(Formerly) Blond Ambition

Today's post functions as a sort of cyber string around my finger. Consider my April calendar. April 1-4 in Baltimore. Return from Baltimore needing a lung transplant and sporting a triple digit temperature. Recover to 80% and fly to Bend. Return from Bend in time to pack for Eugene. Spend a week in Eugene, return with puppy. All the while attempting to hold together my part of a huge implementation project at work.

Ergo, the back of my mind (the brunette part) has been accumulating a personal to-do list roughly the length of the Nile. So this weekend's agenda includes:

Torture Dogs. Nike's toenails rival my to-do list in length. Time to have fun with the dremel. I suppose while I'm at it I should do Tara's, (horrible, mean, nasty owner). Then I'll reward myself by making an appointment to get my own nails done, since they’re as long as Nike’s and it make s it haard to ty pe.

Conquer Fridge Country. There's some penne in residence that dates from the Mussolini era.

Climb Mount Laundry. Because it’s there. And if it gets any taller, glaciers will start to form on my dirty socks.

Pick Bathroom Floor’s Number. Somehow the lino always loses the cleaning lottery. The sink, tub, and loo always seem to be more relevant and yield a higher return on investment. Of course, they all want cleaning too, thereby extracting revenge upon me for the canine abuse.

Find Ringo. Somewhere in the murky sludge, the last surviving goldfish would probably be happy to see daylight. The difficulty with cleaning the over-size brandy snifter that serves as home sweet home for Ringo is that the net doesn’t fit through the opening, so I have to pick him up and take him out with my HAND. That should give some insight as to what happened to John, Paul, and George. Hmmm. First dog torture and now fish torture. Sadistic b1tch, aren’t I?

Kill Flowers. Our flower beds currently consist of the occasional derelict azalea pleading to shoot a syringe of Round-Up and be done with it all. Weeds don’t even grow in this wasteland. I have delusional vision in my mind (the formerly blonde part) of planting hundreds of colourful annuals and perennials so that the gardens are transformed into a Martha Stewart-type paradise. Of course, I glimpse this mental mirage every spring. Hasn’t worked out for me yet, but I’m allowed to be an optimist. And, if I actually do plant flowers this weekend, it’s virtually guaranteed to snow on Monday.

I think that’s enough for two days. What will actually happen is that I will sleep in!

J