Frog and Goat

Finally, last night I slept. I haven’t really slept well since last Friday. Two of those nights, I ended up on the couch reading. This sleepless thing happens occasionally and almost always coincides with a full moon. The odd thing is that today is the day that I’m tired.

Last night we watched Things I Hate About You. It took me a minute, but I identified the “relationship expert” as that chick from the Bobby Flay show. Let me get this straight–you are a relationship expert? Mmm, funny how your bio doesn’t mention years of schooling in psychology or psychiatry or that you have a MSW. Liar.

We kept watching Things I Hate…because I couldn’t stop laughing at the ads for the show next week where one guy vacuums the other guy (after not really sleeping for the last several days, I’m all for finding fault with someone who can sleep through getting vacuumed). It does disturb me though how much they look like each other. Go check out the link–couldn’t they be twins?

I have a very close friend who is turning 40 next week. Hahahahahahahaha. I spent some time thinking of what I should get her for her birthday because even though we don’t always give each other gifts I figured this was a milestone birthday and I should do something more than take her out to lunch (which we’re doing too). I have finally come up with something that I think she’ll like and I’m having a great time pulling it together. It is especially fun trying to incorporate things we’ve done together that fit with the theme of the gift. No, I’m not going to tell you what it is because she’ll find out and the fabulousness of the gift will be diminished. I’ll reveal next week.

In thinking about her birthday, I did for a split-second think of getting her a forty for her 40th. And, that reminds me of the time that a co-worker and I were eating lunch across the street from our office building and the waitress, who was always having a row with the deli owner, asked us if we could go get her a forty. My co-worker and I looked at each other and cracked up.

Only 10 shopping days left until National Underwear Day (on Aug. 11th).

My friend A (who lives in Arizona but hails from Virginia) had some family tragedies this past week. Her parents were visiting when her mother learned her father had passed away. A’s parents decided to head home early. They were in a car accident in New Mexico on the way home and my friend A’s mother was killed. Her father has some broken bones, not to mention his broken heart. From what I can gather, a drunk/high person was headed the wrong way on the road and ran several people off the road. Then my friend’s mother swerved to avoid a head-on with the dumbass and was hit by another car swerving as well.

We’re headed to Arlington tomorrow to attend the funeral.

I didn’t know A’s parents very well but I’ve had some contact with them over the 18 years (wow! has it been that long?) that I’ve known A. I have spent the night at their house. Her parents were very nice. They raised a great daughter and it is shame that their life together had to end this way. It pisses me off too. I can only assume that the person responsible will be found and dealt with. If not in this lifetime, then in the next.

Today the better-half had something to return to Tuesday Morning (if you don’t have a Tuesday Morning in your area, it is a store that sells household goods for 50-80% off) before the time expired on returns. What was he returning? Something he purchased for his mother’s birthday. We got it home and it didn’t work. Have I mentioned that nearly everything we do for her ends up this way?

The store has been closed for the last few weeks for restocking and we were worried they wouldn’t open in time for the item to be returned. Although, honestly, they would have either given us our money back or I was prepared to make a scene. While the better-half went through the process of getting his money back, I wandered around. I couldn’t really tell what “new treasures” were there since it looked like the same old stuff piled on top of the same old stuff.

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