January 30: Pizza Night

The pizza is here, and it's time for American Idol.

I'm beat tonight.  I'm not sure if it's the weather or just my body telling me to get to bed early, but every muscle in my body feels like it's sliding off my bones.  I still have to finish my devotional reading for the night, and I have to read some more of 11/22/63.

The snow has finally stopped falling outside.  It's been storming all day long.  My daughter is hoping for a snow day tomorrow, and I don't have the heart to tell her it's not going to happen.  There still may be wind howling through the trees, and Randy Jackson may be dawgin' some contestants, but I don't foresee any cancellations coming in the a.m.

I don't have much more to say tonight.  My daughter wants me to braid her hair now.  It's one of my favorite things to do.  I've loved it ever since she was a little girl, her sitting in my lap after a bath, her hair thick and wet in my fingers as I pulled and wound.

Saint Marty's getting a little sentimental.

I'm not feeling it, dawg

January 16: "American Idol" and a Broken Tooth

So, I'm sitting here, watching the first night of American Idol.  Keith Urban and Nicki Minaj and Mariah Carey and Randy Jackson.  I was stuffing my face with cheddar Combos and enjoying the parade of freaks and tone-deaf wannabes.  Then I stopped chewing for a minute and realized that a piece of my back tooth was missing.  That's right.  I have a jagged fang in the back of my mouth.

I was having a good night.  Now, I can't even concentrate on Nicki Minaj's hair color.  All I can do is worry my tooth nub with my tongue.  With my luck, the rest of my tooth will fall out while I'm asleep, and I'll aspirate it and die.

Saint Marty is one step away from looking like a cast member from Deliverance.