Dodging Bullets.

Seriously. Pull some Matrix moves and avoid this post.

• Cat update: they’re either sleeping or destroying my personal effects. So in other words, they’re doing GREAT!
• Monday night’s bedtime story involved me dramatically explaining to Henry the extent of my fatness. “The shape of my body is like if a barrel burst open and sludge started spilling out.” Henry, still taken aback at my comparisons after all these years, said, “…..no. You’re not a barrel of sludge…?” And you know what that “…..” signifies? HESITATION. Because in the span of those dot-dot-dots, Henry was visualizing my naked body side-by-side with a busted barrel of sludgey blubber and he had to THINK about whether or not the dancing twin girls emoji could be applied. “I don’t think that’s what I was doing,” he mumbled, knowing he was a dead man no matter what he said at that point. Unable to let it go, I went on. “I’m like one of those cans of Pillsbury biscuits, after it cracks open and dough floods out. Don’t touch my stomach. That’s where most of the spillage is,” I warned as I swatted his hand away. “Oh my god,” he Bob’s Burgered.

• February’s Unbirthday Gift from GAYLE made up for the fact that she’s trying to steal my desk. Obviously the crown stickers are on point but those band-aids, though! I am ALWAYS in need of band-aids. In fact, I was wearing one on my middle finger the day Gayle gave me this stuff because I injured myself in the kitchen before leaving the house that morning. And I used my last Candyland bandaid so basically it was to the point where if I cut myself at work, I’d just have to bleed out I guess. Not anymore! My only beef is that the Dr. Care bandaids have hockey players on the front of the box but THERE ARE NO HOCKEY BANDAIDS INSIDE. False advertisement! I’m going to give all the football ones to Todd because I rather WOULD just bleed out than wrap my wound in any sort of FOOTBALL print. Ugh. Ew. No.

• We had lunch with BARB on Saturday, and I didn’t really notice it until after but Chooch actually LET US TALK. I think it was probably because he was insanely hungry (he ordered breakfast and made sure the waitress knew that it was because HIS PARENTS HADN’T FED HIM BREAKFAST THAT DAY) and really focused on feeding his face, completing the kids activities on the place mat, and fashioning this giant straw with which to siphon my water after he ran out of his own beverage.
  • However, I can tell that Chooch really likes Barb because he’s such a little dick to her. Barb kept asking the waitress to bring her check separately, and then Henry would say, “Nope, just bring one” and this went on and on until Barb finally quit caring and thanked Henry for lunch. “I don’t know what you’re thanking him for,” Chooch deadpanned. “You’re paying for everyone.”
    • And then she gave him tickets to the Pens game because his sarcastic behavior is endearing to some.

• This Facebook post & comment from Chooch cracks me up. Now I want Henry to make a Service Playlist on Spotify. I know for sure CHEAP TRICK will be on it because he saw them in a BAR in TEXAS while IN THE SERVICE. #JudistPriest
  • Speaking of Henry and music, I asked him to name five bands I like that he likes too and he actually started doing it, but then said it would be easier to name the bands I like that he hates, and without hesitation he said La Dispute. So sad. But on a happier note, this just means that he must actually LIKE most of the bands I like?!

• Above, you will see the only succulent stash that those asshole cats haven’t sniffed out yet. KNOCKONWOOD. This morning, I realized some of my succulents are MISSING from the windowsill. THEN I noticed FRAGMENTS of the POTS on the floor, hidden behind the beverage buffet. SOMEONE is covering for the CATS.
  • And it’s not Henry. I called him on my way to the trolley and screamed my face off at him and he was like, “what the fuck are you talking about??”
    • Those cats are so fucking cute but SO ARE MY SUCCULENTS.

• This morning at work we were talking about The Walking Dead. Amber2 was like, “They’re all going to die anyway. They should just give up” and Glenn snapped, “You have to have hope!” Who knew he felt so strongly about the zombie apocalypse? Anyway, I considered Amber’s statement and couldn’t help but agree with her. “Yeah, what would I really have to live for?” I asked myself out loud. “There wouldn’t be any concerts to go to.” Glenn piped up, “And no Henry to serve you.” Excitedly, I asked, “OMG do you guys think I would really outlive Henry in the zombie apocalypse?” That was met with a collective and resounding NO.
  • For the record, I don’t disagree.

• Thanks to everyone who has been reading Chooch’s story that he started writing as a punishment for duping us into purchasing designer jelly beans but is now so thoroughly immersed in the process of story crafting that he’s on the SIXTH “chapter”! He sits down all on his own and starts typing away, pausing occasionally to ask for spelling help or for synonym suggestions. (“I don’t want to use ‘said’ like every time!” he said, and I clutched my heart as it nearly exploded with pride. Sigh. Hopefully his love for writing doesn’t turn into a dead-end like mine did.)
  • Speaking of, I allowed myself to be That Person who commits to something and then quits. I had to bow out of the annual Pittsburgh blog swap thing because I’m just not feeling it and I don’t want to contribute some half-assed piece of uninspired garbage which is essentially what this dump of a blog has turned into and I’m really sorry for that. My attention span is not great these days/months/years.
• In happier news, my knuckles have been providing some SATISFYING cracks all day today. Those and deep sighs are the secrets to my success, whatever you consider my “success” to be.

• Out of the blue last night, I asked Henry if he remembered the moment he told his mom that I was pregnant (with Chooch; I’m not presently incubating anything other than a loaf of strong self-loathing), and then I took it upon myself to guess how he said it. “‘Great. My fat gf is having a baby, mom’,” I mimicked him in my best “choking on a dick” tone that I reserve for all of my Henry Impressions. And he said, “Yeah that’s exactly how I said it. ‘Mom, my Pillsbury Doughgirl is pregnant.” And then I cried myself to sleep.
• Henry “went to the store” to “buy screws” last week and was gone for over an hour. Totally cheating on me. Insert “long screw” jokes here.
  • I didn’t even ask to see said “screws” when he finally “came home.” I AM SO DEAD INSIDE.
    • But then I look at THIS and I’m alive again:

Ciao forever? Or ciao for now. *DEEP SIGH/KNUCKLECRACK*