I forgot about wine! Shit, I don't have to worry about stress when there's vino in the hizzouse. Tonight I whipped up a little farfalle with lentils, carrots, onions and parmesano, and washed it down with a nice little Grenache/Shiraz/Mourvedre combo from Australia (fuck, don't ask me -- I just copied that off the label). The week just melted away, magically. Sure, I'll wake up tomorrow morning dry as a week-old johnny-cake, but it'll be worth it.
I went to the eye doctor today during lunch because I'm pretty sure the asshole doc who gave me my last prescription fucked it up. I got these ridiculously expensive Dieter glasses from this fency-shmencie "optical shop" in Chicago, and they just haven't been right since I got them... like 5 months ago. I've been walking around like Helen Keller for almost half a year (the 'blind' part, not the 'deaf' part), so I figured I should get a second opinion. This guy was great -- gave me a new prescription (told me the old one was strangely wrong) and ordered me up some new contacts. The shitty part was that he put those dilating drops in my eyes and I had to drive back home and keep working. I felt like Ray Milland in "The Man with the X-Ray Eyes" all day. I could practically see people's skeletons and shit. I kinda felt like one of those Keane painting kids:
Why am I talking about my eye appointment?! I have no fucking filter. Do you want to hear about the dump I took this morning, too? It was a good one! Shit, I've got to learn edit my end-of-the-day Joyceian brain dumps.
I am determined, though, that this weekend I will record the kids singing their "Slippery Dick" song. It's gonna happen this time. I've got the perfect accompaniment for it, too. Mr. Z came up with this great minor-key dirge melody for it, so I'm going to do a little Tom Waits thing to go with it, a la Mr. Z's old song "Butterscotch Beard." (Song #7 in the Music Machine). It's going to be great. When I finish it, I'll post it here.
Fuck, I just realized it's mother's day this weekend and I don't have shit for my mom or for the old lady. These fucking holidays are going to be the death of me. Oh well, guess who's taking the kiddies out to do a little shopping this weekend? Ding, ding, ding! And there are so many choices here in middle Michigan. Let's see, there's a "Cracker Barrel" down the road a bit... I could always get them this:
What the carp is a "Pecan Divinity Tub"?! It looks like a see-thru roach motel at full capacity. And the roaches seem to be resting comfortably on rolled up, used wads of toilet paper. What the fuck goes on inside a "Cracker Barrel"?! If you ever see me in that place, put a goddamn bullet in my head, will ya? People are sick.
Oh, I'm officially a derelict. I stole a rug out of my neighbor's garbage can, yesterday. They're moving and had all this crap out there to be picked up. What?! It's not like I put it in our living room. It was nice and big and I'm going to use it (in the basement mind you) to put under my drums so the sound doesn't echo all over the fucking place. There's nothing wrong with that! There aren't any blood-stains on it or anything... at least no big ones. Actually, it is kinda creeping me out, but I really needed a rug down there and I didn't want to buy one. So lay off!
The weird thing is that the neighbors probably saw me take it out of the garbage and carry it into the house. You know they're like, "There's that weird stay-at-home dad again... does that guy ever work? And what's he going to do with that old rug? You know... I haven't seen his kids in a couple of days. Maybe we should call somebody..."
I should probably just put an old Chevy up on cinder blocks in my front yard and call it a day.