It Means "Rooster," Silly
Brandon enjoyed the Street Dreamz entry from yesterday; however, he did feel the need to set me straight on a few (meaning most) of the details. His email to me:
that's too funny! However, your reporting is NOT accurate, ma'am. My brother, not I, was a member of Street Dreams. By the time I got my license, Street Dreams had disbanded. The opportunity was gone before I had a chance to take over - which WAS my plan. My little Eclipse would have been "Total Eclipse of the Heart" airbrushed on the license plate. My handle was going to be Lunar! But I never had a chance to make that street dream a reality!
Sorry Brandon/Lunar. And thanks for keeping it real.
So, it was about 80 degrees here on Monday. It is now Wednesday, and it is 42 degrees. The hell? I just spent too much money on new springy clothes, and I had to pull out the wool pants, turtleneck and grown-up coat this morning. I was not happy, especially since I had something remotely cute picked out to wear to my friend Kevin's going-away dinner tonight at the embarrassingly-named Cock of the Walk . Mmm, catfish, fried pickles, and servers who flip cornbread 15 feet in the air. We know how to class it up for special occasions, my friends and I.
Ha, I just realized, in my last few entries, I sound like a total redneck tool. With the car art, the Mule Day, the Heroes and Friends, I am pretty impressive. But that's okay.
My hands smell like onions today, which is just lovely. I woke up this morning at the effing crack of dawn to make some Cracker Barrel-style hashbrown casserole (again with the class and sophistication) for my friends with the new baby. When I took it out of the oven, it took all my strength and will power not to eat any of it. Seriously. Anyway, the casserole and the white chili I made for them both required my chopping onions, and despite washing my hands 17 times, the smell lingers. Nice.
Seth's birthday is next month. He'll be twenty-six. He's always sort of gotten shafted on his birthday. Last year, it was because of our wedding falling so soon after; before that, it was always finals time at school. I've arranged to take that day off from work, and I was trying to think of ideas for some sort of Day of Fun. I tried asking at that crapping GuyCritical.com site, but I should have known better. All of the answers I got were misspelled, grammatically ridiculous things about weird costumes and food-play. Hi, I didn't know I was asking fourteen year-olds. Besides, we are dorks, and I was thinking we would go feed ducks and do some shopping and have ice cream. That kind of stuff. Eh. No wonder my husband never gets excited about his birthday. Surely I can think of some random fun crap to do. Anyone?
Working for the government blows sometimes. To be nice, our library Personnel Committee is hosting a friends and family picinic at our local minor-league ballpark. Aw. We can go and eat hot dogs and hamburgers and chips, then go to the game. Nice, right? For my husband and me to go, it will cost $28. What? Tickets to the crapassed Nashville Sounds games are always free. Always. People are giving them away everywhere you look, free with carwashes, free when you give blood, free when you rent movies. These are not hotttt tickets. Have you ever heard of the Nashville Sounds? Exactly. I can't really justify spending $14 apiece on hotdogs, so I guess we won't be going. Thanks so much, Personnel Committee.
Well, obviously I'm rambling about nothing today, so I guess that's it.