My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Dog and Butterfly vs Letterman


I got out of the shower this morning to discover that, once again, my husband had "improved" the front page of the newspaper. The man Iím married to is unrepentantly immature when it comes to defacing newspapers, magazines, even stupid faces on boxes. He loves to add devil horns, swirly villian mustaches, and pence nezs to any ridiculous face he sees (especially if that face is W's).

Todayís "improvement" was to this photo. See the man and his dog? Well, in my paper, the dog is sporting a lorgnette and saying, "I say, Old Bean, are you rushing downtown?" To which the butt-average chino-wearing chucklehead replies, "Yep."

Ha. Yeah, so...thatís what passes for humor in our house.

I had a pretty good birthday, all told. Many thanks for all the birthday greetings Ė they were much appreciated (and if you DIDNíT wish me a happy birthday...well, weíll discuss your behavior later. Perhaps youíd better wait in your room until your father comes home and weíve had a chance to discuss your punishment.).

Two presents are worth mentioning, both from Mr. Humor:

The Best of Electric Company. Oh, man! This takes me back...back to a good, good, wonderful place. If you are of my era (stone age, that) and/or have children of reading-readiness age (or really, if youíre someone who enjoys a damn good show), you must immediately purchase this. I mean Morgan Freeman is Easy Reader. Gene Wilder (yes!) is Letterman (faster than a rolling o, stronger than silent e, able to leap capital t in a single bound, itís a word, itís a plan, itís...LETTERMAN), and my ultimate favorite cartoon bit: "Who is it?" "Itís the plumber. Iíve come to fix the sink."

Comedy gold, people.

The other wonderful thing I received was a Heart CD. It is currently rocking my world. I "sang" Barracuda to Red this morning. I put the word in quotes because my voice simply cannot hit those amazing Wilson high notes. Especially not at 8:00am with only one cup of coffee consumed. Red enjoyed it, though. Kids are pretty easy to please when they canít discriminate between good singing (by Ann and Nancy Wilson) and lousy, sucky singing (by me).

I have much more to relate but itíll have to wait. I, um, need to turn my attention to other things.

Is this what 40 feels like? Iím okay with that, I guess. Though, you might want to remind me after my mammogram tomorrow. Iím going to need some serious chocolate therapy after that.


9:11 a.m. ::
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