Tag Archives: weekend

Why I Don’t Have a Stalker

Hello again.

I’m trying to deal with some issues in a “healthier” way than I want to, so I’m writing, but not about those things. Maybe I’ll write about those things in the next couple weeks if I don’t think it will bore everyone. We’ll see. I’m feeling wordy.

But right now it’s the weekend, and  not to brag or anything, but I’m pretty sure I have a hot date with the shovel. Oh yes. I’m told I could get a good six inches, but then again, those things are always exaggerated. 

shitty-snowglobe1

Or so I’m told.

The only dating I do is reading expiration dates on food.

Anyway, I don’t have a hot date and I don’t have a stalker. Why? Because I’m 154 percent sure that I would bore him to death after about two days.

During the week, my days are basically the same and involve the same route and the same activities. The weekends are similar, minus the drive to work and the occasional TV appearance that at no point included paparazzi or security guards—except to drag me off the set.

Pretty much knowing where I’m going to be might appear to be the formula for a stalker, but trust me. If parts of my Twitter feed lately are any indication, you can see why they would move on to someone with a social life beyond jilted geriatrics and gang-banging birds.

I think I’m safe.

  • For the record, it’s entirely possible to fall up the stairs completely sober. Multiple times.
  • Never ask yourself, “Could I make a bigger mess?” as you will promptly find out that yes, in fact, you can. At least if you’re me.
  • I need the Dog Whisperer to teach Chauncey how to not pee into the wind.
  • It’s kind of amazing how quickly I go from “nothing sounds good” to “why isn’t there more of this to eat?”
  • Today I’m going to replace the word “the” with “le” for awhile. Example: “A piece of le cereal just fell out of my bra.” Sounds classier.
  • Someone found my blog with “Abby + Gordon Ramsay = fuzzy pink gnome tiara” so I have that going for me.
  • Going to Walmart at 6am on the way to work saves the annoying people factor. However, you can’t brag about/show off your teeth. It’s a push.
  • Just spent 10 mins playing, “What the hell did I write on that Post-It?” I think I’m inventing my own language, written only in characters.
  • I’m still wondering if I will ever look at a man as passionately as I look at just about anything with pesto.
  • I think I killed my fake tree.
  • Going to write a novel about a young, successful, beautiful woman who achieves great things. What’s the opposite of an autobiography called?
  • I can’t be sure, but I think there’s some sort of winter bird gang initiation ceremony going on under my bird feeder.
  • Simon says: Shovel, food, couch, hockey game, food, football game, shovel, couch, food, repeat.
  • I actually moved things when I vacuumed today, so I’m basically some sort of cleaning Superhero now.
  • I didn’t win Miss America or a Golden Globe this weekend, but I did manage to watch football & catch up on “How I Met Your Mother.” I win.
  • Despite numerous verbal threats, this bug keeps lunging towards me. I obviously have a very brave adversary. This may take awhile.
  • My uncle called because he was at the bookstore and couldn’t find my book. It turns out he was looking for “Abby is Crazy.” Close enough.
  • Tonight’s quote from the old people’s home: “He might have left me for a woman 25 years younger, but that didn’t make his peter any younger. Have fun with that pickle, missy.”

Now keep in mind that these aren’t all my tweets or anything. I do actual stuff that goes undocumented. I also only tweet from my computer and not phone, therefore reducing the stalker potential even more.

But if you are so inclined to proceed with stalking, please bring a shovel and at least make yourself useful. If I decide to break out the fuzzy pink gnome tiara, I’ll let you know so you can jump back in the bushes.

Just watch out for the gang-banging birds.

Like the blog? Buy the book.

(I encourage this kind of stalking.)

Why I Don’t Have a Reality Show

The weekend is upon us, which means people are talking with each other about their weekend plans—going out, heading up to the lake for one last weekend, getting together with friends and gossiping about the friends that aren’t out with them, too. 

Truth be told, I hate being asked what I’m doing because it’s usually comparably lame. While I enjoy being social in small doses, I get more excited about plans being cancelled than I would if I actually participated in the plans. My perfect weekend is usually spent outside, putzing around the house, watching the games and generally not having to be anywhere at any time.

In other words, just like I’ll never have a cooking show, I will never have a reality show.

And thank goodness for Twitter, because I can  prove my point with actual tweets from this past weekend. Now keep in mind that these aren’t all my tweets. I did do actual stuff that went undocumented and I only tweet from my computer and not a phone super glued to my hand, but they give you a general chronological idea of how my Friday through Sunday was spent—in 140 characters or less.

The Tweet-end

Yes, thank you everyone for reminding me it’s Friday and you’re happy. In other news, restaurants serve food.

It’s probably not a good things to have left the house wondering if you remembered to put makeup on.

It’s Friday. I’m going on a bender of the cleaning variety. This is why I don’t have a reality show.

Forgetting to ventilate makes bonding with Scrubbing Bubbles much more interesting.

Stretching and carbo loading for the game tonight. You know, the one I’m going to sit on my ass and watch for three hours. #MLB

I would be a social butterfly if it didn’t involve other people. And bras.

Her cat’s on a leash, yet the children run free. Something’s wrong with this picture.

If you steal my tomatoes, I will steal your tomatoes. You’ve been warned, crazy chain-smoking neighbor lady. You’ve been warned.

Maybe it’s because I’m Polish, but I think babushkas need to make a comeback. #NatalieDee

babushka

Even though I love them, steamed Brussel sprouts totally smell like urine.

It’s raining and I feel lazy. I can’t be certain, but I think there might be a correlation.

It stopped raining, so I have no excuse to be lazy. However, now back-to-back ballgames are on. I’m officially dating my couch.

Why are your teeth on the table? Don’t throw ham! Hold it until we get back to your room! Did you just pinch me? Old people are exhausting.

Watched a squirrel for 10 minutes. Thought "Wow, squirrels are so easily entertained." Realized I just watched a squirrel for 10 minutes.

Growing up on Disney movies has left me so disillusioned about small woodland creatures and their willingness to help me with my chores.

I don’t know what makes me sadder to see on my walk–road kill or a dropped and melted ice cream cone.

Apparently two allergy pills have the same effect as two Vodka gimlets on my ass. I will not be operating heavy machinery.

I can’t be sure, but I think there’s a blue cardinal at my bird feeder. #Iamthebirdwhisperer

I’m beginning to resent the birds and squirrels for their entitlement issues via the feeder.

Tomorrow is the one week anniversary of my 30th birthday. In lieu of cards and gifts, just send cash.


So as you can see, unless I add in a cupcake competition with midgets and choreographed dance numbers, I don’t think I’ll be getting my own show any time soon. But I’m okay with that, seeing as it would probably involve makeup and interrupt my standing Friday night date at the grocery store.

Plus, dozens would be lost without my minimal presence on “The Twitter” and updates on small woodland creatures treating my fountain like a day spa. 

What can I say (in 140 characters or less)?

I have no shame. 

I won’t hypocritically ask you what you’re doing this weekend, but feel free to tell me what you’re looking forward to—even if it’s just doing nothing. However, I do want to know:

“If you had a reality show, what would it be called?”