Ah, a Wednesday morning. I forgot my lunch today, too. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Doritos, a cup o' peaches and a Mountain Dew. All in a paper bag with a paper towel and a plastic spoon. Damn.

However, if I get a drink out of the machine here at work and go get a couple of bean burritos at Taco Bell I'll have a penny to spare from the two bucks I've got in my pocket. So there's a happy ending.

What's been going on? Well, Friday night we went to dinner at Kent and James' new house, a big ol' bungalow near the University of Memphis with a half-finished attack and a sprawling backyard, complete with treehouse. It's a great place, and as usual Sonya and I left with House Envy. Every time we go to their house it happens; we walk away thinking "owning a house is cool." We ate chicken...marsala? Masala? Chicken from an Indian restaurant, anyway. We've been told we'll have to rely on Indian food in London, so now we know what to order. This is good.

Saturday Sonya went to the Salon while I went to pay some bills and visit Donna, from whom I got the picture featured in the last episode. She'd been to a wine-tasting the night before, so I woke her up from a lovely late-Saturday-morning couch-nap.

Donna, who works the second shift, complained about her dating options.

"How am I supposed to date if I'm working second shift?" she asked, "the only people who keep those hours are musicians and drug addicts..."

"And there are some fine blue-collar fellows working three to eleven," I added.

It requires further consideration, doesn't it? Or she needs to date a day-working guy who's willing to hook up late-night.

Saturday evening! A big night, as I got to wear the cool strappy plaid pants for the first time in Memphis. We went to the movies with Shawn, the Cutter of Hair, and his friend, a very pleasant Australian Guy whose name totally escapes me, to see Drowning Mona. It was funny, very slapstick. Danny DeVito picks good roles these days, doesn't he? And Neve Campbell's got that little squint. I love it.

After that we went to In The Grove for a drink, which we had standing 'cause the place was packed full of beautiful people.

A crude yet amusing story from In The Grove: we're standing by the bar, talking to a couple of friends of Shawn's, when someone - and it was no one in out little group, I assure you - released a truly foul fart. I mean, conversation stopped and everyone took a step back. It was ammonia-like in its strength.

And it's usually such a refined place.

And since Shawn's friend was Australian, I had to ask him the obvious question:

"You gonna throw a shrimp on the barbie later?"

But In The Grove was too damned crowded, so we went to Side Street for more drinks and french fries. Also, Shawn has recently gotten a 2000 Eclipse, so we had a little mutual-admiration society going on in the parking lot

"I think you made an excellent choice with that car."

"And I really like your car."

"But yours is nicer."

"No, yours is."

And so on.

About midnight-ish we went to Shawn's apartment where the Australian Guy (whom, if he were going to be referred to again in this entry, would be called Joey) bid us goodnight since he had to work the next day. We went upstairs to let Shawn change clothes and grab a bottle of vodka while Sonya and I played with Tucker, Shawn's somewhat high-strung pug dog. Tucker, when he hears a female voice, howls pitifully, even though all the while he wags his tail. I mean, it sounds like he's being injured. Of course, Sonya kept talking and made him howl again and again.

"That's his wail of joy," Shawn explained.

Then we were off to Backstreet, where much dancing and drag-queen watching ensued. Sonya became quite intoxicated, I might add, and after making a few strong announcements to the throng gathered on the back porch there I took her home, where I stripped her of her clothes and left her sitting, giggly and half-naked, in the chair in our living room.

I went to walk the dog and when I came back The Wife was in a coma on the couch, buried under blankets and pillows.

"You want to come to bed or stay in here?" I yelled, shaking her.

"Unguh. Muh. Bubbuh," she replied. I left her on the couch.

Sunday was a social day, starting with brunch at Zinnie's with Tweak (one of Sonya's fellow Eddie Izzard enthusiasts) and her boyfriend. Afterwards they came to our house to watch some Eddie while I worked on a freelance job. Sunday night Glen The Prick (a coworker of mine from the last job) came over to drink beer and watch Tenacious D videos.

Here's an amusing story Glen told us:

Early Sunday morning Glen received a call from a guy we'll call Bubba, a friend of his from his hometown. Bubba was not drunk; a rare thing, apparently, for their phone conversations.

"I did a good lookin' girl last night," Bubba bragged to Glen.

"Where?" Glen asked.

"In the puss, dude - where else?" Bubba replied.

Now that's funny.

This week has been frantic, after-work-wise. Monday we did laundry, started packing and cleaned some of the house. Last night I got a hair-cut.

Shawn cut my hair, of course. We were talking and I admired the number of people Shawn knows when we go out with him.

"Everybody wants to be with a hair stylist," Shawn mused, "it's like we're a fantasy for most people."

"I think they just want free haircuts," I said.

Speaking of haircuts...man! I got my money's worth yesterday, that's for damned sure. When Shawn got done with his initial cutting and I looked at it I saw a depresingly large amount of bald head.

"Buzz me," I told him.

The results are very Trainspotting, I think. I like it. It's a sensible travel haircut.

Tonight we go to West Memphis to visit with family, stop by Walgreen's and continue cleaning and laundering. The goal is to leave a clean house and be ready Thursday night for a Friday morning departure.

I'll try and put something up tomorrow, and I'll be back in the country on the twenty-second. I'll have lots to talk about then.

And I've been having the most vivid dreams lately. They're crystal clear and they stay with me long after I wake up. The other night I was having a raunchy affair with this Asian woman. Last night I dreamed I was the perpetrator in a particularly notorious local murder. I woke up this morning sure that the police would be at the door - I didn't know who or where I was.

And here's a theme in my dreams that's been going on for a while now: at some point in my dream I have to cross the Mississippi River. However, I'll get there and the bridges across the river are either washed out or, at some point in their span, go under the water.

What the hell does that mean?

Bonus!

Here's the prototype for a comic strip I'm working on. No names or anything, just comic gold.

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