Fly and Buy

My clock said it was 10:20 when I woke up this morning. Which really meant it was 10:10. I decided that I could do better and rolled over and went back to sleep. However, I recall being awake long enough to realize that my muscles, who had served me well nearly every day this week on the racquetball court, were hurting more than Harrison Ford's Balls.

When I groaned back to life at the crack of noon, I was greeted by a 45 minute massage! Do I have the world's most awesomest boyfriend, or what?! He's been so nice lately that I'm starting to wonder if I should be wondering what he's up to. My massage was topped off by a lusciously heavy pile of blankets with a nappy kitty on top. Ahhhh... blissful "morning".

We had some Moby for lunch which was kick ass as always... except the dude behind the counter not only recognized me, but knew what my order was going to be. It's almost like they all screamed "Norm!" when I walked in the door. Scary. Methinks I've been here too long.

We then went and finished off our grouting projects. It came to our attention rather late (we're talking a month late) into said project that the item Brian chose to mosaic and grout, what we thought was a funky flute playing jam guy, is in fact the shape of Kokopelli, the Native American symbol of fertility, and a known trickster. Yikes. Guess who's *not* being hung in the bedroom as previously planned? (Truth be told, B didn't even want to risk bringing it in the house, and the now finished project resides in his car out in our parking lot. Which still might be too close to the bedroom). Weep not for Kokopelli; he's going exactly where he's needed.

After making use of the pool for only the second time this summer, as it was the only activity requiring caloric output that I could muster, and losing one of my favorite blue earrings (keep an eye out, will ya?) it was eventually decided that I would both fly and buy dinner in exchange for yet another 45 minute rub down. Seemed like a darn good deal until I tried to stand up. Oooogah!

Somehow, I made it to Chicken Out, and I was stopped by an '87 Cadillac outside the establishment. The ancient vehicle, which had 100% tinted windows and ridiculous spoiler, contained a passenger who pleasantly asked how to get to The Great Indoors. I directed them with ease, realizing, as I walked away, that I this meant I must now officially look like a local. I have definitely been here too long.