It's dusty in here.
It isn't that nothing is going on. It's that I can't keep up. I think summer turned into a bizarre collage of "ohboyhangontoyourpants" type of season. I can't quite understand how so, but here I am trying to get in five minutes of writer's therapy.
Let me describe it in pictures...
In the meantime, I hang.
Bug is away for part of the summer for her visitation and should be arriving back home just in time for volleyball camp and practice.
Well, they are naughty most of the time and 10% good. This weekend, they locked themselves in the bathroom, turned the lock and then screamed for help. I had a heck of a time getting them out and then they sassed me when I finally used my burglary skills. LIKE.IT.WAS.MY. FAULT.
Shortly after that, we were all laying on the couch watching a movie and sprawled out like couch potatoes.
And to top it off, I have hives and a heat rash near the golden crotch area because of the HEAT, obviously, and the spandex boiling out the furnace when I run. I guess I am going to have to change to some other material and not my running shorts or capris. Blast it. It itches like crabs on a ball sack. It also looks terrible. I took some antihistamines and put cortisone on it and Calydryl. Oat meal baths anyone?
It sucks. Right now, my butt itches, too. And the burning between my legs is not sexual desire. If I continue to type, I will not have the urge to take a hairbrush down there. Hey. I wonder if Vagisil or any of the hoohah creme would work? Hmm...
Well, it's worth a try, right? The worst thing that could happen is that I grow into a unicorn, perhaps? I will surely let you know if horns start growing out of my head or other areas.