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Occupation: Girl

Please close the door and switch on the fun without fail.

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msauvage purple
cleolinda

I haaaaaate cleeeeeannnnnninnnnnng. You know how I went for weeks talking about how much I hated cleaning? I'm still not finished. The problem was that it was an exercise in utter futility because I had no where to put anything--"cleaning" basically meant moving boxes of stuff around the room into a slightly neater arrangement, and maybe throwing away a stack of magazines. I mean, yes, there was more to it than that, but that was the net effect. It's kind of like the riddle with the fox and the goose and the grain, and you've got a boat that can only hold you and one other thing, and the fox would eat the goose if you left them on shore and the goose would eat the grain. Except that I didn't even have a boat.

Well, the new bookshelves (*luff*) are, in essence, the boat. So now I've got the goose books on the boat, which means that I can try to move the fox and the grain away from the closet door because I haven't been able to get in there in, oh, say, a couple of years, and have I ever mentioned that I have a lot of grain? Seriously. And I'm not sure all the grain is going to fit in the closet, either. And there's more geese in the closet, which I have to get out and get on the boat before a tidal wave of grain pours out of the closet and smothers all of us.

I did get all my DVDs relatively organized in the cabinet, though. I got that done while Sister Girl had me watch Lethal Vows on Lifetime while she washed her hair so I could tell her what happened (she's got a lot of hair), and it was so blindingly obvious yet nonsensical that John Ritter (RIP) was poisoning his ex-wife and his current wife that I knew, immediately, that it had to be a true story, because no one would write a fictional movie in which Marg Helgenberger would flash back to her (now ex-) husband scraping toxic crud out of an old radio into her shampoo and mascara containers YEARS AGO and go, "You know, I suddenly realize that this was suspicious!" Clearly, only real people are that stupid. Of course, I feel bad saying that, because the Helgenberger character, we discover, died in real life years later of leukemia brought on from something like 15 years of being poisoned by this guy. But still, there's something pathetically hilarious, as Lifetime Movies for Women tend to be, about a pathologist who's all like, "No, lady, I did not notice anything weird about your husband's new wife's body, except for the fact that YOU ARE ASKING ABOUT IT, oh, and a telltale odor of chlorine that, really, I can't be arsed to look into. Do you MIND? I am missing my tee time."

I must never watch this channel again, or I will never get anything else done. In fact, I'm not even sure I'd bother with the closet, except that I know I have a fantastic box full of picture books in there.

Linkspam:

BPAL has a new home!

More X-Movies on the way.

$665.99 - The Retail Price of the Beast. (ladyrogue: "Actually, I watched a news story today that because of the gas prices, prices on other items have dropped. So the actual retail price of the Beast is now $545.82.")

"They came back and asked what my problem was. I told them I had one hand full of snake and the other hand full of plane. They cleared me in."


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