I should tell you about two weekends ago. I was smoking, the ex was at the computer and Isobel was sitting on her stool (aka the seat part of the Dora potty) (aka the giant red bucket that lives under the coffee table) (aka the dinner table) (aka I really need to buy some furniture, one day) (Besides a gigantic upholstered duck chair) (Which is actually quite comfy to sit on whilst reading) (But not while bookkeeping).
She was eating a snack while watching some sort of kid’s-oriented tripe. And then, she busted out:
“Some times, ducks have problems.”
Completely unmitigated.
I almost simultaneously dropped my smoke, fell down on the floor and met an early death due to rooibos chai tea with soy milk coming out of my nose.
She said nothing after that, and my sinuses were magically cleared.
That was pretty awesome. I guess, you had to be there, but really? That was fucking hilarious. I couldn’t stop smiling for, like, an hour.
I should tell you about the interview and how that went, and the photographer, and how that went, but instead, I’ll just link it and back away slowly. Because I’m still feeling a little crazed, amazed and totally phased about it.
I mean to tell you about the amazing banana bread I baked tonight. And how I can smell it right now in all it’s golden glory. If there was smellavision, you’d pay $0.99 to smell this. Of course, I haven’t tried it yet, but the smell might be good enough to last me all night.
I could totally explain how the gym’s been going. About how I started off running for 2.5 minutes, then walking for 3, and that after going somewhere between six and eight times in the past three weeks, I’m now I’m to running for 8 minutes. Straight. Then walking for as long as it takes my heart to back the fuck away from the scary rapid mambo it does, like 90 seconds, then I do it again. Then I do a cool down, and go shred the shit out of my abs, thighs and ass. Besides the timing, do you know what progress I’ve made?
I gained two pounds from my initial weight. And now, two pairs of jeans don’t fit me. They’re too small. Doods. You don’t even know how crazy that is, and I’m going to pretend it’s all due to the impending emergence of an amazing ass.
I’d tell you about how I’m actually looking forward to blogging less, professionally. Having half as many posts to write a week? Will give me three hours of time to play with. Do you even know what I can do with those three hours? Okay, as my last post highlighted, you might know what I can do for two minutes of those three hours. But the remaining two hours and 58 minutes?
I’m going to re-educate myself on the businessy stuff I used to do pre-Isobel. Business plans, formal financial statements, press releases. The fun stuff (yawn). I’m going to move and revamp my portfolio, adding in those once-honed, now eroded tasks. And I’m gonna branch out away from the scheduled blog posts. Because man, business writing sure does pay nice.
Remember: I need furniture. Also, an apartment bigger than my childhood bedroom might be nice. Apparently, ass-showing-off jeans. I’d also like a really really good massage, I’ve decided. Without the happy ending. And I’ve got some roots that need some maintenance and tattoos and piercings to pay for.
Instead, I’ll just tell you about how I totally intended to take the night off of posting, but I had to share with you the most fantastic news of all:
Today, finally, someone came to wash the outside of our windows. it’s been a year – after they painted the exteriors – they were sick, not in the cool way that douchey doods use the word. Since the outside was so clean, it indicated exactly how much I needed to clean the insides. And I discovered something amazing that you probably already knew. It’s changed my world. It’s given me reason to live.
Vinegar.
As blog as my witness, I’ll never use windex, again.
{ps. the banana bread? fucking phenomenal. I’d make such a good wife when you consider all the cleaning and cooking and sexual perversion that make me up. Except for that whole ‘totally impossible to live with’ aspect.}
