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02.20.2003 - 7:41 p.m.
Thursday
So did I tell you how we're
refinancing the house? Even though we bought it, like, five minutes
ago? Apparently mortgage rates have dropped to the point where
Wells Fargo is going to rush out to our place once a month and
cut US a check.
Ha, ha! Not really! That was
just for "comedic effect"! Even though it wasn't actually
"funny"!
Anyway, it looks like we'll
save some cash, and doing the refinancing extends out the fixed
part of our loan, and blah-de-blarp. So this morning JB and I
had to go sign the eighty jillion pieces of paper that said "Trust
Deed" and "Statement of Occupancy" and "Permission
To Get Goat-Fucked On National Television" and, you know,
all kinds of boring shit I didn't read.
Once again JB proved his responsibility
and adulthood by asking pointed questions like "What are
the various goat types we can choose from?" while
I rested my chin in my hand and chewed on the glittery pen they
gave us, vaguely regretting that final glass of port last night.
Whether JB wears the pants
in our relationship is something you and I might discuss whilst
giggling over cosmopolitans, but there is certainly no doubt
JB is He Who Manages Home Finances (unfortunately, JB is also
occasionally He Who Gives Dutch Oven). He's definitely the better
man for the job - I used to rack up overdraft charges until my
bank statements read "TILT", just from forgetting to
balance my checkbook.
Also, I'm terrible at
math. It is a fact that I refuse to play blackjack because I
can't count fast enough.
JB does take care of me in
a lot of ways, because I am about as responsible as a 4th grader.
Without him, I would be forced to do intimidating adult activities
like managing my retirement portfolio, and remembering to go
to the dentist, and steering my car into those little guides
in the automatic carwash (the horror!).
Does this admission of pathetic
girlishness disgust you? Well, I can watch protruding-organ-gore-spurting-everywhere
surgery tv shows, and he can't. So there.
In case I haven't thoroughly
convinced you that the space between my ears is filled with little
more than the occasional tumbleweed merrily bouncing by, I gave
myself the stupidest injury *ever* today. I was playing with
Dog, which consisted of me rubbing her sides briskly and shouting
"Pig sounds! Pig sounds!" as she grunted and snorted,
and don't think I don't know that mental image SO turned you
on, and somehow I managed to stick my index fingernail on my
left hand under the index fingernail on my right hand. I jammed
it in there so hard a red crescent of blood oozed out from underneath
the nail and it throbbed for hours. I'm doomed to become a Darwin
Award someday.
:::
Well, we're hitting the road
tomorrow and tooling down that boring-ass Interstate 5 to the
Oregon coast for our yearly excursion to the Seafood and Wine festival, where, as you
may guess, there will be seafood. AND wine. And this time, a
beach cottage and Dog. Usually we go on the Saturday of the festival,
thus assuring a heady buzz and/or pounding migraine by 3 PM,
but this time we're going to see what the Friday crowd is like.
It is likely we will 1) eat our own weight in oysters, 2) eat
smoked shark-on-a-stick, 3) drink the equivalent of three full
bottles of wine each, 4) eat more oysters and 5) drunkenly play
with Dog on the beach. Yay!
go back :::
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0
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004
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