weeklies

Love Makes Things Better. Also, Badly Sung 80s Songs.

Listen, just because my heart’s a little bit broke doesn’t mean that I can’t go out and belt some tunes in front of lots of people and scare them a little bit, right? It’s like chocolate after a Dementor attack. It really helps.

Here are some things I did this weekend to help me not think about my hurty heart.

On Friday night, I went to a party at this place, where every last cheesy song in the world was sung with abandon, despite the fact that I have a bit of a cough. You want to know what? My version of Take on Me by A-ha is hideous, people. HIDEOUS. Unless perhaps you make yourself believe that I meant to do it in the style of Yoko Ono. Which I could have been doing, totally on purpose. You’ll never know for sure.

Two of the things that Nordic Boy has never done in the many years that I have known him: (1) get sloppy drunk. (2) sing karaoke. I have a dream that one day I shall see these two things happen simultaneously in one spectacular night of awesomeness. Alas, Friday night was not that night. I have seen him bust out such lovely renditions of songs such as “Tiny Dancer” or “Fuck the Pain Away” by Peaches in the privacy of our own home, but he has yet to unleash his talent onto the world at large. Some day, my friends. Some day.

On Saturday I met up with Delium for lunch and afterward we were at my house where he noticed an old photo of me, Alli, and Map where I was wearing a favorite Esprit shirt under a Benetton sweater with my teenage acid washed jeans. “I totally remember that outfit!” he said. I love that I have friends from ye olden days that can say stuff like that to me.

That afternoon, I went to a “summer barbecue” at the Soggy Librarian’s house. I put that in quotes because it was raining and in the upper 40s that day, at least when we first arrived. That didn’t stop us from pretending it was summer, especially when it stopped raining and got up to a balmy 50 degrees or so. We barbecued and played cornhole in the wet grass. You will not defeat us, Seattle.

That night, Biogirl, Nordic Boy and I went out to dinner where I ate way too much. Like, Thanksgiving too much. It was worth the belly ache though.

Sunday, I spent the first half of my day over at Biogirl’s house, where we came up with some cockamamie theory that perhaps what a good relationship needs is less talking. We came to this conclusion after about three hours of talking, so I am not sure if that proves the theory or doesn’t.

I then went on a walk around Green Lake with my friend M, who is awesome for many reasons, not the least of which is that she has chickens who lay delicious eggs and she gives them away to her friends. Score! She is also just super kind. What is better than super kind? I can’t think of many things.

I came home to find that all of the furniture in our guest room had been moved out into our dining area, and Nordic Boy had installed beautiful cork flooring in the guest room. And then we danced on the new floor to “Electricity” by OMD, and Nordic Boy made up a hilarious new dance that we dubbed “The Level” and we did that until I almost puked laughing. This is why I love coming home.

I called my my dad, and he told me about something funny that my mom said that day, and he could barely tell it, he was laughing so much, and I could hear my mom laughing in the background too, and I hope that when we are in our 80s Nordic Boy and I can make each other laugh like that still.

We then made a cozy dinner and watched a movie and were in bed by 11.

Thanks, weekend.

Consumables and other stuff

Pretty much every weekend, I have some sort of jaunt. A dinner with a friend, a show, a movie, a hike, something. This weekend, I did nothing. Just, nothing. I had the day off on Friday so I walked over to The Soggy Librarian‘s house where we sat on her couch and played with the uber-adorable Soren for an hour or so. Then, we decided to go for a walk, so we walked…5 blocks back to my house, where we sat on MY couch and played with the uber-adorable Soren. Then Biogirl and I went out for an early bird burrito and were home by 7:30. Aaaand…that was Friday.

I worked on Saturday, and it was a superbusy day. I got home and collapsed on the couch (it’s always a sign of over-tiredness when I bust out the TV tray for dinner) and watched old Harry Potter movies with Biogirl and Nordic Boy. Nordic Boy had been working on house projects all day that day and he fell into a dead sleep by 9:30. I made it to midnight, but was so sleepy by that time that I sort of felt barfy. Saturday night at our house- woooooo!

It was a fricking ridiculous downpour all weekend- big, fat raindrops everywhere. We dragged ourselves out of the house on Sunday afternoon to get take out and the 10 yard walk to the car had us looking like drenched cats.

Sometimes my life is so glamorous that I just feel braggy, but don’t hate me because I am fabulous, people.

