I just realized yesterday afternoon that my PUR water filter was no longer working. There's this teensy what-am-I-a-bat?-who-can-see-this? light on the side of the filter that, when it's done working, flashes red.
ROXANNE! You don't have to put on your red light! ROXXXANE! And also my PUR bat light!
What's stupid is, then I went around for 15 minutes worrying about what chemicals and other bad things I've ingested while not noticing the filter was used up. This from a person who is currently eating a Cookies and Creme Pop Tart.
So I schlepped to Target, where I WISH THEY'D STOP REARRANGING EVERYTHING, FAITHFUL READER TARGET STEVE, and got me a PUR filter. And by the way, in no way shape or form am I being paid by the effing people at PUR, so I have no idea why I keep bringing them up.
And why can I never get out of Target for less than $80? Has anyone noticed the part where I'm unemployed? Has anyone noticed that I've worked every ding-dang day of my unemployment? Still. Don't know where next dollar is coming from, and there I was spending all willy-nilly at Target.
Aren't bats supposed to be blind? Why'd I say "bat" up there? I think I was thinking about sonar, but that has nothing to do with a bat being able to see a red light on the side of a water filter.
You'll be surprised to hear that all of this has absolutely nothing to do with why I've gathered you all here today. What I CAME here to talk about is pictures I found of me, and what could be better? I got waylaid by the poisonous water I've been pumping into my body for who knows how long.
So, like everyone else on the ENTIRE GLOBE, I hate Facebook's new layout, with the timeline, and it's the ironically named timeline because you can never find ANYTHING on anyone's wall who you may or may not be stalking. The point is, the way your Facebook page is set up now, you have an opportunity to splash a giant photo of you across the top.
Have you met me? Is there anything I like better than a chance to splash a giant photo of my own self anywhere? Therefore, I spent many hours last night looking for the perfect photo to put on my Facebook page. Because in case you hadn't noticed, person who is reading my blog about me and my life, I am a huge narcissist.
I wish I could show you this whole picture, but I figure a woman's exposed giant hoots may not be work appropriate. Once many years ago, I got to be an honorary guy at my friend's bachelor party--and two actual guys who were there sometimes read this blog, so heyyyyy, Steve and Peter!--and anyway, we all went to see Busty Dusty. Here I am looking down my own suddenly depressing chestal area.
Where do you think Busty D is today? Somewhere good? I worry.
I'll bet when I say "I lived in Los Angeles," this is how you think I spent all my time, like Annette Funicello or something, right? In fact, it was a pain in the ass to get down to the beach. At least an hour and a half in traffic, then you had to find parking. The beach was 20 miles away and that's how long it took. But once you got there it was loverly.
Mom and me and my grandmother's velvet couch. We need to bring back the velvet couch. Hers was gold. Also, I totally remember that bill holder, and who has it? I want it. She paid all her bills on the first of the month and then gave 10% "to the Lord." I know this because she told me everything, and half the time I tell some story about something gramma told me and other relatives say, "Really? She never told me that." Clearly I should have been writing everything down because I was the sounding board. Or the bat.
Seattle. This was my neighborhood, Fremont, and it was the bomb. Da bomb. Da bat. Also, have I ever blogged about my tendency to look like whatever boyfriend I had at the time? I was dating someone with long dark hair then. That's his jacket, in fact.
My ex-best friend and me in the 90s. Are you really going to ask me why we're not best friends anymore? I wrote about it, like, three years ago. Where were YOU? Here.
Anyway, finally, here is the fine photo I used for my Facebook banner photo. It captures my essence, doesn't it? Eating right, yellow extension cords. This was taken at my friend Gertrude's house, whose dad's funeral I attended last week. That is her cat Vivian, who in fact inspired me to go get a black cat, Ruby. This photo must be 20 years old and don't Doritos bags look just the same? They probably brag that there are no trans fats now. I love how they do that so we think, Ooo! Healthy!
So there you go. I just forced you to look at pictures of me on my blog about me. Please leave a comment letting me know what you think of me, and I'll be back to discuss me tomorrow.