I am not always this boring, really

Okay, okay, I know I said I was going to post Halloween pictures. And I was going to do it the next day. Which was, like, a few days ago. But stuff came up. And the Halloween pictures aren't even loaded onto the computer yet. Phillip has shown me how to do that a few times, but I prefer to tread lightly in the realm of Geek and I try not to let too much stick. I'd forget about posting pictures, but I think the Internet needs to see a cat wearing a halo.

You may wonder how there can be no time for uploading photos when one is enjoying a Blissfully Free weekend. This is something I, too, am pondering. Where did my weekend go?

FRIDAY NIGHT (Typepad just gifted you all with colored text. Whee!)
I sort of don't remember Friday night. Must have been exciting. Oh wait- I fell asleep at my friend Amy's house in the middle of watching dreadful Lindsay Lohan in her dreadful bubblegum movie Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen. In public, Amy and I prefer art films, anything with subtitles, and the occasional documentary. In private, on an indecisive Friday night at Blockbuster, we prefer teenybopper dreck. But even though I love me some teenybopper dreck, I wouldn't have approved this Lindsay Lohan movie were it not for Mean Girls, which was fabulous. (Untill Tina Fey got all preachy on us in the end. High school girls bonding over trust falls? Please.)

(Also? Typepad has gifted ME with not having to look at ugly HTML coding! Score another point for the amateurs!)

SATURDAY MORNING: Sleeping in. Oh, it was sublime. After returning from the evening of Lindsay, I insisted on staying up to watch TiVo'd episodes of Good Eats- the chemistry of PIE! awesome!- and went to bed pretty late (don't you totally want to hang out with me and my crazy fun Friday nights?) But last Saturday I woke up at SIX. And this was WITH the extra hour tacked on for the end of daylight savings! (Oh, how I miss you Daylight Savings.) Six? Ridiculous. Sleep and I don't get along much, so I spent hours six through eight chewing off fingernails and wondering what in the world I'd done to deserve to sit up in bed wide awake at SIX FREAKING AM. Anyway, this Saturday I woke up closer to ten and it was loooovely. Not only that, I managed to stay under the blankets a little while longer without giving myself a panic attack about all the things I had to accomplish that day. Shut up. This is no small thing. This was definitely cause for

SHOPPING: Of course there must be shopping on Saturdays. Especially when your husband is living out his rock star god fantasies at band practice and is not around to forcibly stop you from purchasing that sparkly table runner that is going to look FANTABULOUS at your Christmas party.

And I didn't have anything to accomplish that day as we were planning to spend the afternoon with Phillip's parents, eating heaps of good food and listening to stories about Phillip's dad's trip to China. I am also the new owner of 187 pieces of Chinese costume jewelry and one large hunk of jade in which a "mythical animal that eats everything and is also the "patron saint" of casinos" is carved. It's called a Pee-YOO. I know this because I was asked to pronounce it 800 times, even though it always sounded the same to me. Anyway, I hope Phillip's dad is reading this because I can say it well enough to even teach the Internet: Pee-YOO!

Couldn't stay too long, though, because we had to hurry back and arrange a surprise party for someone else's girlfriend that evening. As if I don't have enough problems taking care of my own girlfriend. Heh!It was easy enough to let ourselves into the house and get out the wine glasses and make the coffee, but we also had to deal with the Note, the note that ordered us to light all the candles except certain candles and to get out the glasses, but not those glasses, and to arrange the furniture any way we wanted, but only in these ways and holycrapshe'sgoingtobehomeanyminute! Stress! But a little while later there appeared chocolate cake martinis and have you HAD a chocolate cake martini? It's just like chocolate cake except for that nasty burning sensation.

There was sleeping in Sunday morning until I figured out that we had twenty minutes to get to church. And when we got to church? All the people we were supposed to sit with weren't there. (Right, so we're involved at church now and it's kind of a new thing for us, but very exciting, and we would like to do it right. That means, for starters, attending the right service.) We were supposed to go to the seven o'clock Mass and we totally hadn't even thought about it and now the priest was nearly ready to start marching down the aisle and we're waaaaay up in the front and if we left eeeeveryone would watch us scurrying out and they would sit primly in their pews and think to themselves, "Heathens!"  But we looked at each other and our expressions said, "We like church, but not enough to go TWICE in one DAY" so we picked up our coats and walked out,  pretending like we had a Very Important Place To Be. Sister Mary saw us leaving and hissed, "You're at the wrong MASS" and we were all "We KNOW" and then we went out to breakfast. Yum, breakfast.

Then there was the adventure wherein Phillip and I drove to Rebecca's house to pick up the Thrice-Stolen Mini Van (don't you want to know THAT story?) and drive it to the shop because Rebecca had been whining something about how the "gears don't work" and that means nothing to me, but Phillip seemed to think something might be wrong. So we're seconds away from Becca's apartment when Phillip looks at me thoughtfully and says, "I don't think the shop is open today." So the afternoon turned into watching The O.C. season premiere for the third time, getting a little snarky during the Jennifer Lopez E! True Hollywood Story, and also the Adventure of the Pear-Chocolate Sheetcake.

Which was gross. Very very gross. And not chocolate. Two tablespoons of cocoa do not a chocolate crust make. It was, as Becca kindly put it, "edible." But simply "edible" is not the result you're going for when you use your mixer AND your food processor AND every measuring spoon you own. It was so disappointing I insisted we buy more cream cheese on the way home from church so I could try AGAIN. Only this time the Pear-Chocolate Sheetcake is more of a Pear-Chocolate Brownie with a Cream Cheese Topping and is definitely not gross at all.

In fact, I think I will go cut myself a piece right now. It's nighttime and Phillip is enjoying his nightly bag of Lays potato chips and watching this year's boring and unfunny Simpson's Treehouse Of Horror episode. Obviously I need some sugar to pull me through the rest of the evening.

So, you see, things took precedent over Halloween photos. One day this will be amended and I'll be sure to let you know. Maybe I should get one of those notify list things. In the meantime, I'm accepting complaints here. Anxious pleading and fevered encouragement to finally get my own damn domain will be forwarded, with pleasure, to my husband. If we can buy another modem, another tuner thingy, and reserve a copy of HALO 2, we can certainly snap up a domain, doncha think?