The Way Things Are






It's a gas gas gas
2004-04-13, 9:53 a.m.

Cinnamon rolls=fartsamillion

What did my mom put in the cinnamon rolls? I saw her bake them; hell, I even helped her. Was it me? For some reason, stuffing 3 or 4 cinnamon rolls into my maw in one sitting leads to really bad gas. Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad gas. I have been releasing excess gasses for 3 days now, which coincidentally, is how many days I’ve been stuffing myself full of cinnamony goodness. Goodness! I never. In fact, it was so bad at bedtime last night, I propositioned DW with the ever-romantic “Do you want a quickie? You’ll have to act fast before my guts start up again.” And he had trouble getting it up after that. I never, I say.

The affordable housing world is all abuzz this morning because we passed the Committee of Death in Washington DC and are apparently still a viable HUD borrower. Yippeee! Because y’all know, all I have at stake in this here bidness is my reputation, and if HUD says it’s okay, after examining our attributes under a microscope and filtering the laundry rinse water, then it’s okay. OK?

Why oh why oh why do I deal in disasters? Oh why? I need to sit down and make my disaster list this morning, and then I can categorize them in terms of major, minor, or “depends on perspective” types of disasters. And we can further classify according to type, i.e. financial, reputation, and “you’ll never work in this town again” disasters. Is it me? Am I fucking up as much as I think I’m cleaning up? Am I rocking the boat to the point that all my ducks are falling out? Did I just mix two incompatible metaphors?

The good news today: I figured out which combination of hair products and styling techniques will work to give me the straight, flat, wispy pixie that I seek. And my skin is relatively clear today.

I have an unusually sunny outlook today. If I come up with anything concrete, or witty, or funny, I’ll be back. Until then, I leave you with two new words: farklies, and snarklies. I’m not sure what farklies are, but snarklies are those little sodden lumps of catty sentiments that you wish upon people whose failure and comeuppance you so snarkily desire.

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