I guess a spit bubble pretty much sums it up

03-18-00

Band squadron picnic today. Of course, yesterday it was in the high eighties when John and I played tennis. Today it was incredibly cold. Everybody stood around the food table and shivered.

Food Table Fun: When John introduced me to someone I hadn't met, we smiled and them began the inevitable uncomfortable silence. My "nice to meet you" smile corrupted the brownie I tried to eat and I ended up blowing a spit bubble right there in front of strangers. I don't think anyone caught it, but they did seem to think I was kinda weird.

John kindly informed me last night that we were supposed to bring either salad or dessert to the picnic. My first impulse was, "Do it yourself, idiot," but then I realized that whatever we brought would be attributed to moi. So this morning I wandered through the grocery store, picking up a can of beans here, a red pepper there. I mixed everything up with a bit of curry powder and I invented a thoroughly decent couscous salad, with black beans, red pepper, and steamed broccoli florets.

Some people in Geogria didn't know about couscous. My standard explanation is "Moroccan pasta," and that's what I told people who asked. People who didn't ask made some pretty funny comments, though, and I happily eavesdropped around the table for a half hour or so. Bigfoot Lady recognized it as couscous, and proclaimed her knowledge widely. Someone else tried a tentative bite and then announced, "Oh, it's like grits!"

Ba-dum bum. I'm outta here.

Becky and I had planned in advance to skip the traditional volleyball game and play Scrabble instead. We pulled up a picnic table and the two of us and John started a game. We took some shit from the volleyball crowd for playing Scrabble at a picnic, but we had a crowd of 8 or 9 people watching us, cheering or whispering clues, throughout the game. It seemed to me that the Scrabble table was having a lot more fun than the volleyball players. Especially when Becky spelled "vagina."

I got lucky, first spelling "quiz" (with Danelle and Rob's help) on a double letter and a double word score. Later on I used the Z to spell "azure" on the triple word. I didn't mean for it to happen, but the game, as John put it, was really a competition for second place. Other power words: capon, coarser, flitter, gimlet, denied, epee. Loser words: fun, gay, and bat. Becky's turning into a right good Scrabble player, and she's only played five or six times, ever. To some it comes naturally.

John and I also played Scrabble last night, when we visited my student's house for pizza and game night. We actually had a really good time. My kid's father has been in the Air Force 18 years, so he and John had plenty of conversation topics. The family owns a tiny, hyper chihuahua, so John and I were delighted from the start. It was fun to get away from the band moans/conversations for a night, even if it meant talking about kids and remodeling and convertibles. Couldn't do it all the time, but what a nice change. People who are happy with their jobs? I didn't think they existed.

Went over to Becky's tonight to help her pack for the move. She and Anna are moving in together on Friday. Moving out isn't a big deal; Becky doesn't have that much stuff, and it's all well organized. We packed up her entire kitchen, plus her closet junk and bedroom paraphernalia in about three hours. Moving in will be harder. She and Anna have two of everything, for one thing. In seven years and seven apartments, I've always been the one with the stuff: the furniture, kitchen etc., all that. And I can't pack anything in three hours. Maybe all my books in three hours. Becky and I made a tour of the Warner Robins liquor stores, searching for boxes. We drove by the new apartment and the doors happened to be unlocked, so she gave me a tour.

Okay. My apartment sucks. I need to get a real job so we can move. I figured out how much I'd need to be making in order for us to get a nicer apartment—a lot. I suck.

John's out at a bachelor party, so I'm feeling like an aging shmuck, and I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open. It's only twenty after eleven on Saturday night and I'm exhausted. Bleh.