There I was -- 9:30 a.m. wearing a deep v-neck, royal blue short-shorts, and rubber gloves. I was cleaning. I'm a good housewife. My ex-girlfriend came back from NYC this afternoon and, being in the top 1 percentile of house-sitters this city has to offer, had to make the place sparkle. I sort of forgot to change the cat litter for most of the week, because while we were dating, she manned the Kitty-Lavatory-Station. Needless to say it wasn't pretty. Actually, supplanting beauty or lack thereof was the the full-on litter transfer. By the end of it I was choking on Clay Litter Fumes, in tandem with the pungent vinegar-knives of cat piss repeatedly stabbing me in the eye.
Slow news day in Healthy Book Club you ask? Not so much, just beat-down from the myriad of errands appearing and reappearing: it's really cutting down on my looking at myself in the mirror time. I do, in fact, look at myself in the mirror far too much. I have a psychological issue that defies Narcissism.
I'm actually stealing an idea -- from myself -- and writing a song about Mexican Drug Lords battling Somali Pirates in the vein of West Side Story. Primarily, the music focuses on Jet's Song and America. Are there Zombies? Of course there are!
I'm afraid we're out of time: I have a hair appointment @ 2. Soon I'll be astride Blue Velvet, burning up the Chicago streets, hopefully not getting hit by open car doors post-park. The taste of hummus in my mouth has overstayed its welcome.
xoxox,
m
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