So, internet, I’m up late (not really, it’s only 12:30, but I’m tired), unable to find anything of quality on television. It smells like cat shit in here and I have had a sour stomach all day and haven’t had much of an appetite until now (after crunching down on a nearly two-inch-long chicken bone in my three-day old chicken salad sandwich, I lost my appetite for a while). I don’t know what’s wrong with…
And I am not being sarcastic! Woke up and bought Radiohead tickets (for the Tampa show … here’s hoping I can get off work). And noticed that my tax refund had been deposited, which means I can pay off one of my credit cards. I think this qualifies for a woot. Woot!
• Random thought that just popped into my head while I was taking a shower: Is Jim Varney dead? Yes. Yes, he is. And what’s so weird about that particular thought popping into my head today is that the anniversary of his death was yesterday. My shine is weak. • I’m sitting here with wet hair and a list of errands that can’t be run until the hair is dry. So what am I doing?…
Storm stuff I totally forgot to mention: • Last night as the wind kicked up and howled around the buildings downtown, we watched with nervousness as the giant plate-glass windows that front our newsroom bent and bowed with every gust. I just kept imagining them flying out of their frames and into the newsroom, crashing into cubicles and giving out concussions. • On the way home, blocks and blocks of Midtown were pitch black without…
• I watched the Superbowl last night, probably for the first time (intentionally) ever. It was boring as shit until the last quarter, when I actually found myself emoting over football, and getting happy when Eli Manning did his little anti-sack dance and threw that awesome pass that turned the game around. Could have been the bottle of bubbly, could have been all the food, could have been the company I kept, but whatever it…
Even purses, like this one my sister found in my parents’ attic over Christmas, and summarily awarded to me, because I’m the weirdo in the family who hoards odd crap like this and hangs it on the wall as art.
I mustered up the huevos to visit Covington Pike today, just to look around at new cars to see what might strike me (it is hard to get a feel for cars just by doing internet research) as being “me.” Within two nanoseconds of my feet hitting the pavement at Dobbs Honda, a salesman — Larry — was on it, up in my grill, wanting to know if I wanted to take a new Honda…
But I’m not. And I just chuckled my way through thirty minutes of a soft-focus 61-year-old Barbie doll telling me I could and should lose a pant size in fourteen days by doing no-movement exercise. Let that sink in for a bit. At the risk of sounding like a broken MP3, I love infomercials. But this one ranks at the top for trying to sell me something without actually telling me what the frick it…
My neck/back is pretty freaking sore today, so I popped a muscle relaxer a bit ago, and proceeded to call Ashley to chat and check on her and Luke and JD, and midway through our conversation, the pill kicked in and suddenly my sentences got longer and more meandering and I was stringing words together without syllables and I’m sure she thought I was drunk or maybe just stupid but I can assure you that…
Coffee makes me a better singer. Does it enhance all my non-talents? I will try painting something just as soon as I get my laundry out of the dryer. So, it’s chilly again. Yay? Sunday night it was warm enough to put the top down on the Purple Pimpmobile. It was my first time riding in a convertible, much less driving one. I have to say, having no roof is extremely distractive (is that a…
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