If you don't have anything amusing to say, shut up

So have you noticed? That I totally fell off of the wagon this week? That my daily blogging went to hell in a hand basket? Even though I only had a week to go, the pressure of getting something posted every morning finally wore me out. You know what I found? That if I’m forced to write something, it will most likely be shit. I can’t tell you how many times I was over here, clawing my face off, trying to come up with something to post. “How can I make a story about folding my laundry amusing?” or “Should I tell everyone how I’ve been beset with a terrible bout of sciatica this week? How I’ve been falling to the floor, clutching my leg and yelling ‘MY ASS, OH, MY ASS!’?” So you see my predicament - my life is simply not interesting enough to document every 24 hours. I was literally drowning in bad content and so decided, in the spirit of the holidays, to just stop and spare you all my humiliation. Plus, there was no cash prize at the end, or diamonds, or a pony. And what's the point without a pony?

NaBloPoMo was an interesting concept, but I think there is enough crap on the internet without my adding to it. For those of you who stuck with me, you are champs and will reap your reward in heaven - or at least, that’s what my mom always told me when I would endure something boring or painful that had no immediate benefit. We’ll just take her word for it, and if you’d like, I’ll treat you to a glass of wine and we can rejoice in my decision not to flood your brain with my inane made-upperies.

In other news, I am beginning an immediate fast after what was a fierce bout of grappling with a turkey. The turkey won. So did a few bottles of wine, for which I’ll blame my mother, since she “over ordered” on this last wine shipment and we had to “help her” consume the excess or else there would be no room in her wine cellar. And we are, if nothing else, a group who does not shirk from our familial duties. And so, while we are all paddling around in the sloppy hell of withdrawal from both food an alcohol, I bid you all a good weekend. Posting will resume, per usual, on Monday. If I feel like it.

I think the video would sell like hot cakes

I had a boyfriend, once, who started off the day by saying, “You want to hear about the dream I had last night? I dreamed that we were at a bar and you started making out with that girl we met the other day. Isn’t that weird? It was sort of hot. Have you ever done that before? Or, would you, if the opportunity came up? Hahaha…just kidding...but would you?”

He became an ex, shortly after.

I thought of this the other morning, because I woke up after a very vivid dream wherein I was training Tim Daly and he said he would pay me extra if I taught him in the nude. When I refused, he then asked if I would kiss a woman who was standing nearby. I again said no, and he told me I was a prude and walked out of the studio. I ran after him hollering “BUT TIM DALY I LOVE YOU.” Which I don’t, even though I was a fan of Wings and think he’s the one redeeming character on Private Practice. Does anyone else think that Kate Walsh looks perpetually constipated? And her eyebrows totally freak me out. I’m right on the verge of breaking up with that show…

Sorry, tangent.

Anyhoo, it was odd, and it made me wonder if the crab rolls I had last night had something extra in them, causing me to dream about old celebrity crushes who were verbally abusive if their girl on girl requests were denied. Strange. But it got me thinking that naked Pilates might, as of yet, be an untapped market. I’m always coming up with ideas that would make my mother proud. Though it should be noted that I took the moral high ground, even while asleep. Yay, ME! One more day of avoiding that lightening bolt!

Would he have approached had I been holding, say, and artichoke?

Guy at grocery, in produce section: “So, what are you planning on doing with that cucumber?” (This was said in a manner that my mother would consider improper. There was a wink and a raised eyebrow and a touch to the arm.)

I mean, how am I supposed to respond to that? I realize that vegetable could be construed as suggestive, but PLEASE. You could go the risqué route, the innocent route, or, as is my style when asked a stupid question, the obvious route.

Me: Chop it within an inch of its life and put it in the salad I’m having for dinner.
Guy: What time should I come over? (Standing a bit too close)
Me: Oh, you really don’t think you’ll score a dinner invitation with that line, do you? (Me, inching away)
Guy: Never hurts to try.
Me: Really? I think your dignity is bleeding.
Guy: Man, you’re tough.

Actually, I was just hungry. But you know, don’t interrupt a woman deep into dinner planning. It never ends well. And sweet, freaking Moses, don’t try to hit on someone over penis shaped veggies. That’s just bad form.