The Way Things Are






2005-06-30, 10:07 a.m.


I am sharing a picture with you today that was taken about 2 years ago. It tells two stories, two stories within one story, like chocolate and peanut butter.

OK. This is a picture of our messy bedroom, after a particularly searing clothes explosion, and one super-fast HOTT quickie. I took the picture because I was giggling at the complete nuclear destruction of the previously tidy bedroom that happened in a span of about 2 minutes.

As I clicked the shutter, I noticed the dog, Dobie One Penobie (her Jedi name), aka Penny (her civilian name) streak by, but figured she had gone by much too quickly to be caught on film. This was an actual camera, which I used to own but I left it in a bar about a month after this picture was taken, which is why I take pictures with my picture phone now, but I digress.

She ran by, I didn’t know what she was up to, and forgot all about it.

Until I got the picture back on that disk thingie, I found that Penny not only was caught on film, but was caught CARRYING MY DISCARDED UNDERPANTS out of the room. If you look closely, you will see a purple flowerdy undie-like object in her mouth. She looks like she’s moseying, but she’s just that good – she was actually doing a 20-yard dashing skulk.

You see, our dog likes to capture our discarded clothing and parade around the house, taunting us with her kill. She is particularly fond of socks and underpants, and has been known to eat and digest socks on occasion. All articles of clothing must be shaken violently in order to kill them. And it takes a good long while to kill these items.

Anyway, she made the quickie-aftermath picture absolutely perfect…skulking out of the room with the underpants she found on the floor. It’s a perfect circle, the circle of life, you see.

In other news, I’m wearing the same pair of shoes that I was wearing 2 days ago. No, I’m not going to link it for you. Just hit the back button down there a couple of times and find it for yourself. Sheesh. Lazy much?

This morning I weighed myself, and measured my waist and found that I have still barely budged. Waddup widdat? Anyway, I came out into the living room and announced to DW that all my working out and trying to eat somewhat sensibly was apparently not paying off in any quantifiable way. And I waited for my daily affirmation from my soul mate, my life partner. The Tom to my Kate. Ewwwww.

Do you know what my sweet, supportive husband said? Did he say:

1. You’re gorgeous – you can’t get any better?
2. I can see a difference even if you can’t measure it?
3. I swear to you – results are right around the corner?
4. (there is no number 4)or
5. You’re obviously skipping something in your workouts.

If you guessed 5, you are correct, and have been reading here long enough to know that what the man lacks in tact and internal brain filters, he makes up for with bluntness and obliviousness.

But that’s okay. I still love him. Lord, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain…duh. Everybody’s seen fire and rain, but I digress. What I mean is, even though my husband places my lack of progress squarely on my slacking shoulders, and not on, say, THE HORMONAL IMBALANCE OF A 40-SOMETHING YEAR OLD WOMAN, he, uh, where was I going with that? On second, thought, let’s not go there.


After I busted in on the BSer meeting last night, with testosterone hanging so thick in the air you could spread it with a spatula (or was that just dirty socks?), to get the final logistical details necessary for BSer summer camp coming up next week (and lest you forget, BSer is the lil nickname I have given to a certain club my 12-year-old son belongs to that involves quite a bit of camping and knot-tying, and which my sweet husband calls “Pack o’ Nerds”), I found myself making the drive home at about 9:00. And it was still light outside – the sun had just barely dropped down below the horizon.

Isn’t there something about super-long days that gives you that flip-flop in your stomach? The same flip-flop you get when you’re in high school, and you’re headed off for fun and mischief, and the evening is just beginning, and the world is wide open, and you are sure you are going to do something that night that you have never done before?

Or that feeling that certain songs give you in your gut? Don’t certain songs, or guitar riffs make your guts do a little cheer? I call that “feeling it in my uterus”. As in “I love this song. This part right here? I can feel it in my uterus.”

It’s that same feeling. That feeling like you might get sex tonight, but you’re not sure who with, but you have hopes.

Don’t you ever feel that way when you’re driving home on the interstate at 9:00 p.m. and it’s still daylight outside?

You know you do.

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