The Intro
So! It's hard to know how to start. I tried to write last night, but my intro was really bitchy so I gave up, closed my entry without saving it, and went to sleep. I think it went something like this: "Can we not talk about how I haven't written in four hundred years? Really? Thanks very much." There's no good way to follow that sentiment, so - there you go.

The Bad News
It appears that every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday for the next four hundred years, I will be watching American Idol. DAMN IT. I swore to myself that I would not watch this season. I didn't watch last year, and therefore have zero opinion about Fantasia Barrino, thank god. This time, though, Brad started watching just the first few episodes of auditions ("The Hilarity", we call it), which seemed harmless at the time. Crazy people, terrible singers, big laughs. Then came Scott. Motherfracking Scott, whose father never believed in him. Scott, who made my eyes sting when he sang Stevie Wonder. Scott, for whom I watch each and every episode now, swearing that I will quit watching the moment he gets kicked off the show. Scott, who made it to the final 24. (24? What happened to 12?) I've already told Brad that if he gets kcked off anytime between now and the final three, I am totally hiring him to sing at my wedding. (Not that there is any wedding in the works that I need to tell you about.)(And, by the way, I have to say "my" wedding, since Brad and I are not engaged, even though I entertain thoughts of us getting married someday, and, you know, it seems to be on the distant horizon. However, it seems presumptuous to say "our" wedding if "our" wedding is non-existent right now, doesn't it? But when I say MY wedding it makes me sound like some kind of princess bridezilla, which, again, I'm not. Yet.)(Enough wedding talk! GAH!) I'm just saying, the man can sing. And if Scott's not famous for being THE American Idol after this season, or for being the OTHER American Idol (a la Clay Aiken... Justin Guarini, eat your heart out) then maybe I'll be able to afford his performance fee. He is that good, people. I am totally programming his 1-800-IDOL-04 number (or whatever it will be) into my phone. If the American Idol theme song doesn't kill me by next Wednesday, that is.

More Bad News
Stella and I are fighting right now. You see, she continues to sit with her ass facing me on top of the computer screen, which means that her tail is hanging right down the center of the monitor. We have talks about this every damn day, I'm telling you. It starts out reasonably: "Stella. Move your tail." Then I move her tail to side firmly and with authority, like SuperNanny says. Then she turns her head and gives me the evil stare of death. Slowly, her tail creeps back into center position. "STELLA," I say, in my Raised Authoritative Voice, and I take her and put her on the Naughty Mat (TM SuperNanny - I love the British.) She creeps back up. She gets put back on the Naughty Mat. (I'm totally making that up, I don't own a Naughty Mat.) (Note to self: Naughty Mat.) (I bet I could make a billion dollars marketing and selling a Naughty Mat.) (TM! TM! TM! I thought of it first!)

Anyway, If you're looking for the reason I haven't posted lately, there it is. Stella's ass in my face. Stella's tail swinging slowly in front of the screen. That's right, let's blame Stella.

Even Worse News
Sasha and I got in a fight this morning. I woke up in the most awful mood, and I have no idea why. Then, while I was doing my makeup, Sasha jumped on the desk and knocked over the thumbtack holder thingy, which sent thumbtacks flying all around the office, and I yelled at her. I've apologized already, but she's still avoiding me. Am I really still writing about my cats on my website?

In Valentines News
We had a very nice Valentines Day, by the way. First, on Sunday, we drove to Dallas for a party surrounding that big Awards show thing that happens to pay my rent. Brad came with me, which means more to me than he will ever know. Just having him standing on the opposite side of the theater lobby while I walk around with a walkie talkie saying things like "Roger that, be right there, breaker breaker ten four and stuff" is just so... comforting, I guess. He even appeased me and wore a button-down shirt and tie, which so far happens at the rate of about once a year. We stayed in a fancy-schmancy downtown Dallas hotel that night, which we finally got back to around midnight on Sunday. We were both starving, and of course, no pizza places were open to deliver. These are the kind of situations that make me wish I lived in New York City. Brad was really, really, REALLY hungry, so we actually walked two blocks away to a McDonalds around 12:45 a.m. They even had a walk up window and they slid our food out at us like money from a bank teller. We walked back to the hotel holding hands, McDonalds bag between us. A Muzak version of "You Send Me" might as well have been playing in the soundtrack of our life. Aww.

Monday, we slept in, got coffee, drove back to Austin, and then watched Oprah at home, since I never get to do that. (Have you seen Oprah lately? The woman looks good, y'all. So good I kind of want to kick her.) (Did I say that out loud?) We gave each other our VD Day presents (tickets to Queens of the Stone Age/Eagles of Death Metal in March, and chocolate covered strawberries from Amy's Ice Cream), went out to eat sushi at my new favorite restaurant, Zen, and then came home and watched the finale of Trading Spouses. (YES I AM A REALITY SHOW ADDICT, NO NEED TO MENTION IT.) A perfect day, in my opinion.

In News, Just News
Sorry I suck. I really don't have a reason for not updating, I just took a few days off, and then dreaded having to sit down and explain why I took a few days off, and that turned in to a few weeks, and Jesus! Call of the dogs already! No, really, love you guys. Except Andreia, because that really hurt my feelings. I mean, Brandon really knows what buttons to push, doesn't he? You owe me $25 for a therapy session's co-pay. (When I actually get a therapist. You know, one that I'm not smarter than. Not that I'm smarter than everyone or anything, but c'mon! I'm done with the mimicing technique, I NEED INSIGHT! Recommendations accepted. The end.)

Lucy loves you |