Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond
The Princess and I went to Home Depot and Ikea Friday, bought some paint and a stand for our new 29-inch TV. I think it was called Nöoręldĩn or something Swedish with too many squigglies. It was a very domestic move for us. We also signed the one-year lease. This should have taken 10 minutes, tops, but our landlord made himself at home and regaled us with stories about his daddy from Georgia. I think he might have stayed the whole weekend if he didn’t have another appointment to get to.
Painting is not the fun, carefree time you see in movies and American Express commercials. On TV, when a couple paints their new home, there’s much laughing and dabbing each other with paint-laden brushes; in real life, it was a pain in the ass. I stepped on the paint lid, dropped gobs of it on my crotch, scratched myself on the bookcase, and left streaks all over the walls. The Princess started laughing because every 5 minutes I would yell, "Damn it" or "Shit."
The Princess and I went out with our friends B&J and B’s brother and sister-in-law Saturday night to the Brickskeller, the land of a thousand beers, where we were served in a non-smoking den (what the fuck?) by the same incompetent waiter we had a few weeks ago. He wasn’t nearly as bad this time, and I discovered my new favorite beer from Lithuania called Aiko. Earlier in the day, we went to a “baby celebration”; this is not to be confused with a baby shower, of which attending goes against my personal policy. I drank four cups of tea, thinking it was some kind of special Pakistani brew until someone told me it was Lipton. Kind of lost its magic at that point. We talked about babies, shrimp, and politics, natch.
Hermana sent me some photos from her trip to LA, the first of which was of our old house in Woodland Hills. Last time I was home, I couldn’t even drive by it with Hermano because it would have made me too sad.
When I have a kid, I want his or her first word to be Papa. The Princess, though, wants Ar-Jew-Tino Jr. to call me Daddy, which I think is kind of boring and pedestrian. I call my father Papi and my mother Mami, which was always weird saying out loud in American schools. Still, I would like to carry on the tradition.
I went 2-4 in last week’s softball game, lowering my season average to .622. I haven’t hit a homerun since I sprained my thumb during a tubing accident in Missouri. It’s affected my ability to hit for power. Gotta get my hands on some Barry Bonds miracle cream.