Over at Streetfighter, there was a post about irony. I decided that the biggest irony of my life lately was:

Finishing 7 months worth of couples counseling with a healthier & happier relationship than you’ve ever had in the 5 years you’ve been together…and the very next week, starting to work on opposite shifts, so the maximum you see one another is 1 conscious hour a day. And just when the libido picks up, to boot.

Yeah. Now, if only Geoffrey & I could find a compatible poly couple who also work opposite shifts, but with the boy working days & the girl working nights. (Not entirely outside the realm of possibility, I suppose, but close enough to be ludicrous. In the “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry” kind of way.)

My little baby is almost all grown up…

Sixteen years ago, after 22 hours of exhausting labor, my firstborn came into the world. When she was very little, just after her sister was born & she was a bit insecure about no longer being the only apple of my eye, I would call her my “Number One Girl” and tell her softly that she was extra-special because she was the baby who made me a mommy.

Years before she was born, I daydreamed about having a daughter named Andrea. When I was expecting her, I wanted her life to be full of love & joy. When she was just beginning to become the young lady she is now, I had hope that she’d be stronger and more self-confident than I ever was as a teenager.

And she’s living proof that dreams do come true.

My Number One Internet Fanboy came up with a question for me this week, since I am too frazzled with 10-hour workdays & trying to figure out what to get one’s eldest demonspawn for turning Sweet 16 to think of one. Yay for fanboys!

What album do you have that most people haven’t heard of and you would proselytize to your friends?

It’s probably not most people’s cuppa tea, but I can’t help but love Sophie B. Hawkins’ “Whaler” – the only song anyone’s likely to have heard from it is “Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep.” The entire first half of the album is exquisite.

Much fun was had up in Seattle last weekend! Here’s linky goodness to the joy and excitement!

• My beloved Geoffrey & me (this is my “don’t take my freaking picture!” face)
• Geoffrey & the effervescent Nicolle
• Flirting with Todd
• Happily ensconsed between the exquisite Karawynn & Nayad (with Nayad’s son, and Anxiety on the right)
• Group pic 1! (we all look kinda silly…from the left – Wolf, Karawynn, me, Dawn, Nayad & spawn, Geoffrey & Anxiety; and Larry in the front)
• Group pic 2! (from left – Karawynn, me, Jak, Nayad & spawn, & Anxiety; in the front, Karel & Geoffrey)

More pics of the festivities here – and there are still weekenders who haven’t gotten their pics online yet. (*grin*)

Normally when I read the Onion’s horoscopes, most of them are moderately clever, but only a few are funny or fitting. This week, virtually all of them were, and so it made me giggle insanely to think of the people I know born under each sign. (If I’ve forgotten anyone, please don’t take it personally. I can only recall so many birthdays.)

Aries – my mother: (March 21 – April 19)
You’re perfectly content curling up in your room with a good book, which is fortunate, considering how you’ll be spending the next five to seven years for manslaughter.

Taurus – my grandmother: (April. 20 – May 20)
You’ll never be quite the same again after that Bible you’ve been thumping all these years finally has enough and beats the living shit out of you.

Gemini – myself, Dawn, Tamara, & a couple of my ex’s: (May 21 – June 21)
The mousetrap you built is indeed better, but the bludgeoning part will prevent people from beating a path to your door.

Cancer – Wendi: (June 22 – July 22)
You’ll be shunned when the man you famously taught to fish dies of mercury poisoning.

Leo – Jen: (July 23 – Aug. 22)
Opening a free amusement park was a great idea, but people will be revolted by your idea of amusement.

Virgo – Anxiety & Doug: (Aug. 23 – Sept. 22)
There are no words to express your complicated feelings toward that special someone, which is unfortunate, because she will fail to understand the hand gestures.

Libra – Geoffrey, Lyse, & the Redheaded Stepchild: (Sept. 23 – Oct. 23)
People might praise the ineffable human qualities of your post-lyric poetry now, but after you’re gone, all they’ll talk about is your great parties.

Scorpio – Robert & Angst: (Oct. 24 – Nov. 21)
You only get one chance to make a first impression – literally, in your case, as you’ll only meet one more person for the rest of your life.

Sagittarius – Mari: (Nov. 22 – Dec. 21)
Judging by that lightheaded, dreamy feeling, this would be a good week to finally start some new meals.

Capricorn – Molly’s mom: (Dec. 22 – Jan. 19)
Years from now, when most of the old onomatopoeia have gone out of style, the unique sound of your bursting body will still be in daily use.

Aquarius – a couple of my ex’s: (Jan. 20 – Feb. 18)
This week, you’ll learn some important life lessons about sharing, admitting when you’re wrong, and whether it’s the volts or the amps that kill you.

Pisces – Molly & Karel: (Feb. 19 – March 20)
Your feeling that the people you work with are dragging you down is borne out by the Norstar Telecommunications rope you’ll find wrapped around your ankles.

So I was listening to music videos on Launch.com (and occasionally watching them, too) when a song came on that I would normally have skipped, since it didn’t exactly appeal to me. But I slogged all the way through it, due to the title: Girl’s Not Grey. Since my Number One Internet Fanboy is “GreyDuck,” of course I had to listen. (Although, it would have been funnier had the song title been “Grey’s Not A Girl.”)

My eldest informs me that the band goes by “A.F.I.” and the initials stand for “A Fire Inside.” Yeah, that was Clue Number One that they’re a bunch of dorkus goths. Clue Number Two was the lyrics to this song, which have nothing to do with a girl or anything grey.

