Let the church bells ring

7 Jun

The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing through the open windows, I can hear the church bells ringing, the neighbors’ kids yelling “and you wonder why you don’t have friends!”, then a quick “SLAP” as the older brother hits his sister, and finally a very whiny, “MOM!!” as she runs off to tattle on him.  Summer is here, friends.  It’s warm enough for short sleeves – but not so hot that you immediately start sweating off all your make-up and begin cursing the world.  It’s the perfect day for sitting outside, enjoying some sangria with friends, and watching cute dudes roll by.  Or perhaps you’re enjoying that umbrella drink on the beach while you pretend you don’t hate your body and wonder if every person who walks past you is trying to count the dimples on your thighs.

Glorious.

Gorgeous.

I know you’re wondering what I’ve been doing with this perfect Sunday weather.  I’m glad you asked.  I’ve been sitting at my dining room table ALL day doing one of two things: studying for a test I will no doubt FAIL on Tuesday, and getting sucked into the void of Pinterest as I think through how to decorate my new pad.

I’ll finally have the kitchen I’ve always wanted, complete with a wine fridge.  WINE FRIDGE! Yes.  It’s happening.  It. Is. Happening!

Moving sucks balls though.  It sucks.  I’m somewhat tempted to just set my current place on fire and start over in the new place.  That way I don’t have to worry about what to take with me.  And I’ll finally stop stressing out about what the hell I’m going to do with this antique marble top dresser I’ve had since I was 15.  I no want it.  I NO WANT IT!!  It’s too nice to throw away, and too heavy to put in my car and take somewhere.

Antique dealer?  Craigslist?  Me not know. Perhaps Craigslist is a good idea.

Or perhaps it’s not.  Perhaps I’ll end up on an episode of Dateline after my dead body is found in the flooded basement.  It could happen.  And with my luck it won’t even be Josh Mankiewitz or Keith Morrison telling my story.  Instead it’ll be that one blond woman who’s face looks like it’s fucking frozen, Andrea Canning.  Maybe I’ll just pass on Craigslist because I will haunt a bitch if my story gets told by her.

Perhaps the time has finally come to get up from the table, wash my face, brush the rats’ nest that is my hair, and venture outside to enjoy the beautiful day.

Right after I finish picking out the new area rug for my new bedroom…

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