This week I managed to dig around in the yard a bit, plant two clematis plants, had a strange bit of musical chairs with trellises (the first one was way too short and the clematis topped it in three days, then the trellis assortment at three different stores was either vomity or too twee. I just want some 1940’s looking trellis, ok? Is that so hard? Because it’s bad enough that I have someone’s failed deck project for a front porch, can’t I have a nice age-appropriate trellis for the clematis trying to disguise said front porch? Apparently the answer to that is ‘No, I can’t’) and also made a pot of chili. A very productive week. I avoided the (fucking) laundry like an overly-aggressive aunt who sells Herbalife. (Speaking of which, I tried that Herbalife shit many years ago because Esteban’s friend’s wife was selling it and I do not know how to say ‘No’ to anyone who is nice. I even tried their shake powder crap. It tasted like it was shredded loose leaf paper. I tried making some kind of rice krispie bar out of it, which was peanut butter and honey and rice krispies and also the mix, and it made that taste like shit too. Which is just wrong, because honey and peanut butter and rice krispies is part of what made me fat in the first place. That and the NBC 1984-1992 fall line ups. Fat doesn’t kill people. Cosby kills people.) And almost impulse-purchased a Maytag Neptune washer because I saw a commercial that claimed it could hold more (fucking) laundry and then I wouldn’t have to complete the (fucking) Task of Sisyphus dragging the smelly stuff down the stairs and the stuff that needs to be folded up the stairs. Esteban talked me down from that ledge, then shrugged and reminded me that I handle the cash in our family and if I wanted the washing machine badly enough, we should go for it. I debated and will mull it over, because I suspect that 3.7 cubic feet of space isn’t going to make $1000 dollars of impact. Maybe if it was the size of one of those big wine vats and I could hire some woman to stomp around on Esteban’s dirty boxer shorts. Hello porn demographic! So yeah, other than that, I did nothing but work and sleep, with one quick jump in the pool to maintain my nice base of burn.
I completed a 50.7 ounce bottle of Smart Water between lunch and quitting time today. This shouldn’t really impress me, but it does. The Smart Water jug is really big. It towers over the formerly heavy hitting 1L Dasani bottles on my desk, a veritable bottled water graveyard, with several half-finished bottles of Dasani (what am I saving them for? Once they go room temperature, they are dead to me), lesser bottles of the free stuff my employer sometimes doles out, the strangely soapy tasting Aquafina (yes, I know, supposedly it’s totally pure H20 and not H1.50C or whatever it is that comes in a bottle of Evian, but it still tastes like astronaut water) that I get from the cafeteria vending machines when I am really desperate. I haven’t had any Diet Coke this week. Yes. I’m on one of those kicks again. Wait. I just lied. I had three. I’ve got nutrasweet blackouts now. I should probably seek help.
