I dusted that mofo off tonight and bought 2 tickets to the Peter Murphy show in Cleveland.
This is how I operate: "Peter Murphy show in June? Why, that gives me plenty of time to lose weight! That can be my goal! Yes, yes--the carrot on the end of the stick! Why, I think I'll go brush and floss and wash my face right now! I feel better already!" Phone rings. Husband asks if I want a Baconator before the Wendy's drivethru closes. I go with a Spicy Chicken sandwich instead.
I bet you think its all fun and glamour and hahaha all the time, being a Gemini. No, no--we have our burdens, alas.
Speaking of food, I managed to make the boy what amounted to a honest to god souffle tonight. It was so freakish I actually ran upstairs to get the camera to take a photo of it. In the 30 seconds that took, Donny started CRYING. I mean can't catch your breath tears streaming down your face crying. I had to console him, obviously, but that meant when I finally took the photos the souffle had fallen.
The kid continued to cry thru eating his souffle (which he seemed to like, tho it was hard to tell) and also while I tried to give him a bottle. The mystery was solved when he fell dead asleep on my chest while we were on the couch in the front room: "Oh. He's exhausted. That's what was going on." I actually ended up putting him into his crib in full daywear regalia: overalls, stripey shirt, shoes and all. I figured rightly that he would wake up a couple hours later and then it would be pajama time. Considering everything, he went down pretty easy tonight. It was just me and him as Dad went to the New Pornographers show. Last night he went to see John Vanderslice. All this of course means that Mike will be babysitting while me and Peter Murphy spend a romantic postshow evening splitting a bottle of Boones Farm somewhere dark and picturesque in Lakeview Cemetery.Bad food is seems to be the theme of the night, doesn't it? Maybe I'm homesick.
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