I am craving Taco Bell like you read about. A double-decker taco, and a chicken quesadilla. And a large Pepsi, because there’s just something about the fountain Pepsi at “our” Taco Bell that’s just perfect. They’ve got their mix down, they do. Not too sweet, not too fizzy, and crushed ice instead of cubes.
At the moment, I’m contenting myself with salt-n-vinegar kettle cooked Lay’s potato chips, but they’re hitting a different spot (read: my ass) than the spot that I want the Taco Bell to hit (read: my thighs). Mama’s hitting the drive-thru tonight!
Woke up from a nap a few minutes ago. Cheeto gets the fuzzy end of the lollipop when I take a nap – I turn off the tank light closest to me (their tanks are next to my side of the bed) and close the blind of the window behind their tanks, to darken (it is too a word!) the room enough for me to sleep. Which puts him in a premature sleep cycle himself. Then I wake up, a half-hour or hour later, turn the light back on, open the blinds, and Cheeto blinks at me, all, “What the fuck, woman?”
It’s shameful that I let him talk to me like that.
I’ve decided that it’s time to join the world of grown-ups, and stop working from home in my jammies with my laptop on my lapdesk, on my lap, on the couch.
In short, I need a home office. Which will in no way stop me from working in my jammies.
Marie’s vacant bedroom is suggesting itself to me. It’s away from the television, away from our bedroom, away from shiny distractions that distract with all the distracting. It has an adjacent bathroom. It’s bright and sunny in the daytime, and I can lock the cats out. One of these days (tomorrow, maybe? Monday?) I’ll get up there and clean and move furniture around and set myself up on the desk up there.
We have the first disc of season one of Dexter from Netflix. I plan to drink copious amounts of rum (“Why is the rum gone?”) and watch a few episodes to decide if I want another show to obsess over. We got a bottle of Captain Morgan’s Private Stock last night, and intend to make hefty inroads through it.
(“But why is the rum gone?”)
Made YET ANOTHER mix CD last night (we save ’em all, and they rival the number of regular CD’s we own), and drove around town with the windows down and the tunes UP. Jane hung out next to Shake That and Hey Pretty. Our mix CD’s frequently suffer from an identity crisis.
If you had to choose, would you go see “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” tonight, or “I Love You, Man”?
Calvin and I are going to take a short road trip tomorrow, to get more pictures and word fodder for an Uptake entry I have an idea for. In the meantime, I wrote this one today. In my jammies. On the couch. If you’re interested.