|
|
My way to celebrate the New Year? Hibernating on the futon all day long with my eyes open. The TV on from the moment I sorely awoke, to the time I crawled away to snooze. Oy. Sitting in one place for an entire day (outside of what I do at work), is something I never do. It became my penance for not throwing my shoes up, surviving the New Year's Alcohol Blitzkreig. Nothing like a new start, embracing one of the Seven Deadly Sins. That's how religious I am about imposed "new starts." However, I did manage to: �Witness Arsenal's dodgy thumping of Chelsea. �Thank my hosts for tolerating the previous night's delinquency. �Calm the hyperactivity of the "Apartment Cat Syndrome" with liberal application of the laser pointer--frustration of not being able to grab-and-slash is a great means to subdue the whirlwind. �Called a long-lost relative living outside of Hollywood, doing some major catching up... she gave me my first sportscar ride. Yes, I blame her. �Watch Iron Chef Ultimate Upsets. If only opera was like this, I'd be "cultured." �Began Season Three of the Sopranos. Good thing... network TV is abyssmal. Especially after seeing what Fox had to offer after the ball dropped yesterday. I swear, watching other people grinding gonads and swapping throat cultures makes me want to scrub with lysol. And check the TV for a quarter slot... I expected the monitor to shut off every ten minutes, until another coin went in (now THAT would be "Pay TV!)." �And, speaking of filth, the day-long monsoon (2" worth) caused the basement to fill with water... and funk. The stank seeped up through the floor... enough to gag a maggot. Strapped on the knee-high boots, reset the sump, and poured a bucket of Citrus disinfectant liberally throughout. Like gilding a turd. My home design will include bilge pumps from a tugboat. OK... that's over with. Time to get constructive, though it's still grey and uninviting outside. I've got ants in my pants. |
|
|
