It's Thursday night as I write this, and as long as something large doesn't come crashing through my roof, rendering me smushed and dead and unable to finish this post, I will have gotten everything done tonight that I wanted. Well. I haven't conceived Barry Gibb's child and given birth to it and named it Renesmee, but other than that.
I had to get everything done including blogging because I have to get up early and take Lu to the vet. I'm gonna drop her off and the vet will check out Lu's hurty paw, then at the end of the day I'll go get her and find out whattup. How much do you enjoy me saying "whattup"?
She's very Limpy Limpadoo. Lu is, not Renesmee. My theory is she stepped in something stupid in the back yard. I keep my razors/pointy pieces of hot coal/venomous crabby snakes collection back there, but I've told her to leave it alone. It's not my fault she doesn't listen. Anyway I won't know anything till Friday evening, so I'll tell you what's wrong with Limpadooesmee on Saturday. Gives you something to live for, doesn't it?
In the meantime, you're stuck with this post, and I am very sorry.
Oh, I meant to tell you a story about Ned's birthday night but I didn't have time last time. Do you remember recently when Ned got angry and threw a shoe, resulting in his nice picture falling off the wall and breaking? And how in the cold light of day, he had to repair that picture, and that's the price we pay for being temperamental, and I would judge as I like to do but I have the same ding-dang temper, so.
"What do you like to do?" "Oh, I judge people. You?"
Ned usually gets up at some point in the night, and makes his way to the kitchen and drinks water and eats peanuts. I am not making that up. That's what he does. Usually if I'm there, I sleep right through water and peanut time, but twice I heard him in the kitchen and gotten up for water, too. Both times I have
right out of him. Oh, how he screeched and lept his whole skeleton out of his body and had his eyes pop out of their sockets and clung to the ceiling like a cat in a cartoon. "You KNEW I was HERE," I pointed out to him, when his breath re-entered his body. "I know, but I never hear you coming, and then you appear out of the gloom of night and it's so horrifying," he's said when it happens.
So the night of his birthday, I woke up and I'll be DAMNED if I didn't have a stupid migraine. I heard Ned getting water, so when I got up to take a pill, I walked down the hall, and this time I warned him, "Hey, I--"
"AACCKKKKK!!!!" screeched Ned, who then flailed dramatically out of the kitchen, running into the wall and--
are you ready? Are you?
--breaking that DAMN PICTURE all OVER AGAIN.
Seriously, you've never seen someone have a more dramatic startle response. They should test him in a lab. I mean, sure, I was wearing a white sheet and saying, "Woooo-OOOOOO-oooo!" but come on. Sure, I'd put on my Exorcist makeup. Still.
So I had on a hockey mask. What of it?
When I left in the morning, I saw that poor beleaguered picture crumpled on the floor all over again and I giggled all the way to my car. Poor Ned. Poor Ned's picture.
The OTHER thing I wanted to talk to you about was your teenage room. Ned and I discussed the other day what graced the walls of our angst-ridden rooms, although I feel like his had just about zero angst, but I had enough for both of us and some of you. He told me he had a Farrah Fawcett poster, naturally. Not the red bathing suit one, but the BLUE bathing suit one. "Sadly, I know just what one you mean," I said.
But now that I've looked it up, what I THOUGHT OF as a blue bathing suit was in fact this poster, with a blue BACKGROUND:
Anyway, along with his hetero boy poster, he also had (sit down) sports posters, and a bulletin board with (sit back down) sports things he kept tacked up there.
I had a larger-than-life poster of Robert Redford that was to die for.
This was definitely it, even though this doesn't show the whole thing. Oh, look how hot. I also had Clark Gable pictures up that I'd gotten from my grandmother, who had similarly loved him when she was little. Of course, all these second-tier men got tossed when I discovered the Bee Gees, and then I easily had 30 posters, Tiger Beat pages and special fan-club 8x10 glossies of Barry Gibb. My whole room was all Barry Gibb all the time.
OHMYGOD!!!!! I Googled "Bee Gees posters" and this came up and I SO TOTALLY HAD THIS ONE and never once thought it was odd that three adult brothers are in bed together. Also, has anyone seen my mesh shirt?
My point is, what'd you have in your teen room? I kept the Bee Gees up till 10th grade, when I got embarrassed about my crush on Barry Gibb even though it's a PERFECTLY REASONABLE AND WISE crush to have, and replaced everything with cool Paper Moon Graphics cards. Very early '80s.
Oh, I thought these were SO COOL. God help me.
Okay, so what'd you have? Tell all. Renesmee and I need to know.