Ah, Friday. Where have you been all my life? A busy week, but not bad. We interviewed potential roommates, I caught up with friends old and new, I ran, practiced yoga. Laughed and cried. Whimpered and bellowed.....
Nope, I didn't whimper or bellow or cry, though I did laugh on several occasions. I was glad to have met the apartment candidates. One, named Nicole, is an author who just got back from New Mexico living with wolves. Another, Shannon, is a world traveler, a Jacqueline of all trades, and regaled us with interesting tales of living in Asia, touring Canada with ballet company, and entering into a relationship with someone she lived with. And she is very pretty. She stayed almost two hours before I pulled the plug. She's someone I'd enjoy hanging out with, but my gut begged off the notion of living with her.
Rae, the one we like best and the one who still hasn't replied to my email asking her to move in (it's been about twenty four hours; a little antsy), lives nearby and had met Janelle and Zico a few months earlier at the park. Rae had been with her Italian Greyhound, Mike. Janelle refreshed my memory that she and I had spoken about the meeting after it happened. We shared a laugh over how funny it is when people give their dogs decidedly human names. Fred and I liked Rae quite a bit. She seems very friendly, but not overbearing. She also, and this is the chief reason why I want to live with her, seems easy to boss around. I would like very much to air out my latent sadist tendencies. Let's see how far we go with manipulation. Air it out, I say! It's time to dominate, son!
Anyway, I emailed Rae and, as pleasantly and eloquently as I could muster, I asked her to move in with Fred and me. There's a good chance she hasn't responded yet because she's weighing her options. She was, however, enthusiastic about the place. We'll see. It's getting down to the wire.
I started writing a song the other night and I knew I could make it sound lovely. I tossed some ideas around and then it struck me that I'd already written the song, only forgotten it. I pieced it back together and was baffled as to why it had slipped through the cracks. It's not that old, was never entirely finished, but I always loved playing it. I thought it was dark and pretty.
Welcome back, song!
Bridget was over the other day and told me she was going to make a Stanley Cup out of diapers as a baby shower gift for her sister. I told her, and without exaggeration, that it was the best thing I'd heard in the last ten months. It rivals anything Edison, Tesla, or Franklin ever came up with.
Yesterday, I received a text with a picture of her efforts.
Might go watch an installment of The Pacific. So far I've been impressed.
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