No-Backsies

OK, so yesterday’s post was all deep and poignant and shit.

Which always makes the next day’s post difficult.  I can’t just be poignant forever, people.  All of your internet hugging would cause me to shrivel up like a salted slug.

OK, and now that image is troubling me.  Because I have used that image before to describe a shrinking penis.  And I am not a shrinking penis.

Fuck it, it’s a no-backsies kind of day.  Your hugs?  They cause me to shrivel like a penis in cold water.

I appreciate the hugs, but people?

There is shrinkage.

Yes!  A Seinfeld reference.

I am all insane today.

Mark and the girls are out soapbox racing, and I am not.  I am here by myself.  I have been up since 5:30 this morning.  Which is not like me at all. Running amuck in small circles in my house.  Spinning in my desk chair.

It spins, people.  It so fucking does.

Wheeeee!

So today?  For your reading pleasure?

I present . . .

10 FABULOUS THINGS I HAVE DONE ALL BY MYSELF TODAY

(Get ready, people.  Because seriously? I am all inspiring up in here.)

1)      I commented all over the fucking place in blogging-land.  If I forgot to comment where you live?  I don’t want to hear about it, as I am all commented out today.  Plus also?  Some of the comments I left this morning?  Sassy and rude.  Please do not email me or be in touch in any fashion with your complaints, as I don’t fucking care.  Also?  Beneath my sassy rudeness?  Was truth.

2)      I completely forgot to eat food.  I was emailing and commenting and spinning frenetically in my chair, and then suddenly I was all, “I have not eaten anything since yesterday afternoon!  I should so do something about that.”  And so now?  I am eating the marshmallows out of the box of Lucky Charms cereal and throwing the crappy nutritious parts to the dogs.  Marshmallows are food, right?  Dairy or some shit, pretty sure.  Plus also?  The dogs love me.

3)      I have refused to answer the phone, despite the fact that the people on the other end of the line?  Are people I love.  When the phone rings?  I look at the Caller ID and I get all testy with the person making the phone call . . . making demands on my time and energy with talking.  What the fuck?  In related news?  Those of you who know me in real life and keep leaving me messages to call you back?  I will probably not be doing that.  Send me an email.  Or comment on a post.  Snort.

4)      I threw an enormous bucket of water on the neighbor’s dog.  They are out of town camping, and the dog-sitter left the dog outside for the day.  The dog?  Is not happy to have missed out on the camping trip, and would like the world to know of his sadness.  So really, I did him a favor, because now?  He can pretend he got to go on the river rafting portion of the trip.  Stupid barking dog.

5)      I grabbed two magazines and headed out into the back yard to lie in the hammock and flip through them.  On the way out of the house, I tossed one, unread, into the recycling bin . . . Martha Stewart’s Living. We got the subscription with some unused airline miles, and a bigger waste of airline miles?  I cannot imagine.  Martha Stewart is all in the world that I am not, and unless she has plans to come over and envy my life?  I do not need her fucking with my perception of mine by making me feel inadequate.

6)      Read Esquire instead.  Love this magazine.  Plus?  It smells good.  Like a man but with none of the annoyance.  Love that.

7)      Flipping through the pages, I am struck again at just how not-hot Clive Owen now is.  There was a time, though?  Oh my god.  He was in a TV series on PBS called Second Sight like ten years ago, and he was just edible.  Raw and imperfect and yummy.  Now?  He has been all teeth-whitened and teeth-straightened and botoxed and Americanized.  Plus?  He is pitching Bulgari cologne.  Way fucking gay.  Nothing wrong with way fucking gay, but my sexual fantasies?  Require a more somber mood.

8)      A few more pages, though?  And I am in love.  Who the fuck is Violante Placido?  Swoon.  I spend some time staring at her photo, because honestly?  It is awesome.  She is awesome.  I love Mark, but Mark is not here.  In Mark’s absence?  Violante Placido is all I really need.  Oh my god.  She gets hotter as I stare.  I like that quality in a fantasy woman.

9)      Spent some time on-line looking for a way to link this photo.  Can’t be done.  You’re just going to have to go out and buy the magazine . . . September 2010 issue of Esquire.  Page 68.  Perhaps you can rip the page out surreptitiously as you cough.  Cheaper that way.  You’re welcome.

10)   And so we come to the end of the list.  Someone who I believe would request anonymity in this matter asked me if I was planning on spending any family-free time this weekend “jerking off.”  To which I replied . . . “Duh.”  Because, people?  Do you not know me at all?

Duh.

I told you I was all kinds of inspiring up in here!

And that coughing sound you hear?

That’s just to cover the ripping out of a page.

The magazine would not stay open.

SNORT!

Plus also?  It is good I am not left to my own devices too often.

I am running amuck!

And my chair?

It spins!

It so fucking does.

Wheeeee!