I would have posted sooner today, but I was too busy buying shit.
Okay, that’s a lie, I haven’t purchased one thing yet. Only because I asked Harv to hide my wallet, his wallet, Cal’s piggy bank, and lock me in the bathroom. I’m writing from the bathtub right now. Don’t worry, I’m fully clothed. This isn’t a porn site. Yet.
What I failed to think through is that even though I’m locked in the bathroom, as long as I have my computer, I have the internet. You done failed, Liz. You fucked up. (
Harv promised to let me out when he got home from work this evening because he made reservations at a fancy restaurant.
Guess what? I’m not going to a fancy restaurant anymore. Why, you ask? Well, maybe you’re not asking, but I’m going to tell you anyway. My mom. She called me last night to tell me that she was going to make me dinner tonight.
I prefer my mom’s cooking over fancy restaurant food any day, so I got excited and asked what she would be preparing. There was a long pause on her end. I did the whole “Hello, hello, can you hear me? Are you still there?” while tap tapping the phone against a table. Because that’s what gets a phone to work- when you tap tap it against a table.
My mom informed me that what she meant by “make me dinner” tonight was actually just picking up food at the local tri-tip barbecue joint and bringing it over.
So, yes, I’ll be spending all day locked in this bathroom, and I’m only being let out to eat warmed-over takeout.
Welcome to my life.
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Friends, today is the one-month mark of your own projects. Curious to see how things are coming along for you. Spill it. Oh, and after some thought, I’ve decided to name our gang simply The Cartel.
The picture for today’s post? Mike, the pimptastic genius at Bluntcard.com, created it. He was kind enough to make it into a magnet, and I have 50 magnets to give away on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. It’s my birthday and you’re getting the gifts. What the fuck is going on here? The giveaway is being done entirely on Facebook under the post “Magnet Giveaway.
