Holy Bejus, I'm being subjected to hearing the most boring, work-related phone conversation ever. The Boy, for reasons that are unfathomable to me, is going over line by line some score (I'm assuming it's Haydn's The Seasons)...reading each word...slowly...sometimes repeating it. The world of choir and sheet music is just baffling to me. It seems to me, in my naivete I'm sure, that one would just email a PDF of the score, and be done with it. Tell those singers to print and highlight their parts, or feel the wrath of my impatience. Obviously I would make a very mean choir master (that's what he asks me to call him in bed...or what I know he wishes I'd call him in bed). I'm sure there is a very good reason why he's doing what he's doing.
To spice up my evening, I modified my preferred-channel list on the DVR in both the livingroom and bedroom. I realize how jealous all of you are of me right now. My life is the epitome of exciting. Then I folded laundry. Dripping, wet excitement.
Last Friday, I did get out of the house, and had a good time with the gang at this place called Pinballz. It was a wet dream for the boys, who could make two quarters last for over 30 minutes. However, I could only make them last an average of 3 minutes. I found I had a slight knack for skee ball, but not enough to overcome the nagging feeling that I would have done just as well throwing coins in PVC pipes. Seems pinball and arcade games tap in to a deep vein of anxiety in me. I hate sucking at something, and I hate sucking even more when I'm having to pay for it. I'm totally a flat-rate type of girl. I'll pay $7.50 for a night of rollerskating, and I can be terrible but pretend I'm totally awesome, and because I'm not having to dump quarters in a slot every time I stumble, I can keep the fantasy alive.
Thus, since I am such a controlling, sore-loser cheapskate, my evenings will remain being all about programming the DVR. Hold me back, I'm out of control.
To spice up my evening, I modified my preferred-channel list on the DVR in both the livingroom and bedroom. I realize how jealous all of you are of me right now. My life is the epitome of exciting. Then I folded laundry. Dripping, wet excitement.
Last Friday, I did get out of the house, and had a good time with the gang at this place called Pinballz. It was a wet dream for the boys, who could make two quarters last for over 30 minutes. However, I could only make them last an average of 3 minutes. I found I had a slight knack for skee ball, but not enough to overcome the nagging feeling that I would have done just as well throwing coins in PVC pipes. Seems pinball and arcade games tap in to a deep vein of anxiety in me. I hate sucking at something, and I hate sucking even more when I'm having to pay for it. I'm totally a flat-rate type of girl. I'll pay $7.50 for a night of rollerskating, and I can be terrible but pretend I'm totally awesome, and because I'm not having to dump quarters in a slot every time I stumble, I can keep the fantasy alive.
Thus, since I am such a controlling, sore-loser cheapskate, my evenings will remain being all about programming the DVR. Hold me back, I'm out of control.
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