Well, my glorious Friday night full of swinging parties and red wine has come to an end. And you know what? It was FUCKING BORING AS FUCK.
Normally, if The Daver isn’t going to be home until after the kidlets go to bed, I’ll take them out and do something somewhat fun. Like go out to dinner or something. We’re VERY educational here, at Casa de la Sausage, let me tell you.
But since Alex was trying to audition to be a stove top or Ez Bake Oven, and Ben was still coughing like a 60 year old smoker, I decided that taking them out anywhere was probably a Very Bad Idea.
So we stayed in. And Ben VOLUNTARILY went to bed at 6:15, much to my “DUDE, YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE LEFT WHO CAN HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH ME THAT DOESN’T INVOLVE POINTING OUT EITHER LIGHTS OR BALLS” chagrin. And I was left trying to talk either to the cat or the dog, both of whom looked at me with what I can only describe as pure pity.
After Alex went to bed, I was stuck twiddling my thumbs looking for something, anything to do. FreeCell was boring, TV sucked, I had nothing new to read, no one in their right minds would be posting to their blogs on a Friday night (I imagined most of my fantabulous blog readers out at a hip club, drinking fantastic cocktails and dancing to dance remixes), and it dawned on me how fucking boring I really have become.
I felt sorry for myself until I watched an SVU I had actually not seen, which distracted me from how lame I am, and eventually trundled off to bed, alone, with only a heating pad for warmth (yes, I am that dumb to repeat the same mistake. And I managed to not burn the sheets this time, which is a step in the right direction).
And all I can say is, Daver, won’t you please come home now?