I bought a lava lamp the other day. I have been meaning to do this since 1977 and, well, I finally got around to it.

When I got it home I was pissed to find that it was missing the lightbulb but since it was on clearance and I got it at such a steal of a price, I got over being pissed quickly and went back out to the store to get a bulb for it. All this and I had a mountain of laundry that needed folding on the dining room table, excerpts and essays from 11 books to read for school by next week, a houseguest and no plans for dinner. The GITB knows better than to give me shit about this because he does a lot of work with Hospice and therefore gets the whole carpe diem thing but he cannot understand why I had to have a lava lamp. He keeps referring to it as a "piece of shit," and then I foolishly ask him to cool it with the excessive profanity and so of course, he proceeds to say "fuck" about 50 times every time I enter the room the rest of the evening and tried to tell me I shouldn't watch the Sopranos because it is loaded with language I may find offensive.

Is it me, or is it ridiculous to yell "mother fucker!" at the contestants on Jeopardy! when they blow a really easy question? I use profanity, yes, but artistically and in the right company and under only the perfect circumstances for maxiumum effect. Did I ever mention that the GITB is a mental health professional? And a huge horse's ass sometimes? Maybe I did.