When you have nothing to say?
Actually, that’s not true, I can usually dig deep to find something. The words “pithy” and “succinct” have never been used to describe me. In fact, I wrote an email to a friend regarding her upcoming move to a military post we once called home and it would be fair to say that my email could qualify as a book. I just have so much to say.
That is, however, when I have a topic to talk about.
It’s the topic well that runs dry so often.
As it stands, not much is happening around here. I did not accidentally purchase fake (or maybe not) Uggs nor did I have Nyquil induced dreams of George Clooney. I’m actually sitting at my kitchen island, dangling my feet from the chair, wondering what the heck I should say.
I could do a weekend update. However, what happened this weekend isn’t exactly update worthy. Unless you like to hear about the trials and tribulations of my forage through the commiscary on a Saturday morning. How they rearranged (dismantled is more like it) the bread aisle and I couldn’t find my favorite La Tortilla wraps. Oh,and then there is the captivating account of me and my quivering thighs of
steel jelly trudging up and down 150 (or 16 depending on your penchant for accuracy) stairs, dozens of times, to unload all the stuff I bought.
It’s hardly captivating. Trust me.
Like I said: uneventful. I did curse in the closet Saturday afternoon because my beloved husband is a slob like no other and I didn’t find his pile of sweatpants on the closet floor to be as amusing as another less tightly wound person would. Especially since I lovingly cleared out a dresser drawer for him to stuff his pants in, to, you know, make things easier for him.
I also wasn’t that crazy to discover York peppermint patty wrappers on the living room floor, left by my precious offspring and her little
accomplice friend. And, while I’m on the gripe train, I should add that the Legos all over the coffee table didn’t perk my mood up either. Or the crumbs under the couch.
Craig took Caroline to see “The Tooth Fairy” movie Saturday around noon and evidently they left in hurry, which is the only explanation for the harried state of my beloved homestead.
Throw in a trip to Toys R Us for a gift for a party Caroline attended Sunday afternoon and you have our weekend recap in a nutshell.
I shouldn’t feel *too* bad about our lack of excitement because this morning in Body Pump class, the instructor asked if anyone had a fun weekend, one worthy detail sharing, and no one responded. She then said, that we had 4 minutes and 32 seconds (the length of the squat track) to think of something interesting to share. After the torture that is a Body Pump squat track, I still had nothing to share. I was too busy trying to stand up straight and stretch out the knots in my quads. One girl talked about a night club she visited in the Adams Morgan district of DC, but I was born 62, so this didn’t exactly pique my interest. Nightclub? Drinks? Going out at dark time? Does. Not. Compute.
Another class participant shared her new found addiction to Facebook. She resisted the pull of social networking for too long and bit the bullet this weekend. Only to find herself glued to the computer for two hours reconnecting with long lost friends.
I use Facebook, but not like many others. I only have 16 friends, which is mildly pathetic, but I would feel so awkward asking people to be my friend when the likeliness that they remember me is pretty low. Honestly, I prefer Twitter. It’s faster paced and the 140 character limit is quite a challenge for one so verbose as me.
It’s a beautiful day today. Warm, sunny and breezy. Sure I prefer cold and dreary, but sun is good sometimes. I have a few recipes to bake up this afternoon, a dark chocolate truffle cheesecake with a brownie bottom (!) and some more of my favorite cake mix biscotti. Since I’m losing my favorite taste testers pretty soon, I’m cramming in all I can. Craig has a better idea of when he’ll be leaving on his “vacation” but it’s STILL not official. I can’t really blab about it anyway; it would be prudent for us to maintain OPSEC standards. For the uninitiated, OPSEC pretty much means “keep your trap shut and don’t blab any details.”
That’s hard to do on a blog, when you’re used to unashamedly airing your dirty laundry for all of the Internet to read.
And with that, I shall conclude this weekend non-update, although, I suppose it did turn itself into a recap of sorts.
And now I’m off to bake a cheesecake.
Life suddenly just got a little better.