"Did you see what I posted on your wall today? Did you? Did you, huh?"
I grinned and dug into my plate of unhealthy-as-hell but most delicious nachos that had been placed before me. We were at our favorite local dining establishment, our version of Luke's place. And I knew immediately that the Corbster was referring to the "fake science" photo he had posted to my wall, which combined my obsession this past week around the Pluto New Horizons mission and Corb's perpetual obsession with everything Arby's.
As soon as I was done munching: "Yes, I saw your thing about Pluto and Arby's." After a long slurp of diet Coke: "That seems like a really inconvenient drive."
Corb beamed, his enthusiasm for Arby's rekindled. "I'd totally do it. It would be so worth it! Arby's!"
"A nine year trip in a tin can for an Arby's burger?" I wrinkled my nose and shuddered. "That sounds like absolute hell. I'd be so claustrophobic, watching my life spin away, stuck in a tiny little space. If I left Earth at 21, I'd be 39 by the time I arrived home. No burger is worth that."
"Sign me up!" Ah, Corb is so lovely when he gets on these tangents. "That would be awesome!" And with that, he swooped in to steal one of my nachos.
"Seriously?" I frowned. "I think maybe I could last a year in space. But after twenty years, it would feel like I'd been buried alive."
Corb clicked his heels with glee. "They'd give you way more room than a coffin! You'd be in a big Space station. I would totally do it. I wish I could do it right now!"
"Well, okay, but don't think I'm going to leave the front light on for you if you go. Twenty years is a really long time to wait."
"I'd bring back fries!"
Hmmm. They might be a little cold by the time he returned.
"Maybe if you brought back a beef and cheddar roast beef sandwich," I replied.
They lied. I tried to post a video clip on Saturday of a thunderstorm that Corb filmed at Green Victoria that was absolutely torrential, but Live Journal wouldn't do it. Ah, well! Here's a screen shot...you'll just have to imagine this accompanied by booms and rain splatterings.
I find thunderstorms to be incredibly romantic. And kind of scary. Don't you?
Anyway, great week-end. Aside from the thunderstorm on Saturday, went to a family birthday party on Corb's side of the fence. That was pleasant, but it just doesn't feel the same without his grandmother around any more. She is truly missed.
Then went to see Jurassic World. It was fun, but I agree with my son's asessment (as I so often do): most of the characters are really dislikeable, especially the women. The lead female in the movie was (for me at least) really intensely annoying. I think I have problems with severe corporate drones who only look at the profit margin. That she was humanized at the end really meant little, since she had contributed greatly to the ridiculous situation they found themselves in. The only truly likeable characters: the velociraptors. I gues that's something?
Yesterday was a work around the home day. Mowed the lawn during incredibly humid weather. But on the plus side, we purchased a pool for the back yard! Finally, all the work that we've been doing in that back yard is finally going to pay off . Yeah!
Ashes was good and actually went out and had some major fun with a friend, but she has been off her meds for about three days (they're at Josie's, so I have little control) and it does show. The edge was back...just no major flare-ups.
So, how was your week-end?
"Happy" isn't just the absence of unhappiness, though it might be that in some instances. "Happy" is being in the moment and not wishing for more, or less, or worrying about "what if" or "I wish I had" or "maybe." It is a Zen moment.
Well said! For that, I am awarding you a Golden Rramalita. (Man, I haven't given one of these out in years!)
Opening night has come and gone. Things move so quickly around here.
It's been great fun. Everyone has said nice things about my song. I get to ham it up for three scenes and then go backstage and play Scrabble with Abigail Adams. I have beaten her three games in a row and I think she is rather annoyed with that.
Last night we had about 250 folks see the opening. They were appreciative. I am not sure our director was as enthused, because there were several technical glitches with the show. She sent a rather terse email and a list of songs that needed to be worked on before the show tonight. My song was not among them. I think that means I can sneak in a bit later. At least, that's the line I am going with.
My biggest challenge every night is finding a woman in the audience to get to stand up, so I can point out her bosom and whack her on the butt with my riding crop. Such a life! It's been fun, but next time round, maybe I will try for a larger role. MAYBE. Or maybe, I'll just go back to writing and directing. Who knows? Life is full of choices.
Oh yes, and of course, very happy about the Supreme Court ruling on gay marriage. But who isn't? I haven't seen that much hatespeak. I must have removed all those sorts of people from my friend's list, I guess...
Today is my last day of beardhood. At least , for two weeks.
I know, no big deal, right? And yet, the last time I shaved my beard, Ashes was five years old. That was 16 years ago!
At that time, she did NOT like what she saw. She ran into the kitchen, placed a large pot over her head , and announced she would not be taking it off her head until I grew my beard back. Will the same thing happen tomorrow?
It shouldn't such a huge step. And yet, there's just something about having a beard to rely upon. Maybe it's like having a mask to hide behind, I don't know. What will it be like tomorrow, to have to face the mirror? Pick up the scissors? Start making cuts and trims? Expose my naked face for all the world to see? Good Lord, why am I taking such a momentous step?
It's for the musical I'm in, of course, 1776. The gents in Colonial times didn't sport dashing beards. So, for the next few weeks, I must remove the facial hair and take up the wig. Transference of hair, I guess. Why couldn't I have done a show set in the 1800s?
