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Pasta Pot

Boy, was I out of it yesterday. I decided to just drink half a cup of coffee and you can see the results in yesterday’s journal entry — zombie city — but at least I slept beautifully.

In fact, I had an awfully hard time crawling out of bed this morning. I spent all yesterday in Minnesota. Okay, not really. But I spent all yesterday reading Ellen Hart’s fantastic mysteries (finished one yesterday and read through 3/4 of another one — like I said, I’m a very fast reader) which are all set in Minnesota and they really suck the reader in.

By the time Todd got home I was taking a bath, almost finished with the second mystery. I washed my hair while he got the laundry together, and we went to the used bookstore together before the laundromat. I was quite amused to see that after I bought a few Ruth Rendell mysteries and took them to the used bookstore for credit the number of Rendell books has quadrupled. It all felt very sweet and friendly, and I wondered if, in buying so many Rendell books myself, I got other people who go to this used bookstore interested in her? That’s the only explanation I can think of, because when I first started buying Rendell books there were only three to choose from.

I’ve lived back east for over four years, and before that for two years in Missouri, but I still haven’t gotten the hang of dressing warmly in the winter. So I often have people clucking over me in restaurants and stores, saying, “Aren’t you cold, dear?” and I always tell them that I grew up in California — ergo, I’m not very good at remembering to bring coats, sweaters, mittens, etc. Mostly it works and they say to wear something warmer next time and go away. But last night one of the women who owns the used bookstore was tsking and asking me if I wasn’t cold and I gave her my standard line and she looked crabby and said, “Well, I grew up in California too, but I can’t just run around in a short-sleeved t-shirt because of it.” Tee hee. I told Todd on the way out to the car that I’d have to come up with a new line now.

Hm…I’m re-reading what I just typed and realizing for the first time that I must be bringing out the parent in all of these people — I mean, it’s not like they’re saying things like this to everyone they see, just me. I wonder if it has something to do with my high voice and the fact that I’m only 5′1″? (Okay, 5″1′ on a good day, mostly 5″.)

We also stopped at the video store to return the videos we’d rented over the weekend and decided to get Lifeboat. The whole idea of being stuck out at sea with only a tiny bit of wood between me and the water is absolutely, completely, utterly terrifying to me. I remember that when I was a kid I had a friend whose parents owned a huge boat and we used to go out on it. I spent the entire time below deck, scared as hell. I hate the thought of so much space between me and the ocean floor. Would you believe that even now I get creeped out when I see the cover of the book “Jaws”? So this movie is quite scary but interesting too and I’m glad that I’m finally watching it.

When we got to the laundromat to change the clothes from the washer to the dryer the washer wasn’t done yet, so we sat out in the car and played travel Yatzee until my headache was too awful (lack of caffeine headache — we were making pasta for dinner and Todd asked if I knew where the pasta pot was and I said “Yup, it’s in my head and someone’s beating on it with a wooden spoon”) and then Todd mentioned that his co-workers had been just horrified that he didn’t celebrate christmas. “Well,” he said, “horrified and envious.” He said that one person asked, “But what will you do when you have children in school who are hearing all kinds of stuff about christmas there, and are the only ones who don’t celebrate it?” and I laughed and said, “Oh no, you didn’t tell him we were probably going to do home schooling, did you?” and Todd said that he’d thought about it but they were already so beside themselves that he decided not to.

Well, for chrissakes. Hallmark really DOES have a card for every occasion. Just got one from Todd’s grandparents that says on the front, “To a Dear Grandson And His Wife” which is almost perfect — I should write Hallmark and say, “So, like, have you got one that says ‘To a Dear Estranged Grandson And His Wife’ ?” They addressed it to Mr. and Mrs. Todd Todd’sRealLastName and if I didn’t already know what creeps they were I’d hate them just for that. I don’t care if they’re 98 years old, my name is Sage RealLastName, and if they had any consideration at all they’d address it to “Ms. and Mr. Sage RealLastName.” Dammit. *laughing*

When we got back from getting the laundry from the dryer, Todd said he’d read to me if I put away the laundry, so I put it away and Todd read from Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City. Nice. I love being able to experience books with someone else.

We were looking at the back of the book, which has a photo of Maupin on it, and Todd looked at it and said, “I know who that looks like.” I looked too and said, “Yup. The guy who wrote ‘The History of White People In America’.” (Martin Mull — not half as bad as it sounds, really) and I’d be willing to bet that we are the only two people on the planet who would think that, but we both did. It’s like when we were in Massachusetts and I saw a woman walk into the store and thought, “That woman looks exactly like one of the characters in the movie ‘Go Fish’.” and Todd said, “Yup. I think so too.” I figure this is only going to get worse when we have a kid — once in awhile she’ll just say apropos of nothing, “I agree, that’s really true.”

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