Comanaprosil: Sleep aid that may cause dizziness, sexual nightmares and sleep crime.
Zeb must have slipped me one last night because I had another exhausting night of anxiety dreams. I dreamt I was attending the wedding of a modern day princess, like Kate Middleton.
Jesus, can you imagine the anxiety dreams she has?
Anyway, I was worried about wearing the right thing and being on time and not offending anyone, which was bad enough, and then I was the one marrying into royalty. To make matters worse, my wedding dress was totally fucked up. It looked kind of like this, only skankier …
… and the double sided sticky tape that kept me from exposing my vagina was totally not sticking and it kind of showed and the dress was BLACK which is totally wrong for a bride, not to mention the astronomical likelihood of wardrobe malfunctions with the whole world watching on TV … AND I didn’t know where I needed to be, or the names of my guests, or if the food was okay, or when the ceremony was, etc., etc., etc. I woke up completely wrung out.
Thank God Zeb and I had a shotgun wedding.
I was inclined to not bother with getting married but did it as a grand romantic gesture. My mom (bless her) congratulated me on my decision to “legitimize” my child. I suppose wearing a scarlet A and referring to Scrotus as “the little bastard” would have gotten on my nerves. Good call.
Royalty’s got nothing on us! Our nuptial meal started off with bratwursts on the mall and a nap. I was too hungry to wait for dinner (9 months pregnant!) and then got tired. Seriously the best day of my life. No joke. You know what else is great? Unless I decide to gain 50 pounds, I’ll always be able to say that I can still fit into my wedding dress. How many people can do that?
Anywaaaaay, dealing with the basement seems rather minor compared to humiliating myself at the wedding of the century. I’m pulling up my big-girl pants, yes I am.
I asked Zeb for how he felt about bringing his vinyl collection upstairs to sort (and sell). He has multiple copies which would be cake to get rid of. I mean, he can’t make a legitimate case against getting rid of four out of his five copies of Making Love … The Very Best of Air Supply.
He was all for it and said
for the thousandth time if you want something to do, you could always sell some of my stuff. As in his inventory and I was like, No way! You can sit in your own poopy diaper! The only reason I’m going near that crap in the basement is that I have plans for it.
So I’m doing it. I’m committing to clearing out the basement once-and-for-all. First I have to dismantle the epic blanket fort in the sunroom to make space. The boys are going to shit a brick when they get home.
But I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to cut the crap.
I found these stupid sunglasses that are TRASH and this useless citrus squeezer. It is SO TINY. I don’t see how it is an improvement over fingers. I know it had to have come from some stupid William’s Sonoma picnic cocktail kit that never got used, which I didn’t buy. TRASH.
Some kind of cut-rate Yax-Trax contraption you put over your shoes on an icy day. These have been sitting by my boots for a couple of years because they look useful. I tried them today on a dog walk and they have a way of slipping off the toe to the side. TRASH.
As promised I dug into Zeb’s record collection. I figure that looking at a small stack each day is less overwhelming for him than asking him to deal with all 8,000 at once. I’m not kidding about the 8,000, either. I brought up a stack of about 20 and had him pull out the records that he absolutely did not want or think had any value. Anything questionable goes into the “deal with later” pile when we have a buyer come to the house. It’s a quick way to start the project.
Zeb is keeping this one because of the bitchin’ cover art. I have to agree. It’s totally rad.
Could this be any creepier? What is she, 10? Why is she wearing a wedding ring? Why does she have man hands? Who is Mike Curb, or is his name really Mike Perv?
Carl Malden in Gypsy. What an incredible outfit. Plaid socks? Oh stop!
These are going. Zeb thinks that Cher looks better now that she did on this album cover from 30 years ago.
Another six, gone.
Zeb says that a record doesn’t need the cover if it is truly collectible, but these are not. TRASH.
Hey! If you know of someone that has a use for trashed albums (performance art or whatever) let me know.
Featured image courtesy of http://www.dumpaday.com