Friday, February 4, 2011

This post is about nothing, and you probably shouldn't read it, because there is no point to it and no reason for Laura to have written it, aside from boredom.

I keep thinking about Pooping Man. I'll walk upstairs and step onto the carpet and think: Pooping Man was here. I know, because I saw his LEAVINGS.

I'm not going back to talking about Pooping Man, but I think the experience is seared into my memory, so I can't promise I won't have spontaneous blog-flashbacks about him (or what he left behind).


Also, I am out of cookies at home. I need to remember to buy more. I keep eating them, and for some reason, the package doesn't fill back up when I put it away in its Super Secret Hiding Place.*

I should have bought cookies last night, but instead I bought dishwasher stuff and corn chips for Paul, because he wanted to eat salsa. Then I bought more ravioli because I really love ravioli, but only the kind in the cream and green box in the freezer section with cheese and spinach inside them. I'm going to eat some of those ravioli for lunch today. By the time I'd collected all the groceries my mother wanted, I gave up on getting fun food for me to eat, partially because I knew I had ravioli, partially because I knew that eating an entire bag of cookies all by myself while sitting in bed taking to Twitter is going to make me so fat, I won't be able to get back out of bed, and I will be on Twitter full time.

That wouldn't be so bad, but it's a long time between Doctor Who seasons. I have months to wait before the next one. Stupid time. Always so...chronological.

Also I think it is divorce season. I've had three people come in today asking for divorce papers. Sometimes when this happens, I wonder if the people are actually spouses, both getting divorce papers at the same time to see who can file first. Other times, like when all of the people are men, I think maybe it was getting snowed in and stuck with each other since Monday was too much for people to take. I would divorce my father, after this week. But only because he's rife with disease and bound to make me sick with his Chronic Lung Fungus / UberDeathVirus which may or may not be Ebola.

Dad is so sick that on Wednesday, I told him he could no longer touch food. I said his food would need to be prepared for him by a third party, like me or Mom or Paul, so he would not leave Germs of Laura's Future Suffering on every surface, infecting me and causing me to have my third sinus infection of 2011. Then I grabbed a handful of tortilla chips and threw them in a bowl, then put the bowl on the table and told him those were his chips, and he couldn't have any from the bag unless he asked Paul to take more out. Otherwise, we would all die.

This solution is much better than my other option, which involved creating an elaborate quarantine unit in the basement, and slipping food into a pressure-sealed tray so Dad could eat. We would visit him at feeding times. He didn't seem too enthusiastic about that idea. I'm hoping the threat of mandatory quarantine will be enough to get him to the doctor's office.

Imagine if he contaminated my cookies! It's a good thing I forgot to buy any.

This weekend, after I buy cookies, I'm going to go pick out my new glasses. If I am tormented by the decision, expect a plea for help. I'm going to take pictures of each possible pair. You see, when I look at myself in the mirror for a long enough time, I stop thinking, "This is a great pair of glasses!" And start thinking, "Wow, this girl is a freak, with freaky glasses on, why doesn't she just wear her contacts all the time like she usually does and leave glasses for people who look good in them," when I should be thinking, "Those glasses are more flattering than that other pair." I might need help determining which is the most appealing.

You can really tell I've been alone all day. It's starting to show. I'm sorry. I bet you regret reading this. It's like I stole something like ten minutes of your life. That's really too bad. I promise I'll try to be funny when life goes back to being funny again.

Which will likely be in the spring.

*I have to hide the cookies, because if I don't I will return home to find that where there were once ten cookies, now there are none. Because my mother has taken some for her tea, despite the fact that she says, "They aren't my favorite," and Dad has taken the rest because he likes to eat crunchy cookies dry--with no milk--and leave the crumbs and spare macadamia nuts and milk chocolate chunks all over the floor for me to find, kind of like Pooping Man did with his Poop, only not as disgusting.

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