Monday, July 16, 2007

Your Mom is a Whorecrux

I. In Which Our Heroine Decides Not To Bike To Work Today

And with good reason, having spent the majority of yesterday squatting 6 inches off the ground in order to hammer tiny nail slivers into poorly constructed Swedish plywood.

The result? A purple thumb, hamstring malfunctions, and an uncontrollable twitch every time she sees an Allen wrench.


II. In Which Our Heroine Eats Two Chocolate Bars in One Evening.


Cheaper than therapy, though therapy doesn't often result in replacing your entire Slim Fit jeans collection with XXL wide-ass sweatpants. (Except when you do aversion therapy, and you're averse to being force fed.)

III. In Which Our Heroine Goes to Many Activities In Which To Meet Like-Minded Souls

Ganache? Bikram? Films Without Words? Films With Words? Filmmakers? A Feeltank? Senior Citizens Discussing Woolf? Senior citizens discussing food? Mousetraps? Stories and wine? Science and wine? Stories and themes? Stories and Viewfinders? Music? Chef training? Volunteering? Hula-hooping? And of course, the biking and frisbee....

She looks up. There's a metal object on the floor. It's L-shaped. Tiny. Twitch. Twitch.

No comments: