I’m only writing at you because it’s our day.
A few years back, when I sat next to my boss, fmr., he and I got into one of our 408-minute discussions about Things That Didn’t Matter and gee, I wonder why they split us up. That day, the discussion centered on what did Billy Jo McAllister toss off that bridge?
The day some years ago where my boss, fmr., and I had this discussion (he does NOT think they threw a baby off, and everyone knows they threw a baby off), I blogged about said discussion and we all got extremely obsessed with every nuance of this ridik song. It sort of became The Official Song of Book of June. Or Bye Bye, Pie. Whatever.
Pass the biscuits, please.
I even went so far as to rent the Ode to Billy Joe movie, starring that lothario Robbie Benson, which if you wondered how, exactly, to waste an evening on things you shouldn’t, there’s your answer. Although any time you can see Robbie Benson in the throes of homoerotic guilt is a good time.
Speaking of homos, my ex-boyfriend Ned–who is, in fact, the straightest ex I have, if you were gonna put them on a spectrum, but it was a funny segue and I used it–is looking for a new home and/or is gonna buy our house, fmr. He was obsessing over it, as per usual, last night, when I went over there, because you should really hang out with your ex a lot. The experts recommend it.
Anyway, this morning I looked on craigslist and found a most cute house for rent right in his neighborhood. “Have you looked on craigslist, Ned?” I asked him, and that is how Ned got me to just jump in his car, in my tank top that I’d slept in, and drive past the house with him. It’s perfect. Built in the ’20s, it’s a little bungalow with a fireplace, just the right size for a commitmentphobe. It’s commitmentphobarrific!
He spoke to the owner already, and if my schedule permits Ima look at it with him. I have a party later today. One of the Alexes at work, whose name is actually Alex, is having a Yay, I’m a Citizen! party today, as she is, you know, now a citizen. She’s British. Well, she was. She picked a fine time to join this country, Lucille. Things are going well.
Other than that, I don’t have much going on this weekend, seeing as I STILL DON’T HAVE AN ATM CARD. My gym membership–and thank god I have that, cause you’re sick of hearing about my gym activities–is due, but they can’t take out the money because card is frozen. So last night after work I drove over there to pay it with a check like I’m 109.
I noted the gym isn’t that busy on a Friday at 5:30, and I thought, hunh. Here’d be a time to go. Then I went home and napped on the couch with my mouth open for, like, two hours.
Speaking of beings who are useful, after my important nap last night, I came in here to write on Facebook or something–who can remember all my whirlwind activities–and there was Iris standing in the empty litter box. Perhaps you’re wondering about the fine art installation I’ve created with the litter box and the mop and so on. I was cleaning the laundry room floor so I moved everything outta there. Like, 11 days ago. And those things are still not put away.
Oh. hang on.
Just so Faithful Reader Paula won’t get a hive. That towel stays there, for feets. Mud-filled feets.
Perhaps you’re wondering why the dark dingy part near the bottom of my wall, there. There was a fire here, once. Way back before this house was mine. The doggone house is mine. This gay couple lived here, and I only tell you that because my pal The Naughty Professor knew them, not that he’s only allowed to know gay people because if that’s the case then I need to get on the poontang, pronto.
Hey, mom. Yeah, nothing much. You?
ANYWAY, the fire started right there. Christmas lights. That’s what set on fire. I gotta paint those bricks white again and also the rest of this room…some other color. I tried yellow and I kind of like it, but my mother says to paint this room the same blue as my living room, as kind of a continuation. Lemme show you the view I am thinking of when I consider the color to paint the wall in here. I want it to look good with the blue, the brown, and then the…?
See? You can see where I put a little yellow up last weekend, and I like it, and I guess that’s what matters, as it’s my damn house. But what do you think of the idea of blue? The floors are blue and cream tiles, like those old ’60s tiles you’d put in a basement. We added those, cause we’re weird.
Speaking of things no one’s gonna like but me, my Frida Kahlo shower curtain arrived and man does it take up my small bathroom and I adore it. Frida’s gonna watch me poop. Woooo!
I gotta go. I went to the doctor and guess what he told me, guess what he told me? He said girl you better try to have fun no matter what you do. But he’s a fool.
He told me I had to (brace yourself) lose weight or else go on cholesterol-lowering drugs. “I’ll lose the weight,” I said, this week’s pudding post aside. “Will you?” he asked. “Because most people say they will and don’t.”
Oh. Oh! Now it’s ON, motherfucker.
So what I did so far was walk Edsel twice a day, briskly, instead of once. Also, I try to walk twice at work but I can’t always fit two walks in because work expects me to work, and I am sure.
Then the other thing I’ve done is drink shit tons of water. I drink tons of it now. I try to drink 16 oz before I even get to work.
Other than that, I’ve not had any fast food. Okay, I’ve not had much fast food. And that’s really all I’ve done so far and I’ve lost three pounds and 6 ounces in two weeks. Okay, I know. But still.
Now this week I have some new things Ima throw in, like even less alcohol. Oh, right, yeah, I’m not drinking during the week. Now I’m so used to it that a few weekend nights have rolled around and I’ll be all, eh. I don’t even feel like drinking. So I’m doing that too. And now I’m considering making it a rule, like only ONE night a week.
I don’t know. I’ll keep you posted. But I’ll tell you what: That doctor got me motivated.
I have to go. Ima do my awful high-intensity training, and then head over to Alex’s partay. Maybe the whole time I’m there I should regale her and ALL her guests with Comin’ to America by Neil Diamond.