I'm flattered...but I have to go to bed

Last night I was singing and playing guitar in our spare bedroom. I was just finishing up with one of the last songs I was planning on doing when I glanced toward the window. A face was pressed up against the glass, leering at me from outside.

My brain momentarily short-circuited as I tried to process what I was seeing. Whatisthat?!?!?NO!!WHOisthat?!Ishegoingtomurderme???Isthisajoke?!NO!!It'sreal!!NO!!It'sacartoon?No, wait, it's a kid. Specifically, it was our 3-year-old neighbor. One side of our house has no fence, just a little strip of grass and some windows that face our neighbor's garage. Unbeknownst to me (but beknownst to his mother, who was watching from their driveway), he had sidled up to the window to watch, listen, and dance. And he was not pleased that I'd stopped playing.

He pressed in closer and frowned. I waved and then played a few more songs. He smiled and danced some more. Ok, kid, it's 8:30 and you (read: I) have to go to bed. Sarah and I turned off the lights and went into the other room to get ready for bed. He banged on the windows outside our bedroom in protest.

It's official. I have a fan.

alright, alright II: alright already

Thanks for the kind words. There, I said it. P.S. You are biased by genetics and love, and love caused by genetics, and genetics caused by love.

In other news, I bonked heads with a guy on the basketball court during a rough game yesterday. I was trying to steal the ball from him when the bone that protects my eye hit his head. Hey body: Good job protecting my eye, what does a guy have to do around here to get an eyebone-protecting bone?

I don't have a black eye, exactly. I would call it more of a mark that makes me look like a female model. You know, the ones who wear purple eyeshadow or mascara or whatever they use to look lusty. (Lusty? Is that a thing?). Only, because I've only got the mark on one eye, I look more like someone trying to make a fashion statement. Or a visually challenged lady of the night.

Fortunately for me, my condition is just temporary. Unfortunately for the other guy, he's afflicted by oafishness and anger that won't fade quite so quickly. At another one point during the game (before we bonked heads), he turned to me, glared down (he was a BIG guy), and screamed in my face: "If you ever do that again, I swear to *&^ that I'm going to punch you in your &*^%$%^ face, $%#$%^."

I have no idea what I did, but I did quickly discern that he needed a breath mint. Which is exactly what I told him. He didn't understand the hilarity of my response.

alright, alright

I've been bored with blogging for a while now. Maybe a year, maybe a little less, I don't really remember any more. After approximately six years of writing about what's going on in my daily life, I don't have a lot of novel things to say. And I'm pretty sure you've noticed too. I did this, I did that, blah, blah, blah.

A few years ago, I started sleeping right. Started going to bed early, getting up early. I started eating three balanced meals every day, working out every day. Gradually, Sarah and I developed a consistent routine.

Wake up at 5:21, take the dog out, feed the cats, let the dog in, work out (me)/take the dog for a walk (Sarah), eat breakfast, get ready for work, work, come home, make dinner (me)/take the dog for a walk (Sarah), eat dinner, watch TV, eat dessert, play guitar/read/watch more TV, get ready for bed, read the Bible, go to sleep. Rinse. Repeat.

I am not exaggerating. This happens every day. Saturdays and Sundays we don't go to work, but everything else still happens in the same succession. There are only so many times I can write about this without tearing my hair out. And it's going to start falling out soon eventually, so I can't really do that right now.