Since I've had nothing particulary cohesive to write about this week, I thought I'd put together a list of some of the random things that have consumed me.
1. Is it wrong that I'm so sick of cleaning the litterboxes that I've given serious thought to getting pregnant for the sole purpose of avoiding this task?
2. After my "F Word Fiasco" (see Le Menaçant), I talked to Jason and it turns out he was also pretty disturbed. I wouldn't have predicted it in a million years but he suggested we try Pescetarianism for a month and see how it goes. This was feeling really good until I dreamed about being a professional taste tester for Bojangles and Chick-Fil-A and woke up in a cold sweat. Not about being disgusted by eating chicken. About the thought of never again tasting that little slice of heaven on a biscuit (A real Southern biscuit, mind you. Not cookies which the British very mistakenly refer to as biscuits.) Is there such a thing as "Pescetarian-except-for-delicious-southern-style-fried-chicken-on-a-fluffy-biscuit-ism"? (Mental note: Google "Pescetarian-except-for-delicious-southern-style-fried-chicken-on-a-fluffy-biscuit-ism". Duly noted.)
3. Although I look the same in photos (I think so anyway. If I'm not seeing it, somebody, for the love of Balenciaga, please tell me.) I know that I've put on a few pounds over the past year and a half. I'm still what most people would call "slim" but I need to drop a few. Not because I think I'm fat. Don't worry. I'm under no illusions of the "eating-disorder" sort. Simply because I've rendered precisely one half of my jeans wardrobe null and void. And I like to practice equal opportunity when it comes to casual wear. I've got about 4 pairs that are sitting sadly at the bottom of the denim pile due to natural selection and I feel just wretched about it everytime I open the closet and see them all sad-looking and still crisply folded.
4. There is a cream Marc Jacobs Stam at Matches here in Richmond on sale for half off and my gut wrenches a little bit everytime I think about some other gal getting her dirty mitts on it. Although I doubt many people with "dirty mitts" actually shop at Matches. In fact, I'm sure everyone's mitts are perfectly clean. Still. Be that as it may...
5. The other night at dinner, Jason was yammering on and on about something or other and I zoned out about 3/4 of the way through. I know. What a pleasant dinner companion I must be, no? But I was honest with him when it came to the point in his story (I use the word "story" quite loosely here. If it had been entertaining, I wouldn't have checked out.) when it became clear that I was supposed to comment on what he had said. I could have just said something non-commital like "Yeah, I know..." but I 'fessed up and told him I had been thinking about getting a flash memory stick so I could back up a document I'm working on in the event our Mac, god forbid, crashed. What do you think his response was? "Oh, well, that's ok then. Sometimes I think about flash memory too. Mainly, I just like that it's called 'Flash'."
And there you have it. That's what's been taking up space in my brain this week. I promise to do something more exciting soon. Even if it means resorting to putting my cats in compromising postions.