Forgot to do Consumables last week, so here’s the deal lately:

Harry Potter movies:
I had a friend, Hang, whose first language is not English. She only learned it as an adult, when she moved to this country. Sometimes she would make some gaffes (did I just say “gaffes”? I thought that we could only use that word when talking about Joe Biden), and she always had such a good sense of humor about it when she realized what she had actually said as opposed to what she wanted to say. For instance, one time she wanted to say “I broke into a sweat!” but instead she said “I broke into a sweater!” I think my all-time favorite quote from Hang was when the first Harry Potter movie came out, she was so excited that she messed up the name of it. “Oh my god! I am so excited to see Harry Potter and the Social Security Stone!”

As we watched the Social Security Stone and its sequels this time, I somehow decided to call out when certain characters looked like other famous people. So like when Argus Filch came on, I would yell out “IT’S WILLIE NELSON!” or when Moaning Myrtle would come on, I would say “IT’S TINA FEY!” I should make this into some sort of drinking game or something, but I am not that clever.

One Day, by David Nicholls
A sort of When Harry Met Sally novel about two friends who meet in college and how their relationship grows and changes over the years. The book is structured where each chapter is about the same day, July 15, of each successive year. At first I thought that the book would be a sort of British will-they-won’t-they get together sort of thing, and it is, but it turns out to be more that that too. The male character, Dex, starts out a bit dickish, and unpredictably sort of stays dickish throughout the book, which hardly ever happens. You’re supposed to learn to love the dickish man, aren’t you, and see that he really isn’t so bad underneath it all. That’s the archetype: from Dr. House to Brian Kinney to Lou Grant to every recent Jack Nicholson movie, that’s what we are trained to expect. So in a weird way, I was happy that it was not written that way. Stay a dick! It seems more realistic! That’s what I say.

Dancing With the Stars
I have never been able to get into this show, but this year I am giving it a try. Here’s the thing. I appreciate the construct whereby people who are clearly not trained dancers try to learn and you see them do things that surprise you. I embrace that. The thing I can’t embrace is the dances where they don’t actually dance at all, and they just mug for the cameras. Which usually happens in Week One and Two, and it makes me want to gouge out my own eyes so I quit watching. This year, The Hoff was the one that almost made me turn it off. I know- it seems unlike me to dislike cheese of that caliber, but when it comes to dance I can be sort of a snoot, I can admit that. That sort of thing just disrespects dance. (Oh shut up, me). But I persevered, and am still with it. The second thing is that contest shows? TOO MUCH FILLER. That’s why I can’t watch American Idol. They can shave that thing down to a 15 minute show, and yet it’s like 2 hours every week. Can’t deal with that. So for DWTS, I tivo it and then rely heavily on my fast forward button. I watch the rehearsal process and the dancing, and maybe some judging. I am spending 15 minutes on that show every week, tops.

Wallandar, starring Kenneth Branagh
They have been showing these on PBS lately, and I find them soothing, in that cerebral PBS way.

Have a good Monday, everyone!

My Brain In Strain Falls Mainly on the Plane

There is so much to think about in my life right now. Think think think. Think about what is happening, think about what parts of that I can help to change, think about what actions I need to take to help, think about how I can support people I care about around me, think about my own choices in reacting to what’s going on.

I am having serious brain strain. And sometimes when having serious brain strain, I just need to shut it down, at least temporarily, or else I am liable to blow a gasket, and then what good am I to anyone, if my gasket is popped?

Hence, my weekend, wherein my peeps made sure that I stayed sane. Well, you know. Relatively.

On Friday night I went out to a fancy restaurant with Nordic Boy, Sarah and Craig. And we ate a bunch of stuff that we didn’t even know what it was. And it cost like 3.2 million dollars. But that’s ok, because um…why is that ok again? I don’t really know. I expected my sphincter to squeeze out some diamonds or something, after that meal, but alas it was not to be. Still, the food was tasty, and the company was divine. Except that when I say that my brain needed to totally shut down? It did, during dinner. Which made me keep recommending documentaries and books to my friends and then stupidly not be able to recall the names of any of them. Which was delightful for them I am sure. I am so charming.

The rest of the weekend contained things like:

Spontaneously driving to Bellingham, WA, eating lunch, and hiking around.

Going to an apple orchard/farm in Skagit county and visiting the most adorable family farm store where we loaded up on preserves, and cider, and fresh apple cinnamon doughnuts. The farmer was kind enough to let us wander through some of his land.

