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Life is only what you wonder.

Saturday, April 30, 2005

Typical Male

Sometimes I wish I were a straight girl.

No, I'm not a woman trapped in a man's body. I enjoy being a boy. It's just that straight women get to say things like "All men are dogs" and "What is it with men not putting the toilet seat down?" and "Why do men just 'let one fly'?"
I don't have that luxury. Any qualifying statements I could make toward "men" apply to me, too.

My husband is such a "man" that it's difficult not to utter such things, sometimes. The only thing that makes him gay is his attraction to other men.
No, seriously!

Let's examine the facts, shall we?
He loves watching football, he yells obcenities out the window at cars that cut him off, he wouldn't know a showtune from a Strauss waltz, he wouldn't be caught dead with a drink that had a little umbrella in it, he doesn't know Prada from Dolce & Gabanna, he never asks for directions (he makes me do that), and yes, he often leaves the toilet seat up after he's through.
(Oooh, you should hear me cuss up a storm early in the morning when I'm not paying attention and I sit down to use the toilet and the seat is up. It would make a sailor blush.)

I used think he put the toilet paper in the dispenser the wrong way just to annoy me, but then I realized that he just doesn't think that way. I should be grateful it's in the dispenser and not sitting on the edge of the sink.

One way he's so like a typical man is that he never bothers to read the instructions when we buy something new.
"Instructions are for people who don't know what they're doing." he said once.
Like when we got the DVD/VCR, he took it right out of the box and immediatly started hooking it up to the TV. After (much) trial and error, he managed to get it hooked up right, but since he 's never read the directions he has no idea how to program the VCR to tape something, or how to set the clock.

    "Honey," he'll ask sweetly, "Can you set the VCR to tape 60 Minutes tonight?"
    "I guess so," I'll reply, "But why can't you do it?" (I know the answer, I'm just curious as to what he'll say.)
    "But, honey," he'll say, "I thought you liked doing that sort of thing."
Actually, I don't need to be a straight girl after all, because I've just come to this startling conclusion:
We're not of the same species.
I am a male human, but my husband is a man.

Friday, April 29, 2005

Sparkles From Amnesia

My girl Amnesia (She's the diva! She's the diva!) practically got down on her knees and begged me to tell her the husband's and my astrological signs so she could do a "compatibility reading".
That she would take time out of her very busy schedule to do that for li'l ol' me is nothing short of amazing.

Anyhow, this is what she had to say:

Libra/Scorpio and Virgo make a pretty good match. Especially if the virgo is younger than the Libra and if they learn how to deal with matters of care-freeness.

Virgos can be a bit uptight with budgets and also with their personality. They don't open up right away and they tend to be pretty secretive. They love expensive things but they are wise when it comes to using their money. This could create conflics with the Libra. Libras LOVE to shop and buy expensive things but they tend to be more carefree with their money.

Libras are very affectionate and giving but when it comes to taking the blame they usually fall short. They will take partial blame for a situation but hell if they are ever going to say "it's completely my fault."
Sometimes though, taking the full blame means a lot to the other partner even if you don't believe you are 100% guilty.

Oh, because you are cusp of Scorpio this works to your favor since Scorpios are also compatible with Virgos.

I think the key between Libra and Virgo is balancing reality with fantasy. Virgo is very real and down to earth where the Libra is like
poetry, even though they're very real they're filled with a song of fantasy.

If they can find the middle ground home life can be both real and fantastic.

Sparkle Gurl, Sparkle!

For the most part it seems right on the money.
Thanks, honey!

Monday, April 25, 2005

It's Not What You Wear, It's How You Wear It

I was thinking the other day that it would be nice to go out to some different clubs.
The gay bars/clubs in Baltimore are fun and all, but I'm tired of the same old thing. As fabulous as the Hippo and Central Station are, they get kind of ho-hum after you've been there 500 times or so.

Anyhoo, I was looking around for something new, something fun, not too clique-y, someplace where I would be comfortable.
Unlike the husband, I don't mind going to straight clubs, as long as they don't freak out when I boogie with my man on the dance floor.
(i.e. "Oh my gawd, there's a queer in here!")

