Two More Days

Two days until we go to Vegas – Vegas, baby. Vegas!! Pam and I will be joining Frank & Rebecca (yes that is monkey-dancin’ Frank for those who caught the tour in ‘99) in Sin City for Easter weekend. Friday night we have sixth row seats for Elvis Costello. Thanks to an AmEx promotion, I have become the yuppie/dink concert-goer that I abhorred as a kid. I didn’t camp out for tickets and yet I have sixth row seats. NOW, if I want to be a real bastard (don’t make me angry, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry; ok just one more White Russian) I have a line pass and can jump to the front of the line. I should just keep yelling how “that song Veronica is really a great song and he should play that one. Do you think he'll play Veronica? By a show of hands who likes that song? Because damn that's a good song...or was it Alison that I like...” I might have to punch myself in the back of the head. BTW, do they have car-ribbon-magnets for supporting such behavior?

In other news*, Why do I feel like I’m about three feet tall and have an IQ of 53 when contractors come to the house. Why is that?! I didn’t build the house, so I shouldn’t be defensive. Yet I stammer, mumble, shout a string of obscenities that concludes with something about prying my wallet from my cold, dead hand. Pam and I have simple needs (despite the previously mentioned concert behavior). We just need a bathroom that doesn’t collapse on us when we are wet and exposed, like a young kangaroo making the daunting journey to its mother’s pouch.

*Upon further review, that’s not news it’s more of a non sequitur that was used to try and keep things interesting. I’m working hard in Elise’s absence. Yes, further proof that ‘tis better to work smarter and not work harder. Elise, we hope you’re making progress.

Happy Humpday Y’all.