Vacuous

Silence has reigned supreme over here. I think because I am out of the blogging habit. Also, because I have had nothing of import to report, or rather, nothing funny. LB has started talking in her sleep which sends me into fits of giggles, but is not funny to the casual observer. I did have a mole removed on my knee that is "abnormal" and now a bigger chunk is going to be removed, which is totally hysterical, no? No? Oh, um, well. Peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time. Let's see, a while back we had a girls' weekend in Boston and went wedding dress shopping for Kay. It was a good time but I can't remember making an ass of myself in such way that would be worthy of blogging. Uh, I went to Florida to see Depeche Mode in concert. It was fun and I found out that I am attracted to rock stars who are gay and dance like gay men channeling Buffalo Bill (check out his dance around 2:17 and then 2:30, somehow it is hot on Dave Gahan and not so creepy, or maybe I am twisted, or both). Right. You don't want to hear me gush about Dave and his hot gay serial killer vibe like a thirteen year old girl rhapsodizing about ... Zac Efron? Who do thirteen year old girls rhapsodize about?

Despite the lack of funny, I have had some crazy. Well not Crazy, actually that is not true, I did get a note from Crazy. She forwarded me some junk mail with a note pointing out that Office Manager had failed to mail the stuff to me and congratulating me on The Deuce. I never mentioned that to OM, or even Kay, because I have decided not to share stuff that serves no purpose other than to hurt someone's feelings. Which sounds virtuous, but is not. Recently someone opined that I was "ripped off" on some repair work and I was really ticked. Why would you say that to someone? Let's assume that I did get ripped off, it's too late to do anything about it now. Do you honestly think that telling me that I was bent over is somehow constructive or going to benefit me in any way? No, you're telling me that to make yourself look good. You apparently know so much more that I do and would not have been ripped off. You are awesome and I am a schmuck. That is what you are saying. As it happens, I did not, in fact, get ripped off, I did get pissed though and have decided that I am better than this other person and so shall no longer say stuff that serves no purpose other than to make someone else feel like an assheel. So you see, this prohibition on sharing certain information is rather self-serving, and not virtuous. Also, for what it's worth, there is a good chance that someone at some point is going to piss me off and I am going to say something mean just to be mean because I am not virtuous and that is how I roll. Anyway, I digress. A lot. Though I got a letter from Crazy, it was sans gift, and not like the crazy I was going to share. Crazy, as in my own personal and not the person, has been visiting me in the late night hours and THAT is where I was intending to go.

You see, lately I have had the urge to spend. Or rather to buy. Stuff. Stuff I don't need, but I like and I want. Being 'retired' means that we are on a budget and I can't buy frivolous fun things a la Louis Vuitton. Well I could, but I'd be fiscally stupid, so I've restrained myself thus far. Also, I don't think I could sneak a purse, let alone a new car, by my husband without him noticing something was up and then I would have to explain and well, just no. So I've been good and not gone on a spending spree. That being said, from 4:00 a.m. to 6:30 a.m., when I am awaken with an urge to pee and am the unable to fall back asleep (DAMN YOU PREGNANCY INSOMNIA!), I try to plead with Lottery Karma. This is the part where I dance with crazy, not there part where I want to buy pretty things because really, that's not crazy. Anyway, at this queer time of the day ... morning ... night ... whatever, I explain to the voice in my head (a sign crazy could be in play), which I think that Lottery Karma (like Santa Claus? come on! crazy!) can hear, that I don't need to win hundreds of millions of dollars. No, I only need a few hundred thousand - after taxes of course - so that I can pay off our student loans, and mortgage, and car. It all seems so logical in the moment. I'm not being greedy. Just asking for a nugget to pay off our debt so that I can live a lifestyle that I'd like to live. Basically I am negotiating with my own inner monologue regarding a fictional influx of a large amount of money. Obviously this is crazy and I know it. This, however, will not stop my silent conversation tonight.