the slack daily

Back from Vegas!

My husband wraps up the weekend (and the year) here.

Now on your first anniversary, you might be prone to taking a snapshot at dinner with the waiter; handing your camera to a stranger to catch you hand in hand; you might partake of the Venetian's gondola rides and purchase a portrait of you cuddled against your loved one.

Will and I?  We took photos of the in-room entertainment:

MySpace Shots:

And oh yeah, tacos:

A very special thank you/shout-out to the SlackParents, who generously paid for our room and dinner at the Four Seasons' Verandah restaurant where we had our wedding reception.  Thanks, SlackParents!

Continuity Errors Get Me Hot.

Yesterday, after spending my morning videoblogging, my afternoon picketing and my evening working, all I wanted to do was shove some food in my face (thank you, anonymous benefactor, for picking up the tab at Swingers for WGA members.  I enjoyed my ahi tuna sandwich and we tipped on the full tab, I swear) and crawl into bed.

I pulled on my PJ's (we need to get the pilot lit on the furnace, so it's incredibly chilly) and burrowed into the covers.  As I switched off the light and went to kiss my husband, he said softly

You know something?

His voice had that vulnerable edge, that I-am-about-to-say-something-important-so-listen-up.  I turned over on my side, resting on my elbow.  What?

Dee and Dennis are twins, right?  So why didn't they both go to school with the rapper who Dennis thought was retarded?

What?

Dennis says that he knows that L'il Kevin is retarded because he went to grade school on the short bus.  But if Dennis and Dee are twins, shouldn't they both have been in school at the same time?

I came up with some plausible explanation (maybe they went to different schools, maybe Dee was held back) and then turned back to go to sleep.

...two minutes later

Hey baby?

Yes?

Y'wanna do it?

Because discussing continuity errors on It's Always Sunny is supposed to get me hot?

Good point.

...two minutes later

Will?

Yeah?

Okay.

But...

Don't ask.

You can find Will's take on twitter.

And because you can never have enough It's Always Sunny, a clip from the episode in question:

... Also, if you want to be included in the blogger night invitation for Monday, December 17th, please email me!  I'll work on getting an evite out by this weekend.

Struck.

This morning Will called me at work.

We're tied.

Tied to what? I asked him.

Our blog stats, he responded, we're neck and neck.

I've had a recent spike in readership due to being mistaken for a hot young screenwriter, videoblogging about the strike from the perspective of a writer that doesn't have a gazillion dollar overall deal and a harem of trained circus monkeys to do my bidding, and a couple of shout-outs on teh Intrawebz.  While my husband gets turned on by hot labor activist action, I'm a gambling woman.

Then let's make it interesting, I told him.

Working at the gym, I'm completely cut off from the online world, as we have a computer but it's just for show.  So when Will called me at 11:00am, I knew something was up.

We need to reschedule the bet, he told me.

You can't reschedule a bet!

But I got a mention in MediaBistro's Fishbowl LA today.  It's not fair, I'll beat you.

Then you'll beat me, but I won't welch on a bet.  What kind of pussy do you think I am?*

...

I mentioned our little picketing crew in my last post, but you can see us in action here.  That's Tomas rocking the bullhorn.  I hear myself on tape all of the time, but so I shouldn't be constantly surprised that I sound like the lovechild of Kathy Griffith and Betty Boop.

...

I couldn't make it out to the picket line today.  Fridays nearly always decimate me as I work from 5:30am 'til 2pm.  I didn't get to sleep until 1am last night, so you can see how that would be problematic.  So I'll just leave you with a sign from a very generous bunny:

*This is the sort of talk that gets me Hot Labor Activist Action, so you may want to try this out at home.

Vaginaface Minus an Hour.

Last Night, 5:30pm:

We're getting ready to go to TDR's and TAB's Pumpkin-Carving Party.  Will's in the shower, I'm, erm, taking care of some personal grooming.

Will looks at me.  Is that my razor?

Yeah, it gives me a closer shave.

He grimaces.  I wish you wouldn't do that.

Why?  It's not like I'm sticking it in my butt.

I know.

I rinse it out when I'm done, I buy the replacement blades---

It'll give me vaginaface.

It'll give you what?

Vaginaface!

You know that I do this so it's less messy for when you, you know, actually have your face in my vagina.

I know.

So you understand how ludicrous this sounds?

Vaginaface!

At least my hair - on my head - looked cute.

This morning, 9:30am...or is that 10:30am?:

After two parties and a late-night stop at Jan's (because I need a gyro at 1:00am, and can I also ask, why does a diner need a website?) we came home and crawled into bed.  I was dead asleep until Will ran into the room.

We lost an hour!  We lost an hour!

What? I rub the sleep from my eyes.  Slow down.

This is the day you set the clocks ahead.

Okay, if we're doing anything to the clocks, we're setting them back.

No, no, I was working at my computer and it says 9:30 but my cell says 10:30.  It's ahead!

I slowly retain consciousness.  No, Will, it's spring ahead, fall behind.  And I'm pretty sure it's next week.  Your computer is just dumb and prematurely set your clock behind.  I pad into the kitchen.  The microwave and the kitchen clock both read 10:30am.

Normally it's this weekend, but for some reason it's next weekend, I tell him.

Are you sure?

I grab the computer and quickly Google it.  Yes, I'm sure, next week.

Oh, okay. You can go back to bed.

I raise an eyebrow.

Or, you can uh, lay there on the couch and watch the Bears game and I'll go get us coffee and how about I make dinner tonight?

Now you're beginning to make sense.