My warm-up exercise before writing any blog post seems to be playing eight games of Scrabble Blast on the computer, because I am convinced (I absolutely know it to the marrow of my bones!) that I will break my high score this time. I think I’ve reached rock bottom, like any accomplished gambler eventually does.
After eight games of not breaking my high score, I finally give up and try to come up with something noteworthy to write about in my blog post.
Tonight was no exception, although I quit in the middle of my second game, because it finally dawned on me that 4,300 points is sort of like a UFO. It’s just something I ain’t never gonna see. I just need to hang my head in shame and admit that 4,200 points is as good as it’s ever going to get for me and my relationship with Scrabble Blast.
We had some good times together. I spelled some really big words, worth some really enormous point totals, but it’s not me. It’s Scrabble Blast. The bombs fall faster and faster, and my reflexes get slower and slower, and suddenly I’m spelling words like the and his and cat, which bring in no more than ten points each.
And ten points is not a very big boost on the ladder that will lead me to 4,300, so I think it’s time that I simply toss in the towel and face the fact that my spiritual gift does not lie in achieving glory through this game.
In other news, our weekend was packed tighter than the cheeks of a squirrel in a park during a class picnic, but that is how we roll.
The boy came home from school on Friday afternoon to a phone call from his buddy, Enzo, who asked if he could please (puh-leeze!!!) come over and spend the night. Since the boy had been gone every other Friday night in the month of April, we decided to shoot for a perfect score (unlike in Scrabble Blast). By packing his backpack with his toothbrush and a clean T-shirt and sending him off to Enzo’s house, we set a record — the boy did not sleep at our house for a single Friday night this month.
Hubs and I found ourselves alone, once again, so we did the usual.
We watched a lame movie on TV, followed by an informative show on HGTV, in which we learned nothing about home renovations that Hubs didn’t already know, and I went to bed early.
We are just crazy-wild like that.
On Saturday morning, Hubs and I hit the super shopping center as early as we possibly could, before it filled up with crazy people. You know, people who are crazier than we are. And then we went to Starbucks. And then we ran a couple more errands.
And may I just add this little note?
Starbucks, you have finally disappointed me, which was a total shock. The grande skinny vanilla latte with half a shot tasted like the sole of a shoe. I threw half of it out. I am trying to come to grips with the fact that you have blundered, and that you are no longer perfect in my eyes, Starbucks. I will try you again tomorrow, and you’d better come through for me.
And after I grumbled about my cup of unloveableness from Starbucks and ran some errands, blam! It was suddenly 11:45, and time to pick the boy up from Enzo’s house, because I had to shuffle him on to the next activity, which was a birthday party for one of his classmates at noon.
I accomplished a couple more errands while the boy was partying, and then picked him up at 1:45, so that he and I could make the 2:00 showing of Furry Vengeance with my friend, Amy, and her two little girls.
I had read the reviews on Furry V, and they weren’t that grand. One of them stated, “This movie is for the six to six-and-a-half year old crowd. If you do not fall within that age range, there is nothing for you in this cinematic disappointment; it is that lame.”
Um, hello! I know that I’ve always been rather immature, but listen, people. I thought it was funny, and so did Amy. The boy (who is nine-and-a-half) laughed hysterically. At one point, the boy and Amy’s four-and-a-half year old daughter were both standing up, laughing uncontrollably and slapping the backs of the seats in front of them! Naturally, Amy and I laughed harder at the kids than we did at the show, but still! What’s not to love about seeing someone trapped in an SUV with a herd of skunks who fire off their jets and cloud the air thoroughly?! Quality entertainment, people.
By the time we arrived back home on Saturday afternoon, the boy seemed to be undergoing training for college, as he was seeing exactly what his digestive system could handle. He had eggs and sausage at Enzo’s house for breakfast, followed by Taco Bell burritos and cantaloupe for lunch. At the birthday party, they had pizza, so he ate a couple of pieces, as well as some chocolate birthday cake and ice cream. When we hit the cinema, he asked for the super-sized Kit Kat bar, but I drew the line on his nutritional intake for the day and insisted that he eat something somewhat healthy, so he had popcorn. (You know, from the corn plant, which is a vegetable.) Imagine my surprise when he announced at 5:00 Saturday evening, “My gut doesn’t feel very great.”
And today, after church, we had Spa Day.
Well, Hubs and the boy did not participate in Spa Day at all. Our friends, Peggy and John and Jenna came over, and we ate lunch together, and then…
…John and Hubs sat side-by-side on the sofa and watched basketball, and Hubs thought he was in Heaven because finally he had someone to watch a sporting event with who didn’t talk through the game!
Hubs is odd like that. He’s happiest when there is no talking to interrupt his gaming intake. John is the same way. They sat in companionable silence, taking in the game, and they both swear that they had the best afternoon ever!
Meanwhile, the boy had his little friend, G, over, and the two of them played some video games.
And Peggy and Jenna and I had Spa Day, and let me tell you this: We talked. A lot. They did my nails, because my nails looked as though I had been shoveling gravel. With my bare hands. And now! Ohmylands, but you should see my fingernails now! Beautimous.
And Jenna, hairstyler extraordinaire, showed me a bunch of fun hairstyles, because I have been in a hairstyling rut, and I am about to (gasp!) cut bangs.
I have a 2:00 appointment tomorrow for the works. Colorization. A cut.
And I cannot decide on the major question of this season: Should I or should I not cut myself some bangs? Or rather, should I or should I not allow Lisa to cut me some bangs, since I never, ever, not at all cut my own hair, because I do not trust my lack of hair cutting abilities?
Bangs, people. It’s a major decision.
I am thinking that if I played another game or six of Scrabble Blast, the answer might come to me.