I found a club that looked promising. Four dance floors featuring different types of music (house, hip-hop, trance/techno. and retro 70's/80's), a lounge area featuring mood lighting and overstuffed sofas and chairs. The entire description of it sounded amazing. I was longing to go there.
Then I saw it:

    Dress Code:
    No hooded sweatshirts (Hoodies)
    No baseball hats, visors or knit caps
    No t-shirts, sweatshirts, wifebeaters or athletic wear
    No jeans, No baggy pants
    No ripped or torn clothing
    No athletic shoes or rugged boots (Timbs)

    Please dress to impress!

No t-shirts? No jeans? No athletic shoes? There goes 99.44% percent of my wardrobe!
Oh, I suppose I could dig out a pair of khakis or chinos and dig in my closet for my dress shoes (which are in there somewhere). I could do that, sure, but I wouldn't be comfortable.
And it's all about comfort with me.

Plus, when you have to wear a uniform for work, dressing however you like when you're off duty becomes important. Forty plus hours a week I'm forced to dress a specific way, I'm not going to let anyone tell me what to wear, no matter how fantasic the place is.

I dress for comfort, but I also dress to accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative.
For example: I have nice shapely legs and a cute little ass. (Not a "bubble butt", but it's cute, OK?) And I also have a small 28 inch waist, and a nice size bulge in my trousers. That's the positive.
But on the other hand, I have the chest and torso of a twelve year old boy. I'm not all skeletal or anything, there is some muscle-tone there, but not much. That's the negative, as in there's nothing there.

So I dress accordingly.

My jeans tend to be somewhat snug (but not skintight) which shows off my legs, butt, and my bulge. My shirts tend to be loose (but not too large), tucked into my jeans (to accentuate my waist). Unbuttoned slightly and with a wifebeater underneath, it kind of gives the illusion (in my mind at least) that I have a torso of some kind.

Of course, if I were built the opposite way (torso like a brick outhouse and spindly little sticks for legs) I'd probably wear muscle t's or tank tops with baggy trousers.

Make the best of what you have - that's my motto.

Friday, April 22, 2005

My Best Friend

They say dogs are man's best friend, but I never believed it until recently.


See, I've always thought of myself as a "cat person". Not like that (awful) Nastassia Kinski movie, it's just I'd always identified with cats more.
They're aloof, independant, self-sufficient. They're clever with their paws and they're excellent at stalking their prey.

Plus, since the day I was born until the day I left home there was always at least one cat in the house.
I didn't know much about dogs. None of my relatives or friends had dogs. All I knew about dogs were from movies, TV, and Alpo commercials. Therefore, I thought of dogs as loyal but relatively stupid; cuddly and cute but too servile, too dependant. After all, you don't have to take the cat out for a walk. (You do have to change the litter box, though!)

Then G. brought Rico home, and I fell in love.
That dog is such a part of me now, it's almost crazy.

    How do I love my dawg? Let me count the ways:
  1. He's ready with a kiss the second I walk through the door. (Puppy kisses are the sweetest kisses of all. Licking me on my mouth is where I draw the line, however. bleh!)
  2. Having someone so excited and happy that you've come back home (even if you've only been gone a half an hour) gives you a warm happy feeling.
  3. Rico can sense when I'm having a bad day and he's always there for moral support.
  4. He may be little, but he barks like a big dog. Any burglars would think there's a Pit Bull guarding the place.
  5. He listens intently to everything I say. He might not understand me, but he listens anyway.
  6. I never have to wonder where he is, because he's always by my side.
  7. Semper Fidelus. ("Always Faithful")
Of course he's a pain in my butt, too. He demands attention constantly, he thinks it's my sacred duty to rub his belly whenever he wants it, he thinks my socks are his personal property and he hides them all over the house, and he gets into mischief the second I turn my back.

But I love him anyway.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Neo-Nazi Torture Chamber

OK, so G. and I are OK, for the moment. We're getting along OK at this point and I have a fat juicy hickey on my neck to prove it.
Hickeys are so Junior High aren't they? And you just know everyone who sees it is thinking "Oh, I know what he did last night!"
We still need to make that appointment with a councelor, but that will come.

Speaking of appointments . . .

I need alot of dental work done, and today I took a trip to the dentist for an initial consultation.

*groan*
I hate the dentist! (No offense to you, Robbie!)
When I was a child I would have nightmares days before my dental appointments. It got to the point where my mother wouldn't even tell me beforehand, she would just spring it on me, "We're going to the dentist today!"

