Saturday was a good day. I made plans to hang with A., who's all sorts of knocked up and never tires of me telling her, "You're knocked up!" (I'm sure that will never get old.) So I hopped into the shower, cursing myself for making plans at 11am, when I should still be in bed. While doing the final rinse, the power went out. This forced two thoughts into my head: 1) It's really dark in here; and 2) Wow, I hope my water isn't heated by electricity. Fortunately, my water is not heated by electricity, and I was able to make it to A.'s house with clean hair and cuerpo. I'm pretty sure that "conditioner in hair" is not my best look.
Anyhoo... we played video games! My inner 14-year-old boy came out and there was much smack talk and victory dances in her house. We played tennis and golf and bowling on the Wii, and then the real guns came out - Rock Band, baby. I'd never played before and although I really, really, monumentally SUCK at it (I mean it, I am the suck at it) I had a ball. Now I want one. I don't know what kind of system I'll need, or who I'll have to kill for the money, but I want one.
(I damn near invited myself to spend the night at her house just so I could continue playing. Luckily, my senses came to me and I remembered that I am not 14 anymore and cannot just invite myself places.)
The only downside to my day o'fun was the pain in my hands for the next two days as I recovered from what we shall now refer to as RockBandHand. My left hand looked like I was permanently holding an orange. And it hurt, people, it really did. But it was worth it to ruin songs that I used to like with my bad bass playing.
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