"Sweetie, Let Mommy Finish Her Martini"

I've been reading too many magazines while working out at the Y . . . and I'm turning into one of those Salinger female archetypes, the ones who actually care about things in magazines. As proof of this, I have started writing down everything I eat . . . because Instyle or Cosmo or whatever other drivel was in the rack told me to. Told me it was a great idea because, then, you will think about what you eat. And we all need to think very hard about what we eat.

I don't want to think about what I eat. At least not in any detail, unless the details include "and it was incredibly yummy." But here I am, writing down my food. Because I read about it in a magazine. Shit, it's such a girl thing. I think the idea behind the whole thing is that you will think twice about eating that cheese danish . . . that yummy calorie filled cheese danish . . . if you have to write down that you ate a cheese danish. And you know what? I did think twice.

If I start talking about my pores or start complaining that I don't have a date on a Friday night, please come and bring the deprogrammers.

Wait . . . What day is it?

Tomorrow IS Friday right?

I have this weird ear popping thing in my right ear . . . and I have suddenly gone all itchy, which is never a good sign for anything. Earlier in the week, I received an email admonishing me to wash my hands. It was sent to a group . . . not just me . . . I know what you're thinking . . .

For the last year or so I have been kind of complusive about the hand washing. I don't wash them fifty times a day but I do sing the "ABC" song in my head as I'm washing them. And I want hot or at least warm water . . . which work does not have (we wouldn't want anyone to burn themselves). But I haven't taken to spraying Clorox around the room . . . yet.

So yesterday I went to bed at 8 p.m. (explaining the no post) and tonight I'm going to bed after I finish writing this. I have work in the car . . . but yeah, I'm just not up for that. Have a swim meet to go to tomorrow . . . and then more sleep. Lots of sleep. I know, totally lame . . . or maybe normal, but I want to sleep on a Friday night. Heck, maybe Saturday night also. Mmmm and maybe some light shopping on Saturday afternoon. Heavenly.

In reality, I'm probably going out after the swim meet and then I have to clean on Saturday because it is finally getting to my level of "so disgusting that I have to clean for seven hours" messy in here. So you will probably be able to eat off the back of my toilet on Sunday, should you want to. And then Sunday, we are descending on the sister (don't know if she knows that yet) . . . mmmm, Steak and Shake and new Targets. Something about delivering a bed.

And Monday starts Homecoming week . . . so I guess I will update from school. It's like the movie "Groundhog Day" I tell you. Doomed to repeated the rah, rah, stuff over and over again. Oh, how I loved Homecoming the first time (truthfully, not sure if my high school had one . . . never noticed) and it's even better the eighth time around.

My Computer May have Bird Flu

Two twenty minute phone calls to the cable company later . . . and I am back on the internet. Not that anyone on the phone helped me . . . yes, I know how to "ipconfig" . . . "ohhh, yeah honey, it's seems that there may be a problem in your area." Like the wind? "Well . . . yeah . . . fourteen other people have called from your area, honey."

Can you imagine? Someone calling me "honey"? (E2 better not make that my new name at school)

Had already reset the modem. Had a bad ip address for a while, so know how to reset the modem since the cable company always starts with that and couldn't figure out what was wrong for a week. A week in the summer, can you imagine? There was a lot of walking to the library.

"So I can send someone on a 'special call' tomorrow . . . they'll come anytime between eight a.m. and eight p.m." No sorry, I'm not going to take a day off and be chained to the house for what might be wind. I have to work. And there is an internet connection at work.

My brother suggested that I might just watch some T.V.

Naah.

But maybe it works now . . . slowly . . . like it has a cough or something, but working.

Never Was a Cornflake Girl

So I ate some ice cream (and brownie) for the first time in six months. Sure, sure, I've had some sugar free popsicles . . . but those taste kinda like watered-down frozen paste, at least the creamsicles anyway.

Now having dessert did not cause me to think of nirvana or anything. It was not a spiritual experience. I did, however, have to do penance and walk twice as far. So not really worth it . . . oh, and I'm doing this whole calorie count spiral (very much like Rainman) . . . well, I didn't drink so that's not as many and I only had 270 at lunch but I had a scone at breakfast and who knows how much those scones are . . . I could look it up on the website . . . but I don't really want to know because what if they're, like, 500 . . . what if they are 500 . . .

Yeah, I'm not that girl. That girl weighs herself everyday. That girl puts on lip gloss after meals. That girl doesn't finish her dinner (oh, wait . . . I didn't). That girl orders Caesar salad and giggles . . . I am so not that girl.

But the bathroom is clean

Was lazy ALL day. Moved from the chair to the couch to the chair again while rotting my brain with 101 More Celebrity Oops. I am a vegetable. Maybe a carrot or rutabaga.

Then I cleaned the bathroom. When I clean the bathroom, I go all out. I wash the walls, behind the toilet paper, the sides of the sink cabinet and I even took out the stopper to the sink and cleaned that -- yuck. As I was cleaning the underside to one of the soap dishes, I thought about why I wait to do this until it is pretty much disgusting. Is it because I'm so obsessive that it is so much work? Is it because I don't know how to clean the bathroom without covering everything in bleach and washing the sink three times (it gets dirty again from washing other things). I mean, I took the shower head apart and cleaned the inside of that too. And now I can't shower . . . I would just get dirt on it again.

I borrowed one of my parent's Dysons. Yes, my parents have more than one Dyson (the most expensive vacuum in the universe). They have one for each floor. My mother loves her vacuuming. What's it to ya?

Anyhow -- bagless vacuums are so cool. Look there's more dirt. Who knew their would be dirt there. Look how much dirt there is . . . it's just an amusement ride of cleaning or like watching Survivor on television. So tomorrow (or tonight, since I will be up) is the cleaning of the living room and I may even get to the kitchen by Saturday. So you are all welcome to come over on Sunday . . . as long as you help with the washing of the dining room walls. Or with the wiring of the doorbell. Or if you can put a light above my kitchen sink. But the bathroom is really, really clean.