It's very early (currently 3:50am) on Friday morning as I write. Another fun-filled, action-packed 3-day weekend with Jamie and Jason is about to start.
1. Jason is currently in energy-conservation mode (ie, sleep). As it is 3:50am, I am not. I would never sleep at such a conventional hour. Yesterday at about 5am we went to the grocery store to buy some yeast. The cashier asked if we were enjoying summer. We said yes. We had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe he didn't say summer. Even after 6 months, we're still having a hard time understanding the heavy asian accents around these parts. I suspect that we agree to a lot of things we normally wouldn't. Which explains why some old lady showed up here yesterday looking for my first born. She kept waving an I.O.U in my face. I sent her away with a half-empty (or half-full, as I pointed out to her) can of silver spray paint, and 3 potatoes, which is as close as I could get to paying her back. I don't think she was much appeased, if the silver graffiti on our car is any indication.
2. The weather is looking favourable - showers and potential thunder today, and drizzle for tomorrow! Who'll be splashing through mud puddles? I will!!
3. Someone broke the bass in Jason's precious speaker system, by repeatedly watching it fall off the computer monitor and either smash into the wall, or dive straight for the floor. We don't know who it is. The culprit is still at large.
4. At work, Jason found a pair of jeans that he really liked. He had only 85 cents in his pocket, so he marked them on sale for $1.37 and then applied his discount to them. Something tells me he really likes being the boss. And the thing is, they're really terrific jeans. His ass looks heavenly in them. I'm sure that all the part-time high school students AND all the part-time mothers will agree. And try to cop a feel. I'll have to maybe take a leak on his jeans, to mark my territory.
5. I have experienced zen through the art of making eggrolls. Enlightenment, thy name is plum sauce.
6. Turns out, there is no good response to "Jamie, why are you listening to David Bowie in the dark?"
4 hours down, 68 more to go. Only one will be victorious (if you buy my theory that 3-day weekends are a lot like cage fights to the death). Who will it be? Tune in Sunday night to find out.
Friday, 5:13am: After allowing Jason an additional 3 hours of beauty sleep, I decide to hop in the shower, shave my legs and beautify myself so I can slither in naked beside him and wake him up nicely. I don't know why I bother. Every time I think I'll surprise him awake, I find him sleeping on his stomach, allowing me no access to anything good. It's as if he nightly expects his penis to be besieged. He's very protective. Some would say too protective. It's a hard life.
Friday, 1:15pm: Before heading out the door this morning, I confirm that Jason has had breakfast, because usually the moment we hit the road, Jason needs to stop for snacks. And then for sustenance half a kilometre later, refreshments 6 and a half minutes after that, a light meal when that's wore off, and then the cycle just continues. So to circumvent this nasty cycle, I tell him to carb-load before we leave the house. But still, I know he had breakfast at 6am and he was good not to complain up until this point, but the poor kid's got to be starving at this point. So on le train (which is what I call the subway when I'm in a bad mood), I ask him if we need to stop for lunch. He nods. "I only had 3 toasts," he tells me "and you know what that means." Indeed I do. Jason believes that if he can count the number of helpings he's had on one hand, then it's not enough. Three toasts is not enough. We stop for lunch.
Friday, 4:47pm: Had to stop at stupid-Walmart-garbage-face on the way home. It was raining so Jason dropped me off at the door. I thought Aw, and then I hated myself for thinking that. "Don't go further than the candie aisle, or else I won't be able to find you," he tells me. He knows me so well.
Saturday, 3:50am: Jason is sweetly snoring soundly in his bed, while I am up prowling around. His sleep is rudely disturbed when I break into the room yelling FIRE! FIRE! The kitchen's on fire! Jason looks at me with fuzzy eyes, and then springs up, bolting for the hallway, not sure whether he should bring the blanket to cover himself with. He is probably remembering the last kitchen fire that I (accidentally) set, and trying to remember where the baking soda's at. When he gets to the kitchen, he sees that there is no fire. Haha, I say, April Fool's! And as he squints at me in dismay, a small grin spreads across his face. He is my poisson d'avril and wouldn't have it any other way.
Saturday, 12:50pm: Jason had appointment with the Hakim-approved optometrist, who conducted a thorough medical checkup in all of 7 minutes, for which I paid $50, which is even more than I paid when I bought Jason a hooker on our honeymoon. The paper-thin walls of her "office" meant that I, and everyone else left out in the waiting room, heard the optometrist assure Jason that "Don't worry, it happens to a lot of guys," which really made wonder just which part of Jason's anatomy she was really examining back there.
Saturday, 5:30pm: We watched Singing in the Rain (100% All Talkie!) which was weird for me, because I cannot re-virginize myelf toward the "Good Morning" scene, which to my ears, sounded exactly like a Viagra commercial.
Saturday, 7:00pm: Although my natural bedtime is roughly 6pm, I am not sawing logs but being forced into a RUDE interruption by Jason's work. I make a point to sulk. We're there because the president of the company something something, causing much panic. Everyone in the room knows it's a joke except for one poor colleague, whom they're playing it on. It's actually pretty funny, but I gave up a date with Jorge for this shit, and I hardly think it worth it.
Sunday, 8:50am: In my lust to see the weather outside, I over-enthusiastically pull on the cord and the whole venetian blind comes hurtling toward my head, bits and pieces of it scattering to the wind. The window now completely exposed, I tell Jason that it's "nice" outside.
Sunday, 1:45pm: Holy freakin beautiful outside!
Sunday, 5:00pm: Jason returns from store with bouillon. Observes that I look pretty happy for someone who appears to have been crying. He's right. We're having french onion soup tonight!