Saints and Blogging
So I'm taking (good-natured) fire over on Kelly Malloy's blog because I hate yard work and she loves it.
Once and for all: I hate yard work. Hate it. I hate the bugs. I hate the heat. I hate the grass and the shrubs and the weeds and the lawn mower. I don't mind the beer afterward, but only if it's cold, and it better not be lite. Not that it matters, because my eyes are usually swollen shut from all the pollen. That is, if I ignore the Benadryl so I don't take a nap in the weeds.
If I ever write a manifesto, "I hate yard work" will be ahead of "I hate Republicans," but behind "I love Bruce Springsteen."
Let me put it into perspective: I'd rather clean the bathroom. Twice. And do the laundry. Then the dishes (but don't mention that part to the Saint).
Speaking of the Saint, I was telling her about my blogging-writing friends this evening and I was having trouble explaining the concept that I have friends I haven't met yet. The Saint said, "I don't want to end up on Maury Povich." Which was her second-funniest line of the evening, but I'm not allowed to tell you what the funniest one was.
Don't worry, the funniest line had nothing to do with any of you, friends we have yet to meet. Plus, the Saint KNOWS Jim Atwell AND Kelly Malloy AND Eugena Pilek, and they're all on the links list over to the right. I mean, none of you are crazy... which makes... Me ... the crazy one.
The kids are at my in-laws' until Wednesday. So the Saint and I had a Monday night date here. For the record, it's been a LONG time since we've had a Monday night date. Yes, she suggested it. She left me a really nice voicemail at work today. It was like the movie: She had me at "Hello."
Oh, yeah. We had more Sangria. It was better Sangria than we had in Pennsylvania. Cheaper, too. I'm on this really wild Sangria kick lately. Not sure why. My parents used to make it when I was a kid and I hated it then. But now I... love it. It's one of the only ways you'll get me to drink wine.
Back to... friends and drinks... You know those block parties people sometimes have? Where everybody in the neighborhood brings food... nine or ten people bring macaroni salad and six of them made a bad batch... nobody remembers potato salad and there's always one person allergic to mayo anyway... and somebody makes a really good lasagna, but there's only enough for two and then the kids get into it... and somebody else makes 39 hot dogs and the kids drink too much soda?
Right. I remember those, too. There's good beer and great company and nobody really cares how the food tastes. It's too bad we couldn't do the cyber-equivalent of a block party. Maybe a blog party... where everybody gets on the web and on a conference call... and drinks for an hour or two... and records all the observations in real time.
OK, that sounded better when I was drinking Sangria. But if we do have a blog party, I vote we hold it at Mindy's house. The new one with the big windows. I'll bring the jambalaya and the bourbon.
Mindy and Elizabeth are sitting there saying, "You should have just come to ThrillerFest."
Guilty as charged. (But Phoenix in July?)
Adam
Once and for all: I hate yard work. Hate it. I hate the bugs. I hate the heat. I hate the grass and the shrubs and the weeds and the lawn mower. I don't mind the beer afterward, but only if it's cold, and it better not be lite. Not that it matters, because my eyes are usually swollen shut from all the pollen. That is, if I ignore the Benadryl so I don't take a nap in the weeds.
If I ever write a manifesto, "I hate yard work" will be ahead of "I hate Republicans," but behind "I love Bruce Springsteen."
Let me put it into perspective: I'd rather clean the bathroom. Twice. And do the laundry. Then the dishes (but don't mention that part to the Saint).
Speaking of the Saint, I was telling her about my blogging-writing friends this evening and I was having trouble explaining the concept that I have friends I haven't met yet. The Saint said, "I don't want to end up on Maury Povich." Which was her second-funniest line of the evening, but I'm not allowed to tell you what the funniest one was.
Don't worry, the funniest line had nothing to do with any of you, friends we have yet to meet. Plus, the Saint KNOWS Jim Atwell AND Kelly Malloy AND Eugena Pilek, and they're all on the links list over to the right. I mean, none of you are crazy... which makes... Me ... the crazy one.
The kids are at my in-laws' until Wednesday. So the Saint and I had a Monday night date here. For the record, it's been a LONG time since we've had a Monday night date. Yes, she suggested it. She left me a really nice voicemail at work today. It was like the movie: She had me at "Hello."
Oh, yeah. We had more Sangria. It was better Sangria than we had in Pennsylvania. Cheaper, too. I'm on this really wild Sangria kick lately. Not sure why. My parents used to make it when I was a kid and I hated it then. But now I... love it. It's one of the only ways you'll get me to drink wine.
Back to... friends and drinks... You know those block parties people sometimes have? Where everybody in the neighborhood brings food... nine or ten people bring macaroni salad and six of them made a bad batch... nobody remembers potato salad and there's always one person allergic to mayo anyway... and somebody makes a really good lasagna, but there's only enough for two and then the kids get into it... and somebody else makes 39 hot dogs and the kids drink too much soda?
Right. I remember those, too. There's good beer and great company and nobody really cares how the food tastes. It's too bad we couldn't do the cyber-equivalent of a block party. Maybe a blog party... where everybody gets on the web and on a conference call... and drinks for an hour or two... and records all the observations in real time.
OK, that sounded better when I was drinking Sangria. But if we do have a blog party, I vote we hold it at Mindy's house. The new one with the big windows. I'll bring the jambalaya and the bourbon.
Mindy and Elizabeth are sitting there saying, "You should have just come to ThrillerFest."
Guilty as charged. (But Phoenix in July?)
Adam
Labels: Elizabeth Krecker, Family and Friends, Jim Atwell, M.G. Tarquini, The Saint
posted by Adam Hurtubise at 7:33 PM
3 Comments:
Had the potato salad last night, sans block party. Yes, that potato salad and it was good too. Nope didn't save you any and don't feel bad about it either. Wife will be in town next Wednesday morning, if you ask nicely she might come visit and whip up a batch for you.
Hmmm... Yeah. I might invite her to our house.
Adam
My goodness! I feel like I've been living on a mountain top. I'm wandering the blogs and everybody seems to have 10 new entries!
Yes - party at my house. Anytime.
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