01.26.2004 - 3:22 p.m.
It wasn't a terribly eventful weekend. I watched Clerks and Scarface, roasted peppers for the first time, bought various things for the guest bathroom, went to Costco, made french dip sandwiches, and, well, yeah, that was about it.
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Oh, and can those of you with an opinion on the following matter please chime in on the comments section? JB thinks that french dip sandwiches are typically just bread and the au jus - he thinks the meat insides are optional. "At restaurants," he loftily informed me on Saturday, "you can have the french dip, or the french dip with roast beef."
It's possible he also believes a hot dog is, by default, an empty bun.
Also, he never believes me, ever. I'm not sure why a man who claims to love me deeply and have at least partial respect for my intelligence regards every statement that comes out of my mouth with the deepest of mistrust (maybe it all stems from the time I successful convinced him the word "gullible" wasn't in the dictionary), but here we are. "You lie," he hissed in response to my increasingly fevered french dip argument.
Actually, when I think about it, I guess I can't blame him for harboring suspicions for my ability to have the right information on any given subject. I've certainly given him enough proof that I may have sustained brain damage at some point, based on my actions. He's seen me set our microwave on fire by heating a metal-lined cup, for instance. Not to mention the embarrassing comment he overheard last week when Chiara and I were making marble magnets:
Me (pushing magnets around): "It's funny how some of them like each other and some of them don't."
JB: "SPLUTTER SPLUTTER SNORT negative positive blah blah DUH."
Chiara: "Ha! 'Honey, why are round things round?'"
Me: "Shut UP, both of you."
In other news, I have spent the majority of my day thus far trying to come up with a new tagline for one of our products ("gets whites whiter" and "plumps when you cook it" seem to be taken, consarn it all). I typically like working on copy, but scraping my skull for a pithy little one-sentence brand differentiator is dreary work. Plus, it's a hapless task - no matter what, someone will criticize the one we decide to go with, with the following email:
"I don't really like it...but I can't think of anything better."
How useful! Not!
Also, I can't stop thinking of things like "It Sucks Marginally Less Than 4.0", or "Now With the Refreshing Smell of Feet", or "Buy This and Improve Our Bottom Line or I Am Never Going To Get a Damn Raise EVER", etc.
"Didjoo feedthe petsh?" asked JB, half-awake the other day at 5 AM when I returned to bed from attending to Dog and Cat, whose kidney-bean-sized brains both have alarm clocks set way too damn early. "No," I snarled. "I beat them both with a mallet, skinned them for their pelts, and made jerky out of the rest."
The pets weren't on my good side. I had awoken a couple hours earlier, and padded out to the kitchen for a fresh glass of water. As I made my way down the hall, I noticed Dog was lying on a leather couch, which is Highly Forbidden. She heard me, looked up, and began thumping her tail happily, but didn't budge. "Get off!" I told her. "Hey! You! OFF!"
Her tailed whumped. She grinned.
"Mmglrt!", said something in the utility room to my left. I reached in and snapped on the light, to be greeted with Cat's fat posterior poking out of a dog food bag. She was head down, apparently chomping away for all she was worth ($.003). "Hey!" I said, poking the bag with my foot. "Get out of there!"
"Wmglblt!" said the bag.
Thump, thump, thump! said the couch.
Useless, useless animals. I bet their pelts wouldn't even be that nice.