Heading over to M and S’s house to meet the newest members of their family: their chickens! Bawk bawk. They are usually free range but often like to stay in their coop. And if you were a chicken, wouldn’t you? That is one swanky coop.

Staying late at M and S’s house and chatting the night away (and YAY library folks! We didn’t talk about work but AT ALL, which is kind of a miracle right now). The later it got, the more everyone kicked their shoes off, put their feet up, and leaned back in their chairs. The body language was obvious- we all wanted to get some sleep but the conversation was too good, the company too lovely.

Going to brunch and then on a long walk with Biogirl, my soon to be new neighbor.

Getting under a blanket and watching movies with Nordic Boy while the rain seemed to fall sideways out of the sky.

My weekend was full of awesome people, good weather, lots of fresh air, and a perfect balance between being busy sandwiched between small pockets of doing nothing. Brain unstrained, at least for now. Ahhh.

VIP Weekend

How was your weekend? Blah blah, yeah, let’s talk about mine.

I had a weekend that felt like weeks, which was just what I have been needing lately. I love long summer days with nothing to do but eat bon bons in the breeze. Maybe it’s because I work weekend days a lot but there is something about two glorious days off in a row that just seem magical to me.

We kicked off the weekend by attending a surprise birthday party for Delium. With Delium’s brother at the helm, we had all been hatching this surprise party plot for weeks, and not to put forth any impressions of our group as blabby gabby types, but it was kind of astonishing that we all pulled the surprise off. He was so surprised, I was a tad afraid his ticker would give out.

The party was in the VIP section of a club that Delium’s friend owns. Ooh la la, we are in a private section above the crowd wearing our fanciest pinafores. Here’s the thing about the VIP second floor terrace. On all the reality shows, that depict, you know, REALITY? The Kardashians or Lindsey Lohan (um, the definition of “VIP,” obviously), you are interested in seeing co-mingle with their fancy drinks, and they always take a moment to lean over the balcony of the VIP section and raise up their glasses and say “whoooo!” and the entire sweaty dance floor masses raise up their hands and say “whooooo!” back. It is, like, the official VIP salute. And don’t say that it’s only because they are famous that they get the whooo salute. I was watching Holly’s World the other day (yes I was WHAT OF IT) and her best friend had a birthday party and she raised her glass and got a full dance floor whooo even though no one knows who the heck she is.

I am here to tell you that no one in that club once even looked up at the terrace. In fact it is safe to say they didn’t give a rat’s ass about the terrace. You can raise your glass all you want to. They really don’t care to whooo while they get their drinky dance on. Just one more brick falling out of the reality tv wall. Dang.

The other weird thing was that we got to have the entire club to ourselves for an hour before it opened, just to up the VIP vibe to the whole thing, and so we could scream out SERPRYZE in a semi-quiet room before crowds of people show up. I don’t know that I have ever been in an empty club like that before. It was kind of eerie.

Anyway, the party was a blast and the guest of honor was surprised, and people ate chocolate cake with their mixed drinks in honor of our fair Delium, god bless him.

The rest of the weekend, we proceeded to eat a lot and walk all over my city. It rained, but it was a warm, muggy summery rain which I didn’t mind in the slightest because I could still wear dresses with no leggings and not wear a coat over it to mar the whole outfit, and honestly I am not ashamed to say that in my world that counts for maybe 70% of my mood.

I went to the movies, I ate five incredible meals (yuzu lemonade is a frickin’ delight), I went to not one, but two architectural salvage stores (why is junk so awesome?), I read a whole novel in one sitting (can’t remember the last time I did that), I hung out with my bestie, I took a nap, I called long distance folks and friends, and I hiked around downtown, Ballard, Belltown, Sodo, Greenlake and the U District.  How is it possible that I was that busy, but yet got so much rest, all in one weekend? Because weekends are magic.

Consumables #15

Quick and dirty consumables!
Delightful documentary about a guy in South Carolina who makes his whole yard a topiary kingdom. Sounds weird, but it isn’t. It’s touching.
Kings of the Earth, by Jon Clinch
When I got an advance copy of this, I had to read it. Remember that documentary I talked about a while back called My Brother’s Keeper?  This is loosely based on that. Although the book goes in another direction from the doc, I sort of love both equally.
I actually really liked this. Sue me.
Lost
I already told you I was late to the game in watching the last Lost. But now that I have done it, I am kind of sad that it’s over, although there were things that annoyed the holy hell out of me. I got used to the annoyance. It was like a long term annoying friend. Bye, Lost.  Nordic Boy always contended that your full title should be “Lost: Where There Is Always Someone In the Fucking Bushes,” and that is always how I shall remember you.
Happy Friday everyone!

