Last night my phone died in the middle of the night - not permanently, although it's certainly headed in that direction now that the off button won't work - and I overslept my alarm. Joel eventually had a nightmare that woke me up and I raced to my therapy session and got there about fifteen minutes late. Fortunately I have the kind of therapist who is wholly unfazed by me, my endless vagina talk OR my lateness, AND who lets me stay to make up the time because SWEET MERCIFUL SHITBALLS WHAT A WEEK.
I'm not sure how to talk about it without violating the secret lovah's pact we still share, but suffice it to say I was talking about JOEL's apartment in my last post, not Dave's. See Example One: the following conversation, which took place when the traffic on the 405 bridge came to a grinding halt just as we were taking the exit to said apartment. In Northwest Portland. Where he has always wanted to live.
HIM: Gee! If I lived in Northwest, I'd be home in three minutes!
ME, racing past the bottleneck, filled with glee: I'm so glad we don't live together anymore! I mean really, REALLY glad. Do you have any regrets about it? Because I don't. (YES, I HAPPEN TO TALK IN RUN-ONS. SHUT UP!)
HIM: Can you do a u-turn here? Do a u-turn! It's the fastest way home!
ME: I mean, I totally get to have my chicken house in the country and also a place in the city. It's pretty rad.
HIM: My only regret is that we didn't do it sooner. What were we thinking?
WHO KNOWS!?!
Of course, plenty of non-Joel-related things happened this week, too:I played endless hours of "school" with my kids. Genoa is a magnificent reader and Alex has yet to see the principal's office this year. Win!
We bought a Christmas tree in the rain (for only twenty bucks!).
And I made Dave a birthday dinner of hand-rolled, roasted beet, pine nut and basil-stuffed ravioli with olive oil and poppy seeds, a side of blanched kale and some bread salad. Which he loved!
I also baked two pizzas, a batch of peanut butter drops, a bread pudding and (attempted) three Italian Pandoro's for Genoa's class (think Panettone, only shaped like a star and without all those pesky pieces of dried fruit) (think also that my kitchen is too fucking cold and those bastards refused to rise). Tonight I've got a Smitten Kitchen/Martha Stewart graham cracker recipe THROW-DOWN happening in the fridge and a bald man waiting for me to come to bed.
I also started running again, mostly stopped drinking, (long story) and gained five pounds. Quite a week in Mandaland.
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