If I had military secrets, all someone would have to do would be to strap me in a chair and bring out the metal tray of picks, scrapers, and other dental impliments and I would sing like a canary.

    I'll talk! I'll talk! I tell you everything!
I'm determined to have a nice smile, though, so I have to endure it.

Bottom line: I need alot of work done. I have an appointment to have two bad teeth extracted next week.
EEK!

More on this at a later date.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Here We Go Again

Sorry for the lack of "personal" type posts lately. It's difficult (for me, at least) to write about personal, yet trivial, things when there's something wrong going on. Seperating your troubles from the good times is like trying to seperate the white from the yolk in an omlette.

There's been trouble in "paradise".
Again.

Fighting with the husband, not talking for days on end. Various strains ans stresses.
Why does it always come down to this?
I am literally exhausted by it all.

You always hear the most glowing things about the start of a romance: I'm in love, he's so handsome (hot, sexy, whatever), the sex is incredible, I've finally found Mr. Right and we'll be together forever!, the future's so bright I have to wear shades!
(Picture a happy couple walking hand in hand into the sunrise.)

And you also hear alot about breaking up: he's a bastard, he's driving me crazy, I can do bad all by myself, I'm better off without him, etc. (Picture someone walking alone down the street, head held high with a look of optimism, while "Survivor" by Destiny's Child plays in the background.)

But you very rarely hear about the "pair maintenence" stage in between, and the reason for that is very simple: It's boring.

I think the main thing that's causing so much difficulty is that we're so different. Our philosohies, tastes in music, fashion, movies, and TV shows are at total oppisite sides of the spectrum. I'm very easy-going and blase, he's very serious-minded and goal-oriented; he likes things neat and orderly, I'm not a total slob, but "putting everything in it's place" isn't that high on my list of things to do.
I'm not saying either one of us is "right" (or wrong, for that matter). We're just different, that's all.
So we start drifting apart, little by little, inch by inch, and before you know it, a big chasm is between us and we can barely even see the other person.
So it get's to the point where each of us is thinking, "Why am I even in this?".
We break up, realize how much we love one another and miss each other, get back together and everything's great for a little while, but then it starts all over again.
(Cue "Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong" from the An Officer and a Gentleman soundtrack.)

Oh, in the beginning it didn't matter so much, because we were in love (reread pararaph four).

One thing we do agree on is that we love one another. I don't think we'd still be together if we didn't.
I can't shake that man, no matter how much I try. He can't shake me, either.
For better or worse, we're under each other's skin.

That's why we're planning on seeing a couple's councelor.
We'd discussed it before, but I kept putting it off, and putting it off. "Why do we need a shrink? We can solve our problems all by ourselves."
Well, it's obvious to me now that we just can't, so something has to be done.

It's come down to this: either we fix whatever needs fixing, or we go our seperate ways, because we can't take much more.
I'm tired and I know he is, too.

Monday, April 18, 2005

The Truth Is Out There . . .

Check out Wondir, an organization with a simple mission: eliminate the barriers between questions and answers.
Anyone can post a question about anything, and if you know the answer to a particular question you can leave a response.

OK, so not exacly fast or 100% accurate depending on who's answering the questions. The most fun comes from reading the questions on the Question Board, which can be very amusing.
Here's a sample:

18 Apr '05, 12:54 (GAM) How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll tootsie pop? (2 responses)
18 Apr '05, 12:54 (BIZ) Who builds robots?
18 Apr '05, 12:53 (SCI) How fast does light travel? (1 response)
18 Apr '05, 12:53 (PRG) I am 26 weeks pregnant, how many months does that make me? Am I 6 months yet?
18 Apr '05, 12:53 (EHR) What is "The Panic Channel"?
18 Apr '05, 12:53 (BLG) Can I install different size memory chips in a Dell Inspiron 600m laptop? (ie: one 256MB chip and one 512MB chip)
18 Apr '05, 08:35 (B&F) I have a spot on the edge of my lip. what is it? (4 responses)

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Would You Be Caught Dead In This?

Straight from the new Undergear catalog, by International Male:

Guard Bikini
You may be inspired to save lives wearing this bikini. Silver metallic "Guard" printed on seat in a special ink that won't crack when it stretches. Moderate back. Drawcord. Machine wash. Contoured Fit.* Nylon/Lycra®. USA. Pink, Turquoise, Lime, Yellow. S-M-L-XL.
Pink? Turquoise?
*shudders*

IM usually has good stuff, but not in this case.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Time's Up!

