Happy Valentine's Day!

Fortunately, Mr. Distortion will not be suffering any glaring looks from me. The dinner reservations were made well in advance. Actually, I'm happy just to spend time with my hubby. The dinner is merely icing on the cake.

Of Knives and Shoes

Terri B. to Mr. D.: [while browsing at Williams Sonoma] "So ... I see you found the knife section ..."

Mr. D.: "Mm-hm" [he is a man of many words]

Terri B.: "We're not buying knives today ... right? I mean, we have two 8" chef's knives, a meat slicing knife, a meat cleaver, a boning knife, a bread cutting knife, at least two paring knives, and several more knives with mysterious specialty functions. So, you really don't need anymore knives ... right?"

Mr. D.: [looking at me while thinking]

Terri B.: [looking back and trying to appear authoritative]

Mr. D.: "You don't need anymore shoes ... right?"

Score one for Mr. Distortion and the kitchen knife collection. Sigh.

Christmas at the Local

Our local pub is called The Olde Ship and it is pretty much the most festive place I've been so far this season. And yes, we actually have a pub in my Southern California town. Not only can you stop in for a pint (they have some great winter ale right now), but you can also get the most amazing food. Anything from fish and chips or a curry, to roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Right now you can order from their very tasty Christmas menu. The "roast pork slow-cooked in English cider and served with an apricot dressing" is one of my favorites. And you can't leave without sharing their sticky toffee pudding with someone you love. Speaking of someone I love, here is a rare photo of Mr. Distortion enjoying the Christmas ambience at the local:


And just to prove I was there too (sans lipstick, oh no!):


Check out this link for some more great photos of Christmas at The Olde Ship, courtesy of The Olde Ship.

Sleeping With Bread Mondays on Thursday

Mary at Life, the Universe and Everything started the Sleeping With Bread meme awhile back. This meme is usually posted on Mondays, but I really, really feel like baking my bread today ... right now ... Thursday. I'm sure Mary will forgive me for doing this on Thursday. [smile] If you don't know about this meme, go here to read about it.

As I sit here snuffling (yes, snuffling) and hovering over my hot tea, I find that I'm simultaneously miserable and filled with joy. The misery is simple. I've got a sinus infection that has now moved down into my chest. All of the smoke from the fires here in Southern California have made the whole thing worse. I really want to be able to breathe without wheezing. I really want to be able to taste my food again. Soon ... I'm sure I'll be feeling well soon due to modern medicine that will kick this thing in the butt.

So you may ask, "But where is the joy in this?" The joy has a name. I call him Mr. Distortion here in blogland. He is my husband of 26 years. He is my bright spot. He has brought dinner home each evening this week and cleaned up afterwards. He has brought me decaf-nonfat-lattes on demand. He has done the grocery shopping and has made extra trips to the store for essentials that I was too fuzzy headed to remember to put on the list. He has rubbed my shoulders. He has brought me my book when I've gotten myself all tucked in and then realized that I left my latest read in the living room. He has put up with my sick, grumpy self. But here is the best part ... he is like this whether I'm sick or not. I have a lot to be grateful for.

Stranger Than Fiction

BREAKING NEWS: "A stretch of I-10 East of Pomona has been shut down due to a report that a school bus full of teenagers is being hijacked."

This is what I heard as I walked by my television on a sunny Saturday afternoon about 10 or 15 years ago. I remember thinking, "What's this world coming to? Hijacking a bus full of innocent kids. I hope they get this guy. Wait a minute. My husband is on a bus with a bunch of kids. I think they are on the I-10. OHMYGOD! OK, calm down. Breathe. What are the chances that your husband is on a bus that is being hijacked?"

Fast forward about 8 hours.

Mr. Distortion: "I am SO glad to be home."

Terri B.: "So, how did the outing go?"

Mr. Distortion:

Terri B.: "So, how did the outing go?"

Mr. Distortion: "The audience seemed to like the music ... and the kids had a great time at the festival. [pause] Santos got a little crazy today though."

Terri B.: "Did he do that balancing along the edge of the balcony while playing guitar thing again?? Someday he's gonna fall and break his neck. Don't let him use one of your guitars if he's still doing that."

Mr. Distortion: "No. Actually, this was on the bus."

Terri B.: [sinking feeling in pit of stomach] "On the bus?"

Mr. Distortion: "Yeah. He was entertaining the kids."

