A lazy Saturday

So… Tara and I had late night espresso to try to fix our aching stomachs (we both ate WAY too much tasty burger in Harvard Sq.) and now, at one-thirty in the morning, we're having a domestic frenzy. Dishes have been done, the house has been lightly picked up, and Tara is having an underwear fashion show with the fifteen or so pair she picked up yesterday. Yep. Fifteen. So far, the two times she came out looking like an Art Kyd version of Wonder woman have been my favorite.

She just said "oop, found another superhero pair"

They were so fabulous, I made up a portmanteau on the spot: Joyancy. That's right joyful and buoyancy. A warning to the wise. When used, be careful not to make reference to viewing of bums, else it's 20 cracks across the noggin for you and your Freudian-slipping tongue.

Ow. My poor noggin. Silly tongue.


…


now it's a quarter to five in the afternoon and my teeth hurt from biting a rouge clove in the French toast this morning. By this morning I mean an hour ago.

Now we're actually cleaning the house. Smashing pumpkins on the Ipod. Not a fan, never really a fan. I take it back, Tara is doing the Laundry, I'm in the middle of letting some dishes air dry, and the Ipod has gone crazy. Honestly, I'm expecting it to gain consciousness and try to convince us that it is an Elder Cog (was supposed to be God, but I like Cog better.) and that we should sacrifice cats and invest into petrochemical corporations to appease it. perhaps the late night espresso hasn't yet worn off.

Tara returns with Laundry. I love hot, freshly dried laundry – except when it's 93 degrees outside. This is a bit boggling to me, since it was in the low fifties last night. I wonder when the horses run. I want to know whether or not big brown streaked across the field or not.

Myque, that was juvenile and a bit gross.

I'm sorry. Really I am. I blame the Ipod. It's gone crazy. In fact I'll be right back!

...


The Ipod and I had to have a little talk. I fed it cake, and it fed me Cake. A win/win situation, that is until Tara shows up and wonders why her Ipod is buried in her Red Velvet cake that she was saving… I hope at the very least she puts on her wonder woman pants before pounding upon me. It may be abuse, but at least it'll rank high in Joyancy! - to be honest, the only thing true about this previous paragraph is that the ipod was playing Cake (Frank Sinatra) while I wrote it. not it seems like it's switched to the violent femmes. Mmmm. I feel so joyant right now.


Man, this has grown into quite a book, and not only that, but a tell-all type memoir at that! Huh, I had better wrap it up then.

I wonder if the horse won yet? CNN tells me that Clinton endorses Obama, and that Boston is up by 2 over Seattle, and that Wonder Woman found a dead body in the Potomic, but nothing about the Horse that UPS loveth so.

If I owned a Horse called big brown, after studding him, I'd dye him pink.

Thanks for coming over!
Waffles.