Crash Diet. It’s a book of short stories and I’ve only read the first story. I’m pretty sure I’ve read the book before at some point in the distant past.
Know what book I have no interest in reading? Haunted. That Chuck Palahniuk is one disturbed individual. I read Choke a few years ago, and it just wasn’t my thing. Something about the book reminded me a little of something I read by Spaulding Gray years and years ago, though I couldn’t tell you the name of the thing by Spaulding Gray, or even what it was about.
Anyway, Haunted has the story from Playboy in it, the story about the pool, and if you read it, YOU REMEMBER IT, because you still have a knot in your stomach when you think about it, and you have to immediately go to your happy place and sing a little tune as if you are The Biscuit, just so you can stop thinking about that fucking story.
Or maybe that’s just me.
Anyway, I’m not a huge Chuck Palahniuk fan, though I did like Fight Club, the movie. I’ll be giving the rest of his books a wide berth, though.
We were going to go to Florida this summer for the July 4th weekend, but ended up deciding to stay home because I’d have had to find someone to cover for me Monday morning at the pet store, and I’ll already need to find someone to cover for me later in the month when I go to Maine, and it was all just too much for me to contemplate, so I told Fred we should just stay home. He’s not a big fan of the beach, anyway, so it was no great loss for him. Which he proved by dancing lightly about the room once I’d said we should just stay home.
I think I need to start looking for a part-time job, because I’m beginning to get REALLY FUCKING BORED. There’s only so much time even I can bear to sit on my ass in this house.
I could always start on that novel Fred’s always harassing me to write. Uh. BORING. I need to find things to do outside the house. Things other than running errands and volunteering at the pet store once a week.
Obviously what I need to do is have a couple more kids to keep me busy. HA! Kidding!
I had my hair cut and colored yesterday, and when I got home and looked at my hair in the mirror, I cringed. She used an awful lot of product in my hair, which is usually naturally wavy, and it was flat and straight, and I thought I looked a lot like Martha Huber’s sister. What the hell’s her name?
Anyway, I thought I looked like her, at least hair-wise:
Fred, on the other hand, thought I looked like Emo Fuckin’ Phillips:
Har. Har.
I’m not sure he’s got any room to make fun of someone else’s hair, the fucker.
When he got back from hiking yesterday after work, he called me outside, and there was a baby robin – not a tiny one, but obviously not a fully grown one, either – hopping around the yard. Later, he put on gloves and went out to catch the bird, with the intention of putting it back in its nest.
The bird did NOT like being held, and squawked and sputtered at Fred. We tried to figure out where the nest he’d fallen out of was, but couldn’t find it. Fred ended up putting the bird under a bush. Later, I looked out the window to see him hopping across the yard, and Fred went out and tried to get it to eat some bread, but it wasn’t interested, and just kept giving him the stinkeye and hopping away. We finally left it alone – either it’ll figure out how to fly, or an animal will get it. Circle of life and all that, I guess.
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