blog.big-woop.com

Now that it is past midnight (Thursday), I cannot technically refer to any of the things I did since I woke up as 'today,' but rather must do so as 'yesterday,' which I find particularly annoying. Especially because --going to sleep as late as I did-- I did things after midnight the day before yesterday (Tuesday) but before falling asleep yesterday (Wednesday). This is the unfortunate trap I set for myself by not updating every day.

Having wrapped my mind around that, I don't really recall much of the past few days, and because of the aforementioned (I'm getting kind of sick of that word, but 'said' is far more irksome.) trap will refer to them as Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.

Monday
After DQ, Eclipse, and Wendy's with Jacob (Ascending in order of dumbness. Ha!) I came home to do the Jumble (TEASE, ELATE, JABBER, WALLOP. That position at the candy factory turned out to be this. A "SWEET" JOB.). It was beautiful out. I wore shorts. I realized I needed to get some sandals. I would, later, at Target, on the way back from picking up Anna, with whom I rented The Truth About Charlie based solely on the fact that it is a remake of Charade (one of my favorite movies), which we found on the b-side and watched instead (I'd split that sentence up into manageable chunks if I weren't so lazy. Refrain from reading it aloud without pausing for air). Zinzee (Phonetic. I don't know how to spell her name) and The Beav joined us toward the end. A bad idea. The film is one which is impossible to understand without having seen the beginning, not like Anger Management, which I saw half of with The Boy on...

Tuesday
It wasn't a very good (last half of a) movie. I only watched it because it was what we'd bought tickets for in efforts to sneak The Boy into Phone Booth (which is R-rated). The manager, Cranky Old Prick, kicked us out. It was the first time I'd been kicked out of a movie. Ever.

I came home from that ordeal to realize the final word on the Jumble, which I'd begun earlier in the day (HAREM, TOPAZ, MEADOW, SNITCH. Why the mobster played on the baseball team. HE WAS A "HIT" MAN.). Anna called around five, so I went over. It started lightning-ing something fierce. It was pretty rad. I learned how to play Whist, kind of.

Wednesday
I fell asleep off and on there, ultimately leaving at 2:30 AM, which was odd, but it was still one hell of a nap. The drive home was taking extraordinarily long. I figured it was due to how tired I was and the cats and dogs that were descending en masse on Highway 61. Glancing at my speedometer, I noticed that the needle had dipped well below the minimum speed. I guess I had never bothered to accelerate on the on-ramp, because I was tooling along at the decent clip of 17 miles per hour. I suppose the absence of other vehicles may have contributed to my snail's pace.

I woke up (after having gone to sleep around three) about twelve hours later, just in time to catch my new favorite old-time television program, The Streets Of San Francisco, starring a young Michael Douglas. Fucking brilliant.

Later, Beka, Julie, Charlie, Jessie, Joe (lacitebahplA) and I watched the third disc of the newly-released Family Guy boxed set.

Joe got the last word on the Jumble (MAJOR, FLUKE, JAGGED, GOSPEL. What the hunters did when they didn't bag any game birds. "GROUSED.").

Thursday
I began transforming content into the new design for this website, which I renewed yesterday. No, the day before yesterday. I also wrote this boring shit over the course of the past hour. That's unfortunate.

Peace.
-Todd