When I wake up Chuck is propped on his elbows reading on his phone. I touch his leg with my foot and think about the new Nook with an optional reading light and whether I should buy one, or if that was a stupid idea because I'm really enjoying my relationship with my Kindle.
"Be careful out there today," Chuck says, rolling over. "Lots of weirdos. I was at the gas station and a guy dressed in full VFW-wear was buying a single can of Pepsi. He went through like 5 credit cards and none of them worked. Finally he wrote a check.
"Then a guy jumped out in front of my car and pretended like I was going to hit him. Then he just walked back up on the sidewalk."
Ten minutes later, coffee and Facebook, one of my friends complains that a guy in front of him in line at the grocery store wrote a check for butter and held up a long line. He says he almost just bought it for the guy.
When Chuck said VFW-wear I pictured a man in a softball uniform, but I bet he meant some sort of military costume. I always have to play "Which is more likely" in situations like this. It is Memorial Day weekend.
The theme of today is "Checks." Which reminds me: I need to write a check for our half of the CSA haul we will be splitting with my friend The Dude this summer.
Diner breakfast with a true crime novel. Except the joint is closing and someone is spraying 409 all over the floor and trying to swab under my feet and why am I feeling guilty for eating a Taco Omelet while they're washing dishes. I mean, I'm giving them $10 for this experience.
In equally disappointed news: The library is now closed on Saturdays through the summer which totally changes my Saturday schedule.
SHADES OF GREY
I'm buying a dress and as the clerk folds it into tissue paper she asks me if I've read "50 Shades of Grey." I make a face, then quickly try to shift it into something less snobby like a yawn. But she saw the original sneer.
"YOU DIDN'T LIKE IT?!" she asks.
And listen. I can give you a lot of reasons why Book One is crap, but I can't give you a lot of reasons why Book One is crap while finishing a sales transaction. She doesn't care about the many, many references to an "inner goddess." I just mutter something about reading the first one, but not being interested in reading more than that.
"My mom and I are reading it," she tells me.
"Why is everyone reading this book with their MOM?" I ask her.
It's another curious element to the popularity of this series. "I mean it really turned me on, mom, you know? You should incorporate some of it into your lovemaking with Dad."
"You have to read the second book," she says as I leave the store.
I got ma'am-ed at the mall. It happened right after a woman rammed her purse into my kidney, adding injury to insult. She was way more ma'am-y than me. She had a teenaged daughter who couldn't articulate. That's ma'am-y. I was wearing a hoodie. Not ma'am-y.
Back in my home territory of Barnes & Noble one of my favorite booksellers says: "I haven't seen you in a long time!" And I think I'm being hilarious when I say: "Oh, yeah. I got a Kindle!"
"Why don't you just punch me in the face?" he asks.
I feel like a total dick.
A few weeks ago I realized that the employees of my new preferred pizza delivery spot had our order down pat: 14 inch pan pizza with pepperoni and black olives. Unfortunately, when I call and say "I'll take the ushz," the guy on the phone has no idea what I'm talking about. I clear my through, pretend this never happened. "14 inch pan pizza with pepperoni and black olives," I say.
I DON'T WANNA WAIT
Thanks to the power of Jodi's birthday mojo, Netflix is streaming "Dawson's Creek." I'd caught two episodes before bed on Friday night and cried like a mofo through junior prom and Joey's big decision at the end of Season 3.
I double back to Season One with plans to knock out a few episodes before Chuck wakes. But then Chuck wakes and it turns out he's into this.
In my first viewing of "Dawson's Creek" about a decade ago I seemed to have missed a few things:
Dawson's enlarged pupils and crazed school-shooter look.
Ms. Jacobs as a sexual predator. Certainly Pacey is not her first Mrs. Robinson moment.
The size of Dawson's head.
How things that happen in one episode don't necessarily carry over into the next episode. Like, how many times does Joey have to say that she is in love with Dawson before it takes?
This show should be called "Joey's Creek."