Only Because I Love You, Christine.
biting my nails to the quick.
watching Housewives of Atlanta.
The condo is SPOTLESS/OCD style. Wanna buy it? Awesome "upriver views", EIK and a parking spot. Please? We must subsist on Stouffer'ses and make the bed everyday and DO-NOT-USE the decorative soap that's in the soap dish I specifically bought for staging purposes until you do. So please? Email me and I will send you the MLS.
Have I mentioned that Ernie has the most brilliant comedic timing and pooped on the rug immediately after the carpet cleaners left (just like the last time the carpet cleaners left a few months back)? Large bowls of cat food do not sit well with digestively sensitive canines.
Canary II is chugging along. Hoping to open a week after Labor Day, if the gods feel like granting me some sanity. Or if the City is feeling generous enough to be kind to a borderline functional over-stressed under-somnamblic with a fuse. this. short. I can't even discuss it right now it is stressing me out so much.
Have I mentioned that I am eating Skittles in bed at this very moment?
Have I mentioned I had the first live phone convo with Mr. Ex in over two years last night? It was time we catch up and discuss logistics of me moving into/purchasing the house with SFG. It was not a bad talk. We chatted for over and hour. The kitties that he won in the custody suit are doing fine, though they've had a lot of dental work done recently. Apparently Abbys are notorious for bad teeth. Who knew? Anyway, the severe anticipatory anxiety preceding this talk was, by far, way worse than the actual talk. Which I already knew in the quickly diminishing segment of logical, sane brain that keeps my teeth and hair brushed and right shoe on right foot, etc.
I think I feel a Skittle under my pillow. An orange one.
Christine, I'm very excited about 99 Luft Balloons. Do not let me down.