I'm exhausted. This single mother two jobs gig sucks. I'd say that all work and no play makes Sophmom a dull girl, but I'm afraid that it's worse than that 'cause it seems to be the sporadic but energetic episodes of play that knock me on my ass. Last Friday night I was all curled up with my computer ready to do some work blogging, having apparently lost my best friend and regular Friday night drinking buddy to her new toy, "The Farm" (horses included), when the phone rang and I found myself at our regular spot with her husband, our close buddy, David, who's moved back to New Orleans since Katrina and his friend, Tim, who also happens to be close buddies with The Husband With Whom I Have Completed The Cohabitation Phase Of The Marriage (hereinafter "The Husband..."). All of that would have been fine - just another Friday night - but after Best Friend's Husband headed up to join her at The Farm, David and Tim came over to my place for some fairly serious (at least long) moon howling. I didn't really drink much but I'm way too old to stay up that late and I am still on my ass.
Saturday, I cooked. I felt like a fool, 'cause I was the only one home, but I cooked the baby back ribs I'd bought the weekend before. It made me miss Middle Son. He was here the last time I cooked ribs. I don't boil my ribs. If I had my own private grill, like I've had for all of my life until now, I would cook them on that for a very long, slow time, but that's not nice to the apartment neighbors with whom I am currently sharing a grill, so I cooked 'em slow and low in the oven first, with sweet elephant garlic, fresh lime juice, olive oil and Herbamare, sealed tight in a big pan with foil, before grilling and basting with barbeque sauce, which I made (there are sinful shortcuts involved). I also made au gratin potatoes, the old fashion way, white sauce and all, and they were so delicious. Into my not particularly sweet slaw, made with white balsamic vinegar (and more Herbamare), I added finely chopped almost indiscernable Vidalia onions. I'm not sure I'll ever get fully past all those years of cooking for a crowd. We're still working on the last of the ribs, although The Youngest and his group eventually showed up and made a significant dent in my culinary achievements. If you cook it, they will come.
Last night would have been The Youngest's first baseball game of the fall season, but for the rain that made our little creek roar in the woods beneath our balcony. I almost went to play bar trivia with an old friend and her husband, but I was completely whooped from getting up at the crack of dawn to cart The Youngest half way across town to school (note to self: find a way to get him a car) before driving all the way back over here, to work. It will be interesting, this season without coaching. He walked into the living room the other night and said, "Mom, the weirdest thing just happened. I just got a call from a coach." Both of us laughed, because neither one of us can remember that ever happening before. This is the first time in his life that he's ever played on a team that I'm not, in some way, running. His coach has asked me to keep his book for him. Maybe he figures that if he gives me something to do, I won't cause him any trouble. He might be right about that.
I thought about blogging on 9/11, having never really told my 9/11 story here, and it's pretty interesting. It was certainly the end for our little agency. We had a nice run, ten good years, but we stumbled over the internet a bit, burdened by the cost of prosecuting some highly contested patents, but we were back on track and The Husband... was scheduled to meet on September 12th in New England with an old client, a nationally known toy maker, to finalize a major winter promotion for them. Of course, neither the meeting nor the promotion happened, after the events of that day. I never really went back to our 22nd floor glass office tower suite in Buckhead. By January, we were both working out of the house, and he hasn't really gone back to what he did so well for so long, since. I read what many of you wrote, but instead of writing I worked on my project for my internet marketing client and watched ABC's controversial "The Path to 9/11". Maybe it was all the hoopla or maybe it's because I already know what I think of this Preznit, et al, and how transparently they've exploited our national tragedy, but it didn't jump out at me as being hysterically anti-Clinton and I think it told a couple of stories that needed telling, those of John O'Niell and of Ahmed Shah Mas'ud, the "Lion of Pahjshir". So many folks I respect were so up in arms about the docu-drama that I had to watch, otherwise I wouldn't be able to talk about it with any credibility. I'm glad I did, although I can't seem to find anyone else who watched, so I'm left just talking to myself (again).
I also watched the season premier of "Dancing With the Stars" because it was so worth it to see Tucker Carlson (a/k/a "The Bow Tied Bitch Boy"TM) TOTALLY SUCK!! I regret that I didn't vote for him, 'cause he was the first one voted off and I'm terribly disappointed that we won't be watching him make an utter fool of himself next week. However, I will have to keep watching (it's not exactly hard to watch, since it's such fluff that it's possible to do two or three other things at the same time), 'cause Emmitt Smith was hip-jiggling, light-stepping, big-grinning incredible and worth the time spent watching, all by himself. He's my bet to win. I have to admit I've liked this silly show since it premiered in the dead of no television summer before last, with it's toungue firmly placed in its highly self-deprecating cheek.
I hope all ya'll out there in the blogosphere are fine and happy and healthy, well-loved and well-fed but I need to get out of here, 'cause the new desk that I didn't want is about to arrive. Joy.
Peace, out, ya'll.
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