Random Stuffs of Monday Madness

I had this really great post that I was going to do tonight. (Well, not really great, but at least mildly entertaining.) However, I left the scrap of legal pad that it's written on in my office. I had a long wait in court this morning, which is the only place on the planet that I submit to the torture of waiting without a book, so I tend to fill the time with writing.



Unfortunately, when I don't bring the drabblous scribblings home with me, it does none of us any good.



So, speaking of waiting, I find myself becoming more and more intolerable of it. I can wait for days on end, as long as I have a book to read. If not, I ain't doin' it. No way. No how. I refuse to even pull into the parking lot of the doctor's office without a significantly weighty tome. (Nothing deep - just something lengthy.) I even read when I'm in line at the drive through at the bank. Although I've not stooped to my father's low of taking a book to the movies to read by what might as well be distant candlelight, that's only because I don't usually get there before the previews start. I've even taken a book to a funeral.

What is the weirdest place you read?

That being said - I've sadly neglected reading over the last year or so. I've done it in fits and starts in lines and at restaurants rather than sitting down at home and doing some serious page-turning. But I plan to change that. I'm halfway through the first Stephanie Plum novel by Janet Evanovich. Y'all were right - she's just too dang funny. Please feel free to send more suggestions my way.



I've been reading this evening because Jackson is watching TV. Now that Katie is in bed, he's indulging in his most gawd-awful, divorce-inducing, eye-gougingly irritating habit. He's watching 'rasslin'.



Is there a support group for people whose cohabitants indulge in watching wrestling on a weekly basis? I guess I shouldn't complain. He doesn't get drunk and mean. He doesn't beat the kid. He doesn't gamble uncontrollably or snort cocaine. As far as I know he's not cheating on me with some redneck floozy - although we might could work something out if she was willing to dust - and he's generally kind to animals.



But, damn.



And he doesn't watch it quietly. He has rasslin' deafness, which means he claims not to be able to hear it unless it is excruciatingly loud. Makes me want to ream out his ears with a Dremel tool. He just left to grab a coke. I turned it down to an almost normally level. He won't notice the difference when he returns but he'll turn it up a couple of notches anyway when he gets back. He knows I always turn it down when he's not looking.



God, I hate rasslin'.



I blame my father-in-law. He used to make his living as a professional wrestler on the local circuits. His career ended early due to an injury, but not before he thoroughly indoctrinated his kids. (His dad moved from rasslin' to a career as a fake heroine dealer. But that's a whole other story.) So every Monday night, this stuff pervades my abode, assaulting my senses and lowering our collective IQ.



And if the 'show' weren't bad enough, the commercials that accompany it are downright insulting.



So, before my brain totally liquefies and oozes out my ears, I will give you a bit of hard-learned advice: Don't change your ringtone to Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. Even thought it's a really good idea and it will make you grin like an idiot whenever your phone rings, don't do it. Because each and every time the phone rings, you will find yourself duty-bound by the irrevocable laws of the universe to answer the phone in your best Lurch voice.

"You raaaaang?"