What to do? What to write?

There comes a time when I actually run out of thing to say or comment about. Sometimes I'm outrageously observant. Today is not one of those days. I'm highly irritable for no profound reason. I guess my inner child wants to sulk.

For the past few days I've been playing a low-energy cat and mouse game with Savannah Blue Eyes. It's just something we do a couple of times a year. It makes no sense, but we're only hurting ourselves. Neither of us is dating. He'll never follow through on threats he makes to just show up on my doorstep; I can't afford to show up on his. Not only that, but the time I actually get my poop in a group and try to pull off the romantic move of my century, he'll have a girlfriend and I would have flown on El Cheapo airlines to be rejected. No thank you.

Blue Eyes and I hung up the emails and talked on le telephono. We caught up with what our children are doing. He shared his cavemanesque political views and I laughed at him. He forgets I'm not a conservative Georgia girl. He was born and raised in New York. His love of hunting and gun possession has him always voting Republican. Oy!

What can I say? I fell for his handsome looks and charm. Plus, his hands are so big they could easily cup my boob like Shaq palms a basketball. I felt petite in his presence. For anyone who knows me or has been in my presence, you know that's not an easy feat.

Oh-bla-dee. Oh-bla-dah!

About two weeks ago I decided my spare bedroom needed a severe cleaning. The fact that I could barely open the door was shameful. What truly inspired the clean up was the atrocity I like to call my closet. I live in a very old house. The master bedroom closet is an L shaped walk-in. I think it had been a changing room at one point because it isn't equipped with an organizer doo-hickey. There's a rod where I can hang clothes. An over the door shoe organizer There were shoes strewn about the floor. Seriously, it was disgusting.

There were shoes that I'd long forgotten about. Many pairs of shoes were clearly purchased for their low, low price. I'm sure I rationalized that even if I only wore them once they'd be worth the price. WRONG! The photo to the left is proof of such an atrocity. The appear to be moccasins, but they are equipped with a kitten heel. Ooh, sexy. Nothing says 'take me sailor' like a bejeweled pair of suede, kitten heeled shoes in black, hot pink or neon green. OY! Not to mention they were terribly uncomfortable.

By the time I finished my clean and reorganize project, I had 2 huge boxes of shoes and a large green garbage bag of clothing ready to be donated.

The spare bedroom is now a teen lounge for Man-cub. A twin sized futon and a clam shell chair provide seating. His 13 inch color TV and video game units are all set up. The only thing missing is a lava lamp. Oh, and ridding the walls of the hideous 70s green and yellow flower wallpaper. Sadly, that nightmare has to remain as I only rent this joint. Little Dude doesn't complain. He's just glad he has a place to retreat when I'm watching Marx Brother's movies or other black and white movies that "just don't do it for me, mom."

So, I guess I had a little bit to blather on about after all. Have a groovy day.