Okay, so I guess I’ve been away a while.
Fortunately you haven’t missed much.
For Easter I was offered (and accepted) an invitation to dinner from Scott and Stacy.
As I said to Scott, “Well, Jesus came out of His tomb, so I suppose the least I can do is come out of my condo.”
I ended up staying quite a bit longer than was comfortable, as their dog’s hair had started to get to me right away, mostly irritating my eyes, but eventually leading me to itch and sneeze, and when I got home I took some Benadryl, which managed to overpower all of the caffeine I’d had (not sure why I drank so many Cokes), and caused me to turn in early, even though I’d gone to bed relatively early on Saturday night and had slept in until nearly 10 that morning.
Of course, I woke up several times throughout the night after having weird and oddly disturbing dreams that seemed to be related in some fashion to the movie Grindhouse. Not sure what that was about, but I do know that I was kind of creeped out whenever I woke up, and I was starting to expect some deformed girl to show up and kill me with a “nife.”
Monday I woke up and had to decide whether or not I was going to go shopping, and ultimately opted for “not.”
Of course, I had to go out later in the day, as there was a training session at work at 3.
I wasn’t sure what route I was going to take on the way home, and didn’t know what I was going to do for dinner, but then, in a moment of inspiration, I had the answer to both questions.
Which brings me to this.
You know you’ve thought about doing it.
Everyone has, just admit it.
You’ve always wanted to do it but you’ve been afraid to try – what if you got caught? What would your parents say? Or the neighbors?
Still, the thought is always there, nagging at you like a little devil on your shoulder telling you to do it, while that ineffectual angel cautions you not to.
So yeah, I did it, but don’t you dare judge me. You’re no different; you just don’t have the courage to even admit that you want to do it, let alone actually do it.
Not like me. I had the courage to say, “By god, I’m going to do it! I’m going to order an entire family-sized bucket of KFC chicken for myself.”
And I did.
I drove up through Ashburn, stopped at the Taco Bell/KFC, ordered a 10-piece bucket of chicken (with 4 biscuits and two family-sized sides), and made my way home where I proceeded to stuff my face.
Obviously I didn’t eat it all in one sitting (I still have several pieces of chicken left, as well as some coleslaw), but even so, I did end up eating a lot of food.
Today I went out and did a bit of grocery shopping, though not much. I figure I don’t really need much, as I’m only working one day, so I don’t have to worry about cooking so that I have leftovers for lunch at work (though I haven’t been doing much of that in recent weeks anyway), and on Friday Scott and Stacy want to take me out for dinner for my birthday.
When they mentioned that to me on Sunday my response was underwhelming, and led to a “well, we’re not going to twist your arm “ comment, but it’s not the being take out part that’s sapping my enthusiasm, it’s the birthday part.
I never really look forward to my birthday, but somehow it seems worse this year.
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s kind of a “milestone” age, or maybe it’s just hat I miss my dad, and Betts, or maybe all of the above plus all of the usual nonsense and some other random crap that I’m not even consciously aware of.
So yeah, I’m not likely to build up a lot of enthusiasm for “celebrating” my birthday this year, but I do appreciate the fact that there are people who care enough to want to do something to acknowledge it, so I apologize for seeming to be an unappreciative ass than usual.
Anyway, aren’t you glad that I’m finally filling you in on what’s been going on since the last time I posted?
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