I took a photo of the meal Corb cooked for me the other day. I can't imagine what he was thinking about.
After dinner last night, as we were driving around waiting for our laundry to get done, I took a left on a mystery road just for the hell of it and drove by a house that had a clutch of balloons tied to the mailbox at the end of the driveway. Which led me to wonder: what would I do, if I decided to become the Anti-Amelie, and set out to make people's lives miserable? What if my goal in life was to accomplish three evil deeds?
I decided that I would do the following:
--First, I would drive to the side of the road and take out a giant pair of scissors with red handles. I would clip the tie that held those balloons so that they flew into the air. Then, I would wait to see the look on the family's face, as they drove their recuperating grandmother home, only to discover their balloon surprise had flown away, never to return.
--Then, I would sneak around the neighborhood until I discovered someone baking a Boston Cream pie. I would then pull a Dr. Smith, and cut out the middle of the pie, so that I could gobble it up. Then, I would strategically insert a pair of soggy dentures (possibly stolen from the grandmother in the first adventure) into the new center, and then close up the two halves, covering up what I had done. What a tasty treat that would be!
--Finally, I would sneak back home and visit the neighbor who leaves his stinky sneakers oustide, and I would insert, inside each sneaker, a stick of butter.
I can just imagine my next door neighbor sticking his foot into the sneakers in the morning. The butter would be all soft and gushy by that point. Furious, my neighbor would start knocking on the doors of everyone in the apartment building. I picture him knocking on my door. I would open it, innocently.
His hair would be askew, and he'd look like Darren Stephens after Endora had turned him into a chimp. "Did you put butter inside my sneakers?" he would manage to sputter out.
"No," I would say, not blinking an eye. And then, before he could say anything else: "Parkay!"
While waiting for the laundry to dry, Corb and I took in an episode of 24 . With only six more to go, we're just going through them like popcorn, one after another, and fitfool, I have to tell you, I don't think that Keifer Sutherland's a total idiot, from what I've seen. However, I do think that his wife would have had a career in the 1930s starring in "The Perils of Pauline." She's been through so much...rape, kidnapping, a bad haircut...when they got to amnesia, I was half expecting that the next episode would feature her being tied up to a railroad track somewhere, while the villian (pick one) stands over her, twisting a wiry moustach and sneering.
Oh, and another thing. I'm certain this doesn't bother weekly viewers, but hearing the voiceover about the California primary gets REALLY tiring after a while. Corb and I can recite the whole thing by heart now. "A presidential candidate's being threatened, your family's in danger, it's the longest day of your life, blahblahblah, get on with the fricken show!"
After getting the laundry done, Corb and I arrived home to catch "The World Series of Pop Culture."
Now see, here's a show I can totally get into. And I think I'd be good, too!
"Who would you have on your team?" asked Corb.
"Well, you could be on it, of course," I said. "Oh, and who would the third person be? Oh, I know...Josie!"
"And what would we wear?" Corb asked. "What would our uniform be? Please, I can't wait for this one."
"Well, I'd wear the fuzzy red pajamas I wore on my 40th birthday, with a martini glass in my hand. And Josie could wear her dominatrix outfit. And you...well, I see you with a pair of red and blue checkered pants, with a white shirt and a bow tie that matched your pants. Oh, and leather boots, up to your knees."
For some reason, Corb didn't share my desire to be on the show.
On a totally unrelated note, I managed to get through fifteen minutes of Ghost Whisperer the other night. What a load of shit that show is. The partial episode I endured (there was no other way to describe it) was all about this evil dead bride who was trying to make her ex-fiancee's bride-to-be life miserable. Hah. The only person being made miserable was yours truly, having been forced to sit through this crap. After watching Jennifer Love Hewitt overact through this nonsense, I was personally hoping to take a trip to afterlife, just so I could haunt Jennifer Love Hewitt. The pain that I suffered had truly made me a vengeful spirit.
"Can you ghost whisper a little softer? I can still hear your stupid show..."
I personally think the Medium lady would kick The Ghost Whisperer's ass in seconds flat. I mean, that chick is a recovering alcoholic, has a gaggle of kids and a husband that she seems to spend whole episodes yelling at. Now that's scarier than any avenging dead bride, if you ask me.
As you can see, I'm not entirely in a serious frame of mind these days.
My mind is thinking one thing...four days until vacation! Four days until vacation! I feel like I have a freaking ghost whisperer running around through the apartment. "Four days until vacation! Four days until vacation! Wooo-ooooh!"
Today Pauline supplied me with the address of the beach house. Which means, party invitations for our big Saturday blowout are being emailed tomorrow. Maybe I'll ask the bride of Ghost Whisperer to personally deliver a few of them.