I wrote all my answers / responses to today’s question on a stray envelope on my desk while I was in the middle of writing a review of the 2008 Volkswagen Beetle (I so want a Beetle) for work, and then got sidetracked, and pathetic, and whiny, and never posted it.

Well, there’s still a little bit of Monday left in my timezone, so here goes:

1. Who is your favorite blues guitarist?
   I’m torn between John Lee Hooker and B.B. King – they have different styles, and they’re both amazing, especially those gritty old vinyl recordings, where you can hear the emotion coming off each chord.
2. What is your favorite blues song?
   This changes often. Right now, I’m really digging Fleetwood Mac’s version of “Black Magic Woman,” but I like the classic stuff, too, and Harry Connick, Jr’s version of “Do You Know What It Means (to Miss New Orleans)” is a perennial favorite.
3. What gives you the blues?
   

   I woke up this morning
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   Alone in the bed
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   I sat up and felt it –
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   A pain in my head
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   The dogs were whining
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   To go out the door
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   I pushed back the covers
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   Put my feet on the floor
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   And that’s where I saw it
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   Right there on the rug
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   It was scurrying toward me
   (Ba da-da da-dum)
   A HUGE water bug
   (Ba da-da da-dum)

   (You get the idea….)

Like to dance? You, too, can Mambo, by clicking here.

The problem with having small, terrier-esque dogs who share the bed with you is that they like to dig, and they’re just as happy digging in the bedclothes as in a pile of sand outside. Zorro, especially, is amazingly proud of his virtual holes, standing over them proudly, and looking at me with that “look what I did” expression that only chihuahuas can really master. I’m tickled for him, really, but I’m less than thrilled at what his tiny little claws have done to my soft cotton sheets. Last night, Fuzzy pointed out that they’d manage to tear the comforter, so of course I went surfing, looking for inspiration in new bedding.

Pale, contemporary, clean bedding, is a style I really appreciate. The rest of my house is funky and warm, all in reds and golds, leafy greens and coffee browns, but I prefer cool, serene colors in my bedroom, just as I prefer thick comforters and cold air while I sleep. I think cool colors make the sheets feel cooler against my skin, and I’ve written many times about how much I love that feeling.

Of course, I still have to show Fuzzy the pictures, and give him the illusion that he has a choice of what comforter or bedspread we actually buy.

As to Zorro, I’m not worried. He’ll like anything his humans pick.

Today was a day I’d really rather not have experienced.

I feel all groggy from lack of sleep, I can’t focus on anything, and I still have an article due to The Boss Who Thinks I Rock by morning. It’s only 750 words, and not particularly challenging, if I can find the right head space and string words together in some semblance of a coherent fashion.

A/C Guy kept me waiting til late afternoon then rescheduled for tomorrow, so all day I’ve been paranoid that the unit will flood again, and unlike Fuzzy, I can’t climb the steps into the attic to plug the hose back in if it comes out again. Even though it was rainy, it didn’t inspire me to write today so much as it made me even crankier than I already was, and if I’d have been smart I’d have just curled up in bed and worked from there today, but I tried to force myself to get dressed and function outside the coziness of my room. Bad plan.

I also had the distinct pleasure of having to call California’s Franchise Tax Board, because the mailed a Tax Due Notice to my former employers (even though my 2004 tax return provided them my Texas address) claiming I owed them $4,000 and change in taxes and penalties.

So I called them three times, and let me tell you, no one has a slower voice response system, and there isn’t even an option to press zero for a live person in round one. In fact there never is, you have to guess that it might work. Which I did.

Of course, once I got to a live person, which took three attempts and twenty minutes on hold, they said, “You didn’t file in 2005,” and I said, “I know. I didn’t live or work in California in 2005.” And they said, “But you have a real estate license here.” I said, “No, I had a salesperson’s license, and as soon as moved out of state it became null and void because I’m not a broker, and anyway, I sent a form explaining that I no longer lived or worked in California, last year, when I filed my 2005 return, and y’all sent a note asking why you didn’t get one. ”

Their first response was “Oh.”

And their second response was, “Please hold while we check on that.”

And then they came back and said, “So you’re saying you didn’t live or work in California in 2005,” and at that point I really wanted to bang the phone on the desk, but either the phone or the desk might have been damaged, so I refrained, and simply said, “I believe I told you that twice.”

They asked, “Do you live here now?” and I replied that no, I didn’t (even though I’d given them my Texas address and told them that twice as well).

Finally they said, “Oh, we’ll clear this, then, and you won’t be bothered again.”

And I said, “So you’re saying I owe you nothing, just as I said in the first place?”

And the FTB people said, “Yes.”

As if dealing with bureaucrats wasn’t enough for one day, the house temperature is never right. It’s either freezing or sweltering, and I’m afraid to fiddle with anything, and there was a water bug (that’s polite talk for “giant cockroach from hell”) in the bathroom, and I made a pot of coffee and let two cups go cold.

Sigh.
Make that three.

And Fuzzy’s phone is going right to voicemail, so I can’t even hear him tell me that I’m not a hack, and everyone has sucky days and he loves me.

I say… And you think…

1. Dork :: knobs
2. Refurbished :: used
3. Basket :: case
4. Mousse :: chocolate
5. Studio :: audience
6. 8 ball :: magic
7. Masking tape :: paint
8. Love :: Actually
9. Wilder :: Laura Ingalls
10. Lindsey :: Wagner*

*Of course she actually spells her name -ay, not -ey.

Like this meme? Play along here.

I write better, faster, and more prolifically when I have television or a movie on in the background. I’ve stated before that I can’t write to music, but what I haven’t confessed is that sometimes, on rare occasions, I watch bad television.

What is truly frightening, however, is not just that I have it on, but that I find myself actually paying attention to, and enjoying it.

Take tonight, for example. I had Nick at Night on, and they were doing a marathon of Home Improvement. There was a Christmas-time episode that involved Jill (Patricia Richardson) leaving Tim’s (Tim Allen) restored hot rod out in the snow without the tonneau cover on. A blizzard came, and filled the car with snow, soaking the leather, and ruining much of the car.

The rest of the episode involved the fixing of the car, and the responsibility for causing the issue – apparently Jill has difficulties accepting blame.

It wasn’t a particularly funny episode, though there were moments that made me grin. In fact, what hooked me most was that they were showing a married couple in a sitcom having a real fight. Screaming and snide remarks that were meant to sting, not just induce giggles.

I’d never really appreciated this show when it was fresh. I think I was at one of those ages where I was both too old and too young to get it. I couldn’t identify with the kids, and I didn’t identify with the parents. Now, though, after twelve years of marriage and some screaming matches of my own, and, I’m ashamed to admit, more than a few stinging remarks, I can watch it and be impressed that a sitcom would stage a fight with that much emotional truth.

Don’t worry though.
I will never write a post claiming that there’s artistic merit in Saved by the Bell.