Kick 'em when they up
Kick 'em when they down. That's the song that's stuck in my head right now. Possibly because I made the GREATEST 80s PLAYLIST OF ALL TIME yesterday. Including such classics as "Little Red Corvette," which, as VH1 so enlightened me, is not actually about a car. Prince, really.
Whoops, the dehumidifier-checking guy almost just caught me eating pudding at the library circulation desk. Not that he would have cared, I just like feeling like I've gotten away with something. Also, why am I too awkward to ask people to leave for half an hour so I can take a lunch break? Fail.
If you haven't noticed, you should stop reading this entry. Because I'm essentially just writing for lack of anything better to do.
So, as if I weren't (WHAT?? Why is spell-check angry red underlining "weren't"??) going out of my gourd already since getting home, my family is gone camping this week in New Hampshire, leaving me to feed and occupy myself. The latter is the main problem. One of the ways that I devised to entertain myself was making the spontaneous decision to take up boxing. Some humongous gloves, a fricking $10 special "boxing" jumprope, and a sweet mouthguard later, (by which I mean $55 later), I haven't really made any progress. Except that I mainly just wanted to wear the mouthguard, so I'm happy. I was in my basement last night, attempting to jumprope after a 10-year hiatus and failing at pushups, when my grandmother emerges from the darkness of the night and knocks on the window. Scaring the bejesus out of me, needless to say. Moral of the story: Don't blast the G&R so loud that the neighbors can hear. Especially when they're your grandparents. And they're crazy. (Not "crazy," per se, just big fans of knowing what you're doing. All the time.)
Holy smokes, there are, like, 4 people in the library right now and none of them are on a tour. This never happens.
Also, my dog died this week. On Monday. I don't really have anything sarcastic to say about that because it was very sad, and even though we complained all the time about her because she peed and drooled everywhere and panted to the point of asphyxiation, she was a good dog. I was home alone, and luckily I have a good neighbor and uncle and sister's boyfriend because otherwise I would have been out digging in the rock-hard dirt, cursing at the horseflies, for a good 4 hours to bury her. Rest in peace, Dita-dog.
Hmm, what else can I write about? Oh crap, here comes a tour. PAUSE whie I look like I'm actually earning my paycheck.
Okay, polo shirt crisis averted. Anywhoo, tonight I get to see my peeps in Farmingtonland, hooray! I shall bring them love and homemade cookies, and by "homemade" I mean "made in my house by taking them out of the wrapper and breaking them apart and putting them in the oven." And they shall be delicious and we all shall rejoice.
My attention span timer just went off. xoxoxo
Whoops, the dehumidifier-checking guy almost just caught me eating pudding at the library circulation desk. Not that he would have cared, I just like feeling like I've gotten away with something. Also, why am I too awkward to ask people to leave for half an hour so I can take a lunch break? Fail.
If you haven't noticed, you should stop reading this entry. Because I'm essentially just writing for lack of anything better to do.
So, as if I weren't (WHAT?? Why is spell-check angry red underlining "weren't"??) going out of my gourd already since getting home, my family is gone camping this week in New Hampshire, leaving me to feed and occupy myself. The latter is the main problem. One of the ways that I devised to entertain myself was making the spontaneous decision to take up boxing. Some humongous gloves, a fricking $10 special "boxing" jumprope, and a sweet mouthguard later, (by which I mean $55 later), I haven't really made any progress. Except that I mainly just wanted to wear the mouthguard, so I'm happy. I was in my basement last night, attempting to jumprope after a 10-year hiatus and failing at pushups, when my grandmother emerges from the darkness of the night and knocks on the window. Scaring the bejesus out of me, needless to say. Moral of the story: Don't blast the G&R so loud that the neighbors can hear. Especially when they're your grandparents. And they're crazy. (Not "crazy," per se, just big fans of knowing what you're doing. All the time.)
Holy smokes, there are, like, 4 people in the library right now and none of them are on a tour. This never happens.
Also, my dog died this week. On Monday. I don't really have anything sarcastic to say about that because it was very sad, and even though we complained all the time about her because she peed and drooled everywhere and panted to the point of asphyxiation, she was a good dog. I was home alone, and luckily I have a good neighbor and uncle and sister's boyfriend because otherwise I would have been out digging in the rock-hard dirt, cursing at the horseflies, for a good 4 hours to bury her. Rest in peace, Dita-dog.
Hmm, what else can I write about? Oh crap, here comes a tour. PAUSE whie I look like I'm actually earning my paycheck.
Okay, polo shirt crisis averted. Anywhoo, tonight I get to see my peeps in Farmingtonland, hooray! I shall bring them love and homemade cookies, and by "homemade" I mean "made in my house by taking them out of the wrapper and breaking them apart and putting them in the oven." And they shall be delicious and we all shall rejoice.
My attention span timer just went off. xoxoxo