Ok, first a clarification, Monitor remembers Alice having her own bathroom off her bedroom by the laundry room. And then I recalled an episode which had Mr. Brady brushing his teeth while talking with Carol, who was reading in bed. Thus, a third bathroom in the Brady household. I shall doubt Mike’s credibility as an architect no longer.
A new sign of aging noticed today. Actually, I have been noticing this over the last few months. I am developing Alzheimer’s disease. I’ve been losing the ability to spell. Homonyms are constantly being swapped (“won” instead of “one”, “hear” instead of “here”). And it’s not typos or feeble fingers, as I type all day at work. I think I disrupted the Brocha’s Area of my brain somewhere along the line. See, all those times hitting the headboard with my head… I knew it would catch up to me. And the brain cells I lost during my high school years. This is all the fault of the boyfriend I had when I was 17. He is singularly responsible for billions of my brain cells lost. It’s a wonder I can function whatsoever. So when you see things mispelled in this here diary, please say a silent prayer for my disabled synapses and hope that I don’t wander into traffic someday.
Also, not two seconds ago, someone came by and said “We have a meeting?” and I looked all flustered and said “Meeting?” and they said “It is 8 o’clock, isn’t it?”, so I gathered up my stuff and wandered back to the VP’s office. And guess what. I wasn’t supposed to be there. Nope. Not at all. And I blushed and made a lame excuse about getting old and then wandered back to my desk. But you know what? I seriously thought I had forgotten a meeting and I was just FAKING it. Now my rosacea’s all flared up and I can feel a pustule forming, I just know it. I’m going to be a W.C. Field’s-looking, disoriented freak, I tell you!
The new issue of “Grogan’s” hits the newstands within days. If you like Fantasy Football, or even if you don’t, feel free to pick up an issue for your reading enjoyment. And when I say enjoyment, I mean “sex” because it’s filled with sex and lusty women. Well, one lusty woman, at least. Ok, it’s really a lusty man named Frank. And actually, he doesn’t feel all that lusty, but with modern medicine being what it is, he’s feeling quite optimistic. But it’s a good read nonetheless. And it’s got my article in it about breaking gender stereotypes. Me and Gloria Steinem, baby. We’re like sistahs.
And here’s a hip tip for you: elsewhere in the issue, there is an interview with a resident of Green Bay named Lola. I can’t ethically reveal who Lola is, but let me tell you one thing: occaisionally I like to dance the marenge with yellow feathers in my hair and a dress cut down to there. That’s all you’re getting.
My, doesn’t that bring up the mental picture?
Planning continues for Birthday Spectacular’ party to bring Birthweek 30 to a close. It’s this Saturday at Esteban’s parent’s house. I guess it will be a bigger thang than I originally realized. They’re renting tables. Tables! Such extravagance. I’m not sure about the chair situation. I’m not involved…. I just invite.
And speaking of invitations, if you are interested in hanging out Saturday with the Weetabix cast and crew in scenic Green Bay, Wisconsin, send me an email and I’ll get you directions. No stalkers, though, please. Esteban would not be amused.
I recently discovered that a feather duster is considered a sex toy by some people. A sex toy.
Personally, I can think of nothing that would turn me on more than having a man dust my house. Really.
Whoooo. I get steamy just thinking about it.
