Greetings to Song in Sydney. Writing this later than usual. Frisbo in da house. Bill horizontal in bed. The Ipod mini did its job admirably today. Much ado about nothing, as per usual for a drama queen like myself. I was just so enamored of the Ipod that I got from Bill, so sleek so shiny, that I felt betrayed when it wouldn’t function like I expected.
You see? This is a good example on why I wouldn’t make a good parent. If I can’t handle a piece of machinery breaking down how could anyone ever expect me to handle a toddler being sick?
The day was the usual weirdness. Work started out being wet from the pissing rain. Couldn’t get started at all. Just so lethargic. As the day progressed it got better. I became more animated after lunch, and enjoyed a nice stroll through a sunny midtown afternoon after dropping off bagels and muffins.
There was some strangeness regarding the Persian bitch. Apparently she’s insisting I’m harassing her despite my not having any contact with her, and any emails I send, are cc’d to various other people.
Met Bill after work and we strolled down to 23rd Street, smoking cigars, to Tekserve, where Bill purchased the Ipod. We had hoped that they’d give me a new Ipod, but that was not to be. We met a customer service woman named Brandy who hooked the Ipod up to her Imac and showed me that everything seemed fine.
That gave me hope. Bill and I strolled to the Path train and sat in the first car watching the underground train tracks unfold before us. We got to Hoboken when I got two messages from Sir Frisbo. I called him back, inviting him to dinner at Arthur’s with Bill and myself.
He was into it and we met him outside. We got there right on time because within a few short minutes it became packed. Some beers, some Guinness. Afterwards a walk home, and back here.
The three of us were going to watch Hustle and Flow but got caught up in Dateline apprehending predators of young boys and girls. Now with Bill in bed, Frisbo and I are watching LA Confidential or rather, he watching it and I’m listening to a lot of gunfire.
I want to throttle Frisbo right now, ever so ably performing the role of ‘devil in my ear’. But the throttling would be out of utmost respect because Frisbo is actually hitting the right buttons, perhaps unwittingly.
Or of course I could be fooling myself. Fueled by herb, Guinness and a chocolate mousse cake with a few errant Gauloises thrown in my imagination could get the better of me. Hell, a doorknob could get the better of me. YOU, dear reader, could get the better of me.
Presently the Guinness is winning out despite a 14 ounce sirloin steak. Buzzing oh so lightly. The couch might make a better place to sit rather than this old computer chair.