I was gently slumbering (ok not really, because that whore 6:30 a.m. came to visit and at 7 a.m. I decided I was going to take a mini-nap or something just to show 6:30 a.m. that I am not messing around with my faithfulness to 7:30 a.m.), when the sweet, sweet jangly guitar bits of “I Will Dare” came floating through the air.

Of course, I immediately freaked out because that’s my phone ringing and only something terrible would cause someone to call before the much-loved time of 7:30 a.m. I lunged for the phone (which got named Spike because when I plug it in to Jed (my iBook) it came up NONAME and that little NONAME is the saddest thing in all the world), and pressed it to my nose to see (I didn’t have time to put on my glasses) if I could figure out who was dead or maimed by what came up on the caller ID.

It was Seamus. Wha? So I slid open Spike and was greeted by the static strains of “Paradise City” by Guns N Roses. I fell back against the pillows and smiled. Seamus always calls me (Paradise City and Sweet Child O’Mine) or Al, the cutest girl on earth™ (Welcome to the Jungle) whenever a Guns N Roses song comes on the radio. Usually we just get the staticy radio song on our voice mail. I just happened to answer this time.

I love that he does this. It is his most endearing trait, really. It’s just a nice, sweet thing that makes you feel special and thought about, even before 7:30 a.m.

Also, and this has nothing to do with the phone call, I bought new bras and I put one on this morning — a simple black lace deal and while I was putting it on I noticed it had these dorky little black bows on each of the straps and one right in the middle. All I could think was, “Really you think we need this kind of decoration? We don’t need no stinking black, goth bows.”