Life is Random

We had yesterday off, and it was lovely.  Nowhere to be, we just hung out, played Fruit Ninja and Dance Central on the Xbox, and were just plain lazy.   It was good to be able to do that.  Today it is back to the grind of being so far behind in my work that I may as well just wait until August and start over.  

I've previously discussed my child's love for all things Bigfoot.  The boy loves Finding Bigfoot on Animal Planet, and he will talk to you about Bigfoot until your eyes cross.  Imagine our surprise to find out that SOME IDIOT killed Bigfoot here in San Antonio.   We have kept this news from Zane, since he would be extremely upset at such rampant cruelty.  Also because we think the guy making this claim is a big fat liar.  I base this assertion on the fact that he was involved in a Bigfoot hoax a few years ago, where he claimed to have a Bigfoot carcass, and this time, when he allegedly shot Bigfoot, he took the body to Las Vegas.  Las Vegas, folks, not a reputable university with a decent anthropology program, like say... the University of Texas?  Or Texas A&M, which has the one of the best vet schools in the country?    Anyway, everyone knows that San Antonio is stone-cold Chupacabra territory(the Chupacabra is some sort of mysterious creature that likes to suck the blood out of random goats. I have no idea why).  We can't have more than one sort of monster in an area at a time.  I'm sure there's some law that says that, otherwise the Loch Ness Monster would surely have relocated to a warmer climate by now.   My point is that part of the mystery of Bigfoot,  Nessie, and all their legendary friends is that it really doesn't matter whether they exist or not.  What matters is that the hunt for such creatures spurs the imagination, fires up the blood, and gets people out exploring their world.

My favorite 'church' mailed me a flyer again.  Yes, the above says "Desperate Sex Lives" at the Revolution church. I was intrigued. The Bible certainly does have quite a bit of wisdom to offer about sex. On the back of the flyer, it tells me that I'm invited to join "over 700" of my closest personal friends and neighbors to hear all about sex.  My mind was boggled at the thought that I might actually know over 700 people.  I have trouble remembering more than twenty.  The 'zinger'?  Those attending will get to "SEE how sex done God's way can lead to a life full of passion, purpose, and pleasure!"  What exactly will I get to SEE if I show up?  Will they be charging admission to SEE such things?  I can't help but wonder what the heck they are going to talk about; is the preacher going to discuss the Kama Sutra(a Hindi text?) and illustrate his favorite positions?  There's a picture of Pastor Zak on the back of the mailer--he looks all of twelve, much too young to be talking about the birds and the bees with any sort of authority.  I would rather not get advice about sex from someone young enough to be my kid--that's just plain weird.  I will get my sex advice from more credible sources, like Cosmo.  I'm being facetious--Cosmo makes me giggle. 

I'll bet this guy knows a few things about the birds and the bees.

Zane was invited to a birthday party for a classmate.  When Larry called to RSVP(yes, we still do that!), the lady on the other end of the line said, "Larry, don't you know who this is?"  That was a funny question, considering Larry's memory.  It turned out that one of the girls that Larry went to high school has a daughter in Zane's PK class.  Small world, he says.  I wouldn't know, being an Army brat.  I often wonder what I would be like if I hadn't moved around so much.  Larry's known some of the same people since he was five; I don't remember much about being five except that we were in El Paso. 

I am sitting here typing, and my cat Pounce is lying on top of the printer, and she is staring.  I cannot figure out what she is staring at, and it's making me paranoid.  Is there a bug crawling up the wall over my shoulder?  Did a wayward scorpion find its way up here?  I keep having to stop and look!  Darn cat.  If there's something over there, go kill it.  You're a cat.  That's your job.

 My husband and I finally got a chance to go out on a date.  We bribed Zane to go hang out with his grandparents for a few hours, and we hit the Alamo Drafthouse to see A Good Day To Die Hard.  The cool thing about the Alamo Drafthouse, besides their awesome menu of beer, is that they ferociously enforce the "No Talking" rule during the movies.  You get one warning, and if you don't stop, you get thrown out.  I like that rule.  As for the movie, I think that the critics who panned it are idiots.  You don't go to a Die Hard movie expecting a morality play or well written dialogue.  You go to a Die Hard movie to see John McClane have a bad day.  No thinkee, lots of boom boom.  In that regard, this rendition of Die Hard was pretty darn good.  At least as good as the last one, not as bad as the second one.  As I've said before, if it's a tear jerker or a meaningful movie, I don't want to see it in a theater.  If I have to pay to see a movie, I want action or comedy.  Wholesome, escapist fare.

I am hanging out at Stacy's today. Go visit her!