Saturday, May 26, 2007

On Memorial Day Weekend, I . . .

(1) ate good sushi with Hun. We also enjoyed the miracle innovation of air conditioning. The National Weather Service issued a "Stagnation Warning"--whatever that means. When I heard about it, I though it was a warning that people had to mill about, lest a cloud of CO2 accumulates around your head and suffocates you. Later, I realized it was a politically correct term to describe "muggier than Hell". (See my explanation of "wintry mix" vs. "icy shit".)

(2) surfed youtube while Hun took a post-gluttony nap. I decide I have found my new creative outlet. Although refinishing furniture is highly meditative and therapeutic, it takes a lot of noxious chemicals and a sheltered--yet well-ventilated--location. Something my Albany abode lacks. I also have an expensive video camera gathering dust in our bedroom. (While in grad school, I had visions of socially-provocative documentaries dancing in my head.)

(3) woke up early with great intentions of going to the laundromat. I have all our laundry sorted, and even intend to wash all my winter sweaters to put them into storage. The closest I get to the laundromat is placing all the bins and hampers by the door. I surf youtube instead.

(4) Hun has a mojo headache. He moans, takes a shower. I make him coffee and toast. Then I launch into him while he is vulnerable . . .

(4) I discuss with Hun the joys of buying a new computer and installing a hot-shot nonlinear editing system. He suggest getting something a little less pricey installed on our new computer. We go back and forth. I remind him of my strong need to get a new car and how I already compromised heavily to get it sent to the shop and have it revamped. I also mentioned to him he was willing for us to buy a new computer as a compromise. I was now cashing in. This debate turns into a State of the Union discussion. I tell him I want to quit my job after a year and become a secretary to invest more time in my new virtual career as a youtube superstar. He thinks it's fine to quite my job since I work with crazy people, and its worth the cut in pay and it would be nice knowing I wouldn't be driving so much and I would be happier overall. He then reminds me of the investment in potted plants sitting on our porch for the sheer purpose of putting a smile to my face. He also reminds me I am a bit flip in my decisions to devote my life/hobby/whatever in something. (Okay, so I'm flaky.) We talk about our future and how to best compromise with each other. We talk about how much we are glad to have each other in our lives. Hun still has a headache. I feel much better.

(5) Hun and I procrastinate. He procrastinates in his studies. I procrastinate in completing paperwork for my job. I continue to have youtube superstardom delusions. I decide we need to eat soon.

(6) I go to the supermarket and buy some veggies to grill kabobs. I come back and proceed to marinade and cut things while waiting for the coals to be ready. The end result: my kabobs aren't the greatest success. I believe I need to marinade the meat overnight.

(7) Hun studies. I still procrastinate. I notice someone has requested me as a friend in my facebook account. He lives in Brooklyn and is involved in a relationship. He wants to know what a NY newbie thinks of the place. He also mysteriously looks like a young George Clooney. I think to myself, "George wants to be my friend! Well, I'm pretty special!" Then I think, "Wait, he looks an awful lot like George Clooney--he is George Clooney!" I think about the desperate guy on the other end of the facebook account who puts and old picture of a celebrity to get points from the ladies. Perhaps he is a benign cyberfan who enjoys my notes, blogs, etc. I've attempted contact on other blogs before. (Please see "cyberstalking".) Perhaps he really looks a lot like George Clooney. I still change my privacy settings.

(9) I finally sit down and blog before launching into paperwork. Perhaps I need to learn how to be a blog-star before being a youtube guru. After all, story is everything.