Spin offs and pop locks

Busy as a motha-eff over here, so listing it shall have to be.

1. Got caught up on Lost episodes over the weekend. Nordic Boy has renamed the series “There’s Too Many People in the Fucking Bushes.” Which there totally are, right? I think there should be a drinking game where you drink every time someone pops out of the bushes.

2. Also for Lost watchers: don’t you love it how the appearance of the smoke monster is always preceded by that maracas sound? So jaunty, that smoke monster.

3. Friends came over for dinner this weekend, and over dinner, we tried to think of tv shows that had the most number of spin-offs that we could think of, as a contest. Nordic Boy and I jointly won the day by coming up with Happy Days, Mork and Mindy, Joanie Loves Chachi, and Laverne and Shirley, which may seem like a no-brainer in hindsight but no one had come up with a quadruple until that point. The room erupted in “AW SNAP!” at our easy win, but then Delium got up and did a celebratory pop-lock in our honor. Because he knows how to show respect, that one.

4. After the contest was exhausted, we looked up lists of spin-offs on the Interwebs and discovered two intriguing titles. “Blansky’s Beauties” (an undiscovered Happy Days spin-off) and “Richie Brockelman, Private Eye” (offa Rockford Files). How could shows with names like these have failed? To quote every single contest show sage on tv: America got it wrong, people.

5. Many of my friends are on Match.com, and they all seemed to talk to me about it this weekend, separately. What does it say that most of them talk about it much as you would talk about a visit to the dentist? Painful and tedious, but it just has to be done.

6. There’s a restaurant in Seattle called Daniel’s Broiler. Ever since St. Patrick’s Day, every time we go past it, we sing “Oh Danny BROIL! The steaks, the steaks are cah-alling,” to the tune of Danny Boy. We shall see how long this takes to get old to us. I am guessing on a shelf life of five years or so.

7. I get to go to Portland with Nordic Boy for the whole week, starting tomorrow. This is not entertaining to anyone but me. I am holding back a celebratory pop-lock even as I sit here.

Consumables #2

This week I took in:


The Uncommon Reader. The Queen of England becomes obsessed with reading, to the chagrin of her entire court. It’s funnier than it sounds.

Because, you know, these movies obviously go together.

Electra, by the Seattle Shakespeare Company.
Dude, these people would make great Jerry Springer fodder. Also? I had front row seats and almost got spritzed with fake blood. It was like a KISS concert. Only, you know, not.


November Was White, December Was Grey
(And also in the grey/white family? January, and February. And most likely March and April).

School of Rock

My weekend seemed like it was weeks long. And yet I was still grumpy when it was over. What an ingrate.

On Saturday night, BioGirl, Nordic Boy and I went to see a rock show put on by the students at Seattle’s School of Rock. If your town has a School of Rock (and many towns do, I have discovered), you need to get yourself to one of their shows as soon as possible. It was AWESOME. While there, we saw the following:

1. Kids just, um, rocking out. These kids were good. Hella good. I have heard many a band in my day (did I just say “in my day”? Why I believe I did), full of adults who call themselves professional musicians but, compared to these kids, sucked dingus.

2. A little 8-year-old girl with Princess Leia hair, belting out “Why You’d Want to Live Here” by Death Cab in a most delightful way, and then double-belting out “Outshined” by Soundgarden. Woo she was good.

3. Eric Corson from The Long Winters came out and sang a song with the kids. How cool is that for them?

4. A bunch of adults who came in with an all-too-familiar (to me, having been a librarian for teens) condescension for the kids (“won’t this be a CUTE show…”) get schooled on rocking out. They had to be taken seriously for playing like that. I loved it.

