so Eddie and I are playing on the Google video page and sending links to each other. I hit the “random” button and find this one, with a guy taping his two friends making out, and being the good wife who knows her man likes girls kissing, I send it to him. In typical Casa McBride fashion, the following conversation occurs:

“Why are you sending me video of preteen lesbian girls?”

“Because I hit random, came up with that, and thought it was funny, so I sent it to you.”

“Now I feel dirty because I’ve watched it twice.”

We’ve certainly enjoyed our rainy nasty day. I bleached my hair and will shortly be putting brown in it, and we spent an hour and half in Eddie’s man-cave watching Advent Children, which I thought rocked even though I hated Final Fantasy VII. They’ve certainly made a LOT of advances in CG animation since Spirits Within came out a few years ago, and I predict we’ll see a lot more anime switch over to CG, even if they do it like Appleseed and keep it looking like traditional animation.

Eddie cooked a roast for dinner and it turned out fabulous. Unfortunately my wisdom teeth are moving around and my jaw is in an assload of pain.

Tonight we’re watching a Monty Python marathon on the BBC channel, and then we’re going to watch SNL, and I’m really hoping that I’ll get some loving because I’ve been horny as hell all week and damn it all I want sex.

When I returned from lunch yesterday afternoon, my phone was ringing. I answered it, only to discover one of my least favorite customers was on the other end of the line.

“Crystal,” she says with that stereotypical Rhode Island accent that sounds like a cross between South Boston and Mike Myers’s “Coffee Talk” SNL sketches, “this is Helene*. Tell me, does this phone have voicemail.”

Cringing at the sound of her voice I tell her that all of our lines automatically come with voicemail at no charge. “How do I use it?” she inevitably asks before I can give her my voicemail-for-the-lootomized directions. I explain how all she needs to do is hold down the 1-button and follow the prompts when it’s connected. “Thank you Crystal, you’re a dear,” she says and hangs up.

She calls back less than 2 minutes later. “It says I’m connected, but it’s not showing anything, no prompts like you told me to look for.”

Firmly believing that this woman’s blonde dye has been leeching her braincells since birth and picking up on her use of the word “look”, I ask her “Did you listen to what the prompts said?”

“No, do I have to listen to the phone? It doesn’t just come up on the screen?”

*facepalm*