OK, it’s wicked cold out.  I don’t like it.  I mean, I wish I was in Iowa with the snow, but Texas is not supposed to get really cold unless it’s threatening snow.  Then sure, fine, no problem, be cold all you want Mr. Weather.

Joey’s at church, and Henry and I are loafing around on the couches.  I just finished reading for 45 minutes, I’m currently singing “who says I can’t get stoned” (answer: besides law enforcement and my better judgement, Dr. Babyplease would have a few things to say to me) with John Mayer at the top of my lungs.  But such a catchy tune!

Next I have to practice for that wedding I’m singing in on Sunday, so I figure that singing about drug use first will warm up my vocal chords which are SORELY out of practice after having, what, a month off?  Or more?  I forget how long.  Ugh.  I should not have done that.

The good news is, though, that with Joey gone this evening I can sing louder and be less embarrassed if I go flat now and again from being so out of shape, rather like I did last night.  I hate it when he looks at me with that “um, well, you DID sound good until you made THAT sound” look.  It’s real terrible.

After I make Henry go deaf from my singing, I’m going to break out a cheesy Christmas movie and work on The Kid’s Christmas present.  I have to finish it before he gets here on Friday.

Otherwise, it’s a loafy, boring evening at my house, and I love, love, love, love it.

Just the kind of night the Embryos need if they’re going to hang around for, oh, eight or nine months.