Today is tax deadline day. I hope you managed to get yours out on time.
Mine has already been sent, the refund already recieved, and the money already spent.
I don't waste any time.

Already tired, and I've only worked two days this week.
Party of 162 kids from the YMCA yesterday evening in the restaurant. They were between ages 7 and 17, from the Inner City.
Chaos. Pandemonium.
Instead of a tray and a towel, I should have been eqipped with a chair and a whip. Or perhaps a sword and shield would have been better.

I need a vacation.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Looney, Looney, Looney

I think I read the statistic that one out of every twenty people is in need of some kind of psychiatric treatment, and that one in fifty, if tested, would turn out to be clinically insane and should be in a padded cell somewhere.
I am reminded of these statistics whenever I ride the city transit bus, walk around downtown, and, in short, whenever I'm in a public place.

Every once in awhile a truly whacked out individual will come to eat in my restaurant, which turns a humdrum day into either an entertaining event (if they're sitting in someone else's section), or a nightmare you can't escape from (if they're sitting in mine).

Yesterday, a crazy man was sat in the section next to mine. I didn't know he was crazy right off, though. All I knew he was fifty tears old if he was a day, he was wearing a stained and holey "God Bless the USA" t-shirt, he was really loud, and he was talking to all the people sitting at the tables all around him. I caught up to Debbie, his waitress, in the drink station.
"That guy is awfully loud, isn't he?" I said to her.
"He's crazy!" she replied, "He's bothering all my other guests! And did you hear the fucked up shit this guy is saying?"

Here's some of what this guy was spouting to anyone who would listen:

  • 9/11 didn't actually happen, it was all Hollywood special effects. (Gosh, all the news services, press, and all the people in NYC must be in on it too, then. It's a conspiracy!)
  • The moon landing and space travel never happened either. More special effects.
  • Osama Bin Laden never existed, he's "someone we invented to give a face to our enemy".
  • George Dubya is the anti-Christ. (I could almost believe this one.)
  • And more stuff about microchips implanted in people to "track them", genetically engineered clones, robots disguised as people walking among us, alien spaceships using crop circles to give "secret orders to people in high places" and on and on and on.
And you could tell this guy actually believed every word he was saying.

I have one hard and fast rule when it comes to crazy people: I have nothing to do with them.
Why?
Because they're crazy, that's why! Crazy people are capable of anything. He could decide at any moment that I'm actually a robot disguised as a person and try and bash my head in.

Which reminds me of something I read a little while ago, which goes something like this:
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away, there were people living on a planet troubled by war, crime, and mayhem. One day they decided they were going to clean up their troubled planet and make it a happy peaceful place. So they gathered up all their crazy people, homicidal maniacs, sexual perverts, and other undesirables and sent them way to another planet: a pretty blue and green world orbiting third from a bright yellow star. The planet's name was Earth, and we are their descendants.
It's better known as the Asylum: Earth theory.
Every once in awhile, like when I come across a madman like I mentioned above, I think there might be something to that theory, after all.

Or maybe I'm the one who's crazy. Who knows?

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Hangin' On The Telephone

I promised myself when I got my new cell phone (and a calling plan that allows me to talk, pretty much, whenever I want to without having to count minutes) that I wouldn't become one of those annoying people.
You know what I mean. They're always talking on it no matter where they are, they're really loud and obnoxious, and they're holding conversations when they should be telling the waiter what kind of entree they want.

I think (for the most part) I've succeeded.

However, in just the few months I've had my phone it has become totally indispensable to me.
I (literally) don't know what I would do without it.
It's just so damn convenient.

It's not just a phone. It's got email, up-to-the-minute sports, weather and entertainment info, text messaging.
And games.
What kind of sick twisted mind decided it would be cool to put games on cell phones? Now I'm addicted to playing Tetris in my idle moments.

Big nerd that I am, all the "special people" that call me have different ringtones.
(When the husband calls, Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" plays, and when the restaurant calls it's the theme to "Mission: Impossible".)
The technology is there, so why not use it? Besides, it's fun.

We don't even have a home phone now.
We've totally eliminated it.
The husband has his cell phone, I have mine, so what do we need another phone for? It's a total waste of money.

