While I Wasn’t Here
July 19th, 2010
I’ve been absent for two weeks without really giving any clue as to what I was up to. Partly by accident and nearly completely on purpose. None of yo’ bizzzznesss, dawg! That was my first thought. And then my second was all like – dude, what is your deal? As Jenny calls it at The Bloggess, here’s my list of “shit-I-did-this-week-when-I-wasn’t-here”.
- Bought new shampoo and conditioner. The only thing I don’t like about it is that it’s in a pink bottle.
- Ran, walk, rode. (Anybody else getting “See Spot Run” images in their heads?)
- Ate an entire jar of salsa with cheese. Cheesy salsa. In approximately 2.63 days.
- Learned my grandpa was in the hospital. Called my grandpa immediately, because, AS ALWAYS, I learned about the hospital fiasco after the fact. They thought he would be okay, but they weren’t sure so I looked up plane tickets just in case a funeral was looming in my future. As if funerals aren’t enough of an issue to deal with, airlines try to make a profit. Have some respect, people.
- Drove to 4 Lakes. Where’s that? I thought I knew, but I didn’t, because I got lost. Lost. LOST. I have valiantly fought the good fight against purchasing a GPS monitor dude thingy. It might be time to give in.
- Cried. Don’t ask. I won’t tell.
- Ran the numbers A-frickin-GAIN to determine the best financial move to make in this chess game of life. Money is dumb. I want to pay with rocks.
- Delighted in the fact I’ve taught Mr. Holliday the meaning of “wait”. Depressed in the fact I’ve gone hoarse trying to get through to him.
- Washed White Flash’s windshield. And not just the windshield wiper fluid.
- Painful owner of a festering finger with a sliver of hay creating pus, nastiness and general widespread agony.
- Remembered one of my very good friends and mentor. Two years today of running with the angels.
- Successfully washed the 20 plates I was given a month and a half ago. I live alone. What am I going to do with 20 plates?
- Practiced being a ninja in front of my mirror.
- Learned how to escape out of a bear hug by doing more than jamming a leg into the groin. Although, when in doubt, always – I repeat ALWAYS – go for the groin. It’s bound to do something.
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