Oh yes, last time we were here (about a year ago wasn’t it?) I was bitching about the time change, which is still a problem because I have a hard enough time being on time.
Well, now, it is out of the question.
Fashionably late is now irritatingly absent, and try as I might I cannot help it.
The message here is do not invite me to lunch, or a party, or ask me to pick you up at the airport until October because I will piss you off.
In other news, I sucked up a bottle of Visine with the vacuum cleaner (sometimes I over estimate the power of the Hoover). Not surprisingly, the offender was stuck in the hose. A broomstick, a wire hanger, and an attempt to blow said bottle out of the hose like a poison dart from an African blowgun garnered no results. I did manage to stab my finger with the hanger and bleed all over the damn place, but the stupid bottle is still stuck. Unfortunate, because there are Styrofoam bits all over the floor from the latest "Denial is a Beautiful Thing-F$$K the Recession Darling, We're Still Rich!" home improvement project at the New Digs.
Since there is no way I will be installing glass tile in the kitchen anytime soon, I opted for a lovely mural. Well,“Lovely” may be reaching a bit, actually, “mural” is a stretch as well, considering I printed a photo from my computer glued it to foam core and tacked it to the wall.
It looks easy right? Well it wasn’t. I had to climb on top of the refrigerator to complete the installation. While I do not have a fear of heights, I do have a fear of falling and breaking my neck. To make matters worse, I cannot cut a straight line to save my life. You would think by now I would know my limitations. You would also think that I could count.
After eight hours of struggling with this behemoth, I ran out of tacks. Twenty minutes before this week’s episode of Big Love. It should have been one hour and twenty minutes if life was fair nevertheless, it is not.
Nor is it fair that even though I rushed to the Wal-Mart to buy tacks I still missed 20 minutes of Big Love. Worse still is the knowledge that everyone in aisle 15 at the Wal-Mart noticed my blood smeared T-shirt and the black circle around my mouth from sucking on the vacuum hose.
I am sure they thought I was a bong smoking taxidermist in need of more supplies for my latest dead Bambi project. I thought about trying to explain that I am actually just a harmless, albeit accident prone polygamy fan in the express lane with thumb tacks so I can climb back on top of my refrigerator before 7:00 pm.
On second thought I decided:
F$$k it. I am rich. I can be crazy.
Denial is a Beautiful Thing Darling