It's A Shame About Ray

So. We put another bid on a townhouse today. A two-story place out in Green Run. 2 beds, 1 1/2 baths, approximately 1,260 square feet. We did see a 3 bed one that was even bigger and pretty darn nice (and we've been aiming for 3 beds all this time), but this 2 bed place is laid out in a manner that's probably more suited to us and our lifestyle and general everyday existence. The rooms are much more blocked off, creating little pockets of privacy and seclusion all over the house. As much as Joe and I crave each other's company with an almost constant alacrity and giddiness, we are both intrinsically private, reclusive people who need our space to do our own thing from time to time. In other words Joe needs a room where he can sometimes watch his wrestling, and Melissa needs a room where she can sometimes, um, not hear it.

Afterwards we went to lunch again with Tom the realtor, and Mike joined us again as well. Over Chinese buffet we played one of those geeky music nerd games that all four of us, as music nerds, always tend to gravitate towards when we're together: We started out jokingly adding the middle name "Ray" to every blues artist that we could think of off the top of our heads (Robert Ray Johnson, Muddy Ray Waters, Howlin' Ray Wolf, Blind Lemon Ray Jefferson, Bonnie Ray Raitt) and we had come to the conclusion that it was the middle name "Ray" that truly lended the air of serious blues artist to the name itself. So we started imagining non-blues artists goin' blues and adding "Ray" to their names and just picturing what they might end up sounding like (Jacques Ray Brel, Pat Ray Benatar, Sun Ray Ra, Donna Ray Summer, Mitch Ray Miller -- which when I said it Joe immediately remarked "Now that's a Mitch Miller album cover I'd like to see!"). Then of course it got a little more ridiculous as we started branching off to actors an actresses (I'm mightily proud of my "Rae Dawn Ray Chong") and then to news correspondents (Wolf Ray Blitzer?) and Lord knows where it all went from there because by that point I was nearly face down in my plate of General Tso's chicken trying desperately not to hyperventilate from laughing too hard. I was also still deliriously exhausted from having Mike over until 4am last night making me laugh just as hard and here he was just a few hours later thumping me stoutly on the back to keep from choking on every fucking word coming out of his mouth. So yeah, I was a little loopy, and I hope my dazed state didn't interfere with my decision-making abilities when it came down to me signing off on all the standard purchase agreements back at Tom's office on this new place. I know, I' m not supposed to get excited until I know that I have it. But I can't help it. This would really make my new year, my upcoming birthday, and next Christmas 12 months from now all in one. Yes. I really, really can't wait to move. Really.

We also talked about the upcoming Waxing Poetics reunion. Tom and Mike have a gig that night so they can't make it. That reminds me, I need to look into ticket prices and whatnot. Pretty sad state of affairs when I'm buying a house and I can't even afford tickets to a freakin' local band from the 80's.

Joe and I returned home, where we watched Mad Hot Ballroom. Which was cute and all.

Think I'll curl up in the sack and pass out during The Colbert Report on Comedy Central, which I am finding enormously more entertaining than The Daily Show with Jon Stewart these days. So I'll probably struggle with consciousness throughout the duration.