11.20.02 - 7:21 p.m.

Dan is playing the part of bitter housewife this evening, although his part of the housework consists of Swiffering and making ravioli, and he's never bitter about doing that. I am debating whether or not to throw a load of darks in, because although our washers are technically laundromat-type ones, they don't seem to hold the vast amounts of clothing I used to be able to throw in those machines. So one load quickly becomes two in this household.

But I'm tired of housekeeping every evening and I just want to tool around the internet and make baked ravs and wait for Ed to come on. So there will be no laundry this evening, a fact I will no doubt greatly regret later.

We bought a baker's rack last night, finally, after I found the perfect combination of useful and affordable at Target. We'd been there in the afternoon and I pointed it out to Dan, who agreed it would be quite good forla cucina, and returned for it at 8pm when we realized IKEA only gave us two screws for a 7-screw shelf. You Swedes! Why do you mock me with your helpful naked man speaking in hieroglyphics in the instructions? There had been at least two or three unassembled baker's rack boxes on the shelf at 2 pm; by 8, there were ZERO. Who is buying all these baker's racks? I had no idea they were such a hot property. I threw a small fit in the kitchen aisle and then flagged down a morose red-shirted staff member, who made my night by finding the last lone rack in the warehouse.

Of course, the minute we drove away with the box in the backseat, I began second-guessing myself. "Wait- maybe we should look at Bed Bath and Beyond, maybe there's something for a better price. I'm not going to want this in a few years, am I?" I blabbed to Dan. He affixed me with the patented "shut up, you crazy woman" look that he gets when he's really reached the breaking point with my blathery, and I knew to accept my baker's rack lot and be happy with it.

I am a music nerd, by the way. Which should come as no surprise to anyone, especially anyone who scrolls down to the question "which movie character do you relate to the most?" and see the option of "the protagonist of 'high fidelity.' " rob gordon, c'est moi. Although not so much anymore. My obsessive relationship behavior seems to have calmed itself down, or more likely, mutated into obsessive work behavior or (lately) bitter housewifery.

And I don't even want to talk about the Succubus. (Or Baby Moron, as I am now tempted to call her.) I am not living in a college dorm. I should not have to deal with loud music and party shrieking noises at 4 am. I don't care if you're on so-called "disability" right now; the next time you interrupt my sleep, you're going down, biznatch. I gots me some Cranky Old Man on my side too.