i woke up with pissy pants two days ago. yup. seriously. i'd not pissed the bed since days of toilet training. i took two mgs of melatonin in liquid form before sleeping, knowing full well that it was probably too high a dose because liquids are assimilated into your system very very quickly and efficiently. melatonin's a hormone that helps you fall quickly into a deep, natural state of sleep. now even tho i woke at least once in the night, i apparently didn't have to pee or didn't bother until my unconscious and apparently ultra-relaxed bladder told my body that all systems were a go for pissing. i was mildly embarassed and didn't tell the boys until the end of the day, upon which they both enjoyed a round of hardy chortling as i joined them.
my walk home from work on sunday allowed me to close the chapter on the curious mini flags i'd been seeing as i whizzed by (perpetually late for work). after three or four walks past them, taking miniscule observations each time, i realized now that the mini flags bore an image of our favourite dimbulb president complete with the everpresent jerky ignorant cuss expression under which the url www.pooprotest.com was written. oh yes, and the flags were mounted in dog feces, hence poop protest. it was fucking absurdly hilarious.
yesterday was a day of playing catch with a 55" exerise ball with our feet and choosing hypothetical wild acryllic nailjobs and buying an aquamarine and cobat blue porpoise toothbrush with a suction cup for the low, low price of $1.49 and beating records that can only be beat by yourself. we baked a top effin' notch onion pie. i had to make pastry for said pie, and instead of using my intuition and not pouring nearly a cup of cold water into my near-perfect flour/salt/marg mixture, i did. "this isn't even DOOOOUGH!" i howled, and was met with laughter and a comparison to lucille ball. so i effed around with it, added more kamut flour and fat, and eventually came up with something that altho far from pastry, was, er, some unreasonable facsimile. i'd now made way too much, so added cinnamon and raisins and wasted not and wanted not by forming them into bread cookies that went over swimmingly, despite his usual despisal of the taste of my sweet wheat, kamut. before we even tasted the pie, we decided that the accidental bread cookies were worth the potential pie failure. to be fair, i believe ech may have originally made bread cookies worth the effort in july. anyway, the pie was the christly bomb, despite the bastardly shite british measuring conversion process which i blame for potentially mucking up my pastry.
nothing is cooler than blogging in my bed listening to slayer. i have kindly been given access to two new pieces of shoddy techinology- this sketch laptop that has a couple of sticky keys and a screen that fades, as well as a discman whose headphones are broken and have to be stuck under a tight hat. i complain not, tho-- i am used to broken things. in the case that objects i'm using are perfectly useful and smooth sailing, i begin to question their charm and integrity. normally, i lose access to them. i am not meant to have nice things.
waking up pre-crack o'dawn is, well, difficult when it's been a while. it used to be a mainstay when i hated my job in tantallon, and many days last summer it's when i went to bed. this morning, p.c.o.d was tolerable with the buddy-system and a steamy shower. it's like nine o'clock and i've gotten so much done and shit. so as i sit here with seasons in the abyss metlin' up my tiny chamber and cotton with colloidal silver and sea salt attempting to draw a potential infection from a pussy pussy wound from an ingrown vday suprise, i bid you good effin' day.
my walk home from work on sunday allowed me to close the chapter on the curious mini flags i'd been seeing as i whizzed by (perpetually late for work). after three or four walks past them, taking miniscule observations each time, i realized now that the mini flags bore an image of our favourite dimbulb president complete with the everpresent jerky ignorant cuss expression under which the url www.pooprotest.com was written. oh yes, and the flags were mounted in dog feces, hence poop protest. it was fucking absurdly hilarious.
yesterday was a day of playing catch with a 55" exerise ball with our feet and choosing hypothetical wild acryllic nailjobs and buying an aquamarine and cobat blue porpoise toothbrush with a suction cup for the low, low price of $1.49 and beating records that can only be beat by yourself. we baked a top effin' notch onion pie. i had to make pastry for said pie, and instead of using my intuition and not pouring nearly a cup of cold water into my near-perfect flour/salt/marg mixture, i did. "this isn't even DOOOOUGH!" i howled, and was met with laughter and a comparison to lucille ball. so i effed around with it, added more kamut flour and fat, and eventually came up with something that altho far from pastry, was, er, some unreasonable facsimile. i'd now made way too much, so added cinnamon and raisins and wasted not and wanted not by forming them into bread cookies that went over swimmingly, despite his usual despisal of the taste of my sweet wheat, kamut. before we even tasted the pie, we decided that the accidental bread cookies were worth the potential pie failure. to be fair, i believe ech may have originally made bread cookies worth the effort in july. anyway, the pie was the christly bomb, despite the bastardly shite british measuring conversion process which i blame for potentially mucking up my pastry.
nothing is cooler than blogging in my bed listening to slayer. i have kindly been given access to two new pieces of shoddy techinology- this sketch laptop that has a couple of sticky keys and a screen that fades, as well as a discman whose headphones are broken and have to be stuck under a tight hat. i complain not, tho-- i am used to broken things. in the case that objects i'm using are perfectly useful and smooth sailing, i begin to question their charm and integrity. normally, i lose access to them. i am not meant to have nice things.
waking up pre-crack o'dawn is, well, difficult when it's been a while. it used to be a mainstay when i hated my job in tantallon, and many days last summer it's when i went to bed. this morning, p.c.o.d was tolerable with the buddy-system and a steamy shower. it's like nine o'clock and i've gotten so much done and shit. so as i sit here with seasons in the abyss metlin' up my tiny chamber and cotton with colloidal silver and sea salt attempting to draw a potential infection from a pussy pussy wound from an ingrown vday suprise, i bid you good effin' day.
1 comment:
Piss and pussy? Fantastic! Glad to hear you're doing well...?
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