5. For all the respect they earned and got, some of them also got a healthy (and awesome) dose of embarrassment-inducing behavior from parents. One in particular. There was this lady who was standing right in front of us, and whenever there was a pause between songs, and the crowd stopped clapping and hooting and hollering for a second, she would wait for just that moment of quiet to scream out her daughter’s name in the most mom-like manner. “Megan!!!!” she would yell. “I love you!” And then she would flap both of her hands over her head in the biggest wave you have ever seen, as if she were not only waving hello but also fanning the entire stage like a human air conditioner. She did this the entire show, and waved ever harder in confusion over the fact that Megan didn’t seem to hear her ear-splitting love. Megan was not making eye contact, can you believe it? But still, Megan’s mom was determined and never gave up. Her yells became a song in and of themselves. On the way home, BioGirl and I broke out with a good old chorus of “Megan!!!! I love you!!!!” much like a tune we couldn’t get out of our heads. And Nordic Boy ignored us, so maybe that is just the affect that that song has on people.

TraditiSHON! Tradishon!

I love weekends so much, it’s sickening. Me and weekends are like those couples that make out in public, with full tongue and gropage. I know this. But, like those couples, I don’t stop. I must grope my weekends no matter who is there! I can’t help it! GET A ROOM, ME AND WEEKENDS!

I know that metaphor really doesn’t make sense. I am too swept away by my weekend to care, however.

I was still feeling under the weather on Friday night, just a smidge, so I opted out of going to a dance party at my friend A’s house. This was painful to me as there is nothing I love more than cutting a rug with wild abandon, but I did the responsible thing and stayed at home so as not to cough my germy cough all over the dance floor. Nordic Boy, after working another 14-hour day (that dude works so much more than I do and complains so much less, which is something I am working on, the complaining less, not the working more) came home and we watched a bunch of bad tv and fell asleep by ten. This makes me sound old and moldy, but I LOVED IT.

On Saturday my friend Sarah came over and she brought me homemade chocolate brittle, which, come on, you gotta love a girl like that. We drank tea and talked the day away until the sun went down (which ok fine is only until 4pm these days) and can I just tell you if you don’t know Sarah, you totally should? She is just the cat’s knees or the bee’s pajamas or whatever the saying is.

That night BioGirl, Nordic Boy, and I put on our fancy knickers and went out to eat at Cafe Lago, which has the lightest lasagna you have ever had in your life. It’s like lasagna-flavored air, which maybe doesn’t sound like a good thing, but it is.

Then we went to see a live production of White Christmas. The show was good, although the cast members were clearly singers and actors (excellent ones) but not dancers. The dancing was fine for what it was, don’t get me wrong. I just have a case of hyper-picky-itis when it comes to dance sometimes. What warms my heart is that after all these years with me, Nordic Boy is as perceptive a dance watcher as I could ever hope for. After the show was over, he noted “did you notice that the lead dude only turned to the right, never to the left?” And I said “OMG YES I DID NOTICE,” while thinking in my head goddamit I love this man.

The other thing about the show was that although it wasn’t as bad as the last time I went to this particular theater, there were still a few people that did not clap at the end of the show but just up and left during the curtain call as if they were at a movie during the credits and not watching real live performers who can see your indifference to their dedication. I don’t usually have much of a temper about things, but this makes me so mad I want to Chuck Norris someone. FIFTH AVENUE THEATER PATRONS YOU ARE REQUIRED TO CLAP OR AT THE VERY LEAST SIT DOWN UNTIL THEY HAVE DONE THEIR CURTAIN CALL NO ARGUMENTS THE END. Don’t make me come over there, effers.

Sunday was a day for the history books. I love days like I had on Sunday. I slept well, and woke up when my body said so instead of my mothersucking alarm clock, and then Nordic Boy and I just hung out for the whole day. The day seemed like it went on for eleventy jilliion hours and I never wanted it to end. We watched movies, we baked peanut butter brownies (and we ate apple pie while making the peanut butter brownies which is a style of multi-taking that I can really get behind), we talked a blue streak, we laughed at stuff that probably wasn’t even that funny, we ventured out to the grocery store and hardware store, we played a heated game on the Wii with trash talk that would scandalize your momma, and we just soaked it all up.

This made me realize that for all my non-traditional holidayness, and the fact that we don’t put up a tree or lights, and that some years we exchange a little gift but others we don’t, that we actually have managed to come up with a holiday tradition that is all our own and that we do without fail each and every year, right around Christmas/Hannukah/etc time. We set aside entire days where we do nothing but look at each others’ ugly mugs for the whole entire day. We don’t talk to anyone else on the phone, we don’t go to anyone’s house, we don’t check any email. We just act all together-ish, just like this Sunday. We have already planned at least one more day like this before the end of the year.

