Yeah, I know, I don't blog much. Talk about the world's biggest writer's block! I either have nothing to say, or something to say and I don't care whether I say it or not.
Lately, I have been focused on house stuff. An adjuster is supposed to come over at some point and inspect my roof, which apparently sustained some damage from that bad storm we had back in September. I don't know shit about roofs, other than they have shingles and they go on top of your house. Don't hate me for it. I wouldn't bust the balls of a roofer if he couldn't tell me the electrical conduction system of the human heart.
I also invested in a proper leaf blower. The one I had purchased last year was more geared for the old fart who had six leaves to blow off of his four foot sidewalk. I could rake my yard in a faster time it took me to blow a small leaf pile. So, I invested in a turbo-charged behemoth of a blower and the leaves were blown in two seconds. It kicked up a lot of dust in the backyard (which is all dirt and no grass), resulting in the entire neighborhood having to go wash their cars. The Angry Lesbians who live behind me were not horribly impressed. Since they bought and moved into the foreclosure home, they haven't been happy about much (hence the title Angry Lesbians). They even called the fire department when Mr. Recommendation was running his smoker because it hindered their ability to sit on their back deck and scowl at everyone.
And speaking of Angry Lesbian, my cousin (Militant Lesbian Cousin if you remember the saga I described here, here, and here.) made the mistake of calling Mother an Effing C-word. THAT word. The mother of all bad words. I admit I use the word on a rare occasion, but if you called me one, I'd probably laugh at you. However, you don't call my mother that. You don't call anyone in your family that. I don't think Rosie anticipated the backlash from the rest of the family members once they heard of the incident, but in addition to, ahem, other pie that she may be snacking on, she has also been served up some humble pie. I'm not falling for it, though. There's just some levels of drama that you are better off without.
Most days, I go between missing Oz and being mad at what a douche he was, and mad at myself for still having feelings for him. Blowing leaves around the yard gives one plenty of time to think of such things. It also gives impressive blisters on your hands and a dozen bags of leaves.
I've gone out on a date, maybe two (I can't really remember) to ease back into that saddle. It was fun, but I have a knack for honing in on the guys who aren't looking for anything serious, or monogamous. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but I know what I am wired for, and it helps me maintain a good emotional distance. What can I say? I have aloof down to an artform.