Shut up. It’s my blog, I’ll update it when I want.

Adam was lying in bed tonight, gazing over at me. I said to him, somewhat coyly, “You’re staring at me.”

“Yes,” he replied lazily.

“Why?” I asked, dreaming of romantic replies such as “because I love you,” or “because you’re beautiful.”

“You’re in my direct line of sight.” He stated simply.

T-Shirt by Despair, Inc.

My husband Adam (also known as Bruce) is not an in-the-box kind of thinker.

Me: “I was going to ask you a question, but I forget what it was.”

Adam: “My anwer would have been ‘green.’ Or possibly ‘cookies.’”

more music charts

So I have a hole in my pocket, which sounds like the words to a children’s song, but it’s true. I guess that’s not really a big deal, but I put $1.15 in change in my jacket pocket before I knew about the hole thing and it fell through and got stuck in the liner so I can’t get to it. So I have a money jacket, kinda. That’s fine, I don’t really need the $1.15 for anything, but every time I move it jingles and SOUNDS like I have change and then when people ask me if I have change and I say no but then my jacket rattles and it sounds like I am lying and I have to explain that yes, I actually do have change, but it’s not in my pocket, it’s in my liner and I can’t get it and… Ug. Life is so hard.

This was in my hotel room today. Um…

So I bought myself an iPhone (yeah, I know) because they’re cool and useful and mostly because I think Adam was going to bite my head off if I asked to borrow his iPhone one more time to play that neat solitaire game while we wait for a train. So now I am able to write you a blog post WHILE I GET MY HAIR DONE - like I am live on the scene. I know, cool, eh? Except there’s not really much to report on since I’m in, well, a hair salon, after all and not much is going on. The hair guy isn’t even here because I waited till he walked away to do this because I feel bad doing stuff while he is trying to cut my hair and making small talk about his dog and stuff. But the point is I CAN write a blog post in the hair salon and that is what matters.

AND… everyone here keeps calling me “Hon,” and that would nomally bother me but it seems quite normal in a salon for some reason.

Wow, what a bad title.