MoreCheese

R* Love

This is one of my favorite recent pictures of the Rockstar.  It was shot in the backyard, which was a pocked and weedy mess of nothingness when we bought the house, but has bloomed into a lovely spot to have a glass of wine at night.  Under R's careful attention, it has produced a bountiful herb garden, tomatoe plants, and a tree whose berries we eat in the spring.  R even has a COMPOST pile back there.  The amount of trash we put out each week has literally been reduced by about 50%.  All of which leads to his apt second nick-name of Guinea Greenthumbs (thanks to my brother Churi, a/k/a His Asianness, who loves R and makes fun of him with only the warmest of intentions).

P.S.  This is actually a totally candid picture of him buzzing lost in thought, not a posed photo.  And yes, he is holding a sprig of basil.

   

Jungle Model Hair

So last night I went to this hip little salon and got a pretty adventurous cut for me.  Kept the length, but the stylist scissored out a LOT of hair, which has made it kind of wispy and wavy (weird for me, who has always had heavy, straight hair).

This is the Rockstar's reaction when I get home:

R:  "Wow, honey, I like your hair!"

Me:  "Thanks babe."

R:  "You look like a jungle model!"  (makes growling noise)

Me:  "Excuse me?"

R:  "You know, like all sexy, like you just came out of the jungle!"

Me:  "Am I caked in mud and have twigs in my hair?"

R:  "Um, no."

Its funny that the Rockstar sometimes has these strange little language misfires, given that his career involves educating young minds about English composition and all.  But it happens from time to time, especially with respect to girl things.  For example, he'll often call a dress a skirt, and vice versa.  Or he'll look at something that is clearly lavender and call it mauve.  These things can be understood, forgiven, and easily corrected.  

But "jungle model"??   I'm not sure where I would even begin....   luckily our friend G was over for dinner at the time, and between the way she spurted wine out of her nose and the look I gave him, I doubt he'll be using that description again.

He will totally deny this ever happened, too, but luckily I have G as a witness.

P.S.

For those who wanted to know:

1.  My personal best on the treadmill is 20 minutes at a pace of 6.0 to 6.2 (after 25 minutes at 5.2 to 5.5).  Which puts me slightly ahead of Ed Slowski from Comcast.  However, I don't think the turtle suffers from shin splints and heel spurs, as I now do.

2.  The Rockstar's possible new career path shall remain unnamed for a while, so as not to invoke a jinx or hex upon him.