Sunday morning thoughts

Hanging out with the dog on a Sunday morning, drinking some coffee, making some notes ... what could be better? The house is quiet, wifey (or, more accurately, soon-to-be-ex-wifey) has been off with some putatively well-heeled college professor from Monterey (or is he the inventor of Google Maps, or the owner of a gold mine, or a secret government agent, I dunno, the story keeps changing) who's probably real interested in her "narrative," or what some cynics might label "line of bullshit," for the past 24 hours, and I'm over the emotional storms that hit me yesterday when I got home and my teenaged stepkids informed me that Mom's new sugar daddy came into the house and seemed like a bit of a know-it-all and controlling dick, at least according to my 15-year-old stepdaughter, and then they took off. And when I pulled out the cell phone bill from last month, the account for her number was bursting with phone calls to and from several numbers in Monterey. D'oh. How could I be such a dumb fuck?

Anyway, fuck all that. As soon as I can sort through this reeking pile of shit called my marriage, I should be back in the single life, which may seem pretty weird, at least at first. Girls, if you want to spend time with me, please show me a recent psychiatric exam, so I can see you're not Bipolar or have Narcissistic Personality Disorder or anything like that (just kidding, although this pretty much indicates I won't be hooking up with Courtney Love anytime soon).

Last night I went to Old I and saw three bands (Deluxe, then the Bennys, then Parlor Dames). When I got there, most of the women in the audience appeared, ahem, to be playing for what they call "that other team." Later on, some fairly cute women showed up, but by then I had a backache that wouldn't quit (note to self: do yoga), and then Jerry Perry and I were commiserating on how we were probably twice as old as most of the women in the room. Guess I'll be cultivating an interest in "smooth jazz" if I start getting really horny. Or something.

Ah, fuck it. I'm just gonna walk around midtown listening to John Coltrane on the iPod like I did yesterday.

Oh, and note to Heckasac Beckler: I tried CW Little's House of Chicken & Waffles last night. Dunno what to think of that joint. Time to go back to Pho King 3, methinx, where a bowl of pho and a Thai iced coffee is like ten bucks. Sweet!