SOOOO Much Room For Pics of Vigoda

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Here I am, about to start making out with my recovery disk. Them’re BONA-FEE-DAY crazy eyes. YEEEHAWWW

SHE’S BACK!

I have to confess, though, there is a part of me that will miss AbacusTop, who was a good boy in my time of struggle. Now I can transfer my old HP files, including novel in progress, which I have been working on like whoa since AbacusTop wouldn’t let me look at Hulu. Hur.

I have a Blogher article due today, which I am almost finished with, and I hope I can squeak it in before midnight after my dinner party tonight. What with the technology and this headcold, life is wacky. Also, I did a tidy bedmaking this morning and discovered that I got peanut sauce all over my white quilt. I have become an indolent pig now that it’s just me and the cat and my laptop and my phone and a dirty child sock and nine books and three issues of the New Yorker in the bed. They don’t tell tales. I guess I do, though.

I am home alone this weekend. TOTALLY ALONE. Children are out of town! I am going to catch up with friends, write, work, and attend a film lecture. Woot I am as fun as watching paint dry.

xoxo Asshole Girl

ETA:

36 thoughts on “SOOOO Much Room For Pics of Vigoda”

  1. FUCK YEAH! Weekend child free:::that is like whoa, dude. To say that I am jealous would be a huge understatement. I loves loves loves to be in the house by myself. Have big fun.

  4. dammit i wish i had the cajones to go all pink-i-fied with my hair like you. child free, what is that you speak of? i have not known that phenomenon for 6 years. perchance to dream. or live vicariously thru you.

  6. In your place, I think I might’ve been tempted to sign fair Strudel’s note “ET.” It’s just a mood/tone thing, though…

    Ah, yes, I remember weekends free. Then they grew up, and it is every weekend free. Except like this one, wherein dual, bicoastal rescues have taken up the day so far. Boy child the elder is by you (in Lynwood) and 3000 miles from me whilst the economy careers headlong into the nearest wall. And he and his sweet wife and their tiny babe really should not be punished so for it.

    Boy child the younger is 300 miles away in the other direction, hoping to prove to himself that if he can make it THERE, he’ll make it AN-y-WHERE! but his day job at which he speaks a remarkably-articulate French all day (thank the goddess for second majors) affords him too little cash to pay his bills and EAT and too little time to write so far, after five months in the city.

    I, here, and their father, bite our tongues rather than make them feel inadequate, so we do not urge them home, where they could bring some bustle and flow back into this too big and too quiet home and worry us less and humor us more. And, oh!, the times we’d have with that grandbaby!

    Give Franny and Strudel an extra-long hug when they get home–or get on over to Lynwood and squeeze some of my family for me, m’kay?

  8. So I read that as “I got peanut sauce all over my white Guilt,” and I thought, “You got your chocolate in my minority entitlement!”

    I am a product of my teevee. I do not deny it.

  9. I suppose it was somewhat naive of me to think that Franny and Strudel were their real names.

  10. Of course you are always lovely but you are looking extra bee-yoo-ti-mus in that picture up there. What color are your eyes? Grey? I think the CD is setting them off specially or something.

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