woof
Have you ever sat bolt upright after awakening from a prolonged daze only to exclaim in horror that you had no idea what the fuck was going on these past few weeks and aghast at the sorry state of all that surrounds you?
ME TOO!
Besides, if you are able to ignore the previous run on sentence that is almost blinding in its blatant disregard of all rules of writing well, everything else seems to be on the upswing, right?
Okay, make that two poorly thought out sentences that should really be cast right out and destroyed.
Shall we start again?
I’m not sure if it was the dog sledding, the brisk mountain air or the number of times my ears popped loudly from the altitude during the three-hour trip but somewhere along the way I got my “snap out of it” crack across the face from my imaginary Moonstruck character.
There is some debate among family and friends as to HOW effective this jolt actually was as my house is still in shambles and my kids look a little scruffy but everyone appears to be well fed and there are still four walls and a roof .
I call that victory.
Shhhh… careful. Don’t wake the rest of us…
I know it’s warm under the blankie but we all have to come out for some air every once in awhile.
Personally, I happen to need a more violent shove than most do off the bed.
I wish my hair looked like Cher hair. My pubes don’t even look like Cher hair.
I was unaware that pubes could be wild
flowing and appealing
to pre teeth capping Nic Cage.
Wait! What? You have pubes?
“Have you ever sat bolt upright after awakening from a prolonged daze only to exclaim in horror that you had no idea what the fuck was going on these past few weeks and aghast at the sorry state of all that surrounds you?”
I was born in a daze and permanently live in one…
Er…that’s my life EVERY DAY
Normally that is an apt description of my everyday state but this particular daze laster longer than anticipated and probably could have benefitted from a hedonism style getaway where I got to drink lots of liquor and wear a bone in my hair.
Are you seriously asking me to think? Because that is just wrong, Duffy, just so very wrong!
I only want you to think about Nic Cage’s old teeth and maybe snow dogs because lets face it this post isn’t really about much but me being a moderate to severe loser.
On a lighter note it’s good to know that travel seems to be the cure for the blues so i’ll be renting a rusty RV and visiting you all the next time I feel a little out of sorts!
i want a hedonism style getaway where I get to drink lots of liquor and wear a bone in my hair, too! then i could be pebbles punker. damn, i just love that.
anyhussy, whenever i drive home from work after a stressful day i get that exact feeling you describe in the first paragraph. i try to text while driving at the same time jsut to keep me grounded. KIDDING! i’m going to get crucified here i just know it.
I’m having the most delightful vision of us sitting on a beach together wearing loincloths & seashells for clothing and braiding small animal bones into our disheveled manes.
I get the distinct feeling we are in Mexico in this scene so I think we should book tickets and inform ggb’s.
I am going to South Beach in December. My first getaway vacay in almost three years. And I am so fucking pale I am practically see through.
But I do think a GGB retreat needs to happen. When, where and how much.
This did happen to me, once. I had just weaned my fourth child. My husband looked down at me and, like that first episode of “Desperate Housewives,” cooed, “Why don’t we have another child?” For a fleeting moment I actually considered the proposition, despite not having a heartbeat. And then a magical moment transpired. My fairy godmother suddenly appeared, grabbed my naked self by the hair and flung me out in a snowy pasture. My heart suddenly restarted. I could see!!!! And very deliberately I walked back inside, climbed back into bed and replied, “I’d rather stick a fork in my eye.”
Sadly, whenever my husband sneezes on me with too much gusto I seem to end up pregnant so I had the fairy toss me out into the cold for my own good.
I can barely handle 3 kids, how are you alive with 4?
I’m just so incredibly freakin’ jealous of the whole dogsledding thing! Seriously. I told He Who Loves All Things Wicked. But then he wanted “the rest of the story”. So, I briefly explained your funk. He told me I had to have a funk, then he would consider taking me up there for such a trip. I consider this his way of encouraging me to stop showering, cleaning and cooking. Am I doing this right?
It’s astoundingly simple.
One stained overcoat.
A set of I’ll fitting long johns and mismatched boots.
Glazed distant look.
3 consecutive days of not showering.
Forgetting to do basic things ie. Buy toilet paper, soap or food.
Crying jags alternated with bursts of
misdirected anger.
I suggest setting the bar even higher & putting in for a tropical adventure.
My Iphone keeps changing ill to I’ll and hell to he’ll. What a positive device.
Ummm, what do I do to help him tell something is different?
Are you insisting that this dog sled thing was real, or are you just messing with my metaphors? So confused.
This trip was real and I actually HIGHLY recommend it. As long as you are in fact a dog person as you will be covered in husky hair & slobber most of the time you aren’t riding with the musher.
Do we all live in the metaphors and only think our narratives to be real?
I seriously have no idea what I just said…. Accidental recovery may be the best kind? But recovery from what? Perhaps it’s the other way around?
Wow. Maybe we are all butterflies dreaming that we are a throne of blogging goddesses (and gods of course)? (I have no idea what this means either but I know Pattypunker will love me for mentioning butterflies…)
All I know is that I’m strutting around here with some serious swagger now that Far East Movement’s Like a G6 is blaring from the speakers.
WHY can’t I get that song out of my head?!