This 18-hour workday stuff is for the birds.

Grrreat, we thought. We’ll make a nice little weekend outing of it.

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#1 was off skiing with her school and #2 we sent to her grandparents because she preferred watching quiz shows with her grandmother to attending a rock concert with her parents; attitude like that and she’s only 6. But we swallowed our pride and let her go and, once her grandfather had picked her up and the front door had closed behind them, did that manic dance parents do when they have the house to themselves for the evening (any kids reading this just ignore that last bit, I’m sure your parents are different).

Prior to attending the concert, which featured the band of friends of ours, we went to an Italian restaurant for a couple glasses of wine and some food. My wife had the pizza bread and… no wait, she had the mixed appetizers plate and we shared the pizza bread, which in fact turned into sort of a m*tually-assured d*struction arms r*ce only with garlic instead of *ranium and we ended up ordering a second plate of it. You know how it is when you’re on a date and one of you eats garlic, then the other one has to eat garlic too?

I had a hunger for cheese. Little did I know my appetite would be satiated and then some that evening.

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Of all the gin joints in all the seedy, little, run-down, jerkwater towns quietly disintegrating into their constituent elements all around the world, she walks into my kitchen, wearing a black satin bra that could stop a .22 short and not much else. Well, except for pants, shoes, underwear etc.

“Hi, honey, how’d the business trip go?” I say.

“I was the only woman at the meeting,” she says.

“You make them all cry again?” I ask.

She nods and unhooks the bra. “Sheesh, this thing might look good, but it’s totally airtight.” She tosses it onto the table. At rest, it looks as though it fell off a space shuttle, except it’s black, not white, so maybe the Death Star.

Etc etc. I’m really busy today, so I can’t develop this, sorry. Also, going out of town this weekend, so no posting. And next week looks like it’ll be totally freaking busy as well, work-wise, so posting may be intermittent, rather than obsessive.

I was thinking, anybody, you, me, is perfect. Just because you’re fallible doesn’t mean you’re not perfect.

Then I was thinking, wonder if I could sell that one to Hallmark?

It was one of those nice days you remember. One of the ones that are nice from the beginning, where you’re walking into a building and notice the “PULL” sign on the door in time to avoid pushing and crashing into the glass.

My youngest daughter and I both woke up in good moods (my wife being away on business and the eldest kid on a trip with school), ate, got dressed and I got her off to school in plenty of time with no friction or backtalk. The cats were both well-behaved. One did smell strongly of pee, but that’s his problem.

The weather is changing here. It had snowed again all night, and was still below freezing in the morning but I could tell it was about to change because as I drove to work through the frozen countryside a fog was rising from the creek along the freeway and the snow-covered fields and woods gave up their usual heaviness and dissolved mysteriously into the mist.

Then, just like that, my Doblo was on its roof in said snowy, foggy field.

Cindi What a Voice Lauper was still playing on the CD player. I turned it off in the middle of She-Bop (how much longer until Britney Spears covers that one? I can’t wait, seriously. It would be a great video. “Toxic” is alright, but the video, eh, except for the stewardess outfit. And, be honest, it’s a stewardess outfit, isn’t it, and not flight-attendant.)

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