Long Weekend
Wait, It's over? Then I'm officially unproductive.
Flipping through sports this weekend, I was able to confirm that Tennis remains in the "Never Watch" column. I'm always mad when CBS shows the U.S. Open final instead of a 4 o'clock NFL game. Can we get the U.S. Open to a network that doesn't carry football? I'd gladly give up one of my, I don't know, 8 shopping channels to move tennis somewhere else. I think I even have a tennis channel. I have no idea what's on it. Seriously. I wouldn't even watch tennis if they had a Stalker Cam that didn't follow the action, but stayed trained on whoever's the current hot Russian. O.K., that one's a lie, but still, not over the NFL.
Is Hot Russian not a drink yet? I don't know. I don't drink in bars anymore. Order it in a strip bar and see what they bring you. And let me know. I'll be back here waiting, not in a strip bar.
This weekend's purchase for the middle ages was a mattress. It's almost as degrading as buying a girdle or hair plugs. Prior to middle age, you never really had to buy a mattress. They give you one when you show up in college. It doesn't matter what it feels like because half the time your drunk and sleeping on the floor anyway. After that, someone's always in transition, and the first thing they dump is the mattress. So you sleep on the abandoned mattress for 10-15 years until it resembles a hammock. Hammocks are fun to sleep in in Fiji, bad to sleep in in the suburbs. The mattress is just another thing in your life that reminds you, just like your pants or your wife, that "Hey, you don't weigh what you did in college". Your wife is fond of pointing out how the slope on your side of the hammock/mattress can only be accurately expressed by using a graphing calculator. (Little joke for the parents in algebraII/pre-calc)
There's no fun in the buying process either. Of course, you have to test each mattress. It's like your own personal John Lennon/Yoko Ono sit in. People walk by you and stare while you lay prone on the mattress. I guess they're hoping that since your in a bed, you might start something, and then they could watch. They could come to the house and have as much chance of seeing anything as they do at the furniture store. Then the mattress salesman asks the inevitable, "What do you think?". I think I'm embarrassed. Then the wife peppers the salesman with her pre-purchase interrogation. All the answers are a none too subtle reference to the issues I face beyond this mattress purchase. Hopefully, the mattress we purchase will have an attachment for an IV stand, and can later be converted to a coffin. I throw out my lone question of the inquisition, "Which of these mattresses muffles farts the best?" The wife shoots darts so large that the salesman knows he can safely sidestep that one, but I know she would have liked to known the answer.
There was more to the weekend, but it will be next weekend if I don't get this out of Save Post. Save it for what? Nobody reads this any way. Enjoy.
