1. If you’re still hanging around after the Ultimate Blog Party, it’s nice to have “met” you.  Feel free to keep hanging around (and commenting on the inane hilarity I continue to post) as long as you’d like.

2. My dearest That Boy has been gone THREE STRAIGHT DAYS from early until far later than he should be with my car doing favors for other people.  I say my car, because even though we downsized to one car, the one we kept is indeed titled in my name.  Most of the time, I don’t mind sharing a car.  I say most, of course, until I’m stranded in my house for THREE STRAIGHT DAYS with places to go and errands to run and one That Boy who will not stop running off with my only source of transportation for 13 hours a day.  Boo.

3. I should have cleaned more while I couldn’t leave.  I didn’t.  Great.  Now I’m angry about not leaving and guilt-ridden about not cleaning.  Fab-u-lous.

4. I did manage to clean the office, and a storage bookcase that was in desperate need of attention.  Three bags of trash later (and a box that still needs to leave my house), and it’s looking pretty clean in here.  That is, if you ignore the cat hair tumbleweed I found under the worktable but have yet to find a vacuum for.

5. I hate vacuuming.  That Boy loves it.  I am totally ok with this arrangement.  When it’s vacuum time, I go into the office, shut the door, jam to loud ass music from my iTunes and play Bubble Spinner until it’s over.

6. The good people at the IRS told me they’re depositing my tax refund tomorrow (after 23487 years, I think).  They also told me my return was incorrect and had to be “adjusted”.  That makes one hold one’s breath while on hold for “a customer service agent” for 10 loooooong minutes with words like audit and penalty and federal frickin’ prison floating around one’s head.  As luck will have it, I have been spared.  The adjustment was because I missed a $390 tax credit apparently.  Let me say that again … there will be an extra $390 in my refund (if the damn thing ever shows up).  Yes, please.

7. A week from today is National Take Your Brat To Work Day.  You should do that.  Take your brat with you and entertain them for 8 hours photocopying your body parts and screwing around with the vending machines.  My mother has wrangled me into providing “supervision and activities” in the afternoon for the brats her employees are bringing in.  I don’t remember the legislative proclamation saying the day was called, “Bring Your Brat To Work So Em Can Entertain Them For Hours” Day, but I will oblige my mother nonetheless because she “gave me life”, and as I am consistently reminded, “can take it away when ever she wants”.

8. My brother and I totally saw “The Midwestern Fireball” last night.  We were outside letting the dogs out during the 1st period intermission of the Red Wings (are you a fan?  you should be.  it’s state law.) game when the sky lit up like it was noon for a couple seconds then faded back to black.  We were much less concerned than we probably should have been, now that I think about it.  Don’t put us on the front lines against the alien invasion, because apparently we’ll just chalk up giant flashes of light as “rogue lightening” even when the sky (and radar) are completely clear.  We were preoccupied dissecting an obviously terrible Stanley Cup first round prediction by some idiot blogger who (falsely) thinks teams from states that don’t have snow should win hockey games.

9. Are you ready for Stanley Cup season?  If that last one wasn’t enough of a warning: We are Red Wings people (um, because we’re for MI … and because they might be the winning-est franchise in the NHL and we like to back winners).  We (and by we, I mean me, obviously, and my imaginary friend that just crept right into my grammar all of a sudden) will reserve the right to blog about hockey during the playoffs whether or not you want to read about it.  We will (now this multiple pronoun is getting weird, but I feel like I need consistency …) expect you to either smile politely or cheer along for the Wings, but not for those other crap teams from your hometowns that you may be in love with.  This is especially true of Chicago and Pittsburgh.  Native Canadians will be excluded from this rule as their national law (not unlike the great state of MI) also mandates they be hometown hockey fans.  You have been warned.  /crazyhockeytalk

10.  Tomorrow, if That Boy lets me go near my precious vehicle, I have to return 3.2 million empty pop bottles.  They have been accumulating in the basement for much longer than is commonly decent.  Why not throw them away?  Well, first, that makes Mother Earth cry a little.  Second, each one of those little devils is worth a whole dime here in MI.  I had to pay them 10 damn cents for each one to leave the store, and by golly, I will get my dimes back.  Returning 3.2 million empties is not really on my list of “Coolest Things Em Could Ever Want To Do” nor does it make the “Marginally Ok Not Too Terribly Irritating Things Em Could Spend A Friday On”, but that little pile of dimes, which will be added to our Tropical Wedding (not ours, mind you) Vacation Fund, is motivation enough for me.  Oh, and the part where there are bags and bags and bags and bags of empty cans littering my basement like someone is building a shanty town.  That helps too.

A nice even 10.  Yes.  The round number monster has been appeased.

Sooooo, any weekend plans?  Any hockey trash talk?  Any life in bullet points you’d like to share?

Em.

ps, this post is linked to Jennifer’s 7 Quick Takes Friday at Conversion Diary.

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