after four hours of fitful non-sleep, i decided it was enough self-torture and got up. two hours later, i was back asleep. two hours after that, i was up again and getting ready for work. yeah, i hate tuesdays.
at least i have an evening involving yummy vietnamese food and a gory play to keep me going.
oh, yeah. happy steak & bj day (NSFW), boys.
Thanks for the catstalking photo!
Hessie, you must know you are responsible for the mild maiming of Gary.
See, he was preparing tacos for dinner, while I read your blog. I read about Steak & BJ day and had to see the site, which cracked me up (esp. the picture at the top left of the little “blow job promise cards”), so I told him to come look while I finished up with dinner.
He was at the stage of putting the taco shells into the oven to crisp up when I took over, he went away as he handed me the pan to put in the oven, I told him to go read my monitor – he had no idea what was there.
So, he’s reading and chuckling, and reading, and chortling. And the shells finish cooking, so I pull them out of the oven, and call him over because everything else is ready to start serving. I have my back to the oven because I’m finishing slicing my avacado, and I hear him say “three minutes in the oven?”
And then, everything happened in this horrible slow motion yet too fast to react way. I realized what he was saying as he realized the pan he was picking up had JUST come out of the hot oven, as I was turnign to say “no!” he was saying “ow!” And through is mind apparently went “I must save the taco shells!” because he didn’t just drop the pan, he tossed it up into the air – then tried to CATCH it. He realized mid way to catching that really, grabbing the pan twice wasn’t the best idea, but he realized it too late to react.
So he grabbed it again, and tossed it back onto the stove. At this point, there was half a shell left on the pan, the rest were all over the floor, and we just stood staring at each other for a second in utter shock. Then I pushed him under the faucet (at least his hands).
So he’s back at the store now, getting more taco shells. And we blame the evil steak and bj day for putting ideas in his head, and hessie, you have to admit you are guilty by association.
Or my husband’s just a goober.
Bah, I say, to S&BJ Day. I worked too late for dinner and I can’t bend over that far.
I have nothing useful to contribute to all this except a slight grin and a giggle. :-)
By the way, now that my mind is off blowjobs and burnt fingers, is that the same cat from the Jones Soda bottle picture, or do you just tend to move across the street from lots of nosy cats?
the pictured cat lives very far from my apartment.
the jones soda cat moved away a long time ago. now the only thing i ever see in that particular window is a surly teenaged girl who refuses to EVER close her blinds while working at her computer.
btw, i’m taking absolutely no responsibility for your husband’s inability to think about blow jobs and taco shells separately at the same time. =)
If I make an allusion to pink tacos, will I be badly injured? :-)
what do you think? =P
is that a skytrain reflection I see? Very cool!