Look at that. I do have a holiday tradition that is meaningful to me after all and I never even realized it. Who knew?

Trips to Portland and Suburbia

Last week, I took a vacation day and went to Portland with Nordic Boy. We arrived late, late on Wednesday evening (ok fine it was 11pm but that is way late for us), singing Journey songs at the top of our lungs the entire way there. It’s a good thing we did that because it was most depressing for us to realize that when you drive to Portland at night, you can’t get a good look at the Hamiliton Corner billboard, which for those of you that are unaware is a giant billboard along the I-5corridor with a big drawing of Uncle Sam on it and an everchanging string of right-wing batshit crazy written in big block letters, usually having to do with the Mexicans wanting to take jobs away from us including Obama (who is really Mexican, or Kenyan, or just, you know, brown) who is also interested in taking away all the guns that the folks in Real America use in order to defend their homes from the rabid Commie librarians who want to turn all of our children gay by reading them picture books about the two male penguin parents. Is it wrong that I sort of love that billboard? Maybe love is the wrong word. I just look forward to reading what it has to say every time I drive to and from Portland. But at night there are no lights for it so we missed out on the crazy. Rats.

While in Portland, I met an old friend for lunch. He’s a friend of mine from high school who I literally have not seen since 12th grade but through the magic of the Faceplace we are all the sudden friends again. I must cop to a small amount of trepidation for this meeting because you never know what a person who knew you in middle school might remember about you that you have totally blocked out about yourself (hey, remember that time you pooped your drawers in Algebra class??). The friendship also has the misfortune of his knowing me starting in 7th grade, when he moved to Flint. 7th grade, can I just tell you, was not my finest hour. It was, actually, my worst hour. I know many of you feel that way about middle school, so I won’t get much sympathy. But for me, 7th grade was the year that I pulled a total Angela Chase and dropped my childhood friends for the cool crowd. Dudes, it was GROSS. Luckily I snapped out of that shit by 8th grade but of all the years to make a first impression in my life? Seventh grade would be last on my list.

Luckily, my friend either did not remember this about me or was gracious enough to not mention it, and we had a lovely lunch. I am always amazed at how many cool people I seem to meet everywhere. Aren’t cool people supposed to be, like, rare? In my world, they seem to just come out of the woodwork everywhere I go. Perhaps you are thinking that that is because everyone is just cooler than me, so I have a skewed perspective or something, and to that I say an unequivocal WHO ASKED YOU.

Speaking of cool people, Nordic Boy and I then had dinner with the ever-lovely @metaleah that night. She was in town for a museum conference (a librarian crashing the museum world! like a secret agent or something!) and so we went and picked her up from her hotel (in Nordic Boy’s company car which this week was a gigantic white pimping Pontiac that was just begging to be donked) and went out on the town. Once again, cool person, in my immediate vicinity. I must have a magnet in my brain or something.

We got back to Seattle in time for a lovely weekend, which included a field trip out to the burbs with BioGirl for a day of getting ridonkulously lost in mall-land. This is not unusual for me (people who plan suburbs, do you not believe in grids? Or numbered streets that actually go in number order? Or sidewalks?) but BioGirl is my go-to guide whenever I need to burb it up. She’s like a burb sherpa or something. However, this time, she seemed just as lost as me. Which takes some doing, let me tell you.

Yesterday Neighbor J came over for the day and we just sort of ran our mouths for the entire day. Sometimes I think that if there was such a thing as a conversation contest, Neighbor J and I would be like, the Tiger Woods of that sport. When we lived in the same building as each other, we would talk on the phone for 3 or 4 hours a day. We both had to invest in a headset phone just so we could stay verbally attached while we went about our day.

Finally, last night I watched The Way We Get By. Don’t let me stop you from watching it because I thought it was great, but let me tell you it was depressing. It really crushed the everloving hairy Jebus out of me and made me go to the bad place where I just wanted to hug Nordic Boy by the neck and weep about him not dying and leaving me all old and alone with my cats and the headboard of our bed. Never mind that I don’t have cats and that you don’t know what the headboard reference is unless you have seen the movie. Just watch it, but be warned that you might feel like shit afterward. Wow, how is that for a recommendation? Nice one, LG.

At any rate, to combat the depressing, we then watched Beach Girls and the Monster. Which might qualify for the weirdest double feature ever.

Hope you all are having a loverly Monday!