Friday Feels

Coming back to work after a week out of the office is terrifying.  Staring into my inbox is like peeking into the Bucket of Truth.

Backyard lunching

I'm not sure which was in greater disarray - my email situation, or my house.  I was probably more disheartened about the email, to be honest.  Somehow, Andy's cloud of filth and squalor that floats around him at all times throughout my absence is kind of endearing.  It makes me feel needed.  He really needs me to sweep up those pork chunks and spices that somehow escaped the clutches of his bleach rag when he "cleaned" the kitchen after grinding meat and stuffing sausage.  Where would his laundry be without me?  Still in the hamper.  Where would all the cat hair be without me?  Still on the floor.  Where would Andy's colon be without me?  Impacted with sausage and cheese, that's where.  Too much?  Too far?  Sorry, this is real life, people.

A little too real, maybe.  So how about a distraction or five?  Or maybe even more.  Who's counting?  It's a three day weekend coming up, and I'm feeling loose (but not in that way...pervs).

Here are some juicy tidbits from around the cyber world (sort of like the opposite of the dried up tidbits in my kitchen - the healing process is slow, and it really helps to get it out in the open and talk about it):

I really do like my job, but this week, every day felt like this kind of Monday.

Now, at the end of the week, I feel like the only conversation I'm capable of having would sound about as rational as this one.

In honor of the much-awaited return of Arrested Development, let's drop some knowledge on the real-life phenomenon of the never-nude!  Where do you fall on the never-nude<-->always-nude spectrum?  I think, temperature permitting, I would like to skew towards the mostly naked side.  I went through a serious mooning and streaking phase as an adolescent.  At just the time when girls were starting to be ashamed of their bodies, there I was shoving my shapeless, awkward form all up in your face.  In retrospect, maybe that was some kind of Lena Dunham-esque statement about people needing to get the heck over their discomfort with other people's bodies.  Too deep for a 12 year old?  Probably.  Just done for shock value?  Also probably.

Oh, Onion, it's like you know me!  I'm always counting down the minutes to my next meal.  No shame, no satire.  Breakfast is what gets me out of bed in the morning.

To balance out the gluttony (is it still gluttony if you're nomming down on a big bowl of oatmeal or a kale and banana smoothie?), I'd love a tread-desk.  It's for the good of society!

If you can't walk all day, surely you have seven minutes in heaven for a high-intensity interval workout!  I haven't tried this particular workout, but I do go to a 15 minute ab class once or twice a week.  From that experience of doing short bursts of intense and fast-paced exercises with little to no rest for a concentrated period, I'd be willing to try it.  HardCORE (the ab class) seems to be pretty effective (at least, if you actually do the exercises instead of flopping around on your back like a fish in its death throes like most of the roid-raging bros with biceps the size of their heads are wont to do).

And as usual, a window-shopping wishlist:

This shirt from Anthropologie!  In navy, size M, please go on sale soon so I can make you mine (already tried it on, and it looks better with a looser fit than the model is wearing, in my frumpy humble opinion)

This cat shirt is perfect.  Purrfect?  Had to.  Shouldn't have.

This book will just fuel the fire of my neurotic perfectionism when having company, but I'm intrigued.


Happy Holiday Weekend!  Go crack open a cold one and relax for me while Andy and I get busy cleaning all the things and weeding all the weeds!