So who here (aside from those of us in the Twin Cities) remembers this? It was big news all over the country a little over a year ago, but I suspect it's slipped off your radar since then. Not me. Nope. I'm still detouring every time I leave my house to go anywhere other than work, and consistently dealing with excess traffic on previously sparse city streets that now serve as alternates. Not for long, though. Whoo! The new bridge is scheduled to open on THURSDAY. As in, three days from now. THREE DAYS. Whee!
Frankly, I cannot decide how to celebrate. Drive back and forth from here to Midtown just for fun, simply because I can do so in only ten stoplights instead of seemingly 110? Drive to Uptown a logical and semi-direct way, rather than Mapquesting three different routes and making a wild guess as to which is least convoluted and ridiculous? Oh! I know! Date a guy in the southwest metro, just because he's no longer so geographically inconvenient! Yes!
OK, I am kidding on that last one. Or, on all of them. And I'm well aware this is big news to no more than five of you. Still, I am excited, and it is my blog, so there you go.
Sadly, that is about the most exciting news I have for you at the moment. It rained all weekend; hence, my garage is still unpainted. I did have an excellent time at the They Might Be Giants show that nearly everyone I know mocked me for wanting to attend, but other than that, I was mostly a nonproductive homebody the past two days. Oddly, my feedreader still has 108 unread posts in it, and I still can't remove Christopher Moore's Lamb from my "What I'm Reading" box. What did I do this weekend? Obviously there was a time warp involved.
On a brighter note, that fifty bucks I spent on this latest online date-finding venture is totally panning out for me. I mean, just this evening I got a message excitedly telling me that "Bob" is interested in me! Bob! As in, the Bob whose profile I viewed the other night and decided that even though we'd be an excellent couch-sharing pair on one of those "We Can Solve It" commercials, I just don't really think he is my type. Actually, I'm not convinced I even have a "type," but I'm still pretty sure that under the umbrella of men who might be my type, you won't find a burly, heavily tattooed, bald man with a piercing through the bridge of his nose and a t-shirt that says, um, that says, "Flesh-eating dead body." Call me closed minded, but I am a little scared. (Incidentally, the shirt does not actually say "Flesh-eating dead body." It says two words that I do not want to type, because I am pretty sure that together those words form a band name, but it's a band I know nothing about and one whose fans I'd rather not start Googling their way here. So just imagine a black shirt with red letters meant to look like they're written in dripping blood, spelling out a word that starts with "C" that describes what that Hannibal Lecter guy was, followed by another word that starts with "C" and rhymes with "Forpse." Fun. Am I still in these parentheses? I guess I am. Whoops. Let's remedy that.)
So anyway, "Bob" is interested in me, and you can imagine how excited I am about that. I mean, maybe he'd take me someplace really nice on our first date! Someplace where leather vests are mandatory and you get a free cocktail if you bite off a rat's head! Sorry. I'm unfairly judging Bob by his cover. He may be my soul mate, after all. Let's hope not.