S'up, yo.

First of all, I'd like to welcome all the new visitors to the blog! As long as you don't need me to be diligent about phoning and hanging out with you to feel the friendly love vibe I'm sending y'all, we'll get along fine! Huzzah!

Anyhoo.
It's the first time I've been the office all week, and I'm not particularly proud of that. I am a lousy (awesome?) boss this week. Sure, I had work-related obligations on Monday that kept me out of the office, but what have I done since then?
Well, I'll tell you.
A whole lot of nothing.
Yeah, I said it.

Well truth be told, I ate a lot and watched videos too. That's something.
But not on the Sofa of Doom.
Oh no, not this time. It was on the Armchair of Disaster!
It's a little less comfortable for sleeping, you know, 'cause your legs dangle over the arms and it cuts off your circulation and you get a crick in the neck. So, although it's a nice place to visit at first, it's nowhere you wanna live.
But all in all, it's a good choice if you only want to take a short trip on the Debauchery Train.
Actually, to do myself justice, I did manage some light cooking and housework too, so I wouldn't be such a total slug and freeloader.
Sigh.

How did I fall off of the Wagon of Productivity, you ask? It's all about me and Steph being in mourning over her imminent departure. Instead of crying and getting depressed, we ate baba ghanouj, crackers, old-fasioned donuts and drank white wine while watching Def Poetry Jam. She provided all of the edible and drinkable goodies, I provided the entertainment. It was all about taking some time out for the kind of therapy that does a body good and doesn't cost $120 an hour. (Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

When you're waiting on a paycheck, there are not a lot of fun times to be had. Yeah, okay! I have no equity and live from paycheck to paycheck. I also haven't filed my taxes yet. What's more, I also can belch like a trucker on command. I do have immature and flaky dimensions to me. It's all part of my charm. Yeah, that's it! And on top of it, those people who look at me and feel superior because of it, well, shoot, I've just boosted their self-esteem, so that's sort of like a good deed, isn't it? Maybe I'm storing up brownie points in heaven!

The living situation is nowhere near resolution, I really wish I could just do the ostrich thing and hope the problem goes away. But of course, if I do that, I'll have gone beyond crazy black lady to crazy homeless black lady, and how does that uplift the race, I ask you? Sigh. Gotta make some more phone calls and start praying for a miracle, because deep down, I do believe that things have a way of working themselves out.

Wellllllp...
I've run out of things to say. Except this. I saw the latest version of The Producers yesterday, and although it was entertaining and I liked the new songs, nothing touches the original Mel Blanks movie. That may be because it's Zero Mostel and Gene-frickin-Wilder, it may be because I watched it with Bill and because we ate lots of Bar-B-Barn ribs and chicken (Okay, I ate lots of ribs and chicken, most of them, in fact. I'm surprised poor Bill didn't pull back a stump. You know, I'm occasionally shocked and appalled at the mass quantities of food I am capable of consuming in one sitting, but I'm getting off the point.) and drank champagne.

But then again, all of our movie fests took place during my year of post-surgery convalescence. That's when I learned to love the lazy, Baby. Lots of molasses cookies and vanilla soy milk, video games, movies, trips to the Jean-Talon market and other such fun have melted into a stream of con-fun-ness.

Okay, now I'm really finished talking. For now.