Sigh.

Mrs. Cwabs decided to get drunk and crash on somebody else's sofa tonight.

I don't know who this somebody else is, or indeed have any idea where my wife is at the moment.

Merry Christmas, y'all. I know mine's gonna be fucking awesome.

Wicked

I'm sitting in row F of the Fox Theatre in St Louis; the curtain should go up in eleven minutes. The last press of late arrivals is probably gonna make it so that we can't move to improve our sightlines, although the sightlines aren't Bad, per se, they could certainly be better. The green laser projector is making the emerald city diagram on the grand shimmer and glow. The woman next to me is jostling for elbow position. Hoping to move at intermission, as the row in front of us is vacant. The woman next to me is shaking her leg against mine; I dont know if its passive aggressive or if she has poor muscle control. I've heard rumors of snow tonight; odd since its 54 degrees out at the moment. Three minutes to go. If this woman doesn't stop shaking her leg it's gonna be a long three hours.