Although, things can get kind of weird.
The other day the husband and I were out for a cocktail. His cell phone rings and he answers it, then not even a minute later my cell phone rings.
Were sitting side by side, both of us on our phones carrying on conversations with other people.
How bizarre is this? I wondered.

Then he looked at me, I looked at him.
I mouthed the words, "I love you." He mouthed right back, "I love you, too."

OK, maybe it's not so strange, after all.

Monday, April 11, 2005

Just Sit Back And Let Me Take Control

You wouldn't go to a play or a live performance and tell the actors what to do or the players how to play, would you?
If the Stage Manager and Director have done their jobs well, and the performers have genuine talent, chances are you're going to enjoy yourself.

It's the same exact thing with dining in a restaurant, only except of it being a "performance", it's more interactive.
Symbiotic.
The guest needs a waiter to take care of him, the server needs a customer to wait on. Without those two elements, there is no "show".
The main reason things go awry when dining out is when the guests try to control the action.
"The waiter is here to do what I tell him to" is the (misguided) thought behind it.

I can tell it's going to go bad usually within the first minute of coming to the table. Especially if I'm interrupted during my opening monologue.

    "Hello!" I say cheerfully, "My name is Jimmy, and I'll be your ser--"
    "I needa glassa watta!" they'll bark, "With extra lemon on the side!"
And I groan inside, because I know it's going to be one of those tables: They'll be asking for things before I even have a chance to offer them, having me running back and forth for extra this and extra that, they'll use every damn sugar packet in the caddy to make their "ghetto lemonade" -- and then bark for more.
In short, they're going to be a total pain in the butt.

They would have a better time (and save me from wanting to pull my hair out) if they just let me do my job.

Being a waiter isn't just plopping down drinks and plates of food on a table. If that were the case, you could train a monkey to do it.
A good waiter is a people person and a good judge of character. We can provide the optimum amount of service. Not too much, and not too little, which varies from guest to guest and table to table. Some people don't want to be bothered, and some people need you at their table every five minutes.
A good waiter instinctively knows how much service to give.

A good waiter is an expert at anticipating guest's needs, and providing them before the guest(s) even know themselves that they wanted it.
If a guest's drink is less than half-full, I see it, I know it, and I'm already on my way with a refill. I know my guests are (probably) going to want A-1 or Worcestershire sauce with their sirloin steak, sour cream and chives with their baked potato, and Tobasco with their country fried chicken.
Like magic, it's right there without even having to ask for it.

A good waiter also knows how to clear plates without disrupting conversations, the right moment to offer after-dinner coffee, and the perfect time to bring the little tray of mints.

I'm not just someone who dashes back and forth to bring things and take them away.
That's part of it, but along with that: I'm the person who's primary function is to make sure you have a fabulous dining experience. I want you to have the best time possible with absolutely no cares or worries.
Leave it to me, I'll see to everything.
I want you to tell your friends what a great time you had in my restaurant, but most of all I want you to return and to ask to sit in my section the next time you come.

I take great pride in being good at what I do.
But I can't do my best if someone won't let me.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

Totally Tasteless Joke Of The Day:

You know, the Pope isn't going to be embalmed. Can you guess what they are using to keep him from smelling before he's buried?

Potpourri.

(Pope-pourri. Get it?)

Oh, it's only a joke, dammit!
Don't be so hypersensitive.

Saturday, April 09, 2005

Wonder Boy’s Greatest Hits

It’s been three years (yesterday) that I’ve had this blog.

To commemorate this occasion, I’ve chosen my favorite posts over the years.
These might not be the most popular, but they were the most fun for me to write, and they’re what I’m most proud of.
Enjoy.

Anyway, happy blog-iversary to me!

That's all for today.
Have a good one!

Thursday, April 07, 2005

New Review

Ben Jelen - Give It All Away

I don't know about you, but I judge music on how it makes me feel. Some music gives you energy and just makes you feel good. Deee-lite and The B-52's are good examples of this.
Some music makes you sad or melancholy, like Morrissey or early Suzanne Vega. Not a bad thing if you feel like wallowing in self-pity, as we all need to do now and then.
Some music is for when you're angry and hating the entire world. I break out the Alanis Morrissette and Nine Inch Nails whenever I feel like screaming. I just wail along with thge music instead. It's theraputic.
Music is the soundtrack of my life. There's never a time when I don't have something playing on the stereo.

