I just had to call this post that, because that motherhumping Britney Spears song will just not stay out of my head. Anything that happens turns into that song. Just say gimme, then follow it by singing whatever you want in that bullfrog croaky way that’s in that song and you’ve got a recipe for madness. Really. Watch.
Gimme gimme LINKS, gimme LINKS, gimme gimme LINKS…
Or maybe you’re not thinking about links. Maybe you’re thinking about work. Yeah, I think about work a lot too.
Gimme gimme BOOKS, gimme BOOKS, gimme gimme BOOKS…
I could do this all day. However, I shall spare you, as you are more than capable of taking this and running with it, I’m sure.
Anyhow, thanks for all the people who said they link to me, and I am scurrying to catch up with putting all ya’ll on my listy-poo over there in the sidebar. It may take a little while, so be rest assured I will get you on that list just as soon as I can.
I think that I am suffering from vacation-deprivation, people. I know, I just got back from San Francisco, but I really think that a measly weekend away just wasn’t enough. The weekend already seems like it was EONS ago and other than going to see my dad when he was sick earlier this year, I have not taken one vacation day. Not one! That is just evil.
I think I realized that I need to have more of a vacation than I have allowed myself for a while when, on Saturday night, Nordic Boy asked me if I wanted to go out to dinner and a movie, and I said that I did but only if we left town to do so. So, we crossed some water, which is not hard to do living where we live, and we drove out to the suburbs. And not even a particularly picturesque suburb. Nope. We went out to the land of strip malls and no sidewalks just so that I could feel like I was AWAY. And when I start to see Olive Gardens and Black Angus Steakhouses, I am out of my element.
In other news, Nordic Boy and I have been busting a gut laughing each night before we drift off to sleep. Like, we’ll be just on the verge of full sleepy time, and one of us will say something in that half-asleep state that has woken us both up with laughing. Like, last night? The lights were off, I was drifting to see the Sandman, and all of sudden, Nordic Boy sleepily sings me a little lullaby. The song? “Mama, don’t let yer babies grow up to be cowboh-ehs…” And he sang it with as much twang as I have ever heard in my life. What the–? Where did that come from? The deep recesses of Nordic Boy’s R.E.M. state, that’s where. I woke myself up with a full belly laugh and that got him laughing and there we are. Woken up, cracking up.
Yeah, I know. It’s not that funny. I need a vacation.
Kiss the rings, I’m out.