Is there a need for a self-help book about creative ways to avoid what you should be doing, and instead enjoying pointless wastes of time? Because I could absolutely write that book, and it would be a three-pounder. You know, when I got around to it. Now that I think about it, everyone would just put off buying it, anyway. Never mind.
Should be doing:
Mopping living room
Putting away laundry
Etc. etc. blah blah blah
*Reading 'O' At Home magazine
*Rearranging my living room furniture over and over again on paper, using the furniture I have
*Rearranging my living room furniture on paper using the furniture I WISH I had
*Window-shopping online for furniture I wish I had
*Adding up how long it will take to save for furniture I wish I had (answer: LONG TIME)
*Vindicating my frustration at the overrated film, "The Departed" by checking the IMDb's "goofs" page for continuity errors, and seeing that, yes, other people caught all the same ones I did, and then some.
*Planning to repaint the master bedroom--NOTE: This illustrates an essential foundation of successful procrastination. Planning a project is always preferable to actually doing a project. Similary, beginning a new project trumps finishing an existing one every time. I never finished painting the bedroom the FIRST time. See how good I am at this?
*Flickr. Oh, flickr. You siren, you temptress.
*Watching TiVo'd episodes of "Ninja Warrior" in anticipation of the upcoming ALL-NEW 18th NINJA WARRIOR TOURNAMENT, which begins Monday on G4. Look, this is my second exhortation to everyone to watch Ninja Warrior. If you're still missing it, don't blame me. And Nagano was injured during the off season, so was unable to train. The drama swells. Also, a brand-new course. The excitement is palpable. Trust me on this. Need us to burn you a DVD?
*Trying to come up with new poodle names, just for the heck of it
*More online window-shopping. Want a treat? Here, I'll even make a link for you. Because, unless you are a HARD-core Superman geek, you'll never be able to remember how to spell MXYPLYZYK. Wow, my Firefox spellchecker just imploded. And if, after you visit, you're so grateful to me for tipping you off to this world of wonders that you feel compelled to buy me a thank-you gift, well, OK. There's a loop candleabra, a set of melamine bowls, some kikar wood vases, and a supercool Sjoerd van Heumen "Book Clock." Awesome. That'll get you started.
I'm also intermittently playing a game with Bella that she swears she saw on "Sesame Street," and drew me into playing by promising that it would be "really great!" I'm not sure what the goal is, or what the original version was, but it seems to involve us throwing a quarter back and forth at each other, and trying to catch it on some random hand-held object like a toy mirror or an empty, flattened plastic water bottle. If I don't catch it, then I MISSED. If she doesn't catch it, then I DIDN'T THROW IT RIGHT. No one ever catches it, but she always wins. It's a pretty good game, if you're her.
Is the Wellbutrin working? Honestly, I don't know. I haven't had the "AHA" moment that the doctor seems to expect me to have, but I guess I feel better. I am trying to decide to feel better, in any case. This coming week, I should be functioning like a relatively normal person, and not hiding in my house watching 80's cold-war-themed movies like "Red Dawn"** and "War Games" and "Project X," which, in case you're wondering, still makes me cry at that part when Goliath the chimpanzee, having been fatally irradiated at the whim of evil military scientists, has to pry the fire-extinguisher out of the reactor core so that all the people won't die, too, and then he can't get his cigarette reward that Matthew Broderick and Helen Hunt have for him because they're on the other side of the glass...*sob*. But then some monkeys* fly a plane, which is pretty darn funny.
(*I know they're really apes, but "monkey" is just a funnier word.)
(**This is where I have to interrupt this already-riveting post to tell my horrifying "Red Dawn" story. Stop me if you've heard it already, as some of you have. I knew this guy in high school and college--let's call him "Fred"-- who was very very pretty and had lots of smooth shiny muscles, which sums up my admittedly shallow involvement with him. On one occasion in the late 80's, we happened to watch "Red Dawn" together. If you haven't seen "Red Dawn," there is no way I can describe the deliciously paranoid, testosterone-powered flavor of this badly-acted film, so just rent it, and then come back to this story. So after the movie, we are, of course, having an intellectual discussion of the cold-war themes and high implications of Patrick Swayze being in charge of liberating America from the grasp of The Commies, and "Fred" informs me that his family actually has A RED DAWN CONTINGENCY PLAN in place. The "plan" mainly consists, in the event of Russian invasion, of the entire family getting into the backyard swimming pool, at which point the father jumps into the water with them, clutching a live electric generator, electrocuting them all to death. I SWEAR I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. I believe the phrase "better dead than red" was used. I don't know what the plan would have been if the invasion happened while the pool was empty, but I do believe that this was one of the first wide-eyed, "HOLY CRAP" moments resulting from a face-to-face confrontation with a foreign ideology in my young and naive life. I don't believe I ever saw "Fred" again socially after that conversation.)
The rest of my family returns from their ski vacation today. Dawson will be really glad to see Andrea, because he has basically had stresss-induced narcolepsy the entire week she's been gone, and Harry will be glad to see anybody, and I now officially know, for me personally, the answer to the question, "How many poodles is too many poodles?" TEN. Ten poodles is too many poodles. Just so you know. The answer may change by variety--for example, I have miniatures, and ten miniature poodles might equal eighteen toy poodles, or, say, four to six standard poodles. Your mileage may vary.
Which is my mother, and which is my sister? You decide. Aren't they precious?