for some weekend highlights

Friday: *
Got my wip (work in progress) manuscript ready to be distributed to my victims readers, who are:

1. S—–, who lives in California with whom I took an online writing class a couple years ago. She loves the same kind of books I love and seems like a no-nonsense type person who wouldn’t have too much trouble pointing out the suckiness.

2. L——, someone I’ve never met but who is a friend of a friend at work, H—–. This friend assures me that L—– would love to read the book, and that she’ll be a great reader/critiquer. The nice thing about this is, since I don’t know L—–, she’ll be able to point out all the suckiness without having to face my newly crushed soul every day afterwards. My friend at work neglected, however, to tell me until after the whole thing with L—– was set up, that L—– is an English teacher, so now I have just the teensy bit of terror concern about her reading it since I have not yet proof-read the book for the sort of typos that make English teachers cranky.

3. The last copy will be read by H—–, aforementioned friend at work. Although this goes against my policy of using readers who don’t know me well (or at all), H—–  has assured me that she will have no problem pointing out all of my book’s suckiness and then coming to work every day and sitting just ten feet away from the soul she personally helped crush. I think I am now either in awe of her, or frightened of her. Or both.

Spent most of the day painting (on a canvas, not a wall) and am mostly finished but not completely. I haven’t decided yet whether or not it sucks…when it’s finished maybe I’ll post it here and let my 10 many readers decide. I just can’t get enough soul-crushing. I’ve come to crave it.

Then I started a couple loads of laundry, and flipped on the TV and watched the last 20 minutes of Pulp Fiction (the best movie ever) and the first 20 minutes of Sex in the City II (from what I saw, the worst movie ever.) Went to dinner with the hubster, then came home and watched baseball (Go Rangers!) and spent sometime reading this blog which, to be honest, is much, much better than mine. All 10 of you should probably just stop reading my blog and read thebloggess instead. Seriously–she is fucking hilarious.

It wasn’t until right before bed that I remembered the laundry, but that’s okay because the stuff in the dryer was just the ninja-wear (the black scrubs the hubster wears to work every day). Somebody will be looking a little rumpled this week, but it won’t be me.

Drank my morning coffee and relaxed while watching the hubster mutilate spatchcock** cornish game hens to get them ready for dinner (I was too horrified fascinated to take a photo, so I got the one above from here). I then helped out by cleaning up the crime scene kitchen.

All the kids came over for dinner. DD and her BF brought over the granddog a spazzy darling 8 month old lab named Lexie. She and the greyhounds played–sort of (Lexie raced around playing with their toys while they chased her and considered eating her). Dinner was typical (some good, some burnt) but it was a fun evening–at least for me. Why is it that as soon as we finally get them to move out, all we want is for them to come home and eat mutilated food with us?

And now it’s Monday and there you have it. My weekend in a nutshell (if the nut was really, really big, or the font was really, really small because this post got a little too long, didn’t it?)

Enough about me. How was your weekend?


* Friday counts as a weekend day because I usually only work Monday-Thursday because I am a slacker.
**Even though most verbs put in front of the word chicken sound like a euphamism for self-love, spatchcock the chicken does not. Maybe it’s because spatchcock is a German word. Even the German word for masturbation, selbstbefriedigung (I can’t make this shit up) doesn’t sound very self-lovey.

Oh! And who knew? Google spatchcock on youtube, and you’ll discover that it has another entirely different meaning! This is not what the hubster did in the kitchen yesterday morning, but the day would have been way, way funnier if it were: