Tank top season is upon us and I am joining the normal people crowd and actually wearing them this year. Weee! I still have chubby arms but I have balanced it out with muscles. I now casually take people to the gun show whenever I can. I’m creepy. I heard on the news today that girls in school are getting in trouble for having their bra straps show while wearing tanks. This is a serious problem for gals. I actually have to wear cardigans with my tanks because I wear big girl bras. They are not just little pretty lacy pieces of material for show like in La Senza, no, they are magical hydraulic lady machinery built for keeping the weapons of mass destruction at attention. I imagine it takes a team of people to assemble these things. So regardless of the tank top cut, my Betty & Veronica storage accessory always seems to be showing. So I’m siding with the ladies who feel they are being discriminated against for their clothing. Find me a tank top that doesn’t show my bra in some way and I will wear it! But until then, deal with it. Apparently I also have giant underwear too. I have now seen three people at the gym wear shorts that are the exact same size as my boy short/hipster underwear. What I wear as a vagina basket others wear as regular shorts. Ballsy! Well played ladies, getting rid of one piece of clothing to get gross and sweaty, well played.

Jon Hamm’s penis is in a movie right now and for some reason no one will go see it with me. I know it’s a dreaded Disney movie but come on, Jon Hamm! Maybe people are being put off by me calling the movie Jon Hamm’s penis. Who knows.

I have this weird thing happen to me now where I think I hear my alarm before it goes off. I wear ear plugs because I need certain types of sensory deprivation to focus on my sleeping. I can be up for hours hearing weird sounds and creating full length movies in my head just about that one single sound. It’s not good. I once told Hennie his sleep breathing sounds like far away screams and it keeps me up all night, frightened. So anyways, ear plugs are necessary. But now I can phantom hear the Sons of Anarchy theme (my alarm) so much that I end up pulling out the ear plugs because I can’t tell real alarm from one in my head alarm. It’s so stupid. I sing the theme to SOA in my head over and over until my actual alarm goes off. I should probably change it soon or I will start having morning anxiety every time I watch the new season of Sons.

We are moving into Ottawa in like a week! Weee! Living in the city will be a big adjustment. We are house sitting in Almonte right now and even that is an adjustment. The cats wanted to be let out the other morning, EARLY, so I came down opened up the front door, went out onto the porch, grabbed the paper, filled their food dish and went back to bed. As I was walking up the stairs I realized I had gone out in my underwear and a shirt that says California cougar. We are housesitting in a very populated area of town and I wonder if at least one parent saw and told their sons to stay away from the house with the pantless cougar lady. I have now texted a wrong number twice now. The first time was to switch a work shift and the unknown person texted back saying they were not the right person but good luck on switching your shift! I thought, wow, the kindness of strangers. The second text was not so smooth. I had seen a friend post that they were getting rid of a thing you hang pots from in the kitchen. I was interested and got her number from a friend. So I wrote a text saying, hey I am super interested in your pot hanger, I saw it on Facebook, I think it will be super useful in my new place. Wrong number, they wrote back. I apologized and started driving and then realized, I wonder if I should text back what I mean by pot hanger. Did they think I meant a contraption for hanging and drying pot? Did this person just assume I was speaking of my drug op business and should I clarify what I meant or would that make it seem dodgier and more like a cover up. Ack! Wrong numbers! I left it, if a stranger thinks I’m cool enough to text about drug paraphernalia, I’ll take it.

We went to buy a bed at Sleep Country! We are practically adults! Or we pretended to be adults but we failed miserably. It was apparent we were failing when he mentioned pocket coils in the mattress and Hennie and I started snickering. Coils! Hennie never gets mad but the one time he got super mad at someone he said he was going to leave a coil on their car, it was quite creative I thought. So coils is a terribly funny trigger word for us. Then the sales guy asked if we knew the three F’s of mattress buying, Hennie and I were giggling and after the the first F, firmness, I tourettes yelled out, omg the next one has to be fucking! Good thing he was a cool guy because he thought that was hilarious. I assumed every second person in the world would think of that when he said F’s with mattresses but apparently not. Even when he left us to try out a mattress in the big storefront window, Hennie had to test out the bed with his weird bounces that he does in order to change positions. He looked like he was testing out the bed by having a seizure. Then he reached across and pretended to grope me. Hennie was concerned if we bought the mattress that I would also sing the Sleep Country jingle every night before bed which is a total possibility. We were laughing so hard. We only play adults on television, not in real life. We have slept in a lot of crazy beds over the years with our gypsy lifestyle and finally, FINALLY, we own the best bed ever. Hazaaaa!