Don’t Pretend That You Want

Paint fumes – can’t quite flubbity bok bok – oooh! black light posters are awesome!

This always reminds me of Dad. He and the Muppeteers probably did the same drugs.

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Chasing Waterfalls

Oh, for crying out loud! There are lots of things I don’t want to talk about, like the oil stain on the driveway and my nearly empty checking account, but this commercial takes the upside-down cake.

The first few times I saw this commercial, Mother Nature said, “I don’t see any liners,” and the giddy vacationers scoffed, “Liners?” After a week or two, the commercial replaced liners with backup. Maybe I’m seeing this commercial on different networks with different policies about cooties and icky physiological goo and wacky wahinis. In other commercials, Sarah Chalke solves her wedgie problems with architecturally interesting undergarments on every channel that values a frivolous femme, meaning we’re not above discussing the fact that women – you know – wear those, and Heaven forbid we avoid having the “Detrol discussion” with our physicians and international symbols or skip pads to keep our Poise. So what the fuck is wrong with us that we can’t bear to talk about goddamn pantyliners?

I Can’t Be Left To My Imagination

Pete’s house is wonderful, and I am happy to wake up here in the morning – provided I fall asleep at night. In places to which I am unaccustomed, I lie awake and think terrible thoughts: I’m so tired breathing hurts, and What the fuck is wrong with those mouthbreathers at CNN? So: once again, I’m a bleary wreck.

We’re off to Home Depot to rent a spray-painting machine and five gallons of white paint. What could possible go wrong?

Right Here, Right Now

I’m not much for swiping images. This spa is from the Grand Hyatt in Dubai, where I will never, ever find myself. At this point in the moving, where menfolk will move large objects in larger vehicles, when one wishes one were anywhere else in the whole world one notes: this spa is, in fact, an anywhere and it looks pretty good. After a week or two in such a setting, one might be able to stand upright again.

Hey! Nice shoes. By the way.

When I’ll Be Back Again

Pack that for me, will you, darling?

This weekend, we’ll work our shapely rears off getting into the house and out of the apartment. No one said it would be easy but with Almanzo out on the prairie, my sisters scattered across the Northeast, and my friends perfecting their dog-days ennui, someone should have said moving would be diamond-hard, though my ex-husband is lending me a truck so I can move in with my boyfriend.

But far be it from me to disappoint you! If it will positively ruin your weekend if you can’t help me walk a couch six blocks, email me. It’s going to be some parade.

The Joker Laughs At You

I am me, and as mes go, I’m pretty much as me as mes get. Even so, there can be controversy.

Tata: I am giving you homework! Follow Grandpa around and record his voice.
Daria: You are not the boss of me, but yesterday, I was sitting in the third row of my truck, recording voices as Mom drove around and Grandpa told her where she was taking wrong turns.
Tata: That’s exciting, since he’s blind. And I am the boss of you!
Daria: You are not the boss of me, and I haven’t checked the sound quality yet.
Tata: I am the ringleader! There’s a ring! I am leading it!
Daria: Pipe down, you!
Tata: That reminds me: I still need a plumber.

This morning, I’ve called half a dozen of my closest creditors and service providers to tell them I’m moving. My car insurance company wants to know the license and policy numbers of everyone living on the premises, which may have something to do with state law but violates everyone’s privacy. Yesterday, the US Postal Service wanted me to provide a credit card in order to change my address online, at which point I decided my government could kiss my fabulous ass. Today, several of both creditors and service providers either refused to change my address unless I provided a phone number or would only change my address if it sent verification – and I laughed out loud when the rep said this – to the old address.

Obviously, I’ve got my hands full with the Stooopit and my cup overfloweth with vitriol. Naturally, I thought of you, and your needs. Isn’t that just like me?

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It really is!

h/t: Wintle.