Why do I have such deep desires to bathe in milk chocolate, decorate my bathroom in Reese’s PB Cup wallpaper, and wear cocoa bean perfume? Because life can get crazy.
I have piles of stuff sitting everywhere. I didn’t always have piles all over the place, but now I do. I have piles on my piles. And sometimes I move things from one pile to the next or I try to color coordinate the piles. I’ve done my best to make every pile look pretty. How are your piles? Are yours prettier than mine?
I’ve almost killed the African dwarf frogs, Warren and Beatty. I thought I’d read somewhere that they enjoy sunshine and so it became my part-time job to move them from sunny spot to sunny spot. As you know we’ve been sunbathing together. Then the other day Warren got all puffy and in my panic I searched the Internet. African dwarf frogs aren’t supposed to be put in the direct sun. It’s bad for them. Ooops. Those frogs have not seen the sun for 48 hours now and Warren has begun to de-puff himself. Please keep him in your prayers.
I wanted to order a trendy Our Lady of Guadalupe necklace for my niece. I’m her godmother and am expected to influence her soul until she turns 18. That’s a big job. I found the Guadalupe necklace in a catalog that is like ‘Oriental Trader for Catholics.’ You can’t believe what you can find in there. I placed the order and then a few hours later tried to add a few more blessed tchotchkes, but the line was busy. So I called back this morning to make the additions. Then I decided to purchase Our Lady of the Annunciation versus Our Lady of Guadalupe. Their lady—the woman at the other end of the 800 number recognized my voice when I called back and said, “Is this Lori?” When your voice is recognized by an 800 number lady, you are in trouble. She did, however, say that she liked me and that I could call her anytime–even if I don’t want to order anything. Her name is Debbie and she has four teenagers.
I’m finding grease spots on all my clothes. Blue cheese dripped out of my burger the other day and landed on my favorite pair of jeans. I can’t get the damn spot out. On another favorite sparkly top I found seven dark yellow mystery stains. Did I accidentally tinkle on myself? Joyce sometimes wears a bib because her bodacious boobies catch lots of drips and slurps. Do I need to start wearing a bib? How do you get tough stains out? I’ve tried Shout, but the stains keep shouting back at me and won’t budge. If I have to begin sporting a bib, here are a few I like:
Yesterday I looked out my window and a little girl drove by on her tricycle wearing a large pink tutu. True confession: I was jealous. I muttered to myself, “Well, look at her.” I want to ride a tricycle wearing a pink tutu, too.
I’m starting to curse more often in Joyceland. It helps my self-esteem. The Bobster has always maintained that Joyce can talk truck driver better than most truck drivers. I guess it’s in my blood and can’t be avoided. Joyce says, “There’s no reason to get your tit in a wringer over that one.”
Are you there, chocolate? It’s just me calling again. I think I’m going to nestle myself into a tub of Girl Scout cookies. The Thin Mints are absolutely refreshing.