Hey everybody, this is my last non-morose post for 17 days. Wanna know why?
I’m terrible, right? I should savor the moment, right?
Guess what? I do.
Curling up in bed with my boys and hearing about their day (and maybe doing a little smooching) is by far the best part of my day. And I often lament how quickly time is flying by.
I can’t believe that 2013 is almost over. My sweet babies will be giant, smelly, teenagers who want nothing to do with me before I know it.
However … we just had a nine-day break for a holiday that consists of having dinner and now I’m looking forward to 17 days of this.
So, yah, I’m not looking forward to 17 days of this shit. I need a little more time to recover from Thanksgiving if I’m going to get excited about Christmas.
And Loony put the kibosh on any Christmas open-house (aka Boozy pole dancer gathering). The hell?
Loony: I don’t want to clean up the house!
Me: But that’s the only way I get you to put away all the crap!
Loony: It’s so much worrrrkkkkk!
Me: What about those lonely, displaced pole-dancers with nowhere to go? Think of someone other than yourself for chrissakes!
This isn’t over, people. It just won’t be Christmas without hot people on the pole or at least some flopping around my living room floor in my underwear.
I’ll probably go rogue and put out a mass invitation for people to show up and see what happens.
Switching gears, I bought something. But I’m going to justify it as “athletic wear”. It is most definitely not Christmas shopping.
You can’t tell from the photo, but the bra and panties have very sassy lace panels that are not only inspiring to dance in, but they got a few extra ladies to show up for Smolder on a Wednesday night, just to see what I was crowing about.
Before you call bullshit, pole class is extremely athletic, hence the necessary athletic wear. Do you see where this is going?
This shit is hard. Like, harder than you could possibly imagine.
One day I hope to master Sara’s spinning twerk. That girl has serious skills. I could watch her all day.
The boys are still deciding what they want for Christmas. I told them to think long and hard about it.
Scrotus is leaning towards some kind of touch pad for computer illustrations (good boy) and I’m trying to talk Testiclese out of a modular marble racetrack thing that will no doubt shatter into a million parts and end up in all corners of the house.
And I’m sure That Fucking Cat will ingest a marble or two and land us in the kitty ER on Christmas day, only the most expensive day of the entire year, to get emergency surgery.
I possess borderline supernatural foresight, at least when it comes to predicting the wheels coming off.
Anyway, here are some dumb pictures of Loony and That Fucking Cat. Please remember that he was the one who gave me “stern, disapproving face” when I brought her home. FYI, I saw this coming, too.
Time to cut the crap.
This shoe rack has been sitting, unopened, in the boys’ closet for years. I’m never gonna set it up. The studio, however, needs a place to put shoes so I’m taking it there.