Sunday, March 30, 2008

Take That, Punk!

Me: Oh, hey, Computer Problem.

CP: Aaaavery! How's it hangin'?

Me: Uh, yeah. So anywho, I've been thinking--

CP: Uh-oh. Hope you didn't hurt yourself.

Me: Funny. So, as I was saying--

CP: Got any beer?

Me: No.

CP: No Bud? No brewsky? No 40 dog Schlitz Malt Liquor?

Me: No.

CP: How am I gonna get my drink on?

Me: I don't know. Maybe you should consider crashing with an alcoholic.

CP: Nah. They never share their booze.

Me: Focus. Please. I think I have an answer to all of our problems.

CP: Will it help me get my drink on?

Me: Quite possibly.

CP: I'm listening.

Me: Okay, so you know I hate your guts, right?

CP: You've mentioned it. Only a billion times.

Me: Right. Sorry.

CP: Embroidered it on the couch pillows.

Me: Overkill, I admit.

CP: I have to sleep on those, you know!

Me: Right. Again, sorry. But what if you didn't have to sleep on them anymore? What if I gave you a big wad of cash and called you a cab that would take you anywhere you wanted? Maybe a liquor store. Sky's the limit. How would that work for you?

CP: I don't know. How big we talkin'?

Me: Three hundred bucks. And I'll let you keep the silverware.

CP: I was, uh, gonna polish it for you later. Yeah.

Me: Whatever. Do we have a deal?

CP: I don't know. This is a pretty sweet set-up you got here.

Me: I'll throw in some porn.

CP: Deal! Where's the money?

Me: Here, but I have to throw it at you.

CP: Why?

Me: I don't know. That's just how these things work.


So, yes, my computer is fixed. Thanks to everyone who offered suggestions. In the end, it was the memory. I added a few more gigs, and whatdaya know! Problem solved.

Hooray!

Hope you've all been well. I've been a little preoccupied with this. (Hence the post about weather. Better than one filled with nothing but expletives and tears, I suppose.)

To add injury to insult, I've been nursing my husband back to health after his MAJOR EMERGENCY SURGERY.

He had a tooth extracted, but the way he's carrying on...

I hope to be back in the swing of things soon. Fingers crossed!

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Holy Crap, It's Snowing!

Yesterday it was sunny, then rainy, then snowy, rainy, hail-y, sunny, rainy, rainy, rainy, cold, cold, cold.

It's snowing right now. The end of March and it's snowing.

Okay, it's not like it's the end of July and snowing, but it's still unusual for these parts.

(Hey, God? If you're planning a big swarm of locusts next, would you mind giving a little heads-up? They make my hair frizz something terrible!)

Ethan and I are planning to sit in front of the fire today with some mugs of hot cocoa and watch movies. Last week at this time, I was wearing capris!

Figures this happens when my blast furnace (aka Mr. Gray) leaves town. I was laying in bed shivering last night, too stupid cold to get out of bed and put on socks, and I was missing him--despite the buzzsaw snoring and inherent ass-ishness.

He has his uses. I'll give him that.

So, what's the weather like in your neck of the woods?

Monday, March 24, 2008

Right Up My Alley

First things first, I want to wish my husband--the one I so unceremoniously killed off in the last post--a Happy 43rd Birthday! He's spending this week working in Phoenix, so we won't be able to properly celebrate until he gets home on Friday.

Too bad it's not Wednesday. Then it would be Business Time.

Bow-chicka-bow-wow...

*sigh*

Also, regarding the post about my computer--thank you to everyone who has offered up some suggestions. I haven't had a chance the past few days to try anything, but I will this week. I've already removed a custom content file I suspected was corrupt, and that has helped some. Oh, and to answer your question, Mike, it has 1022 MB of RAM, and I ran 'Can You Run It?' on the game and all the EP's individually, and it passed. Unfortunately, there's no way to run it all together, so it may be that I need more memory. I'm thinking I might just add some anyhow. Couldn't hurt, right?

(Dun dun duuuunnnnn...)

Well, while my computer is still relatively operational, I figure it's probably best to post the meme that Meleah tagged me with last week. And, boy, is it a treat for you! A revealing glimpse into my world, if you will.

The premise--photograph five things in your house that "say something about the person you are"--seems simple enough, but it was a lot harder for me to do than I thought it would be. I maaaay have fudged with the rules a little and turned it into 5 types of things that say something about me.