Which brings me to my review of the Ben Jelen CD.

When my buddy Fireguy first turned me on to Ben Jelen he was like, "You have to see this guy - he is soooo sexy!"
I saw the photos, and, yep, he's sexy all right.
But can he sing? Is his music any good? Is he more than just a pretty face?

The answer to those questions is an unqualified yes.
Very much so.

After I heard the single "Come On" I was totally hooked. I had to have more.

I'm a lyrical person. Instrumentals never did anything for me, but the right lyrics can make a song my absolute favorite.
"Come on / Without you, I'll never feel the love inside of me" he sings -- and you feel it. You feel the longing and wanting.
It's the same thing with the second track, "Rocks".
"Cause it was love, wasn't it? / Well, it's killing me not havin' it"
Again, you feel it. He makes you feel it.
And it's the same with every track on this album.

My personal favorite it the fifth track, "Every Step". Not only does it have a fancy uptempo melody, but it contains the whispery delivered lyric "I've tangled with your lips" which makes me think of making out.
Defini’ly erotic -- to me anyway.

Someone asked me if I "review" every CD I buy, and the answer to that is a definite "no". I thought the Clay Aiken CD "Measure of a Man" was mediocre at best. I think I've listened to it maybe twice since I bought it. Was it worth a review? No way. It was barely worth the price I paid for it, and I got it on sale.

Ben Jelen is definitely talented vocally. I challenge anyone to listen to the CD and try and tell me otherwise. And unlike Clay Aiken, who I mentioned above, Ben wrote or co-wrote every song on the album except one.

If you want music that moves you, "Give It All Away" is definitely for you. I know I'll probably wear out my copy from continuous playing.

Bonus goodies: Stick the CD in your computer and you can view the music video of "Come on", live performances of "Come On" and "Give It All Away", an in-depth interview with Ben Jelen, and a photo gallery.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

From Hell

Crappy night last night at the restaurant. A crappy day, too, for that matter, since I worked a double shift.
Horribly slow all day, until about an hour and a half before closing, then we got extremely busy.
This wouldn't have been so bad, except the people were all evil.

Yes, evil. From the stinking depths of Hell they came to run me to death, treat me like dirt, and then leave me next to nothing for a tip.
One particularly diabolical (i.e obnoxious) group of young girls sat in the back for hours, made a horrible, horrible mess (they were throwing muffins at one another at one point), ran me to death for refills, and, worst of all, they forced me to sing Happy Birthday!

After they left, I went to the table. No tip (but I wasn't really expecting one), however I did notice that one of them left their driver's license behind.
If they had been human, or at least left me something, I would have dashed out to the parking lot and returned it. I do it all the time when people leave hats, scarves, umbrellas, purses, etc. behind.
What did I do? I chucked that baby right in the garbage can.
Take that, you bitch!

Of course, they came back. When I got called to the host stand, I knew what it was all about.
"Did you find a driver's license on the table?" one of the girls asked me.
"I didn't see anything on the table but a big mess" I replied, and returned to my section.

I normally wouldn't be like that, but they deserved it.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Keep It Confidential

Confidential to . . .
    Glenn: That's both flattering and also kind of creepy, to be honest.

    Jason: No, I wont send you my dirty socks or underwear no matter how much you offer me. Don't ask again.

    Marcus: Yes, very much so.

    Vlad: Thanks for the nudie pic. I know how much you want an American boyfriend, and you're sexy and all that, but I'm taken. Better luck with another boy.

    John (from Scottsdale, AZ): Surprise! It's a small world (and getting smaller by the day!)

Saturday, April 02, 2005

Who's That Guy?

It's Maverick recording artist Ben Jelen (apparently pronounced "YELL-in").
According to all sources, he sounds alot like John Mayer.

To be honest, I haven't heard any of his songs (yet).
But he is pretty to look at, isn't he?

Friday, April 01, 2005

2191 Days

The husband and I are celebrating six years together today.

SIX YEARS!!!!! HOLY SMOKE!

They say the first seven years are the hardest, after that it's smooth sailing.
One more year to go!

A big "fuck you" to those who said "I give them six months before they break up". Shows how much you know.
Next time, save your predictions for the stock market.