Miss O was home for the third day in a row, today, and instead of my crab-o-meter going all haywire and shit, I just resigned myself to the fact that my week was officially douched and I should just fucking accept it. Which I did, for the most part. The Old Lady and I split the day, so I was able to get some work done, but the rest of the time I spent with Miss O creating a new habitat for her fairy dolls. She was coveting this massive woodland treehouse thing in some hippie catalog she dug up, but I said, "Ah, that thing blows -- we could make one WAY better than that!" Unfortunately, she said "Okay!"
So, I dredged up the "bag-o-crafty-shit" from the basement and we just started slapping crap together -- popsicle sticks, fabric scraps, clay, sticks, yarn, fake fur, boogersnots, earwigs, blood. When the dust cleared, this is what we had wrought:
And finally, a shot with the new homeowners enjoying their digs:
Get a load of me -- I'm a regular Frank Lloyd Wrong. Miss O digs it, though, and it saved me about 100 bucks, so what the shit. And it burned up the afternoon, so bonus.
Tomorrow a.m. I leave for Gearfest 2008. Unfortunately, like Miss O, I got re-sick and this time, the plague juice has taken up residence in my chest. I'm quite the wheezy chap, of late, and it feels like I have a pair of wet pantyhose lodged in my alveoli. Nothing 48 hours of drinking and not sleeping won't fix, right? As long as I don't die in Fort Wayne, the trip will have been a success.
So yeah, if anyone's heading to Fort Wayne this weekend, look me up. I'll be the tall dorky guy sucking on an oxygen tank while trying to bum free shit at the Digital Performer booth.
Rock [coff, coff] on!