“What follows has lead me to this place, where I belong, with all erased.”

Who writes this crap? (That was a rhetorical question. Don’t answer it. Please, just don’t.)

Yes, I completely spaced the Midweek Music Meme. I have a pretty good excuse – Friday is the only weeknight this week that I won’t have been run ragged with mandatory errands for my family after working a full 8-hour workday. (Want the roster? Mon: vet visit for a very sick kitty. Tues: grocery shopping. Wed: eldest child’s dentist appointment. Thurs: oil change in the car.) My life is normally a bit frantic, but this week was more than a bit. So that’s why this is published on Thursday instead of the usual Wednesday – however, technically I suppose Thursday is still “midweek.”

What piece of music puts you in mind of frantic, busy times?

I’m going to totally wimp out here, and say “Dueling Banjos” or “The Flight of the Bumble-Bee.” I’m too tired to think much.

20> Worn down at the edges like a Times Square hooker, the caretaker’s last tooth lay on the floor like a yellow Chiclet.

19> When she stepped out of her dress, she had the body of a 90-year-old nun, if the nun looked as young, attractive, and sexy as the dame standing in front of me.

18> The situation had become topsy-turvy – like Christmas in the summer, if you’re in Australia.

17> The information imbedded on the stolen computer chip was like an explosive so explosive it could explode, creating a massive explosion.

16> As I watched through the slatted shades, her bosom bounced like her suspicious husband’s first check.

15> The killer was a misplaced comma in the jaunty, happy sentence that made up the party crowd.

14> His face looked like an ice sculpture. Not one of those pretty ones in the middle of a cruise ship buffet, but the kind they do in a contest with a chainsaw – and it had been out in the heat too long.

13> Like any family, this house had its secrets, secrets it grimly refused to reveal, and would continue to refuse to reveal even if it could speak, which unlike a family, or at least most members of most families, it couldn’t.

12> The air of danger perversely made Nina’s nipples harden, like that Magic Shell stuff on a bowl of ice cream.

11> From his vantage point in the balcony, the would-be assassin looked down on the debating candidates like a webhead looking down on an AOL user.

10> The sudden darkness made the Countess tense, like Bobby Jerome that time with the bicycle in 7th grade, remember?

9> There was something funny about the kidnapping crime scene that Special Agent Frievald couldn’t quite place, and the thought stuck with him throughout the rest of the day, like those tiny little bits of the circumferent skin from the bologna slices on a foot-long Subway Cold Cut Trio that get stuck in between the last two molars on the upper left, on the tongue side where you can’t possibly reach them with a toothpick, your fingernails, or even a systematically straightened paper clip, they just sit there and make everything you eat at your next meal taste vaguely like vinegar and mayonnaise, and then somehow – quietly but miraculously – they disappear by themselves in the middle of the night while you’re asleep, just like the visiting Countess appeared to have done.

8> Her parting words lingered heavily inside me like last night’s Taco Bell.

7> The bullet burned Gilmore’s gut like the first piss after a long night in a Singapore brothel.

6> A single drop of sweat slowly inched down Chad’s brow – a tiny, glistening Times Square New Year’s Eve Ball of desperation.

5> His .38 barked fire, like John Goodman’s butt after a chili cookoff.

4> Her blazing eyes dance like Astaire and Rogers, but since they were crossed, it was an ocular tango, and my eyes had to foxtrot just to maintain eye contact.

3> She had a voice so husky it could have pulled a dogsled, and the gun she was holding gave me a bad case of barrel envy.

2> The neon sign reflected off his gun, like the moonlight reflects off my brother-in-law’s bald head after a night of beer drinking and cow-tipping.

1> Unable to contain his rage, he burst like a pimple of emotion, the pus of his fury streaking the mirror of calm in the bathroom of his life.

Every now & then, I browse ringtones. I was hoping to get the Hannukah Song by Adam Sandler, but haven’t found it in a monophonic format compatible for my sad little digital phone. Eh, perhaps after the Cingular takeover solidifies, I’ll get new GSM phones for the whole family so I can have polyphonic ringtones. That would be sweet!

Besides the annoying set of tones that came with my phone, I have a few that I downloaded: the Angel TV theme, Everything You Want, and Bittersweet Symphony. I rotate them on a whim.

A while back, I got the new Liz Phair album. There are some fantastic songs on there, notably Why Can’t I? and Red Light Fever, but my favorite is Extraordinary. So I went and got the ringtone for my phone!

Yay for new ringtones!

Unless you really love Neve Campbell, to the extent that you’d pay money to watch her read the phone book in a monotone voice, don’t waste 2 hours of your life on The Company. This movie (written, produced, and starred in by Neve) was the worst excuse ever for a vanity film. At least in some of her other flicks, she was interesting. In this, she was so wooden that she made acting of the ballet dancers (who aren’t professional actors) look good.

There was no plot. NONE. No drama, no conflict, no point. This movie is nothing more than “a month in the excrutiatingly boring life of a small-time ballet dancer.” Utterly pathetic.

And the truly sad thing is that at least half of the film was dance sequences – some of the most wretched, ridiculous modern ballet ever put on film. It was pretentious, insipid, and exactly the sort of thing which inspires people to protest the government’s funding of the arts. I’ve seen better (certainly more heartfelt) ballet dancing in Vanessa Carlton’s “White Houses” video.