Terri B.: [intense stare]

Mr. Distortion: "He was messing around with a toy gun up at the front of the bus."

Terri B.: [still staring]

Mr. Distortion: "The kids played along. They raised their hands in the air."

Terri B.: "You didn't happen to be traveling on the I-10 did you?"

Mr. Distortion: "Yeah. Funny thing too --"

Terri B.: "You had the freeway to yourselves for awhile didn't you."

Mr. Distortion: "Yeah. I guess someone on the freeway thought --"

Terri B.: " -- Santos was hijacking the bus?"

Mr. Distortion: "And called 9-1-1 on their cell phone. You've never seen such a deserted freeway."

Terri B.: "Actually, I have. You were on TV this afternoon."

Thanks to Momish for posting How the Mind Races and reminding me of this one time that my neurotic mind wanderings actually came true -- sort of.

Get Fuzzy With It

I felt a strange sense of deja vu when I read the "Get Fuzzy" comic on November 15th:

Robert (the human) to Bucky (the cat): "I don't know if I want you writing another book ... You get strange when you write."

Mr. Distortion (the husband) to Terri B. (the writer): "Are you blogging again? You get strange when you write."

Bucky to Robert: "Robert, depriving the American public of my talent is letting the terrorists win."

Terri B. to Mr. D.: "Strange? Strange is when I don't write. Besides, people are expecting a new post. I can't let them down."

Bucky to Robert: "... Of course, nothing truly epic and world-changing can be accomplished alone. Even Michelangelo employed idiots to mix his paints. I, too, will require a mindless drone to do my chores and free up my genius to write."

Terri B. to Mr. D.: "Hon, would you mind washing the dishes and taking out the trash so I can get this post written?"

The Blonde ...

Photo of the blonde courtesy of Rockit Music
OR ... I Married a Musician ... OR ... Mr. Distortion Goes to Hollywood. I'm not sure what to name this post, so let me explain. I married a musician who is referred to in some circles as Mr. Distortion and often takes his "blonde" to Hollywood. There.

I occasionally go with Mr. Distortion when he plays the clubs. The music generates a lot of excitement and much activity around the band afterward, so I generally mingle for awhile and chat with those who came to see the show. Eventually, I join Mr. Distortion and am introduced to whoever he is talking to at the moment. There is invariably one female in this post-show group who gushes at me "how COOL to be married to the guitar player"! I can only imagine what this starry-eyed soul is thinking. Perhaps, in her euphoric music-induced state, she imagines I get serenaded with love ballads on a nightly basis or that I am the inspiration for scores of original songs. How romantic. And of course there are the Lear jets, large sums of cash, and constant flow of backstage passes to any number of big name concerts. Uh-huh.

Oh to live in the imagination of that one. Well, here's a peek at what being "married to the guitar player" REALLY looks like...

AT HOME WITH MR. DISTORTION
In our home, TV viewing is a chance to practice guitar by plinking on an unplugged electric -- after all, it isn't plugged in so how distracting can it be? Music coming from the stereo is an immediate signal to pick up the nearest guitar and practice, either plugged or unplugged, by playing along with whatever is on said stereo. (I might add here that I'm not sure what my husband looks like without a guitar.) And forget the love ballads. At home I rarely ever hear anything that even sounds like a song. Guitar practice means that you only hear the guitar parts.

ABOUT TOWN WITH MR. DISTORTION
Musicians' hours are very nocturnal and events in Hollywood start at about 11pm, so one can expect to get home around 3am. Since I'm "married to the guitar player," it is generally in my best interests to transform from wife to roadie 'round about 2am. I'm sure this is one of the glamorous parts the above mentioned female was thinking about. Cough. Now about that transportation ... the ride to and from gigs may sound like a Lear jet, but it definitely looks like a rusty car. (Tip to aspirings: It is better to drive the clunker into Hollywood for late night gigs since the vandalism won't be as annoying.) And the large sums of cash? Let's just say Mr. Distortion has a day job.

That is the reality ... but here is what I think IS cool about being "married to the guitar player." It is exciting to watch my husband do something he absolutely LOVES, to hear the previously disconnected parts turn into an amazing whole, and to experience the energy that his playing generates. I see the reality, but others see and hear the magic. I guess it is cool being married to the guitar player after all.

Some cool local musicians to check out:
Mike Barnet
The Neighborhood Bullys
The Eugene Edwards Band
The Vaquetones