Anyway, it's going to be an interesting experience. Having fun with the role. Here's a video from the other night at rehearsal. The sound guy messed up the music for the reprise (and I got thrown off, as a result), but other than that, it makes me laugh to watch it.
This past week-end we started focusing on the very front of Green Victoria. I've probably never described this well, but the house is set off from the main road, which is great because it reduces the noise level. You have the entrance, a fairly wide driveway that is surounded by trees (kind of making it feel to me like a house in Cape Cod), and then you have the huge arch covered in vines that represents the true entrance to the house.
But before that, you have the side of the road, and it's not really something that Corb and I (or apparently, any of the previous owners) devoted much time or effort into maintaining. Corb and I decided to change that this week-end, by fixing up the left side of the entrance. The right side of the entrance will follow next week.
And what did we discover? Working at the very front of the house gives you an excellent opportunity to meet the neighbors! Or, should I say, for the neighbors to meet you. I tell you, we've been at the house for about a year and a half now, and the only neighbor we've met during that time is 80-year-old Dicky Whitehead, which, as some may recall, was not exactly the happiest of meetings.
In fact, one of the neighbors that we met this week-end brought up the infamous Dickie Whitehead (God I love typing that name) incident. "Yeah, he said that it was like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre going on here," he said, as he kept his two grandkids in line around him.
"Oh my God, was it really that bad?" Corb complained as we started loading more dirt into the wheelbarow after John the neighbor was gone. "I have to go back to Dickie Whitehead and apologize. He must thing I'm horrible."
"Corb, you had just been smashed in the face with a hose!" I said, laughing.
"A hose that was all your fault!"
"Right! So, I think it's forgiveable that you were running around the house screaming 'Fuck you, Ted' at the top of your lungs." Then I smiled and placed a shovel into the large pile of dirt in front of me. "Besides, it's certainly not the first time you've screamed THAT."
Corb frowned. "Yes, but he's an old man. Used to more sophisticated dealings with neighbors. I must go apologize."
I don't know if he actually will or not, but just in case you're reading this, Dickie Whitehead: WE ARE SORRY. It was an unfortunate incident and a bad time to meet with you. It wasn't anything imntentional, it's just that I'm a horrible handyman and should have been looking where I was waving my hose around. It will never happen again.
There, I feel much better.
Anyway, I think poart one of the driveway looks much better. And I can't wait to see what other neighbors I'll meet next week-end!
...which turns into THIS...
Hmm. Guess we we don’t need a house alarm any more. All we need is Ping, waiting to pounce…
So, why am I looking so contemplative, you may wonder?
Is it because I am thinking about the Swedish fish martini I am drinking and wondering why on earth I ordered it, because it's so damn sweet that I'm pretty sure it's rotting my teeth with each gulp? Maybe.
Is it because I am thinking about the 11 year anniversary we are celebrating and considering all the many wonderful things Corb has brought into my life? I mean, maybe. Sure, let's go with that.
Is it because Corb forced me to pose like this to take the photo? Yes, there is a strong likelihood that is exactly why I am looking so contemplative in this photo. In fact, he even instructed me on how to hold the glass and which direction to look. I am sure that the patrons of the very manly Eagle Brook Saloon (including the boys baseball team that kept running around in the room next to us) loved watching me posing for this photo.
It might also be because yesterday, with one mighty stroke of my pen, I gave up ownership of the Homestead. Yep, Josie now owns the house outright! After twelve years of paying for her place (and never missing a payment may I add), my years of paying child support have finally at long last come to an end. I made it out alive!
And you know what? After all those years of complaining about the unfair child support system, about how ridiculous it is that I have the kids exactly the same amount of time as Josie and yet have to pay her mortgage plus take care of their expenses, too; after all the times I said I was going to wait until the payments were over and then really go off about how unfair the system is and blahblahblah, you know what I feel right now?
Like I just want to have a few drinks. And enjoy the sense of peace.
Yes, upon reflection, that is EXACTLY why I am looking so contemplative in this photo. Also thanks, Corb, for posing me!
Today is the eleventh year anniversary of my first date with das Corbster.
Except when it's not, as the following Live Journal entry from last year demonstrates:
May 7, 2014: Today marks the ten-year anniversary that Corb and I have been together. Who would have thought it would have lasted this long?
Oops! I guess we were in a rush to celebrate our ten year anniversary and didn't check the facts. So, when I read that this morning, I congratulated Corb on our eleven year and seven day anniversary.
A look of confusion crossed his face. "What? Are you sure?"
"It says it on Live Journal!" I replied, pointing to this entry.
He scowled. "We are so forgetful. Does that mean we don't love each other enough?"
An hour later, I received a Facebook message from him.
I WAS RIGHT! IT IS TODAY!
Then he provided proof...from my own Live Journal.
May 7th, 2004:
"For some reason I'm very nervous about this date next Friday."
May 14th, 2004:
"I went out at lunch today and picked up a new pair of black jeans and a black shirt for tonight."
Despite the fact that we practiced retroactive history last year, I guess we got it right this time around. And despite this difference in seven days, one thing has stayed true whatever length of time it is: Corb's my life partner and best friend, and the only person I want to live my life with. So, what's a week between friends, when you get right down to it? We love each other MORE than enough.
NOTE TO SELF: Read THIS entry next year!!!