Pay up at the phantom tollbooth

By crikey, it’s been a dog’s age since I posted. That’s what happens when you move: all your tidy routines are blown asunder like so many bad guys in summertime action films. And I loves me some routines, just like Harriet the Spy with her tomato sandwiches and cake and milk.

It’s been a particularly vile week. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased as planter’s punch to be in my new flat, but work has completely sucked, and retwisting my ankle on Sunday gimped me up pretty bad. I can’t catch up on my sleep no way nohow. And now it looks like D. won’t be able to drive his second vanload of stuff up until Saturday, meaning we’ll have even less of a chance for some quality (read: non-move- or -work-related) time.

From our July employee update:

When he’s not at work, Mr. X enjoys watching love documentaries, discussing history and politics, playing guitar, and hiking. He’s married to woman who grew up in China who made him eat “pig ears” once, amongst other Chinese delicacies.

Need I say “[sic]”? I don’t know whether I like “married to woman,” the virtual or ironic pig ears, or “love documentaries” best. It certainly beats “Joe Schmoe enjoys volleyball, lifting weights, and going to Pats games.”

In a lovely everything-is-a-giant-mandala kind of way, I was told by my friend who just gave me and D. his Weber grill that Cowboy Charcoal is the best stuff ever, if only for the bag. This tickled my memory of a column several months ago by Mimi Smartypants in which she and her husband speculate about just what exactly “The Cowboy Way” (get me, all scare-quotesy alla sudden!) might entail. Come to think of it, perhaps it’s not so far afield from a love documentary.

I think tonight I’m going to do a little shopping for the new apartment at Tags — we need a new, more capacious shower caddy, a virgin toilet brush, and a coffee grinder. And canisters! And a paper towel holder! I loathe shopping for clothes, but shopping for householdy stuff really revs me up. Which is a good thing, because I have to do laundry when the thrill of blatant consuemerism is over.


  1. From Pablo on 08/07/03

    Out here in the West the Cowboy way is just how we live! Lots of pickup trucks, mutton bustin’ at the County Fair, a big rodeo every year, etcetera. Except we don’t burn Cowboy charcoal, we just use red oak wood.

  2. From editrix on 08/07/03

    Oh, man, mutton bustin’ — that term is going into high vocabularic rotation: “I had a mutton-bustin’ good time!” “My boss is a real mutton-buster.” Etc. Thank you!

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