This is me, sicky icky…
I’ve been staring at Fifty’s fur piling up on the floor because I don’t have the energy to vacuum. If I open the window with Le Mistral blowing, I can act like I’m Forrest Gump, watching that feather float away, except the feather is a big chunk of Fifty’s fur. I swear if he keeps this up, he’s going to need some Rogaine. And also, for any of you dog owners out there, are your dogs little piggy wiggies when they eat? Because Fifty likes to get the food in his mouth, step away from his bowl, and then chew, with his mouth open and let crumbs fall to the floor all around him. It’s gross. And then sometimes, afterwords, he’ll look at you, and burp… loudly. Double gross. And you don’t even want to see him drink water, it’s like Niagara Falls off the sides of his mouth. Do you think there might be etiquette classes for dogs?
I’ve been spending some time with the new TV that was delivered this week. It’s great because our old TV was big, and not in the good way (like big in the clunky, old way). Brokeback Mountain was on (in English with French subtitles, thank you very much, because after seven months, I’ve finally figured out that little trick on Canal+… can I get a H A L L E L U J A H !). That movie was intense, and weird, and I found myself laughing at parts I probably shouldn’t have been laughing at (I’m very mature). But I thought Anne Hathaway was killer. Loved her red cowgirl hat. Every girl needs a red cowgirl hat.
And I’ve discovered the joys of Million Dollar Decorators (on my laptop, not Canal+). To quote Martyn, “Decorating is Delicious”. Although I don’t know what I’m talking about, I don’t have a delicious, decorating bone in my body.
When not watching sexually confused cowboys and delicious decorators, I’ve been reading Captains and the Kings which even though I’m enjoying, I’m not tearing through. Which is strange, feels like I’ve been reading it F O R E V E R. Has that ever happened to you?
And, can you believe it, The Circus has returned (I’m guessing the same one from last year). But I can’t go, because it’s only here for one day, and I’m sick. It’s not fair. But if my dad was still alive you know what he’d say? He’d say, “Fair? Fare is something you pay to get on the bus”.
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