Spam: It isn’t just for supper anymore.
Apparently, Soft Viagra can help me achieve a well-to-do sex life. Huh. And if that’s doing the trick, Generik Viagra can help me write new pages in my sexual history. Oh, I’ve recently tried something that will increase my penis size. If my exhusband starts to grow, we’ll know it works! (get it, cause he’s a dick – ba–dum-bump!)
My Catholic Guilt Runneth Over
I’m seriously stressed because I haven’t called Sophie in a couple of weeks – and all I need to do is PICK UP THE PHONE AND CALL and all traces of guilt will be vanquished. But no. I don’t do that, instead I sit around and worry about what a Bad Granddaughter I am, and make plans to call the next day.
Here’s the conundrum. I plan to call during the day. I’ve been too busy to really spend time chatting on the phone. I’m not much of a phone chatter anyway, much better emailer, so I really need to prep myself up for it sometimes. I feel like George Costanza, who had to make notes of what to talk about for his weekly call. I’m out of material that will interest her. I can’t tell her, “Well, we just got back from another vacation.” Not after I’ve just heard the speech about saving every dime I can because of the formidable, looming recession.
So I think to self, “I’ll call her on the way home.” But you’re not allowed to talk on your cell in Brooklyn, so I wait to get to the highway, and then the drive is so short I think, “Well, I’ll just wait til I get home and get settled.”
By then, I’m too tired to have any gumption at all about engaging in a conversation of any more depth than, “Did you see Twinkle today? Did the cats play nicely together? What are we doing for dinner? No, I don’t want to “do it” right at the moment, but thanks for asking.”
By the time I rest up enough to catch a second wind, it’s right in the middle of her television shows, and she does look forward to those. Of course she doesn’t have Tivo or a VCR, so I don’t want to interrupt them. Next thing you know, another day has slipped away sans phone call, and the Catholic Guilt settles in for one more restless night. Ah, tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow to right all sorts of wrongs. So tomorrow I shall call, somewhere around my lunch hour. And we will chat and laugh and laugh and I will be returned to Good Granddaughter status. Until next week, at least.
Don’t think that my guilt stops there, oh, no, I’ve got p-l-enty to go around. I feel guilty that I went all the way to the gym (the 5 minutes up the street, all that way) and only worked out for 30 minutes. Granted, the power went out, which cut the evening short, but had I gotten up there earlier I could have really made it count. I’ve got 8 weeks and counting til vacation, People, and my ass isn’t getting any smaller/tighter/fresher on it’s own. Well, fresher might not be helped by the gym, but you get my drift. I’ve been eating pretty fucking healthfully, haven’t had a fast-food burger since July – the beginning of July – and have incorporated mucho vegetables and fruits into my daily regime. All I’ve gotten from the excess fiber is gas and bloating.
So anyway. I booked another trip today, because when all else fails, if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s how to book a vacation. It’s a Girls Night trip for me, haven’t had one of those in eons, and I couldn’t be more excited! I managed to get free airfare and hotels for us in Atlantic City on my favorite little Charter. I just called ’em up and asked if we could go for free, and they said, “Sure, pack your bags.” It’s good to be Mrs. Anderson for gambling trips! So we’re doing that August 29th. We need girl bonding time. And Mr. Anderson’s happy to get me out of the house for a night, I believe.
Peace. I’m off to find out what other magical things the Internet can do for my penis. Jeezus Christ!! Kenny’s computer has been overtaken by some nasty ass virus and it occassionaly just bursts into noises, which it just did and scared the holy fuck out of me!