Now wait a minute, y'all
This journal ain't for everybody
Only the sexy people
So all you fly mothers, get on out there and dance
Dance, I said!

Y'all here that? DANCE, I SAID. I'm doing a little almost-the-weekend Push It shimmy in my head right now. Weekends are very, very important now that I'm back working full time, and I'm very protective of my time. It's all about prioritizing.

Having fun = high priority
Eating chocolate covered gummi bears = high priority (I know! Raise the roof!)
Vacuuming = low priority
Cleaning out my car's disgusting interior = low priority
Going to the gym = high priority
Sleeping in = high priority
Cleaning out the fridge = low priority.
Going to a movie with Kate = high priority
Cleaning up the studio = extremely low priority
Playing with my kitties = high priority (unless they're bad, then low priority)
Fighting for the rights of my defective boot = extremely high priority.

Back when I was unemployed, weekends were just the days when I might have better luck finding someone to play with. How great is that? I don't miss the stress of being without a job, but I do miss the massive amounts of free time I had. I grocery shopped in the morning on a weekday. I made complicated vegetarian meals that took hours to prepare. I went to the gym every single day and went mountain biking 3 times a week. I caught up on 6 seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns. I had fun. Then, the money ran out. Damn.

You know how some people who win the lottery say things like "Oh, I'm going to keep working! I don't know what I'd do with myself otherwise." Yeah, I'm not one of those people. If I won the lottery, I'd not go back to work at all. Not even to pick up my Chihuahua mug:

Screw it, I'd buy a real Chihuahua and teach it how to curl itself around a plain mug! (Okay, that didn't work, did it.) My point is, I'm good at having lots of free time. I'm a Class-A putterer. I can fill a day like nobody's business. Wah. Work is just a waste of my precious time.

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I was planning on saying quite a bit about the Michael Jackson interview but my shock hasn't quite worn off. Short version: he's fucking crazy. Also, why does his son have dyed blond hair? And also, ew?

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It's almost 4pm and in an hour and a half I'll be free. When I get off, I'm going to go fight to return my broken boots, pick up a couple of videos ( Igby Goes Down and Sweet Home Alabama*), get some booze and some chocolate covered gummi bears and go home to settle down to a lovely take-out sushi dinner with my husband. It's our Friday night ritual and I love it.

*I'm renting this despite my dislike for Reese Witherspoon, which I admit is heavily based on this article by Kevin Smith. I mean really, who are you going to believe, Little Miss Type-A or Silent Bob? I think the choice here is clear.

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Super hilarious link (that everyone's probably seen but me) sent to me by Kate. Warning, it has music, which is kinda the point:

The Kittens! Throw your hands up at me!

Have good weekends, my little monkeys!

0 chatty monkeys