We are now in the phase of our relationship where I will start stealing ideas from other blogs. Today I’ll be mooching off of the fabulous author of In Pursuit of Martha Points, who I urge you to read but only if you promise not to stop reading me. The idea is a blog potluck, which for me translates to “I don’t have any good ideas and I’m feeling pretty beat from my 20 minutes of exercise today, so I’m throwing random stuff out there that has no cohesion, and we’ll hope it’s funny.” Here we go:
I ate chocolate chip banana bread for dinner. Sometimes I wish I could purge in addition to my unmatched abilities to binge, and this is one of those nights because, guys, I feel gross. But I deserved a treat because I power walked for TWENTY MINUTES. While we’re on the topic of exercise, who are these people who run? They’re everywhere. You might be one of them. I don’t understand you. I despise running slightly less than I despise terrorists. If a troop of ax murderers were chasing me, I might run away. Running hurts; it doesn’t feel at all like flying; and it makes me sweaty. Big NO.
Back to the banana bread, which is a concept I can get behind. This was the sixth time I’ve made it and once again the middle was completely underdone. That was technically unintended, but I was happy because Mr. Embee absolutely loves my chocolate chip banana soup. It’s just another sign our union was meant to be.
Sally wants to paint her room dark blue. I said no, because I think a navy dungeon is a bit peculiar, even for our family. She conceded and said maybe we could just have one wall that is a gigantic rainbow. Including brown and copious amounts of orange. I shoved a bowl of banana soup in her face and pretended I didn’t hear her.
I’m writing this in Sally’s room. It’s 9:35 p.m. and she can’t sleep. So she’s staring at me through the bars on her headboard. Staring. . . . Still staring. It’s pretty creepy. Oh wait, now she’s whispering: “Ribbit…pizza…piiiizzzzaaaa…milk.” Is this weirding anybody else out?
Little secret about me: Sometimes I look online at condos for sale and imagine I’m house shopping for just me. A cute single-lady one-bedroom where I have sole interior decorating authority, I do a maximum of two loads of dishes per week, and I don’t know, nobody stares at me from their bed. I think I’ll search now. Or puke up the banana bread. Nah, that’s gross, definitely home search.
PS — This post and all future posts will apparently be broadcast on Twitter. I don’t really understand how. I suspect witchcraft. I can’t offer you a cute little button to sign up to follow my Twitter feed –Yet. I’ll learn the witch’s ways. In the meantime, if you Tweet or Twit or whatever and want to follow that way, you can add @momcolorglasses to your list of Twatter Twooters.