Lately

I got up early this morning, all bright and perky and ready to run, hooray! And then I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and idly picked up Harry Potter, thinking oh yes, I’ll just read a few sentences before I go! Yes! And then I perched myself on the edge of the bathtub for something like an hour and a half, and actually considered calling in sick to work, because Jesus, I can’t just leave it hanging like this, I SIMPLY CANNOT.

I did, ultimately, and I think it was a healthy decision, because calling in Harry Potter is generally considered bad form. However, I’m totally rushing through this blog post, because Jesus, there are Deathly Hallows to be read about! And then also, I am basically leaving you until Monday, because half of you will be at BlogHer, and I will have a houseguest, and there are sheets to wash and there is wine to buy and there is … well, there is hand-wringing, as I always panic that there will be something unforgivable, like cat puke on the guest pillows or something. And um, that’s totally possible, by the way, given that God, I keep finding these giant cigar-like hairballs all OVER the damn place, Jesus, does he hork ALL THE TIME? (Yes, yes he does, I suppose.)

(Update: shortly after I hit ‘publish’, I shit you not, he horked in my bed. I am now, um, changing the sheets. I LOVE YOU CAT. THANKS A BUNDLE FOR MAKING ME SOME KIND OF PROPHET, I APPRECIATE IT.)

Also, in random useless advice that you all totally knew and I didn’t, did you realize that running at night and then getting up the next morning to run will actually make your legs fall off, because oh, it is FAR TOO SOON? Yes, yes it will. The remainder of my legs are currently about three blocks away, and the meat has been plucked off by hungry pit bulls.

“I have no legs! I have no legs!”

(Quick: name that movie!)

Adam is traveling, and though I have no reason to be afraid, because oh my God, my neighbors are about three inches from me, and I bet if I banged on the wall, they’d totally come running, that doesn’t stop me from coming up with elaborate and detailed schemes of exactly how I’d get out of the house if someone came into the house with a gun or a knife — for some reason, the knife is always more likely in my um, fantasies? That can’t be right. But anyway, someone’s always breaking in with a knife, and I’m always seeing the shine of the knife out of the corner of my eye after hearing the creak of the stairs and I am TOTALLY PREPARED in the event of a knife sighting. Basically, I plan to hurl myself out of the window onto the roof and scream like a fool until someone gets me down. If I must, I will shimmy down the drainpipe, but that is only under the most extreme of circumstances, like if he’s a knife thrower or something. Or, you know, has a gun.

And while you think I’m kidding, I actually practiced how to do it. I can get the window open in 2.8 seconds, and be shimmying in four. So um, there. Knife throwers beware. Enter at your own peril, because I will RUN from your ass, assuming someone can get me some prosthetic legs, as mine have been devoured, if you recall.

Finally, because I’m sorry, look, it’s been a slow week, and absolutely nothing has been going on other than cleaning, running and oh holy shit, Harry Potter, I have to point out that Ilan from Top Chef Season Two is a douchebag. A giant, steaming douchebag (I don’t think douchebags steam. Do they? Oh my God, what a wretched image! IT STEAMS. And it’s giant! What could possibly go with a GIANT, STEAMING DOUCHEBAG? Please, someone stop the mental imagery.) (I’m sorry. Ew.) I knew it then, and tonight’s special confirmed it. And Micah! Oh, Micah. You, too, are a douchebag, though perhaps a chilled one that is less … hulking in size … but you are, oh you are, and an ignorant one at that, and oh my, did you look stupid.

Happy rest of the week! See you Monday!

*David Gray

26 comments July 25th, 2007