jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

I am justifying sitting here on the couch, rather than getting up off my behind and getting something done, because Sam has propped his chin up on my foot and has cranked his motor up to 10. I can’t resist.

Good thing I can get some things done on the laptop. I’ve got us all set for Jason and Jacki’s New Orleans wedding extravaganza and I just about can’t wait for that. Even though the wedding is in August and I’m confident we will burst into flames the second we step off the plane. Damon has never been and doesn’t understand that NOLA in the summer can redefine “hot.” I have, literally, not felt anything like that (I’ve done this once before) outside the Sahara.

I love New Orleans. I’ve been there a handful of times and I’ve never felt better about going anywhere to throw around my tourist dollars (paltry though they may be) and assert my faith in a city.

Damon’s in the wedding. I’ve never seen him in a tux before.

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On the nightstand: The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis and Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin
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Ovulation is rolling around and all the lights are green, so we’re making our first attempt out of three allowed to us by my gyno before we go back to her and she does… whatever it is she’s going to do.

I feel optimistic, now that I know that my uterus is “tipped” and how to accomodate that.

I’ve been pretty calm about the whole affair, even though we’ve been trying for a while now. I talk to women who tell me they were panicking after two or three months of trying, and we’re well past that. But if we go past two tries now I think I’m think some of the seams are going to start to show. I believe another friend to be trying now and, while I’m not proud of this, I know if she winds up knocked up before I do I’m (privately) going to be upset. Not so upset that I won’t be genuinely thrilled for her. But upset.

What does it mean when you have a sex dream about a celebrity who holds absolutely no appeal of that sort during your waking hours? I mean, what a waste. Ben Affleck? Really? Why why why?

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On the nightstand: The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis
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No.
No.
No.
Don’t want to.
No.
No.

I have to do our taxes.

We’re moving to a new office building soon (the greenest highrise in Manhattan, by the by) so some folks are cleaning up and out their space.

Babs, our food editor, grudgingly decided to give up some of her cook books, so she sent us all an email saying: Cook books for sale. $1 apiece. All money goes to an animal shelter my sister runs out west.

Being a responsible and moderate person, I went up there with $3 in my pocket.

She had, literally, about 1,000 books up for grabs. 28 cook books later I was done (for the day). I told her I’d probably come back tomorrow. I was in hog heaven. I got one fat book just on cooking onions.

Now, a few of those are for friends and family. Sushi for Mick, habanero pepper recipes for Kellee, casseroles for Janel… But that still leaves about 19 for me. Damon’s going to build me a shelf (or three) in the kitchen.

Won’t you all come over for dinner?