Voice Mail Archives

Well, holy crap.

I've been doing a lot of painting recently (walls and such, not watercolor landscapes) and I'm singularly awful at it, but when friends have a big project like painting lots of walls, they tend not to be too picky about your skill set.

Things are looking up. I got the money that was missing from my last paycheck today, so I can actually celebrate my birthday in some style. Now, some of my readers have, I feel, implied that I have mentioned my birthday overly much in my last few posts both here and elsewhere, and that I might be perceived to be ramming it down people's throats in an attempt to get more attention, presents, and gratuitous make-out sessions.

The way the morning starts decides the day.

This just can't be true, because my day started out great, with some delicious dreams that I was able to stay in bed a little longer than usual to enjoy today, because I was asked to come into work late. Don't have to ask me twice, so I lolled about with my best boycat for an extra hour, eventually falling back asleep.

Almost exactly a year ago, I was helping out a friend on a big project that involved the construction of about 17 thousand (it seemed) red felt doohickeys. Actually, it was only about 500, but each one had to be individually cut out, rolled up, and sewn together, and it took a long time and kind of made me a little batty for a couple of weeks.

I had a bit of a to-do to attend tonight, and in somewhat of the capacity of host/emcee. I was kind of excited about having an appropriate occasion at which I could wear the stunning new top I bought when I was last in the big city.

I know we all sometimes dream we can fly, and everyone eventually will have the dream about being naked and having to give a public talk, or sitting for an exam we never studied for in a class we never attended, and then there's always the old chestnut of all your teeth falling out for no reason whatsoever.

Back when he was alive, Edward Gorey used to live around here. Then, sadly, he died, and he didn't leave a forwarding address.

It's Dad day, which is a good day for me, since I happen to have lucked into having pretty much the coolest Dad ever. So when other people are half-heartedly sucking up to their progenitors, I am filled with the glow of non-hypocrisy on an officially hypocritical Hallmark Holiday.

Yesterday Matt asked me to paint his toenails, a summertime ritual we have followed for at least five years, possibly more. He wears very revealing sandals all summer, and he likes his toes to look pretty. Who doesn't? I'm happy to oblige.