So, here I am whiling away my morning, waiting for the plumbers. My sink has decided that it’s a fountain, and is spewing crap everywhere and generally behaving badly. Also, there’s a horrible smell, and I’ve spent all morning trying to figure out the worst possible explanation for it.
1) Cheese build up, similar to what’s probably going on in my arteries.
2) Sink schmutz, which, if you’ve ever worked in food service, you know is the vilest and most toxic substance known to man.
3) Rat. Dead rat.
4) Pipe rot, or similar. Something that would require me not to use my kitchen for a month, which would give me an excuse to continue not cooking. (Hey! That rules!)
5) Severed fingers of previous tenant, preserved zombie-style in the elbow of the drain, just waiting to creep out under cover of darkness and pinch my nose shut while I’m sleeping.
Probably it’s cheese, though. That seems a safe bet.
I’m not the world’s best blogger this week. It’s the end of the quarter, which is not so bueno for those of us who are operating on a quarterly system. It means that there’s a lot of work to do.
While I’m doing that work, which pays the hosting and all, I leave you with the following question: Would you date someone who had a blog? Don’t rush to answer. This is important.
Seriously, I’m still traumatized over the flashing incident. One must be prepared to see a naked man. Naken men cannot just be, ah, thrust upon one.
Um, I hope it’s OK with all of you that there was a NUDE MAN sitting in his first floor window, WAVING AT ME as I walked home from the train tonight. NUDE, in case you missed it. Also waving.
Also, FYI, he found it extremely amusing when I shrieked and ran. I suppose that’s just about everything a nude, waving, first-floor-window sitting maniac could hope for.
The Feed, via Salon:
Jared Leto: “The blog is yesterday’s parachute pants. It’s here now but it’s gone tomorrow.”
Everyone Else: “Nice Crocs.”
Me: OK, celebrity dead pool. Who will die first, Kate Bosworth or Nicole Richie?
Ma Smash: Um … Kate Bosworth!
Me: Wrong! Nicole Richie will be dead as mutton by Christmas.
Ma Smash: Dead as … you’re a crazy person.
Me: Wrong! I’m a terrible person. There’s a difference.