Porn cooler

As sometimes happens?

My brain is empty.

As always happens?  When I mention this fact to Mark?  He annoys the shit out of me.

Here’s me . . .

“OK, so I have nothing to say today.”

He swivels in his chair and stares at me, and then he says, “Well, if it was easy?  They wouldn’t call it work.”

He actually said that.

Mark is lucky today’s post isn’t about how the girls help me drag his lifeless body out into the back yard and bury it beneath the plum tree.

Hmmmph.

And then?  He leans back in his chair and takes a bite of his bagel, “I’ll just sit here and be your muse.  You just soak it all in and get all inspired and then you’ll have a post.”

Seriously, people . . . the plum tree needs fertilizer.

He is cute, though.

Mark was scrolling through my comments last night and laughing, “You pay a lot of attention to Nigel in your comments.”

Mark has mentioned this fact before.

Ahem.

I am perhaps a tiny bit obsessed with Nigel.

You may have noticed.

Nigel is awesome.

Swoon.

I am perhaps more than a tiny bit obsessed with Nigel.  If you visit his blog? You will see that I have been spending quite a bit of time over there.

And that I am not always appropriate.

Ahem.

So if you have been wondering to yourself, “Where the fuck has Kris been?  She used to be all over the place commenting, but lately?  Not so much.”

The answer is that I probably accidentally left your comment over at Nigel’s place.

Sorry about that.

Nigel’s blog? Beyond awesome.

Seriously, people.  The man can fucking write.

His blog?  Highlight of my fucking day.  He posts endless awesome stuff.

Mark is still sitting here being all muse-like.  Snort!

He is all cute and bagel-chomping.

OK, and guess what else?

I have no porn.

Which is just a tragedy.

Seriously, people . . . if the woman in a relationship says, out loud . . . “Ummmm, we have not watched porn in a while.”

Wouldn’t you think it was the man’s job to take care of that shit?

Me too.

Get on that, babe.

Last night, we were watching Rescue Me. Denis Leary is way hot.

I am not going to entertain opposing viewpoints on this, so be prepared to have your comment edited if you disagree.

Plus also?  If you have never watched this show?  Please do not reveal this ugly deficient side of yourself to me.  I prefer to think that you are perfect.

Anyway.  In last night’s episode, the firemen had a large blue cooler in which they kept all of their porn.  It was way fucking heavy.

Or at least they pretended that it was heavy for the purposes of the scene’s humor.  I am aware that television is not real, people.  I am not delusional.

A porn cooler.

Snort!

Yeah, this post is pretty much going nowhere.

Let’s see . . . what do we have so far . . . My head is empty.  Mark is dead and buried.  Nigel is dressed as a fireman, and we’re sitting on the couch watching porn we have pulled from a large blue cooler.  Nigel looks mysteriously like Denis Leary.  But with a sexy accent of some sort.  Pretty sure.  Yes, and there are plums to eat.

Shut up.  It could happen.

Well, not really.

I am aware of the difference between fantasy and reality, people.

I am not delusional.

I said shut up.

My reality at the moment?  Is filled with the sounds of furniture being moved on the floor above me.  Not just chairs, either.  If I am correct?  I hear couches.

Sigh.

There are five children here today.  My two and three others.  I am hiding in the basement here at my desk and hoping that the destruction being wrought above me?  Does not result in serious physical injury or property damage.

Fingers crossed.

These same five children were here yesterday, and at the end of the day?  There was craft devastation as far as the eye could see.  Half-finished projects everywhere.  Glitter and beads and paper scraps and glue and sparkles and stickers and yarn and ribbon and markers and paint and clay.

We have a huge craft cupboard down here in the basement just behind where I sit.  Children are forever rummaging through my shelves . . . Can I use this?  Can I have that?  Do you have any paintbrushes?  Do you have any scented markers?  Can I have that?  Can I use this?

And I pretty much say, “Sure.  Take it and go.”

With an emphasis on the word go.

And now there is furniture being dragged above me.

Who knows what they have in mind.

I should probably go check.

OK, stopped to check in on them on my way out to the garage.  They are planning on being Olympic gymnasts in the living room, and the couches were in the way.  Who am I to stand in the way of future Olympians?  Told them to carry on.

Here out in the garage . . .

Yes, there it is.

Ummmm, Mark?

Remember what we talked about?

Get on that, babe.

Because I?

Have the cooler.

SNORT!