Sarcomical

Perfectly Acceptable Excuses for Being Absent from Your Blog for Four Weeks...

*feel free to use these if you ever find yourself in a similar position in the future

• I was trapped in David Blaine's clear box
• My fingers were temporarily rendered useless in a freak dryer lint trap accident 
• The aliens didn't understand how much my readers needed me
• I was rearranging my Netflix queue
• That concerto wasn't going to write itself
• I was peeling a thick-skinned navel orange 
• My dogs ate my keyboard
• My dogs ate my brainstorm post-its
• My dogs ate my will to get up in the morning
• I went a little whacknut trying to figure out that whole Jacob business on LOST. I mean, honestly, WHAT THE HELL.
  
• I was filling in for Oprah
• That "weekend" in Cabo got a little...hazy
• I couldn't think in plus-140 character concepts (thanks, Twitter)
  
• I was cataloging everything in the house for possible sale on Ebay
• I was an emergency alternate for I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here
• I was in an extended food coma
• I was swimming across the Atlantic
• Apple desperately needed my services in order to finish that new iPhone

But I'm back now.

You mean...like a George Foreman grill?

I radiate heat when I wake up in the mornings.

Pulsating, haze-wavy heat.

In fact, I could quite possibly melt your hypothetical ice-encased body (resulting from your hypothetical misguided time machine excursion into the Pleistocene Ice Age followed by the fortuitous hypothetical Star Trekian beam thrusting you back into the present and materializing you straight into my bed) with approximately 15.3 seconds of indirect contact.

During most given days, I feel as if I'm running about 10 degrees colder than any actual environment I'm in. I shiver. I chatter. I say things like "no, seriously, feel my nose!", which my husband becomes increasingly annoyed with in direct proportion to the rate at which I seem to believe that HE NEEDS TO FEEL HOW COLD I AM RIGHT NOW! I stash sweaters in every room at easy arm's reach. I've even sunk so low as to resort to using the ever-avoided vacuum to remind my blood to extend itself to the very ends of my body, or OH YEAH there's always working out to get things thawed out. (And yes, I would actually rather do a cringeworthy workout than vacuum.)

...and yet.

The Husband believes he could possibly cook eggs on my body for breakfast while I'm sleeping.

I have a theory that I am hibernating like a bear every night.

However if this is true, shouldn't that mean I'd be burning a hell of a lot of fat in bed? Hmm...Sleep As Toning Technique...I could get behind that movement, if only it appeared to be a working practice.

Someone get on that.

My alter ego could very well be a bad-ass chick cop...

Stop laughing. Seriously. How rude.

Okay, so I may not currently be in supreme shape. It is true I am not yet buff, but I completely plan to be in the next several months. Like...maybe Lauren Graham buff, not Jessica Biel buff. Jessica's arms terrify me. Plus, let's stick with the plausible.

Well, this lack of perfected physique may cause you to question my statement above. As could a few other tiny details, I suppose. Such as:

1. I detest guns.
2. I get pissy when anyone asks me to wear any sort of uniform as part of a work requirement.
3. Donuts kind of make me feel sick.
4. Blood/vomit/urine? See above.
5. Sometimes I get road rage.
6. A large part of my life philosophy to this point has involved minimizing my risk of death. You know, don't move near the San Andreas fault, stay inside the airplanes at all times, stay ON THE GROUND whenever possible, don't get on the down escalator without getting a firm grip on the rail first, etc.

However.

There is another part of me that gets very VERY pumped about feeling empowered and entirely too excited and braggarty (today, that is a word) when I see a new muscle pop out. I have a vehement sense of justice and always wanted to solve crimes. I can be cocky and tough (not that the two necessarily have to go together); it's just not a side of me I've nurtured much I suppose. Sometimes I think I could possibly have rocked a badge like nobody's business.

I mean, you totally get that I'd want to be the Mariska Hargitay cop, right? Not the local beat cop, no. I'm imagining myself with a sexy short shag, and endless array of cropped jackets, a tough attitude, pouty lips and a hot-as-hell partner, dramatically solving crimes with my mind AND my bod.

Oh, did I forget to say that?

technorati tags: NaBloPoMo

What You Do Alone

I think we all have that thing. Actually, most of us probably have a FEW of them. You know, what you do when you suddenly find yourself in the house completely alone - the spouse just headed out on a trip, the kids are off to sleep over at their friends' houses, your roommate actually got a boyfriend and has somewhere else to go for the weekend - you're alone not just for an hour or two, but HOURS AND HOURS. And now, you finally have a chance to be completely selfish and do what you save for those moments when no one is there to criticize, observe, interrupt, or judge.

What do you do?

Me? You want to know what I do before you answer?

I love to put on the most relaxing clothes I own, and then usually do one or more of the following:

1. spread out a load of books and magazines from the Stuff I Want to Read but Still Haven't Read but that Doesn't Mean I Won't Keep Buying More Stuff pile and pick one to dig into
2. put my hair in a ponytail and not wash my face for two days
3. slice up a whole onion, sauté the hell out of it, and eat the entire thing because who's going to be around to be offended? p.s. IT'S DELICIOUS
4. sing all over the house, possibly even attempting to hit some of the high notes in those Mariah Carey songs from the 90's?...yeah, you know which ones I'm talking about
5. watch something completely and utterly irrelevant and/or mindless, such as the Lifetime "I married a hot guy but then he started to beat me/tried to kill me/started to like other hot guys so I ran away/fought back/divorced him and learned to love again" movies, or The Food Network, or a Mad About You marathon
6. log on to Rhapsody, put the playlist on random, and turn everything up REALLY LOUD
7. sit on the bathroom counter to lean into the medicine cabinet mirror and pluck my eyebrows for a very long time
8. crack open a notebook and wait for some sort of magical inspiration to compel me to write something brilliant or draw something at least above 3rd grade level
9. take a nap on the couch with a puffy blanket on top of me and two of the dogs laying in my crooks
10. paint my toenails

Those are a few things I may do. Now, give me one or two of yours.

technorati tags: NaBloPoMo