You won't tell, will you?


#1--Metal scrolls...

You'll find them everywhere in my house. Don't know why. I just love the look of them. If there's an empty spot on the wall, throw a scroll on there, and you're done! (Kinda my decorating philosophy in a nutshell.)

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#2--Family pictures

Like metal scrolls, family pictures are a great way to use up wall space...and seem sentimental while you're at it! I have lots of pictures of my guys up, but the one picture that gets the most comments is the one (at the bottom) of a family pictured in, I'm guessing, the late 1800's. I found that old picture in an antique store in Coburg, Oregon, and thought it might be nice to frame. I'm asked all the time by people who come to my home if they are ancestors of mine. They're not, but I think I might make up a story about my crazy great-great-great grandparents, Jeb and Elsie, and their wacky offspring, Hezekiah and Lulu.

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#3--Grapes

I know, I know. I'm weird. I like grapes. Not just to eat, though we go through plenty. I like to put fake grapes here and there around my house. The calendar on my wall is "Vineyards of the World" (though I don't drink wine). I had grapes in my bridal bouquet, for Heaven's sake. I. Like. Grapes. No reason.

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#4--DIY

I'm a DIY'er. A do-it-yourselfer. If there's a job to be done, I'm your girl. I have a compound miter saw, and I ain't afraid to use it!

Okay, I won't be rewiring my house anytime soon, but I'm also not afraid to break a nail. I do it all the time. I make my own Roman shades--(it's easy! I can tell you how!)--hang molding, reupholster furniture. Why, I even wallpapered my bathroom ceiling and made a tribal mask out of cardboard and paper mache.

Somebody get me a show!

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#5--Mess

I think my desk pretty much says it all. And, yes, that's how every surface of my house usually looks--covered in clutter. I'm not a neat person by any means. There are a million and one things I would rather do with my time than clean. So, I keep up with the dishes and the garbage and the laundry--anything that might grow something gross and eventually smell bad--but clutter? Eh.

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So, there you have it. I'm tagging everyone on my blogroll with this one.

Let's see what you got!

Thursday, March 20, 2008

As I See It...

Sugarplum's Mom, that sweetie pot pie, has tagged me for an awesome meme, started by your friend and mine, Doodaddy. The theme--where will you and your kids be in twenty years and a day?

If you'd like to do this one, consider yourself tagged.




I think I feel a dream sequence coming on...


Tuesday, March 21, 2028

Waking up is hard. It was hard twenty years ago, but now that I'm alone in the house I used to share with my husband and my son, the days don't seem to dawn as bright.

Oh, I'm not generally prone to wallowing. It's been two years since Ron had that heart attack playing Guitar Hero XXVII. I told him it would be the death of him, but did he listen to me? Of course not.

"Woman," he said, "I'm a rocker through and through." Then his face turned bright red and he clutched his chest and fell to the floor.

He was gone, and I never got to tell him I told you so.

Losing the love of your life has a way of aging you ten years overnight. So, even though I'm only fifty-one this year, I feel like I'm sixty. Which still makes me a younger woman. He'd have turned sixty-three on the 24th.

The worst part about that day was that my son lost his dad.

They hadn't been seeing eye to eye on much, but there was no doubt how much they loved each other. Ron just wanted what any father wants for his young son--to get his head out of the clouds and figure out what he wants to do with his life. Unfortunately, Ethan got his flightiness from me.

Never my most endearing quality. Thank God he got his dad's brains, or I might fear he'll never leave that job at Jiffy Lube.

A man can't support a family on a measly $37 an hour. Barely even puts biodiesel in the tank.

Not that Ethan has his mind on starting a family just yet. He's been seeing someone pretty regularly. Jesse. Nice kid. And if Ethan wants to settle down with this individual of genderless nameage, I'll be happy with that.

Heck, I'll be happy with anything that makes him happy.

Unless what makes him happy is being a stripper. Or a dealer. Or a hippie. I have my limits.

Lately he's been talking about going back to school and finishing his architecture degree. I think he's finally feeling ready to grow up. Jesse must be a good influence on him.

They're coming over Friday night for dinner. I think Ethan knows how hard it will be on me, being alone on his dad's birthday.

He's a good boy, that one. I'm so lucky to have such a thoughtful son.

