Driving through CSP’s neighborhood, it’s disconcerting to see the deflated corpses of Christmas cheer. Why do people buy those huge blow-up Santas and Frosties to let them look like downed parachutes rippling in the breeze. The gray days have been stacking up for awhile now, and even these withered bits of color don’t lift my spirits as I speed through his streets averting my eyes.
Work has been sucking the life out of me (ha, maybe I should be out flailing about on CSP’s lawn—I’ll wear some red and green to blend in with the rest of the scenery), but I’ve logged enough miles to be able to afford a new iPhone for Chicken Day. I’m sure it will show up the day I leave for San Francisco, but so it goes. Twit hasn’t been around much lately; got herself approved for FMLA to take care of her mother, and she seems to think that gives her license to come and go as she pleases, which is even more annoying since I’ve been working so hard and she hasn’t. GROUSING! To make myself feel better today, I sent her an email advising that I’m sure it was just a mistake, an accidental misremembering, but she indicated that she came in at 8am when really it was 8:30am. I know this because I was already at the office, and was on my way to a meeting, and pulled out of the garage as she pulled in to it. Take that, lady! It’s like I have nothing better to do with my time.
Actually, what I’m really trying to do these days is quit my two-space-after-a-full-stop habit. It isn’t going well. If it looks like I’m doing a good job, please know that I have gone back through this post deleting all the extra spaces. I’m all about appearances around here. I feel like I need to start popping myself in the wrist with a rubber band every time I add an extra space, but sadly, I fret that I cannot remember to stay on task and just type one space, how will I ever remember to try some positive reinforcement on myself?
Yesterday I made my annual visit to the Blue Genie art bazaar. There was some good stuff there, but I managed to walk out empty-handed. If I can ever manage a back catalogue of mosaics, I can easily have a booth there. Glass is seriously underrepresented (but your squid plushy needs are covered thanks to the Ex’s girlfriend). There was a lovely display of painted grackles on large wooden plaques—it’s too bad the artist advertised them as “Grackes.”
This just happened.
Wikus: Now I must eat, before I die.
Grumples: okay
Grumples: melodramatic
Wikus: Have you ridden 16 miles on only a bowl of oatmeal and two bananas?
Grumples: YES
Grumples: EVERY DAY
Grumples: but on ONE banana!
Wikus: How can you be so full of shit from only one nanner?
Grumples: i poop easily
It’s time to work on my top-secret Chicken Day project. I leave you with Clem in a small box.
2 comments:
So, they're not blow up chickens, but I read the Bloggess, and she has a huge metal chicken in her yard (named Beyonce). You should check her out. Thebloggess.com
Thank you! I actually already read her, and that particular post had me peeing myself. Then I struggled with some jealousy issues. I want a large metal chicken! Dammit. He could live in my front cacti garden. It would be lovely.
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