It's Monday! Wooooooo!
Okay, I really don't give a crap that it's Monday. I like the weekends, I like my job, I don't mind going to it. Either way it's fine with me. I am not Garfield.
Oh. Hang on. Had to stitch up my sides just thinking of that funny Garfield. Where's the lasagna?
So when we last left off with each other, Daniel Boone had come over to rescue my sick arse. I warned him I have no personality when I have a migraine, but he persevered. He made quesidillas. Ole! And they were delicious. Si! Okay, I will stop being bilingual now. Holy frijoles!
Daniel B. had leftover chicken and bacon (yes. bacon. Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm MMM.) and he said, "Where can I put this while we eat so the dogs won't get it?"
I don't know. Cambodia? The dogs were BESIDE themselves that someone was cooking in general in there. They had their napkins tied around their necks and a knife and fork in each paw. So excited were they that something other than coffee and haste were being made in that kitchen.
Finally, DB decided to store the food in the oven, so he opened the door, and Edsel lept 149 feet out of his fur so just his skeleton hovered in the air. He had no idea that thing had a door that opened.
As we were feasting, DB kept saying, "Shall I bring you more? You okay with drinks? I'll let the dogs out." Finally I had to remind him it was MY house and he was supposed to be the guest.
Why does everyone come over here and just take care of me? I can't complain about this phenomenon, really.
Really he is putting up my screen door, here, and I wish I had thought to, you know, photograph it once it was up but I have been busy, dawgs.
But my new screen door makes such a wonderful squeaky Walton's-screen-door sound, and it has such a rewarding FWAP! when it shuts. Screen door! Yay!
We enjoyed having our beloved Daniel Boone over, is what I'm telling you. Tallulah is hopelessly enamoured of him. She is totally writing "Lu luv Daneeel" on her notebooks right now. Remember how we'd use the front of our notebooks, and with the eraser write a big heart and the name of who we liked in it? My heart always read "Barry Gibb." No, I wasn't a giant loser in school. What do you mean?
Daniel Boone had fun, too. He said despite the fact that my personality had one hand tied behind its back with my migraine and all, I am still the most delightful woman on planet Earth. Okay, maybe he said "delightful" without all the other crap. Whatev.
At any rate, on Sunday I had to get the hell on the road to meet The Fireman for my big ride on his manly bike and then for a manly hike. Who pretended she was atheletic and fun in order to reel in The Fireman? And who totally got jewelry out of the deal?
The Fireman thinks jewelry is a huge waste of money and does not see the point of women needing jewelry. You can imagine this has been a topic of conversation I…revisit, seeing as THERE IS NOTHING MORE APPALLING THAN A MAN WHO WON'T BUY JEWELRY.
The other day I got him to reverse his stance on something or other and I said, "That was easy. How much do you have to like me before I can get you to start wanting to buy me jewelry?"
Now, here is the thing about The Fireman. He thinks things through a lot. Like, once I mentioned my deep and abdiding love for the royal family and he scoffed.
The next time we saw each other, he said, "You know, I thought about my reaction to you about the royal family. That was unfair. Instead of making fun of you, what I should have done is ask you what it is about them that compells you."
I thought that was wonderful. I opened my mouth to speak and he said, "Oh for God's sake don't really TELL me. I was just saying what I SHOULD have done."
Who kills me? So anyway, Fireman gave this huge diatribe on how he COULD change his mind SOME day on the jewelry thing, and my point is after our ride on his hog (are hogs only Harleys? Because he doesn't have a Harley. Whatever.), we took this big hike and when we got to a clearing, we sat down.
"You know, I have given more thought to the jewelry thing," he said, PULLING OUT A BOX.
I panicked a little.
I told him the good news is it can only go up from here.
So let's not skip over the part where June, here, got on a FRICKING MOTORCYCLE. Oh, I was nervous. I WANTED to try it and yet I was horrified.
The Fireman said, "My friends thought it was interesting you were willing to do this."
"Do they think I'm daring?" I asked.
"No. It's just you're climbing up and wrapping your legs around someone you barely know."
"Story of my life," I said.
Now, see. Why I gotta say stuff like that? It just SLIPS OUT before I can stop my own self. Who thinks I am a giant tramp now? Is the The Fireman? Grace Kelly, once again.
There it is. AAAACK! And note the helmet with CRUSHED SKULLS that was for me. I mentioned a pink sparkly helmet would be a must in the future. Who is a delightful, unfussy date? Who was already irked at me because I brought a purse? Like I was gonna go all day without my lipstick. Come on.
I get on the thing, and here was my brain:
OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD! AAACK! AAACK! …Oh! Hunh. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!
The whole rest of the way, my brain just said Wheeeeeee! Oh, that was fun! I wasn't even scared after the first minute. I was born to ride, dudes. I am a biker bitch.
Or at least half that.