I am forced to trudge through three more days before I leave for the three days of goodness that were supposed to happen last weekend. You know, the weekend when I proclaimed Mother Nature to be a whore. I would like to take a moment to retract that, at least partially (I'm still a little bit annoyed with the whole sleet/hail thing). Apparently Mother Nature is much wiser than I am, and perhaps her judgment was correct in the switching of weekends. So yeah, sorry about all of that name calling.
In case it's not obvious, the goodness is all about going to see my man. He is the only thing that can persuade me to go to a place with even crappier, colder weather, instead of cashing in the plane ticket to retreat to a beach somewhere...preferably where there is also a pool with a pool bar. Is there anything better than sitting on a little stool submerged in water, while consuming delicious cocktails in the sun? But I digress...I am not, in fact, heading to sunshine and sand in my toes. I am going to the midwest. A region I have been to only once before, in less fun circumstances, and with very disappointing experiences. Like the food. We drove around for an hour one day, attempting to find someplace to eat whose menu did not feature a super early bird special and biscuits smothered in gravy and sausage. The journey did not reveal any hidden culinary treasures.
I fully expect this trip to be at least 340% better, because even if the food disappoints and the weather is horrid, I would be perfectly happy to spend the entire weekend locked indoors with him, and that is probably the only thing better than sun drenched cocktail hour.
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4 comments:
When you arrive at your man's house, do me a favor and check the toilet. I have been shocked and befuddled recently that men, who know we babes were coming and proclaim to have cleaned their house, completely miss the fact that there is a ring of filth hovering above the waterline in their toilets.
Then there is the dust. Everywhere. On every surface. Do the corneas in the eyeballs of men filter out the sight of dust, much like their ears eventually tune out our voices?
Perhaps this is a topic for Man Notes.
What if a guy is just creative, unique, or artistic enough to find beauty in dust? Maybe three quarters of an inch of dust on everything to someone (not me, a friend) is a beautiful thing that should be shown off to the opposite sex in hopes of hot nasty anal action.
I'm just sayin...
(For my friend's sake)
The DLOA (Dust Lovers Of America) and I are verrrry disappointed in Betty's comment.
i have been assured that cleaning has been done. creative, unique and artistic do not = dirty.
besides, he knows i'll bitch about it here if it's all nasty. that totally goes in the "pros" column of whether or not it's a good thing that your man reads your totally gay online diary.
yeah, that's right. i used the tgod. it's not being used. sue me.
$10 bucks says after he read my comment, he scrubbed the ring around the toilet, and dusted. You will have me to thank for the clean abode.
Have a fun weekend - and DO NOT spare a detail.
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