Damn this blog and my conscience. I actually had a dream last night that someone left me a comment along the lines of: “I guess you’ll have to accept the consequences when you stand up to give a speech at your brother’s wedding and someone interrupts you with a rendition of the Foodgasm post. You suck.”
Isn’t that awful? All day I plotted ways to push my last post down the page. I would post one-comment posts. Or post extremely large photos of the lovebirds (aka my brother and his fiancee) in the midst of their entwinement, along with fond captions: “They’re so cute” or “Wow, if only Chuck and I could love that hard.”
As you can see, I’ve done neither. But, not to worry, karma took care of things for me. How? I spent the afternoon running around the roof of my office building with toilet paper crammed into my pants because my female friend arrived just as the head maintenance guy was whisking me off to the rooftop so I could get a picture of the foliage for my boss.
(Unluckily for me, Stay Free doesn’t have rooftop vending machines, but I was lucky enough to duck into a bathroom pre-flight and grab myself a nice big wad of institutional-sized toilet paper. Ever tried clamoring across a roof with a ball of scratchy paper wedged into your privates? I didn’t think so.)
The best part? While me and Roy were up there and he was looking me over like I was some kind of prissy stuffed suit with a fancy camera, I got all macho and told him that I bet the roof was the perfect place to come and “take a few pulls”—which I later found out means to, um, pleasure oneself. I thought it meant take a few slugs of beer.
Only after Chuck enlightened me could I fully appreciate Roy's cheery change in demeanor.
I think karma should be all set with me for the week, what do you think?
P.S. If you doubt that my boss sent me up to the roof for a photo shoot you might want to read this.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.