Walter and Mary

I woke up this morning to a very excited boyfriend. I was awoken by the slapping of his feet on the floor as he ran to the bedroom then pronounced "Lightning had a baby! Lightning had a baby!". Lightning is a snail. He lives in our fish tank. He eats poo. He was the only snail in the tank. I think we should rename Lightning, Mary. Our new addition is tiny but he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Er, Shell.

All Or Nothing

I had no idea when I "started blogging" that people would actually read it when I told them to. Who does that? Do you people not have families, or a hobby, or jobs? Go outside!

Porty I don't think works. Why else would he ask me to update my blog at 9 IN THE MORNING? I'm concerned he might just wear suits everyday 'cause we expect him to.

In order to meet this high demand for my wisdom, and to chip away at the thousand things that I have committed to get done, I would need an office.
We have an office but Walter has 10 jobs and needs his own office. The Control Room we call it. So I decided to make a corner for myself in the solarium. At 8am. One thing led to another and I didn't stop until midnight. I couldn't even talk on the phone 'cause my mind was 10 steps ahead of my body solving cleaning and organizing issues. The show Hoarders and Diet Pepsi have a profound effect on me. My office turned into Desk/Music mixing station/Plant Nursery. I'm calling it The Blogarium, or The Hot Traxx Studio. I'm blogging from the couch as I don't want to disturb the order.


I then made the painting that Ted Foley painted for me into a headboard. I really like the painting but it is so DAMN BIG I have been fighting with it for months trying to find it a home. It's home. I even found a way to make my BatPhone a design relevant knick knack. I've been humping that thing around for years to. I've been trying to justify owning to cabinet radios for years too. Success. Our house has been overhauled and cleaned, thoroughly.

Then I made dinner. I just couldn't stop.

White floors. Vaccuum. White floors. Vacuum. I meditate by vaccuuming now.

Andrea is coming over tomorrow to tell me how fast I can have my new bathroom. It never ends. Then I paint. I haven't old Walter about the painting yet. Baby steps. He's always coming home to a completely different apartment to the one he left.

I had better things to blog about, but I'm exhausted and I don't care if you're entertained. Colon Blow Cookie baking day tomorrow them the kids are coming over for dinner...

There I blogged. Get off my back.

I say something interesting tomorrow. Maybe.

It used to be a habit of mine several years ago to make up stories about myself when meeting strangers I would never see again. Fun, harmless, and usually transparent. We used to do it all the time, I'm sure we all have. I have been a casting scout, a vet, a sculptor, a soundtrack editor, a writer, and on and on. The less I had to do in my real life the more involved the (funny to me and my friends) stories got. After taking about a year off from any kind of work at all, I took a job building skateboards and merchandising bikinis at a local shop. I was by far the oldest employee and had several kids looking up to me. Because I told them lies. Really. Funny. Lies. This blog is meant to be a extension of one of those lies.

I told them I was writing a book called Letters To Nora. As in Nora Ephron. It was a collection of letters and essays to famous people starting with one to Nora Ephron for setting up an entire generation of women to be disappointed with their love lives because of Sleepless In Seattle blah blah blah... The more I told the story the more involved the book got. I had to quit the job so that I wouldn't have to write the book.

Now I'm a just gonna blog 'bout it. And I kinda wanna get more map hits than my Mum. Ha!