Except that I have to work tonight, so it's a false sense of freedom from responsibility. Last night was okay, though it seemed unusually long, perhaps because I left the house at about 6pm to "run some errands" and after hitting the craft store for a blank lampshade (which I will be sure to design in an appropriately kitschy way to match my livingroom and replace the infamous Bacon Lamp that I am going to sell)I stopped at the bar to see our friends M & G and G & F. They were having their usual Friday happy hour gathering, and since I had not seen them since my sister's visit in May I wanted to catch up. Well, catching up turned into a much longer project than I had anticipated--because they're such fun and time flies and whatnot, and it soon became time for me to run home and get the b.h. to work. At which point I realized that I could just as easily work instead of the b.h. since he had worked and I hadn't on Thursday. Calls were made, socks were acquired (I had left the house without them since I thought I'd be back much sooner, but the Boss Man came to the rescue), and in no time I was hard at work.
Well, hardly working, really, at least for the first two and a half hours. Met a guy from England who is travelling the States this summer teaching football (soccer, not padded football) to kids. Great gig, huh? I wondered to myself how I might finagle a similar deal over there. Maybe there are young parents in the U.K. who'd like their children to learn valuable bartending skills? As Tony Soprano said, there are two businesses that are recession proof: "The entertainment industry, and our thing." God knows my ability to pour a proper Guiness has been a lot more useful than my degree in English Literature. I have often joked that they should have handed me that ever-useful piece of paper with a bottle opener wrapped inside. Oooh- I know! What about the art of cussing like an American? I am skilled in both Yankee-style (Northern) cussing ("Fuck that fucking jag-off," for example) and the slightly more genteel Southern version ("She's as crazy as a shithouse rat, bless her heart". If anyone can hook me up with this exchange student type of situation, please let me know.
Of course, host families would have to accept the b.h. as well. You can think of him as a teaching assistant. He is also skilled in the art of drink slinging, and he plays bass and guitar, and his cooking skills are without equal. In the good way. So yeah. Give us a holler. Also, you must love dogs. I know we're not allowed to bring them over due to some kind of rabies-related quarantine something-or-other, but we can't leave without them. We already have people suits and passports at the ready (we bought them after the 2004 election, but have yet to actually use them), and we've taught them to walk on two legs for several steps at a stretch.
I would love to post some garden photos, as I am tremendously proud of the progress out there, but our other computer is currently in the shop. Our friend S, whose knowledge of computers is astounding) is frankensteining it into a super machine, and this laptop isn't compatible with our camera card. Ah well. Soon enough.
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