But today I'll be working on my book. It's been going well. I think I'm finally ready to start writing Chapter 2.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Help!!!

Yesterday, while nursing a major O'Doul's hangover, I had Lovey and her kids over to Chez Gray where we sat on our asses and played with the new Sims 2 expansion pack taught the children to read. Braille. So that they may help deaf people cross busy streets.

Call us givers.

Okay, yes, we played Sims. Happy now?

Well, I'm not.

You see, I'm what's known as an addict. I have every Sims 2 EP and SP that has been released (except for one, and that will be remedied today), and I have about 7 gigs of custom content downloaded on my computer.

See the fancy wallpaper and flooring? I made them myself! That's not sad at all.



So, what's the problem?

My computer hates me and wants to see me cry, that's what.

I'm having technical difficulties, and I haven't a clue what to do about it. And they've been going on for months.

At first, it was the blue screen of death. I got that a lot.

So, I fixed that problem by throwing money at it. (Note: that DOES fix a lot of problems.) I installed a new nVidia graphics card and a 650 watt PSU.

Have I bored you to tears with technical jargon yet? Well just wait! It gets better.

I updated my drivers, updated BIOS, defragged the crap out of my hard drive, installed End It All to kill all unnecessary background processes that might interfere with the function of the game and SpeedFan to keep tabs on the system temperature.

That bought me all of 15 minutes of game play.

The next step was to--*shudder*--remove all custom content. Which I did, to no avail. Though it no longer took my game 45 minutes to load, I could only play for an additional 15 minutes before the graphics would get all wonky again.

Back to the drawing board.

I tested the memory with a Memtest86 CD. It was fine, and I finally, finally, finally got a glimmer of hope when I happened to read a post about setting page file (virtual memory) size. Mine was set at the minimum.

You know I bumped that bad boy up to the max! Call me a rebel.

And it seemed to work. I cautiously began adding custom content back into my game. All seemed right with the world.

Then yesterday, Lovey, who couldn't build a moderately sized house for her Sims if her life depended on it, chose a big lot and placed a big house on it.

And the game crashed again.

Curses!

What does a pathetic, 30-nothing loser have to do to get a break?!

Do I need more memory? An even better graphics card? A life and a hobby that doesn't involve little computer people?

Can anybody tell me what to do?

Monday, March 17, 2008

When Irish Eyes Are Smilin'...

And a Happy Saint Patty's Day to ya now!

I've started the celebration early. Got my Lucky Charms and a keg of O'Doul's.

(Did somebody say par-tay?!)

But, most importantly, I got my ultra cool St. Pat's attire from my ultra cool blogger buddy, Yajeev's ultra cool super duper deluxe Megastore at cafepress.com. Check out what's plastered across my boob's today.

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No, not the little Irish man. (That's many O'Doul's from now.)

It's Yajeev's high quality merchandise at ridiculously reasonable prices!

If you haven't read this guy's blog, you're not one of the cool people, and I refuse to associate with you. The man is hilarious!

Plus, he's clumsier than me, and he's not afraid to tell the world about it. He's got blog balls of steel!

Go. Now. I'll wait.











So, was I right or was I right, huh?

Yeah, I was right. You're welcome.

Anywho, other than hocking the wares of a superbly talented blogger, I've got a pretty full docket for the day. In addition to the Lucky Charms binging and O'Doul's imbibing, I'm going to whittle me up a perfectly good bar of Irish Spring soap with my stabbin' knife.

(It's a soap...canoe!)

Then I'm off to the local pub, where, after a rousing rendition of "Danny Boy" which will leave not a dry eye in the house, I'll throw away all the potatoes and everyone will starve.

Sounds like good times to me.

What's on your agenda?

Friday, March 14, 2008

So, How's That Book Comin'?

Our accountant, Ron, thinks it's hi-lar-i-ous to ask me how my book is coming along and when he can head to Barnes and Noble to get his autographed copy at my book signing.

Har-dee-har-har, jackass.

During the course of a twenty minute phone conversation with him yesterday, he brought it up not once, but three times.


Ron: How's the book comin'?

Me: It's not.

Ron: Why not? It sounded like you were making good progress.

Me: I was. But then I hit a road block.

Ron: Writer's block?

Me: Not exactly. See, I got this blog...

(Okay, I didn't tell him about my blog. I didn't think he'd understand. Besides, he'd have all these ideas about how I can make my blog "work for me".

