Oh What a Night!
2007-07-12, 3:42 p.m.
That was a song title, right? But it was about a good night, I believe. My version of the song is about a funny but sad night.
The interesting part is that I didn’t have to cook dinner last night. I was going to, I should have, but I didn’t.
The way it all ended? Well, most of us were waiting for everyone to be home so we could eat together. Someone else got their dinner, ate too little (hard to stuff food in a belly full of booze) then started putting everything away. Including all the food. Now, none of us were in the kitchen at the time. I broke away from what I was doing because I heard some suspicious sounds coming from that way. I asked her why she was putting all the food away. Her answer? She thought we had all eaten already. Hah! Jill had gotten home from work long enough to pick up Zach and they were off running an errand for a wedding they’re in soon. (Color coordinating tux vests with bridesmaids gowns). Eric and I were waiting for them to return before we had dinner. We told her that 68,361,919 times. (I’m only exaggerating a little)
Cindy had carrots prepped to steam. We turned them off 4 times, because she was starting them about an hour before we expected to eat. Once we turned them off because she never got the burner lit and gas was just flowing freely – with a flame going on the next burner keeping the meatballs warm. In the end, the carrots were done at least a half hour too soon for the rest of us, but (what’s Eric call her - Tipsy McDrunkerton?) had her two morsels when she wanted. The rest of us had a rather tepid dinner that was rescued from the fridge. Rest of the night? Isolation City. Not brought about by me. She just went & hid. What ever. Her loss. (My sanity)
Goofed up this morning. Being a Thursday, it’s a running day, followed by some spirited weight lifting. (Riiiight, spirited) But. I dallied a bit checking emails while brushing my teeth. Kinda getting into a lively discussion with a local gal I bumped into on Craig’s List about the merits of separation/divorce in order to preserve ones sanity. Friendly email exchange so far. She’s looking for a relationship after ditching her bigoted, selfish, ignorant, uneducated husband. I’m not going to be the guy she has that relationship with, but we’re having a fine little exchange anyhow. Where was I? Oh yeah. Late. Left for the gym late. Figured I’d just run for a while, skip the weights and call it good. I was about to hit the expressway about a half mile from home and I realized I’d left my work pass on the kitchen counter. No pass, no entry into work. So I headed home, gave up on the gym entirely. Just wouldn’t even be worth changing clothes twice to get in 20 minutes of running – which is all I had time for.
Tomorrow, in the weekly session with Gary the Sadistic Bastard, I ought to be really burning it up. Resting the legs on a Thursday? Hooo boy. Gary is always all about the “what the hell are you doing here on a Friday morning if you‘re not gonna crank it out till your guts are on the floor?” Or “What else are you gonna do with all that energy? Give it up now, you’ll get more later”. Or his favorite, “It’s Friday. You’ll be having some legal beverages later, how about a little pre-emptive burn to make room?” Needy bastard. Always wanting us to sweat for him. Sprinting uphill. Sprinting faster down hill. We all love it too. Buncha freakin masochists.
Secretly, when I’m out riding the roads, looking for more speed, or the oomph to get up and over that next hill, I channel Gary’s Friday morning sessions. Or Cheri’s Saturday morning classes. She has a way of encouraging you that makes it seem like she’s asking for more sex. Kinda hard to refuse that. Gary? Not so sexy. Well, to me at least. He’s more drill sergeanty actually. (What do you mean sergeanty isn’t a word? It is now. I believe it’s an adjective.)
Heeee. Just got an email form Cindy. Subject line interested me. “My turn”. Oh, the thoughts that raced through my head. Then I looked at the size of the message. Kinda small. Then I thought well, how many bytes does “I’m leaving” take? 22 actually, then there’s formatting, headers, all kinds of overhead crap to account for. Before you know it, you’re up to 5K. Or specifically, 5,096 bytes.
But – no such luck. She’s actually just asking what’s for dinner. Now, I know for certain, the last time I shot a dinner proposal past her (Yesterday. I didn’t ask, I presented the whole menu, with options), she ignored it, then cooked what she wanted, using what I got out to thaw. And mistimed it all. Or ignored everybody else’s needs. Either way, we all were ignored.
Her email has been sitting in my in box for 45 minutes now. Guess I should just give her a simple plain answer and not get all passive/aggressive and have a tantrum like a 2 year old. It’s tempting though. My answer? “Call Applebees or Café East. I’ll pick it up at 7. Get me my usual from either place.”
It’s later now. Like after lunch later. After lunch and after testing a big honking transformer later. No word back on dinner. Perfect. If this were any more predictable, it’d be boring as hell. Oh. Wait. It is boring as hell. Wonder when that email with the “I’m leaving” in it is gonna come? And who is it going to come from? From whom is it going to come? What ever. Who’s gonna be sending the damn thing?
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