do that."

"No, not George Lopez! Gods, men are clueless!"

"What men, then? There's all sorts of men on TV. And since we're deciding we want the other person to be more like someone else, why can't you be more like Angelina Jolie?"

"Hey now! I didn't name anyone specific!"

"I know, and look at the confusion that caused. So I am."

"So you want me to be more like Angelina Jolie? There, are my lips big enough? You want me to wake up in the middle of the night when you try to cuddle me and kick your ass all Tomb Raider-style?"

"Oh, hell-yes! What a turn-on!"

"Getting your ass kicked when you're trying to snuggle is a turn-on? Getting thrown down on the floor and pummeled?"

"You know, it's that whole pleasure-pain thing, you don't know which is which, especially because it's Angelina Jolie on-top of you. I'd be all 'Oh baby. Angelina Jolie is straddling me. I have a woody!' so the pummeling wouldn't matter."

"Fine then, I want you to be more like...the Doctor!"

"Well, I already have the hair for it."

"Not quite. It needs to be a little longer."

"It'll grow. So I have the hair, and I'm clever, intelligent, and occasionally oblivious -- "

" -- Occasionally? -- "

" -- And I travel around time and space in a small blue box."

"You don't keep a sonic device in your pocket, and -- "

" -- Pff. I work at a radio station? Hello? Sound waves? -- "

" -- Is it bigger on the inside than the outside?"

"What? The sonic device? My pocket?"

"Yeah. Do you have a pocket that is bigger on the inside than the outside?"

"The Doctor has a pocket bigger on the inside than the outside? I've never heard that."

"It's true."

"Well, you can't believe everything you see on TV."

"Wrong accent."

"Casting concerns, you know -- you get the actors where you can. Besides, there was an American Doctor."

"No there wasn't!"

"There was too! He was only in one episode or special or something. But he was American. There was an American Doctor."

"That doesn't count."

"It's canon! One of the thirteen Doctors was American."

"Hah! There are only ten Doctors."

"I told you I was a Time Lord..."

"Yeah, you're the Doctor and I'm Angelina Jolie."

"That's good. Keep a positive attitude! It's important to have goals."

Then we screwed like rabbits.

(I'm just saying that to bother Amy. HAH! You read it and now you can't UN-read it!

(But we did. HAH!))

I don't know why, but I've had a number of vivid zombie dreams lately.

The other night I had this dream where zombies invaded a large city, possibly New York, where we were living in an apartment in one of those high-rise skyscrapers. It was almost Christmas-time, a warm one but with a little snow. There was blood and screaming and running.

And there was a cabal of mad scientists with skinless zombie-gorillas in cages, all their muscles red and bared for the world to see, ready to be released upon the unsuspecting public.

We desperately sought out supplies to stock our shelters -- large steel boxes with time locks and all the amenities of home -- created to try and ride out the invasion. Then our neighbors discovered our shelters, and my wife said she couldn't abandon all of them, for she was the last library of the world.

The dreams may be because I've been thinking about and working on The Children of Uru a bit lately and because I watched both I Am Legend and The Last Man on Earth around a week ago with my oldest daughter.

I've also ordered History is Dead -- an anthology of zombie-related stories set throughout history. I admit, I ordered it for the story about Viking zombies.

My oldest daughter is really getting into the old horror movies; she liked "Last Man..." up until the ending, I quote, "That's the end? That was stupid." And I was forced to agree; it kind of was stupid. Too abrupt, not enough build-up.

We also watched "The Creature from the Black Lagoon" over the last two nights, at her insistence. She fell asleep half-way through the first time since it was so late (well after midnight, if I recall correctly), and so we finished it yesterday afternoon. If we'd had it her way, she wanted to finish it that night when I woke her up ("No, my eyes betrayed me. I'm not falling asleep again.").

My other two daughters also watched the ending half with us. My middle daughter sat with her hands balled up in front of her mouth in that unconscious "nervous and worried" pose people fall into when they are really focused on something -- it was cute. And despite being scared, the younger two refused to be chased out of the room, though my son ran out the minute he was told it was a horror movie.

Oh, and my oldest daughter also wants to do a short film for Chiller's next Halloween film contest.

I am so ashamed.

Last night, I was tossing an empty Pepsi bottle into the wastebasket in the bedroom, and my aim was a little off, resulting in the bottle smacking right into one of our cats -- BOP! right in the head. Now, she had just been sitting on the dresser doing nothing much, looking politely regal, and when the bottle hit her, that changed to a look of utter confusion and disbelief, which as quickly morphed into a look of bewildered hurt feelings. Then she jumped down and ran and hid under the bed, like a pouting child.

Now, I hate my cats half the time because they can be little pests and they're mean to the dog, but I felt so bad because she wasn't actually doing anything wrong or even planning to do anything wrong (well, right then). And I went and accidentally smacked her; you could tell she didn't believe it was an accident and wouldn't come out from under the bed no matter how much I apologized.[*]

On the other hand, I couldn't suppress a grin, either. I was really sorry...but it was still kind of funny. BOP! Huh...Whaaa?

( [*] This, by the way, is exactly how children act. Having cats is good practice for kids for you unmarried or childless types who are thinking about it.)

Something is seriously wrong with my wife...and this is just so unbelievable I can barely say it...but Jen told us tonight that...she hates Avatar! She doesn't like it at all!

I know!

What sort of sick person do you have to be to not like Avatar!? Why, it is downright inhuman! The very notion is incomprehensible! Is there help available for her? I mean, this is SERIOUS. I may have to consider divorce.

Last night was interesting.

I pulled a nine-hour shift at work: nine hours at the board doing nothing more than playing ads for the local sports game we were broadcasting. Even ignoring the fact that sports bore me to tears -- that I find nothing remotely interesting about them (particularly nothing interesting in watching/listening to them) -- I was bored and exhausted after having been there for nine freaking hours with my only task being pushing a button a couple times an hour when asked to do so.

But I'm rambling: last night was interesting because after I was done at work, I went home and found I had a craving for vanilla ice-cream with caramel topping. I raided the fridge, and there was the squeeze bottle of caramel topping calling out to me from our fridge...but we had no ice cream in the freezer.

( Read more... )