Bean counters!

My point is, if I had writer's block, I wouldn't be able to write anything, and it's obvious to anyone who reads my blog that that's not true. I've got a good handle on writing crap.)

Ron: So, what's the hold-up?

Me: My characters.

Ron: What's wrong with your characters?

Me: They're not speaking to me.

Ron: Not speaking to you? As in your art is not speaking to you?

Me: No. My characters. They were all Chatty Cathys, and now they've gone and written themselves into a corner, and I haven't figured out how to steer them back out. And they're not giving me anything to work with.


I'm sure at this point Ron had written me off as a poor, tortured artist who thinks the characters from her books are real and telling her to kill the Prime Minister of Malaysia or something. And that's not true at all.

It's the President of Uzbekistan.

But seriously, this phenomenon of rebellious characters is not all that uncommon. Ask any writer of a character-driven story if their main players have ever led them off the intended course, they'll probably tell you they have. Because stories, despite being researched and plotted and outlined, are still as fluid as the author's imagination. And mine has never really taken a linear path.

Therein lies the problem.

I told a friend of mine that if there was money to be made in starting novels, I could make a killing. I have six of them on the back burner.

Alas, that's not really a marketable feat. Lots of people have started novels. You can't toss a brick and not hit someone who's started a novel.

So, I just told Ron I was working on it, and that he'd be the first to know since the advance would be counted as income on our taxes.

(It was accountant humor, and, oh, how he laughed.)

And I will work on it again, but in the meantime, I've got a hundred and one things I need to do for this trip I have to take.

Anyone know who flies non-stop to Uzbekistan? Lax security would be a plus.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

A Study in Economics

I had dealings in the real world today.

I'd forgotten how much I despise dealing with the real world. It's loud and crowded, and you have to wear pants of sturdier construction than pajamas.

Evolved, my ass! I long for the days of fig leaves!

By the time my appointment came around, as I sat in the waiting area in confining denim, all I wanted was to sign the papers I'd come to sign and go. Instead, I was afforded the opportunity (meaning my financial adviser was running late) to study the tellers at the bank branch where she was meeting me.

This branch, like any other in the known universe, employed all three of the different types of tellers:
  • The Token Gay Man--wearing a well-fitting button-up in robin's egg blue and a navy tie striped with just the slightest hint of pink, this guy spends hours perfecting his "just rolled out of bed...two hours ago, shaved with the grain, moisturized, moisturized, moisturized, gelled/moussed/pomaded/shellacked and flat-ironed the perfectly highlighted coif to give it the decidedly ungelled/unmoussed/untouched by any styling implement" sort of look that would make the finest of metrosexuals green with envy. This guy's not just gay. He's bank teller gay.

  • The Past Her Prime PYT--sporting an over-processed Janis Joplin-esque 'do and a shiny polyester blouse tucked into her pleated wool skirt, this gal has seen it all. Once a beauty queen (approx. 1974), this former prize filly appears to have been ridden hard and put away wet. Despite her obvious love for Clairol Platinum Blonde, the feeling is not mutual. Past Her Prime PYT's are often relegated to the drive-up window as close proximity to her will cause Token Gay Man to simultaneously break out in hives, mentally add Alberto V05 Hot Oil Treatment to his shopping list, and desire to call his mother.

  • The Hannah Montana Reject--the natural enemy of Past Her Prime PYT, this cute, bubbly, vivacious young twenty-something is quintessential window dressing. Her appeal is obvious to anyone who comes in contact with her, from the harried mother of four who remembers what it's like to be her, to the gun-toting good ol' boy with a Calvin-pissing-on-a-Chevy-emblem window decal on the back of his Ford F-350. Hannah Montana Rejects are, oddly enough, often named Hannah, and come in a variety of colors--white, off white, alabaster, beige, cream, and eggshell. Commonly seen in the company of other Hannah Montana Rejects and Token Gay Men at Old Navy or Hollisters.

I seem to be a Token Gay Man magnet, as they are always the ones who help me. Unfortunately, they're also the ones who make me feel the most self-conscious. Not because they're gay, but because they're prettier than me, and have luminous skin.

