I’ve gotten into the habit of getting up early and…well, mostly I’ve been going to bed around 9:00pm, and waking up at 6:00am, because we are still sleeping on the air mattress in the living room, and Benjamin likes to watch breakfast television while he has his toast and coffee. While I was sick, I would toodle off to the bedroom and flop down on the bed for another hour or so. But then I was getting pretty slutty with the snooze button.
Officially committing to physically abandoning the bed happened around 7:15am. Technically, I should be out the door around 7:45am, but I get pretty slutty with my E-T-D’s as well, so there’s a very solid chance that when the 8:00am news starts, I am still on the highway. The good news is I am very up to date on my current affairs, which is altogether enlightening and depressing. After this quick run-through of all the death, war, crime, injustice and corruption, I park the mini-van and head off to spent the day with children.
And bless all these little ones, running around like drunk little midgets, in tiny little pants, crying for their mothers and calling their yoghurt “yogies”. You gotta wonder what the government, environment, the general state of humanity will be by the time these slobbering, sticky fingered, little yogie spillers are my age. And then…there’s that crushing responsibility of having any part in molding young minds. And you really wish you had not been so slutty with the snooze button, and had started the day on a brighter note.
Lately, I’ve been up at 630am, and it’s pretty blissful to have time in the morning. After a leisurely coffee, I putter about, listen to the radio, and do a few housekeeping duties, or answer a few emails. But then I get Girls Gone Wild with my spare time, and then I have to do an Olympic speed walk through the parking lot to the minivan, and am made to face the news again. But, I’m far more relaxed, less rushed, and I can take things like, oh the collapse of the American government, with a bigger grain of salt.
Things are achieved before work, and then I get home for a half-hour around lunchtime, and I also take care of a little business then as well. So, come time when the work day is done, I can come home and have spare time on my hands. Time well spent, I think, drinking a rather large glass of red wine while Googling Ryan Gosling memes.
My husband is working late, and I am busy with “work”, which means getting increasingly drunk, while blogging and perving on Ryan Gosling photos.
Oh Ryan. It gives you a little faith in this dark world, seeing things like this.
Don’t worry Ryan, I’m not going anywhere…I’ll just bring the wine bottle into the office so I never have to leave you again. Or…about ten seconds before my bladder bursts. Finally Benjamin called. He wasn’t coming home for a while as he was going to the pub with a workmate. This is exciting news. Now was I off the hook for making dinner, and was free to cyber stalker Mr Gosling and then do some drunk blogging. It’s also nice that Benjamin is meeting people, and making friends. I do wonder how men approach one another and make friends. And I want for my husband what any woman does. I want him to meet a nice young man.
I was pleased to hear that he was going out. But I hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be one of those “Hangover” type situation, where he calls me from a drunk tank in Tijuana. He had committed to staying up until 10:00pm to watch the very special of Glee, where Cory Monteith‘s “Finn” dies.
I don’t really even watch “Glee”, this show is like that person you knew in high-school that you never talked to but always smiled at. Yet I am so curious as to how they are going to handle this situation. It will be like a train wreck of music and emotion. A musical car crash. And I am going to be there with a box of tissues and whatever is in the bottom of the wine bottle. So this can mean one of two things. That Benjamin has met a nice man and is chatting about men stuff over a few pints at the pub, or that he made the story up to avoid watching “Glee” and is sitting alone at the bar while I sob myself into a Glee-induced Coma.
He’s since come home…and wondering where that delicious stir fry I promised I’d make, while I was commending his decision to go out for a pint. When I was fresh from the grocery store and feeling like a productive wife. Before the red wine and drunk blogging. And now it’s nearly 8:00pm and I should have been to bed hours ago. Damn you Ryan Gosling, you did this to me damn you! I know I said I would stay here forever, but I’ve got a pressing stir-fry. But thanks for the dreamy eyes and positive affirmations. They need to put these on the ceiling at the dentist and gynecologist offices. Because sometimes, your spirits just need a lift.
Images Courtesy of Google
She has beautiful vintage furniture, and a bizarre taxidermy obsession. She turned multiple bedrooms into spectacular closets filled with costumes, shoes, lingerie, and there’s a whole room dedicated to hats (which to me, is really a reason to never have children). “Sure, someone could carry on the lineage…but then again, I wouldn’t get my hat room”
I’m assuming this was at a costume party, but that is a seriously disturbing looking fellow. I have always wondered what the attraction was, if she would gaze at him from across a crowded room and think–”Lucky me, I get to go home with that“.
I came of age in the advent of this particular chapter of goth-culture… circa 1996 with Antichrist Superstar. Marilyn Manson burst creepily onto the scene, and just bled all over the place. Parents were concerned about his presence, his influence. He was being banned and censored, which made the fans love him even more. Rumors flew about him killing animals onstage, and removing his ribs so he could perform fellatio on himself. Which makes no sense to me, why would you want to suck your own dick? If you have the money to have elective rib removal surgery, couldn’t you just hire someone who likes going down on freaky dudes…(and possibly be into doing a little laundry and light dusting)? In high school Marilyn Manson was such a revelation and there was a definite social pocket of teenagers that jumped on that bandwagon. Personally, he scared the hell out of me. But then again, if Manson was an 11 on the hard rock scale, I was a 1.5. I was listening to ABBA, Mamas & the Papas and the Bee Gees non-ironically. I had pictures of Audrey Hepburn in my bedroom. I was not in his demographic. Simply put, going to a Marilyn Manson concert would be my version of hell on earth, I would rather be swarmed by a pack of flying monkeys from “The Wizard of Oz”, than listen “Beautiful People” in a packed stadium of Satanic looking freaky-deeks. And you just know that they would do weird things with strobe lights…no thank you. The fine folks behind the film “Burlesque” actually snuck a sample of that song into the soundtrack; even in a different incarnation I can not bare it. You’re just never going to find me at a fan club meeting, and that’s all there is to it.
All Images Courtesy of Google
All Images Courtesy of Google