I just wrote a whole ding ding ding and also DANG post and it crashed. Stupid got-punched computer.
Daniel Boone will be here soon and I am sincerely hoping he can fix this effing effing effing dang effing thing.
Irritated.
As I was SAYING, before I got CRASHED UP, is that (a) other than fixing everything in my house including this stupid $#*&$ Moan-a Lisa, Crash Into Me computer that I HATE and it totally deserved to be punched and I'd do it again if I thought it'd let me finish this post, DB and I are supposed to go to Blowing Rock or Hanging Rock or Rock on Wit'cher Bad Self or some kind of place today with a rock and a trail. And whose idea was it? Was it mine? Who has not remotely looked it up to see where it is or if they allow dogs?
Do you like how I said (a) but never moved on to (b)?
Organized. That is my middle name. Which makes for a lovely monogrammed sweater.
JOG
Okay. My initials would be "jog." Not so much.
In high school, we had a school librarian who wore a monogrammed sweater and her initials were JAW. You can imagine how we did not poke fun at this in the slightest.
Anyway. Oh! The other thing I was saying is that I can get no rest. Do not even try to sleep in at this house.
Edsel has this sixth sense, which is amazing because often he seems to have NO sense, where he knows the alarm is gonna go off right before it does. So he BOUNDS off the bed over to the alarm to show it his bottom teeth, then BOUNDS back to me to let me know the alarm is going off, as if the loud insistent buzzing weren't tipping me off, then he LEAPS back to the alarm in case it missed his display of his bottom teefs the first time.
And did I mention he has to step on all my limbs while he does this? Not that I'm a centipede. But he always manages to stick a claw in my shin, or all his weight on my wrist, or his elbow on my centipede antlers.
He did all this today EVEN THOUGH THE CLOCK WAS NOT SET.
See above re sense.
Then Tallulah has to ensure she is completely splayed on me no matter how many times I try to roll away.
Me: Roll.
Tallulah: Move. Splay. Sigghhhhh.
And Roger? Screeching at me with his mouth wide open because I have missed the acceptable breakfasttime window.
Roger: MEEEEEaaaaaaaa!
Talu: Flump! sighhhhh.
Edsel: [step] [BOUND] [teefs] [BOUND!]
i only dezzent person here, mom.
Yes, Anderson, you are. You keep to your gray self.
Oh! And I have one more pertinent thing to tell you before I go to Rock the Cradle of Love or Rock of Ages or Dash Riprock or wherever the hell we're going today. Furry Godmother and Hulk are commenters of the week, which is kind of funny because they bicker in the comments sometimes and now they are stuck together in the This Week's Special box all week, and I like how I act like I actually change that award every week.
Also, and I like how I said I had one more pertinent thing and here is another. Did I mention organized was my middle name and I am JOG?
I watched an old movie last night, and by the way I love watching old movies as long as they aren't Westerns or any boy movie about war. So last night this 50-year-old man was fishing and fished out a mermaid. And by the way the fishing scene? Like, 15 minutes too long. Okay. We GET that you have a big one and you are struggling. Good gravy.
Thank heavens for movies now where they understand we have no attention span.
Anyway, the actress who played the mermaid was beautiful.
In many ways she was the ultimate woman. Gorgeous, topless (he buys her the bikini top. What man would do that in real life?), unable to speak, and inexplicably attracted to the 50-year-old man who was decidedly dumpy.
My point is, I totally want to be a mermaid. Except for the fishy odor part. I want sparkly hair and glittery combs and a small waist. Can we arrange this? Oh, but I don't want to be mute.
I can't go under water without plugging my nose. If my father is reading this, he will recall the endless hours he spent cajoling me to get in the water. Perhaps my mermaid dream is for naught.
I guess I had better shower. Gotta wash the fin. Rock on wich' yer bad selves.