Plus, they're cattier than the Past Her Primes, and wittier than the Hannahs, which sort of makes them naturals at this blogging thing. And if there's one thing I don't need to read, it's this...
  • Thirty-Something Democrat-in-Denial--pairing flip-flops and track jackets with everything, and in dire need of a root touch-up and clay-mask treatment, this bank customer is in obvious denial of the passage of time. She dresses like a Berkley student despite her claims of being a hippie-despising Republican, and can often be heard quoting Napoleon Dynamite. Typically located wandering the frozen food section of the supermarket with a cart with a squeaky wheel and a corresponding twitch in her eye, the Thirty-Something Democrat-in-Denial is generally harmless, though she can be incited to lengthy bouts of sarcastic blogging if provoked. Be advised to keep a safe distance.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Phew!

Thank you to everyone who commented on our first video project! It was fun, but a lot more work than I originally anticipated.

Still, if the masses are clamoring for more, who am I to dash your hopes?

Just not today, okay? Or anytime in the near future.

I'm a little videoed out. I'm thinking of rather uncharitable things I'd like to do to that damn tripod, and that's not right. It never did anything to me.

But, I swear, if I have to set it up ONE. MORE. TIME...

Besides, I don't really have anything in mind for another video. Although, Lovey thinks we should post the outtakes. I don't know. It's just a lot of me making funny faces in the camera.

You don't want to see that, do you?

To answer some of your questions, the cable cost $44.99 at Best Buy. Not a significant savings from the one on the Canon website, but I didn't have to pay for shipping or wait for it to arrive, so I bit the bullet.

(Any and all donations will be gladly accepted, MIKE!)

Kidding.

I did indeed use iMovie on my husband's iMac for the editing. But I'm typing this on my PC, so don't think you Mac users have converted me or anything. I might use his Mac on occasion to get what I want out of it, but my heart belongs to my HP.

(It didn't mean anything, baby. Just a little streaming video is all. You know I love you for your gaming capabilities. That Mac's got nothin' on you.)

Also, I'd like to offer a rousing welcome to any newcomers and delurkers. I saw some new names there. Glad to have you!

And for my loyal readers...you know I love you, baby. Those newcomers got nothin' on you.

(Gosh, I hope they don't read that!)

In other news, check out Lovey's post to see a short video of MissBurrow's impromptu birthday celebration at Chuck E. Cheese's.

(You know, despite the flashcard thing, MissBurrows isn't quite the nutjob I you might take her for. Why not stop by and wish her a happy birthday.)

Sunday, March 9, 2008

The Wait is Over...

Here it is. Our big, not-so-secret project.



Next stop, Hollywood!

Friday, March 7, 2008

Blog Blues

I asked my husband what's funnier to kick than a hobo. He said, "I don't know," but he said it a la Napoleon Dynamite, so it cracked me up.

The only thing I could think of was a mime.

Man, I hate those guys.

But upon reflection, I now think hobo-kicking and mime-kicking to be unilaterally side-splitting. Which is to say, not very.

I'm in a lull. My brain is fried from the big secret project Lovey and I are working on (I'll give you a hint: I found a cable, and it weren't no $10, you lying liars!), so The Funny has become a casualty.

Ever try forcing The Funny?

Yeah, it doesn't work so well.

I saw SNL in the 90's. I know.

So, I'm not even going to try. Instead, I'll be holed up in my husband's office all day trying to figure out a certain program on his iMac--*cough iMovie cough*--and giving myself an aneurysm in the process.

Yee-haw.

Do me a favor, though?

If I bite it today, working tirelessly to bring you a finely crafted epic of YouTube proportions, would you mind remembering me as I was? You know, before I lost The Funny?

That's all I ask.

Well, that, and that my boobs live on in infamy. But that's kind of a given.

They are spectacular.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Big Plans

I'm working on a project with Lovey today that may or may not leave you in stitches when we're done.

It may leave us with stitches. Hope not, but we'll see how it goes.

Wish us luck!

In the meantime, have a chuckle at my Google Analytics and Statcounter keyword analysis:
  • woot boobs

  • where can i post my boob pics

  • my husband is more feminine than i am

  • mike's gay older friend

  • lesbian hippies

  • how many calories are burned during an orgy

  • i listen in, yes i'm guilty of this

  • diaper punishment video

  • fabulous fabio avery

  • "cheesecake" + "sweater puppies"

  • what rhymes with snuggle?

  • avery boobs nice

Aw, gee thanks!

