I think we’re getting into a night-time rut… MarioKart™ is the most potent video crack we’ve ever tasted.
Kevin and Chad have now played so much that they’ve beaten every race, unlocked every character and special course.
They’re now bored with the notoriously “shiny” Nintendo soundtrack so now they’ve taken to listening to CDs while playing – and have determined their own soundtracks for the different courses.
The Desert Theme Track: Pet Shop Boys – Home & Dry (remix)
The City Street Theme Track: L7 – Shitlist
The Bowser Castle Theme Track: Patti Smith – Rock n’ Roll Nigger
and so on….
Our television isn’t big enough for all three of us to play effectively – and I suck compared to them – so I’ll busy myself elsewhere.
That cats seem to be developing a complex about the little attention monopolizing black box. One of them chewed through one of the controller’s cables the other day.
Leave it to the pets to come up with the most direct approach.
I just sigh a lot out-loud, take photos and have one-sided conversations… Damn you to hell Mario.
I’m bitching.. not blogging.
Workday was a blur. The afternoon was taken up mostly by a walk through of the ballroom client’s space with my friend the architectural photographer. These scouting meetings are always an exercise in patience… We’ll walk the whole space and talk about angles…. props…
It’s worth the time – these shoots are expensive… It takes anywhere between 2 and 4 hours to make do one image – depending on set up, lighting, props, etc.
Friend Daniel had to go in for surgery last week and is stuck at home zonked on pain meds and jonzing for a cigarette… So – like any good enabler, we stopped and picked him up a pack after work.
Hung out at his place and kept him company and took turns seeing how tightly wound we could wind Biscuit, Daniel’s Jack Russell terrier.
By the time we left, Daniel’s nicotine fit was satiated and the dog was napping.
Good deed for the day done.
Time to not blog.
my x-chrome donnor
Headed to my mom’s apartment around 6pm for existence dinner celebration.
We were greeted at the door by delicious aromas and a hyper kinetic min-pin by the name of Cody.
This day, if anything, is a reminder that I’m a grown man and no longer mama’s little boychic anymore. This little dog is obviously a substitute child to pacify her maternal instincts. I won’t attempt to draw any jealous comparisons except that I’ve never had a penchant for shitting on the floor as a child.
Speaking of shit, I’d be full of it if I didn’t confess that my relationship with my mother has been strange and somewhat awkward since she left my father in 1999.
She’s definitely had her share of really horrible luck since then,… to such a degree I wonder what in the hell she did in a past life to reap so much fucked up karma. I think she’s still coming into her own and doing a lot of that awkward self-actualization most of us do in our late teens. Wed at the psychically-embryonic age of 17 and with a bouncing baby monkeybear at 18 – it’s easy to understand the delay.
Strangeness and nearly weekly guilt-trips withstanding – I still adore her. She is my mama. A title no one else can ever have.
My requested birthday dinner? Chicken Kiev and all the fixins, a childhood comfort dish.
The meal was sublime as was the homemade white-chocolate cheesecake chaser.
We socialized after dinner as Chad and Kevin took turns seeing how tightly they could wind the dog.
We left with our bellies full and I with a certain level of satisfaction of spending time with the person responsible for the “BIRTH” in “Birthday”.
I wont blog about this and spare you the sticky, sweet sentiments which would make the cheesecake taste like a Saltine in comparison.
My Wednesday off is always great. A day filled with no obligations aside from self-mandated ones. Today’s: Cleaning out the to-be study/den in preparation to have a contractor come out and strip the paint from the beautiful wood panels which lay beneath.
Our “Children” spent most of the day parked on the sofa with me, either napping or wondering what the hell I was doing to their “fun room with all the boxes”.
Cats hate change.
It’s a fair trade off because I hate* changing their fucking box. (Thank god for “Litter Maid™” ).
*not as much as I hate blogging though. 🙂