For a while there, I had my funk on. I mean for real. For the last couple of days, I have been honing The Wallow into a delicate art form, reaching sublime heights of self-pity and hopelessness. I have consumed naught but Halloween candy and coffee, slept more hours than I care to admit, ignored my phone, discarded my mail, and sported the Sloppy Ponytail Of What The Hell Does It All Matter Anyway. I was down deep, and wanting nothing more than to burrow deeper still. If this were fiction, now I would tell you about how the perfect job offer fell out of the sky, or my friends gathered around...
I have a confession to make. I blog for the goodies. Sure, it didn't start out that way. But since I started blogging? People have sent me all kinds of things, for no reason other than that I have been on their blogs at the right times or answered some silly question or entered a contest. I love to win things. And I love to get free stuff. And the LOVE, people! I'm feeeeeeeling the LOVE! Nothing says love like free stuff. That's a fact. I'm sorry... I'm just a little verklempt... hang on... I'm okay.... Just look at what I got in the mail today! For no reason!! I ask you: what is better than...
Apropos of nothing, I am sitting here thinking about my favorite insults from friends. The incidence of people referring to me as "hussy" has increased exponentially since my divorce. Not because I actually am a hussy (alas!), but because the ex's version of taking the high road was to make some reference to my perceived impurity at every possible opportunity. And so it has become something of a joke to call me that. Want to make me giggle? Call me a hussy. Want to make me snort? Call me a wanton hussy. Oh, the shame. One night when I was bemoaning my idiocy over something or other to my...
Well, that last post was a laugh a minute, huh? I am nothing if not inconsistent... sometimes. *rimshot* So hey, guess what! Even when I am feeling miserable and whatnot, I occasionally make the effort to pretend to be a productive member of society. And this can be difficult, because I have very few useful skills. I try to play to my few strengths. Now, the wallowing thing, I am amazing at that; it may be my greatest talent. But there's not much call for it in social circles. So sometimes I have to play to my other strengths, such as painting. Are you painting a room? You so want me there....
No, I have not forgotten how to spell. I am purplexed! As in, I am truly, madly, and very deeply in love with the rockalicious Kira, who not only sent me an entire package of goodies for my birthday but included the surest way to my heart: nailpolish! For my toes! Called "purplexed" which is a delightful play on words because it is purple! It is nailpolish geek nirvana, I tell you. And as soon as I paint my toenails with it (which is happening any moment now, because I have priorities) I am going to tell everyone I run into that I am feeling so very purplexed and then I will titter merrily...
It's true; the Mir clan and the Jilbur clan had a meeting of the minds (and sand) at the beach yesterday. I had a message on my machine when I got home (late) last night, from a friend, saying--and I am not making this up--"I was just calling to make sure that you got home alright and weren't abducted or murdered by any weird internet people." Heh. How little my friend understands. If anyone should've been scared, it was Jill and family. Thanks to light traffic and overestimation on Mapquest's part, we arrived half an hour early, whereupon I did the polite thing: called Jill's cell and...
We came (early). We saw (the Jilbur clan). We conquered (a lovely restaurant where the waitress and the elderly couple sitting next to us complimented all the children's behavior). I think it was love at first sight all around; except perhaps for Howie, who ended up spending a lot of time with three small busy people forming elaborate plans for crustacean domination and rock climbing, while I rudely hogged his wife for my own entertainment. Tomorrow will yield a full report, I promise.
The time has come to turn away from crude discussions of my reproductive anatomy, adhesive items on various parts of my body, hormone levels, and toes. It's time to classy this place up. And you know how I hate to disappoint. So let's talk about breasts. More specifically, let's talk about how most women feel the need to wear a bra daily, but may suffer from any or all of the following: 1) Lack of piles of money 2) Cluelessness about how to fit oneself for a bra 3) Strict preferences regarding lingerie, such as it should not have feathers or animal prints or an integral water balloon 4) An...
I have a very special signal I beam out into the cosmos when I'm dead tired. That signal can be picked up, far and near, by everyone who knows me. I don't mean to broadcast it; I wish I knew how to turn it off. My only thought is "I want to go to sleep," and yet the signal blares and my kindred respond. Do you hear it? It's coming your way! "Now would be a good time for you to pick up the phone and call me--with an enormous problem or deep melancholy, if possible--and talk to me for an hour or more." I'll just be unplugging the phone and going to bed, now....
