Yeah, so you know how I was all, “The Top Model post will be up tonight!” and then it wasn’t? Yeah, so it’s not going to be. EVER.
Sorry, I’m lazy and a liar and I’m sorry, but baby, you know I still love you. Really, it’s just that the past three weeks have been what can only be described as a clusterf*ck of busyness. (That’s spelled as such for clarity’s sake, yo.) I’ll break it down, as I’m wont to do, enumerated-list style!
1. Mass murder
Or at least, three weeks ago, I thought we were going to murder Schubert’s Mass in E. We’ve been practicing our collective ass off, and I can’t deny that choir rehearsal became, for me, a frustration. After all, we’ve been working on the same piece for the past two quarters, and until the very end, we never really ran the piece.. we only trudged it. I even had called my parents and told them not to come to the concert, that it would be a waste of time for them to drive up from Kentucky to see us flounder on stage like a beached whale. Or a beached flounder. I mean, at least the whale can still breathe.
But as it turns out, we rocked that sh*t.. for the most part. (Pacememem, anyone?) I even managed to keep a “pleasant” expression, as we’re told to, instead of looking tired and haggard like I normally do. I did not, however, manage to look pleasant in any other regard, as the amount of sweat that poured from my pores (Yay, homophones!) roughly totalled the volume of Lake Erie. And was roughly as gnarsty. I mean, really. There were a good hundred singers on stage, plus an orchestra, belting it out for the better part of an hour, in an un-air-conditioned hall, with about eight trillion* lights helping to illuminate our drenched, glistening faces. Afterwards, though, I felt happy about how well we performed.. and happier still to take off my shirt.
*Rough estimate.
2. Movin’ on uuuup.. to the east north side
This is it, y’all: the move is imminent. I’m a good mix of nervous and excited, which I guess are denotatively the same, but you know how connotations are. It’s strange the things you suddenly realize upon preparing for a move. Things like:
– Wow, I’ve lived here for two years, and I never managed to put any pictures in the frames on my wall.
- Have I ever cleaned under my bed? I could knit a really disgusting sweater with this sh*t.
- Oh, so that’s where my AbSlide went!
- This packing tape smells like paint thinner. I wonder if you could use packing tape to get high. But then what if it got stuck to your face when you were sniffing it, and then you had to rip it off? I guess maybe you wouldn’t notice if you were high. Maybe you’d just think it was funny. It would be pretty funny, man.
No, I’m still not done packing, but I’m damn closer than I expected to be. Frankly, I figured I’d put everything off until the last minute, like I always do, but I totally got a multi-minute jump on it. Boo yah! It’s like I’m a responsible adult or something. Scary. The cats (‘Cause, yeah, there’s a second one now, remember?) know something’s up, but frankly, I don’t think they care. I know there’s always the chance that a cat’s gonna freak out about moving, but Burrito hasn’t given two sh*ts with any move we’ve made yet, and Gutterball hasn’t been in this place long enough to be attached to it. The fun part is going to be actually moving them to the new apartment. Gutterball has been in a car exactly once, but seemed fine with it, but Burrito.. Burrito does not like the car. It’s only a short ride, but God help us if we hear (dun dun DUN!) the evacuation noise. The evacuation noise is a very low-pitched meow, used to warn fellow passengers that an evacuation is about to take place. From which orifice? Who knows! But rest assured, it will be swift-in-coming, and it will be gross.
Follow-up: The move went smooth(ish)ly, and our apartment is livable. Oh, and the evacuation was Burrito’s first-ever hairball. Fantastic!
So.. I mean, I guess that’s it. I thought there’d be more than two things on the list. It’s telling that two things took over my life, consuming me outright. Since then, however, I have tried to leave myself a little more open to fun bursts of boundary-breaking spontaneity. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some pajamas to put on and some Cinnamon Bun ice cream to annihilate.
