1.08.2005
Anyone? Anyone?
Is anyone reading this tripe lately? It's so unsatisfying to blog if I don't get a comment or two from the peanut gallery.
Speaking of peanuts, there is now another name floating around for the pug. "Milton." As in Office Space Milton. He can't find his red stapler. The beauty of Milton is that it also segues nicely into "Uncle Milty" - and he does have a bit of the Old Jewish Man thing going on. Trust me, I know.
Haven't really talked too much about my family since I'd rather blog about myself, but we're a bunch of crazy mixed-up kids who don't take religion too seriously, so the family tree is a Christmakkuh Bush. It's a lovely thing as the holidays near and we have to ask each other: "Now, what is Aunt Kathy again?" It's all about the gift wrap, my friends. I usually skirt the problem by going with something graphic and vibrant - just avoiding the holiday wrap altogether.
So it's 9:45 p.m. on Saturday. I've already had a visit from the Puppy - he stopped by in the late afternoon with two of his younger cousins to eat Mexican food on my sofa and watch football. Slightly bizarre because my quiet girlish afternoon - windows open to the breeze, The Shins on the stereo, legs covered with an afghan as I darn my socks - well, that last thing, not so much - was interrupted by three dudes, a Seahawks game and the smell of burritos. But overall the visit was warming for the cockles and all that. Then my friend K called about 6 and invited me to dinner...as I sat parked in front of "About Schmidt" with a bowl of pasta in front of me. She and her friend are going out tonight after their late dinner. Right about now, in fact. I can't hang. Still barely alive after last night's Early Times adventure. Oof.
Why do so many of my recent ideas fall into this category: "It seemed like a good idea at the time"? Again, I can't take that train of thought too far down the track...if I do I'll wind up losing my nerve and finding myself in this exact spot a year from now. With no new adventures under my belt, no chances having been taken, and no choice but to endure the soul-squashing heat that pounds this town from April through October. I won't hear it - whether it's the Voice of Reason or the Angel on My Shoulder - perhaps it's even that little red devil - no matter. I can't give in this time. I just...can't.
Speaking of peanuts, there is now another name floating around for the pug. "Milton." As in Office Space Milton. He can't find his red stapler. The beauty of Milton is that it also segues nicely into "Uncle Milty" - and he does have a bit of the Old Jewish Man thing going on. Trust me, I know.
Haven't really talked too much about my family since I'd rather blog about myself, but we're a bunch of crazy mixed-up kids who don't take religion too seriously, so the family tree is a Christmakkuh Bush. It's a lovely thing as the holidays near and we have to ask each other: "Now, what is Aunt Kathy again?" It's all about the gift wrap, my friends. I usually skirt the problem by going with something graphic and vibrant - just avoiding the holiday wrap altogether.
So it's 9:45 p.m. on Saturday. I've already had a visit from the Puppy - he stopped by in the late afternoon with two of his younger cousins to eat Mexican food on my sofa and watch football. Slightly bizarre because my quiet girlish afternoon - windows open to the breeze, The Shins on the stereo, legs covered with an afghan as I darn my socks - well, that last thing, not so much - was interrupted by three dudes, a Seahawks game and the smell of burritos. But overall the visit was warming for the cockles and all that. Then my friend K called about 6 and invited me to dinner...as I sat parked in front of "About Schmidt" with a bowl of pasta in front of me. She and her friend are going out tonight after their late dinner. Right about now, in fact. I can't hang. Still barely alive after last night's Early Times adventure. Oof.
Why do so many of my recent ideas fall into this category: "It seemed like a good idea at the time"? Again, I can't take that train of thought too far down the track...if I do I'll wind up losing my nerve and finding myself in this exact spot a year from now. With no new adventures under my belt, no chances having been taken, and no choice but to endure the soul-squashing heat that pounds this town from April through October. I won't hear it - whether it's the Voice of Reason or the Angel on My Shoulder - perhaps it's even that little red devil - no matter. I can't give in this time. I just...can't.
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