ENTER THE WU-LIST
Later today, after I sleep five or six hours, I'm going to buy three or four CDs by former members of The Wu-Tang Clan. I don't know which ones yet.
But this will be a reminder to me to do that and to explain why.
Sorry. I expected a few more days to pass before my blog degenerated into a to-do list.
But why fight it?
Some other things I should do later:
Write Amy a thank-you note. Include a NASCAR metaphor. Apologize for the chocolate mishap.
Mail student loan check. Include a thinly veiled threat.
Wash the cat hair out of my clothes.
Pick up yard debris from that storm 10 days ago.
See whether Christy still wants to see CSA next Tuesday, or, if she's still furious at me about that work thing, whether the following week would work better.
Forward mail to she who shall not be named. Include a thinly veiled threat. Think better and unveil it.
Buy a $600 espresso machine so I can use my tiny new $2 cups when Erin comes.
Go through the cupboards with a black magic marker and cross out all the ingredient labels on my food, for Benjie's peace of mind.
Sort out whether Rick was serious about the dog pictures. Remind him that sarcasm is lost on me.
Point out that if he changed his middle name to Ignatius his initials would be R.I.P.
posted by kc @ 2:57 AM
11 comments
11 Comments:
How about: Send lots of e-mail to Benjie. That is, if your e-mail is working today.
By the way, here's how two very special people would say that. Joyce: Send boo-kooz amounts of e-mails to Ben. Erin: Send beaucoup de e-mail to Ben.
Other than that glaring omission, I love the list. But don't get an espresso machine. And don't mark out your ingredient labels.
What? No, I want to try the tiny cups!
And I want to hear about the chocolate mishap.
Cat hair? Are you baby-sitting Tula, too? Michelle wasn't lying. That cat's a jumper.
Let's see "CSA" Tuesday. She Who Is Neither Our Erin Nor As Important As She Believes needs watching, though.
cl, no baby-sitting. I was visiting George, Emerson and Jonah in Atlanta. George liked to sit on my lap. And the dog, Ohren (which is German for ears), who is the same size as the cats, liked to sleep with me. He would crawl under the covers for me to spoon him, and when he fell asleep he would be totally dead to the world. You could pick him up and move him around the bed like a sack of potatoes and he wouldn't wake up. It rocked.
Regarding SWINOENAIASB, I shall heed your advice.
The chocolate mishap was this: Karen and Amy and I had some awesome Italian food at a Greek pizza place. We gorged on canneloni and lasagna. Then decided if we rested for 20 minutes or so we could probably cram in some eclairs and cheesecake. So we got those things to go and went home to watch The Sopranos and drink some delicious dessert wine that came in a tiny, skinny, blue bottle. Karen is in the Wine-of-the-Month Club or something. As Tony lay dying, I stood up to do something, and noticed two big chocolate smears on the sofa where my butt had been. Sort of in the shape of V for (embarrassingly) Visible. Uh-oh. How did that happen? I say to the room, hoping someone will blame a cat. No one does. Well, I must have dropped some chocolate icing off of my eclair and then squished it around with my butt as I nervosusly rocked back and forth to the drama of Tony's coma.
Next day, we get in the car. I'm in the backseat. As Karen opens the passenger side door, where I had been sitting the night before, she says, "Oh no! What's that?" And without even looking, I know there is a big chocolate stain there, too, probably in the shape of Y for You Can't Take Me Anywhere. Karen says, "Is your butt made of chocolate?" And I say, "No, but that would be a great selling point." And she says, "Indeed." then shows me that the stain is not chocolate at all, or even a stain, but a weird shadow on the upholstery.
The expresso machine will pay for itself in like a month if it means you get coffee from home rather than running to Starbucks after catching the early run. And if you can use is to make iced lattes -- whoa, baby!
Oh! I'm inventing a drink called "By George!" It has 18 ingredients.
Do you, or should I, doubt that your dogs look better than the black void that your blog floats in? Lets have the dogs.
What's in the drink?
Ignatius? No, try again.
You should give driftwood the link to the dogs' pages on dogster.
Hey, Ohren misses you!
And the chocolate (the real chocolate) remains....I may never wash the couch cover, lest we forget that eclair. Nah.
Sorry 'bout the cat hair. George misses you, too.
Glad you're back in KS safely and glad that you got to visit us and see puppets and eat grits and glad you're my friend.
No apologies, Rush! When you visit my house you'll be able to knit yourself a sweater out of all the dog fur stuck to your clothes.
Come soon.
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