So. Let's get things back to as normal as they get around this lunatic asylum, right? I mean, it's what Stewie would have wanted. So what else has been going on? Who the hell knows, my cat was sick!
No really, I am in for it this weekend because the v.v. gorgeous and divine Miss Laroux and Miss ElleVee are coming to visit, and that means SLEEPOVER!! Debauchery and sin! Pillow fights in our underpants! We'll all shower together! It's gonna be JUST like a porno, rilly.
NO NOT REALLY. What will really happen is that we will wear our nightpants the whole time and cook some foods and watch a lot of movies and teevee. Because that's what happens when you come to the Banshee household. No regular pants allowed, only nightpants, and the sloth dumps on top of you like so much Nickelodeon green slime as soon as you walk through the door, making it impossible to do anything but laze about, drink coffee and watch television. It's a proven science fact that I just made up.
So I'm terribly excited about that, and it's a short visit (boo!) but it's a visit (yay!) and some things can truly get back to "normal" around the asylum.
SPEAKING OF NOT NORMAL, you all know that I can't go anywhere without random people talking crazy to me, right? Of course not, that's why I don't leave the house. Crazy people (let's be fair, OTHER crazy people) LOVE me, and they want to TALK. Woot! So of course, going to Walgreens yesterday to pick up some of my brain pillz had to take a weird turn. Naturally.
I'm sitting patiently at the pharmacy and the young lady next to me commented on my hoodie, which had "Boston" emblazoned on it. She asked if I was from MA, and I said no, that I had lived there for six years, four for undergrad and two for grad, and she said that she ALSO went to grad school in Boston, and long story long, she went to the ever fabulous (at least it was in the mid-late 90s) Emerson College, which is my alma mater, and I heart those memories something fierce, so we were chatting about how college degrees mean nothing anymore, that I'm a writer now, which was not only NOT what I studied in college, but not what I studied in grad school EITHER, and she said she was just laid off from a cubicle job, so…Yay Emerson? Whatever, I had WAY too much fun there.
So I'm having this lovely conversation with this chick, and this WEIRD CRAZY DUDE is eavesdropping, which I cannot fault him for, because I eavesdrop all the time, but then he had the nerve to BUTT INTO our conversation and say that he ALSO was a writer, and was writing a self-help book and did I want to know more about it?
No, the answer is no, I did not.
But prattle on he did, and I was VERY POLITE and the poor Emerson girl was left in the dust and I felt really bad, but as the dude was going ON AND ON about self-improvement or some crap, my Prozac was ready, thank Jeebie, and I bolted. He was in the middle of getting a notebook out of his bag when I ran, and dudes? I don't even want to know.
So there you go. I attract weirdos, my awesome friends are coming over, I can't stop cleaning (you could EAT off my toilet, I swear to gawd) everything is as okay as it can be without my special little man around. I miss him so much, you guys. But we stagger blindly on, and that's just the way it is.
Dancing With the Stars recap up HERE