Lordy Bee Gordy, I am terrible at remembering to take photos of things.
I just look at all y’all’s blogs, and I love looking at the photos. And I want to take photos and post them. But do I do it? NO. I am so over myself about that right now. I mean, how hard is it to do? Jeezy Creezy, people. WHAT THE FRACK.
I guess I shall have to rely on word pictures to paint in the spaces of my colorful world.
Ha ha. What if I really talked like that? I feel like if I did, I would have to wear bright, glittery scarves and twirl a lot.
So last night, I had the most picture-worthy evening. First of all, Hopscotch and I met up at my house and had a conversation with Nordic Boy, who was, as ever, on the roof. It’s like he’s friggin’ Rapunzel up there these days. I just walk up my front stairs and scream out “HELLO??” and then his head will pop over the side of the roof for a little conversation. And then I go in the house.
The good news is that the deconstruction phase of the roof is over, and the garbage in my yard has been taken to the recycling center. YEAH-HOO! Last weekend, Nordic Boy got a truck and loaded it up to take it away. And although he didn’t ask me to help (I was very busy having lunch with BioGirl you know) he did offer to have me ride along in the dump truck so that when he arrived at the dumping grounds, I could push the dump truck button to make the bed spew out the junk. Isn’t that romantic? We keep the spark alive, yes we do.
I ended up not going, but the button pushing gesture was very nice. It’s the thought that counts you know. I just didn’t really want to sit in the rental dump truck for that long because yo, that shite was dirty. Like, I thought I was going to get ringworm just from sitting my ass on the seat. I am, in many ways, a low maintenance sort of lady, but when it comes to avoiding janky germtown, I can be a little weird and hyper. It’s just a thing I have. No ringworm is my motto. Well, not my motto. I just have a three-decade ringworm-free stint that I am anxious to keep going.
ANYWAY. Last night, Hopscotch and I packed a picnic dinner (well, mostly she packed it) and went to Lake Washington (or Lake Warshington as some people like to say) to eat. It was gorgeous. GORGEOUS. Perfect weather, perfect view, perfect everything. And we even saw Clay Aiken there. Ok so it wasn’t Clay Aiken but there was a dude there who looked just like him and that was enough to satisfy us. We talked about bad dates. She had a pretty bad one. And then she says “top THAT” and I totally did. I had a date bad enough that when I tell it people fall down laughing with embarrassment on my behalf, without fail. And this was no exception. She had to lie down in the grass for a second to collect herself when I told her. And NO I am not going to tell you guys about it, at least not today. Just try to imagine the absolute worst, most embarrassing thing a person could do while on a date and you just may guess what my worst date story is. Please, do not try and get into a contest with me about most embarrassing date behavior because you. will. lose.
So we sat there and ate cheese, crackers, fruit, and spanikopita. It was very romantic. If that girl wasn’t already married I might have just popped the question.
Then we mosied back to my house, where we ate ice cream sandwiches while Nordic Boy tried hard not to fall asleep from roof-fatigue.
See, if I was any kind of photo blogger at ALL, you would have seen (a), Nordic Boy’s head poking over the side of the roof, and (b) the gorgeous lake where I ate my dinner, and (c) the romantic cheese and fruit spread on the picnic blanket, and (d) Hopscotch being struck down by my bad date story, and (e) ice cream sandwiches.
It was all very pretty, I assure you. And I made it through another day by not breaking my ringworm-free record. Score.