Effluvia

Mary, Mary, quite contrary...

Nelson Mandela. Hero.

Songs for the paranoid.

America needs cricket.

Actually, New Orleans has some cricket teams already (scroll down to the "Louisiana" entry).

Journal Roulette

Elurgee - It's like poetry, only not good.

Siobhanorama!

Today, on Passions:

"Tabitha points out to Hecuba that she doesn't have her powers back, indicating Charity has not yet been destroyed. Hecuba remains confidant Charity will soon succumb to the fires of hell. Meanwhile, Miguel, Reese, Simone, and Jessica return home after scouring the neighborhood for Charity. Miguel's startled when he hears a voice crying out from the computer. At the same time, Kay admits to Father Lonigan that she sold her soul to a witch in exchange for a chance to be with Miguel. Father Lonigan promises to help Kay get her soul back if she helps Miguel save Charity."

Whoa, there, Tex. Powers? Sold her soul? Fires of hell? Hecuba? What kind of soap opera are they runnin' over there?

So Tuesday's night o' shopping went very well, thank you. Sonya got a good Valentine's/birthday haul. Special thanks to Miss Friendly Gothic Chick who works at the MAC counter in Dillard's for helping me pick out some fine brushes.

And I did some lingerie shopping, too, just like I said. If I felt awkward about such things (which I don't) I certainly wouldn't have on Tuesday night - the guys outnumbered the women in the intimate apparel section two to one.

The other guys were funny, though. Most of them would linger, just outside the lingerie section proper, and then dash in, grab something, and check out immediately, blushing a Camaro red the entire time. Not me! I carried around stuff, checked texture, looked for different sizes and - at one point - I was up to my elbow in thongs. Not a terrible way to spend a weeknight. And the little old lady at the cash register approved of my decision, so I felt pretty good about my purchases when I left.

And Sonya liked them when she opened them, so I'm officially a Good Husband.

And the Wife got me a new wallet for Valentine's. From Kenneth Cole, no less. She is a Good Wife.

So, to celebrate VD, we ate take-out Chinese and watched Grosse Point Blank, which Sonya also gave me. Good Sonya.

Not that the Chinese food was hassle-free...

See, I come in from work yesterday and check the mail, right? And there's two pieces of mail: a letter from the company that own our apartment building and a big package from Trish. I get up to the house and open the mail. I'm wary of the landlord's mail, and with good reason; the letter says we owe them a hundred dollar late fee. Bullshit. I get all worked up. Then I open Trish's package, which is a great black and white picture of me and Sonya that Trish took when she was here in November, all framed up stylish. (And thank you, Trish. You'll get a proper thank-you e-mail this evening, I hope. You rock.) And a mix CD with some cool tunes on it. So I'm alternately deeply happy about the picture and all pissed off at the landlord. And a cousin of mine is in town, so I'm calling her cell phone trying to arrange a get-together with her before she heads back north. And Sonya calls, telling me to get some dinner delivered. I call Kung's. I remind them that the delivery guy will have to call up when he gets to the apartment since we're not listed on the call box out front.

An hour later Sonya is home, I've got presents and there still isn't any food. I call Kung's. I'm all set to complain when they tell me I gave them an out-of-town number. Oops. I'm a retard. I give them the correct number.

Donna calls. I totally need to talk to Donna, so I have her call back on the cell phone. We're chat-chat-chatting when the cell phone goes dead just as the real phone rings, announcing the food is downstairs. Sonya had gone off to play jai alai or something, so I'm running around, making calls and getting food. Hectic.

A funny coda to the wacky phone phun of last night: I was walking the dog around ten-thirty when I hear a phone ringing. Actually ringing, like it's got a big old-fashioned mechanical bell inside. I'm looking all around for an open window. I don't see one, but the phone keeps ringing. The dog and I head back for the house when I realize it's the pay phone on the corner. I answer.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, is Joe there?"

I looked all around. No one was in view.

"Nope, he's not here."

"Where am I calling, exactly?"

"This is a payphone at the corner of Seventh and Magazine."

"Do you know Joe?"

"I'm afraid not." And then I hung up. We had a nice talk.

And the dog puked in the bed at four this morning after running around the bedroom before we went to sleep and Hoovering up all the bits of assorted lint and hair in the corners. Dumb, dumb dog.