Royal Fish Royal Bows Royal Freakouts

Valentine’s Day went well… minus one extra trip downtown. I feel like this is old news, but as I am still working from home and fairly boring these days, I’m going to inflict the story upon you, anyway.

February 14, 2007. The Funasaurus called to say he was on his way. He picked up some sushi from one of our favorite restaurants, and was bringing it home. I cleaned the downstairs, (kinda… extra mail and random things lying on the counters were thrown into drawers. More specifically, the drawer where we keep those little fake mice Tatum loves so much, and when I opened it that many times without giving him one, well, I think I crushed his soul, just a little, but whatever, I was on romantic-frenzy-mode!) opened up the fold-out bed in our couch, threw an old college blanket on it, lit some candles, turned off the light, adjusted my undergarments, and waited for The Funasaurus to get home.

We exchanged cute cards. (He won. He found one with Gonzo on it. How can I compete with that?) Got the T.V. set up to watch American Idol, settled in, opened the sushi and… found someone else’s order.

Crum-diddly-suck-a-tastic-duck.

California rolls (lame!) and no unagi or spicy scallops. (Lamer!)

So we muttered a few inappropriate, fuck-type words, and got back in the car (oh, did I mention it was also SNOWING?) drove BACK downtown, exchanged the sushi for the order we wanted, scored a free bottle of sake from the owner who knows us because we are regulars at a sushi joint (note to self: may need to cut down on that, what with the itty-bitty income you’re making, these days), felt a little better, and even made it home in time for American Idol because it didn’t start until 8:00. Phew!

What is a day of love without an overrated T.V. show about overprocessed, over-eager, belittled wannabe singers, anyway?

And we had a nice evening and then I went back to my world of dinking around on the computer all day and not getting dressed until noon.

Now I am trying to get ready to go to Albuquerque for a friend’s bridal shower. I am totally not prepared, but I don’t feel like thinking up cheesy games and wrapping sparkly pink presents, so I decided to dink around on the computer until the very last, dire minute, at which point I will freak out and have a small nervous breakdown, but then get everything done at lightning speed and get on the road.

That is kind of my modus operandi, these days. The Funasaurus says, “unnecessary stress,” I say, “More MySpace time!”