My Lovely Wife slept eight hours last night! Straight through! And without the help of shoddy medication!
Everybody say “YAY!”
(”Yay!”)
Of course, I should mention that the eight hours began at 8 pm… thus making her (and therefore my) wake-up time 4:00 am. Urk. I ended up going for a 6:00 am session of intervals, so I at least used my unlooked-for spare time.
But a win is a win. So we say “YAY!”
(”Yay!”)
The four-day weekend has come to a close. Emails have piled up to a gargantuan level. Work threatens to stand on my trachea until I lose consciousness. I haven’t eaten any cookies in over two days.
And I’m wearing pants again.
I think we all know what this means.
GRATUITOUS CAT PHOTO!
And… scene.
Holy moley! Surfers in Nova Scotia! They’re mad!
They’re still mad!
Either a pensive surfer or a really lazy one, because he never moved
Just a whole mess ‘o’ beach rocks
Me and My Lovely Wife
Awwwww…
“DAMN YOU! STOP TAKING MY PICTURE!”
And on that heartwarming note, we end our presentation.
Um. Ok. Four-day weekend. Let’s see. What are we going to do? Hmmmmm…
CUT TO ITINERARY-CREATION-MONTAGE
MONTAGE SHOTS: HAND FRANTICALLY SCRIBBLING ON LEGAL PAD. NURSE SPONGES BROW. CRUMPLED BALL OF PAPER LANDS NEXT TO GARBAGE CAN. HAND GRASPS EMPTY COFFEE POT AND SHAKES IT. CRUMPLED BALL OF PAPER LANDS NEXT TO GARBAGE CAN SURROUNDED BY MORE CRUMPLED BALLS OF PAPER. ABACUS BEADS FURIOUSLY PUSHED BACK AND FORTH. CRUMPLED BALL OF PAPER LANDS NEXT TO GARBAGE CAN OVERFLOWING WITH CRUMPLED BALLS OF PAPER. MOUTH CHEWS PENCIL. GARBAGE CAN FILLED WITH CRUMPLED BALLS OF PAPER EMPTIED INTO DUMPSTER FILLED WITH CRUMPLED BALLS OF PAPER. WELL-DRESSED MIDGET DANCES ON FLOOR COVERED WITH CRUMPLED BALLS OF PAPER.
END MONTAGE
Whew! Itinerary complete! Here goes!
Ahem.
Complete Itinerary for the Period of May 20-23:
Wish us luck.
The first evidence monkeys can string “words” together to communicate in a similar way to humans, has been found.
Putty-nosed monkeys in West Africa share the human ability to combine different sounds to mean different things, according to researchers.
Yeah. Fine. Putty-nosed monkeys can talk.
But do they listen?
I mean, really listen.
Oh yeah, fine, so the putty-nosed monkey can form primitive sentences by ignoring “the usual relationship between an individual call and any meaning that it might convey under certain circumstances”. Well, la-dee-da.
But late at night, when life just seems so hard, and you need a shoulder to cry on and a friendly ear to pour your fears and insecurities into, will the putty-nosed monkey be there for you? Really there for you?
When you find out that your boyfriend has been seen at the movies with that blonde bimbo Angie from Marketing, the one that he said was “way too plastic” when you asked what he thought of her, and now he’s broken your heart into a million pieces and yet you still want to take him back, will the putty-nosed monkey hold your hand and tell you that you’re too good for him?
When your mother calls and tells you all about Sandra Ostler from down the street the one that used to wear the retainer who’s married now to a nice pediatrician and has a lovely little boy and are you still seeing that lovely Robert and why haven’t you come to visit, will the putty-nosed monkey show up at your door with a bottle of Pinot Noir and stay and listen to you bitch about your mother for the rest of the night? Will the Pinot Noir be any good? Or will the putty-nosed monkey just show up with a cheap Merlot and tell you that you have it easy because putty-nosed monkey’s mother was trampled by a rhino so you shouldn’t complain and can we just watch Grey’s Anatomy and try to have some fun?
Ladies and gentlemen, I say the jury is still out on that.
Putty-nosed monkey: Great talker, shitty listener
