My lack-of-blogging is a real issue. A real depressing issue. One that obviously needs to be remedied with lots and lots of inspirational TED talks, Katy Perry songs that rhyme with “Tire-Twerk,” and probably some poetry and incense.
Back when I was in high school I would burn incense in my room and listen to weird Sitar music while reading Ayn Rand aloud. Somehow I need to get back to this level of soulfully cool sans the terrible philosophy.
I decided to write some poetry so I can re-stoke my dormant creative genius:
Title: “What the eff has happened to my self-discipline and desire to do something with my life other than be a sensible professional who uses the word Fiduciary?”
Send me an e-mail
Now I have sixty e-mails
I feel important
Title: “Pretending like I don’t have other pursuits in my life is destroying my sense of self.”
Dear man who hired me
It’s not that I lied to you
Title: “Performance Review.”
Work on the weekend?
That sound you hear is my laugh
All up in yo face
Okay, I’m being melodramatic. Good things have still been happening:
There wasn’t anyone waiting to serve me and see to my every need when we checked into our hotel in Kansas. So I helped myself to every unlocked door I could find, wandered around their offices, and took a dubious selfie with the award they most certainly don’t deserve:
Look at Alex’s face. This is the face of First World Problems.
It’s possible I kept up my decade-long tradition of weeping on Christmas and spending the day foraging for fast food. BUT I also sent my first Christmas card ever:
And Alex got to experience Christmas with my family:
I try to take photos of it, but there’s always someone taking a dump on my best laid plans.
Someone shared this meme in my favorite Facebook group. I don’t know why I find it so hilarious. Alex doesn’t know either. Our marriage is on the rocks because of this.
Zola had no idea I’d given her exactly what she’d been whining after for an hour. Ask yourself– is it possible the pizza you seek is already on your head, but you’re so accustomed to mistreatment that you can’t see it?
These are the only two things I actually need in order to keep functioning.
I was admiring Anna Palmer’s fab ice bucket, sure it was some sort of Goop-endorsed contraption that costs more than I make in a year. Turns out it’s actually a light fixture she’s been carrying from house to house, intending to use in a laundry room. Instead she flipped it upside down in the sink and put some flashing multi-colored kid’s toy in the bottom.
This is what happens when the mood strikes and you don’t let the dog participate. She destroys everything that’s ever come in contact with food, but is still conscientious enough to remove a full cup of lemonade from the sack so it doesn’t spill.
This about covers the last month of my life.
What’s been going on with you guys?
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