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

I'm Cornfused

I took the voting buttons for the Blogger's Choice awards down because I was under the impression that voting was over. Which I thought was weird, because how can you decide less than two months into the year what your favorite humor blog, best blog about stuff, and hottest mommy blogger of 2008--*cough Avery Gray at averygrayday.blogspot.com cough*--will be?

As it turns out, you can't. Hence why the buttons have mysteriously returned to my sidebar.

Now, I'm not going to beg for your votes. I appreciate those who have voted already, and my only goal has been met--get more than zero votes.

As Holly would say, Result!

But if you feel a burning desire to declare your love for me to the world, and you would like to do so in the form of a vote for my blog, well, I certainly won't stop you. I won't even hinder you. I might even clear a path through the throngs of my admirers for you.

It's the least I could do.

But I won't do the voting for you. I'm pretty sure that crosses some sort of line and is frowned upon. And if there's one thing I don't like to be, it's frowned upon.

Smirked upon? Fine.

Grimaced upon? Bring it.

Frowned upon? Nooooo!

So, you'll just have to vote yourself. Okay?

Okay.

On to the business of the day.

My lovely new blogger buddy, GoneBackSouth, has tagged me for a 6 random things meme. Now, I've done random thing memes in the past, but my life just happens to be filled with random, inconsequential minutiae--it's why I blog--so I think I can come up with something fresh.

Let's see...


1) I buy Bounty paper towels for their absorbency and strength.

2) My only claim to fame is that my cousin is the drummer for Journey (not the original, but the current line-up that tours county fairs), but I think it pales in comparison to my husband's, who, while working at a Portland area Burger King as a teenager, served Tom Petty and Bob Dylan in the drive thru.

3) I slept on bamboo sheets last night, and they were quite comfy.

4) Unless they're crawling on me, spiders don't bother me, but I have an irrational fear of moths. I almost drove off the road when a huge one flew in my car window one night. Since then, I only roll my windows down during the day.

5) I can't stand Dora the Explorer. She's bossy, and her voice is like nails on a chalkboard (which I use only as an expression because the sound of nails on an actual chalkboard doesn't bother me).

6) I'm a Gemini, the sign of the twins.




Well, there you have it. Six things you never needed to know about me, but are ever so glad you do.

So, hows about it? Anyone else want to play along?

Monday, March 3, 2008

Taxation Without Gratification

Happy Monday, everyone!

I hope your weekend was as wonderful as mine. I don't know how that's possible though, unless you did a lot of cleaning and talked about your taxes, too.

Good times.

Yes, the tax discussion was lively and riveting, and was sprinkled with just a dash of four-letter "sentence enhancers". (i.e. "Holy [word that rhymes with 'spit'], that's a lot of money!")

Lest you think that means we're in dire straits and will soon be living under a bridge in a Frigidaire box, let me assure you we were talking about our refund.

We don't know the exact figures yet. I'll be making an appointment with our accountant today, but if the numbers in the past are anything to go by, we'll be expecting a nice chunk of change.

Not to be crass (yeah, like that's ever stopped me), but that SUV in our driveway? 2004's refund. Paid cash.

This year's refund won't be SUV-buyin' big. My husband, much as he loved getting that "windfall" every year, was finally persuaded to change the exemptions on his W4. I guess he realized that it's not like winning the lottery if it's just your own money being so kindly bestowed upon you by the slacker friend who borrowed it in the first place.

(Whitey is such a pain that way.)

But we'll be getting enough to pay off the credit card and possibly take a trip somewhere.

So, why, you might be wondering after Friday's post, don't I just go and buy myself the frickin' cable or a new camcorder already? It's simple really.

My husband is a loon.

If it wasn't for me, he would probably stuff the large bills in his mattress and use the singles to fashion himself a comfy, if impractical, security blanket. He likes it liquid and easily accessible, but he doesn't want it spent.

Then there's me, who, before I became a blushing bride and got with child, was completely independent, debt-free, and had my eye on any number of Ralph Lauren bed sets and Marc Jacobs handbags. And if I wanted a firewire cable for my video camera, I was damn sure going to get one. And it would be the sparkliest, pinkest firewire cable I could find, and it would come with a matching carrying case. Naturally.

Of course, that's single girl mentality, and I have done my best to change my ways. As long as I'm not required to clip coupons or shop at WalMart, I'm okay. I even try to take my husband's feelings into account.

Oh, not on my blog. But, you know, in that other place. That counts for something, right?