Guess who got up early to get a head start on cleaning up her apartment? I�ll give you a clue� it�s someone who has been sitting around reading diaries and stuffing herself with generic Captain Crunch cereal for about an hour now, and who has been overcome with a sudden urge to write a pointless entry�

I love it how the only time I want to write in here is when I�m not supposed to.

I was looking forward to the three-day weekend because there is so damn much I�m behind on. I�ve been getting by on the bare minimum of cleaning and cooking and etcetera lately, and it shows. Lawdy, it shows. Yesterday I managed to finally get myself to Aldi to buy some cheap-ass groceries. The Jewel has been killing us financially lately, but I can�t seem to stay the hell out of there because there is so much stuff we eat regularly that you just can�t get at Aldi. I used to go to both grocery stores every time I shopped so at least I could save on the stuff that Aldi does carry that we like.. stuff like sugar, flour, ketchup, mustard, milk, butter, tuna, canned soup, chicken, frozen pizza. But my recent life-theme of �too lazy to scratch my own ass� has carried over to grocery shopping, to the point where I�d rather just go ahead and pay the $250 to Jewel for a week's worth of food than have to drag myself through yet another grocery-buying ordeal.

But lately the Evil Childe has been �entertaining� a fair bit, and my groceries have been disappearing at an alarming rate down the insatiable throats of several teenagers, and even though they mostly just piece on the junky stuff like cereal, chips, and frozen pizza accompanied by an ocean of soda, it has gotten real expensive, REAL quick.

So yesterday I went and finally washed and cleaned out my filthy disgusting car, and then went and bought my cheap-ass groceries, only to discover upon bringing them home that I'd have to leave all the non-perishables sitting in the dining room overnight as I have absolutely no room in the pantry for them. How is it that we never have anything to eat around here, yet the pantry door bulges when we try to close it? And let�s not even talk about the indelicate balancing act that is going on in the fridge, or about how when you open the freezer you have to do a little dance to avoid the frozen ground-turkey missiles that hurl themselves at your toes.

So I was a little productive yesterday getting the car and groceries done, but still far behind what I wanted to accomplish. What I really FEEL like doing, actually, is getting my bathroom all cleaned up so I can hang my new (cheap plastic) shower curtain up in place of the old, mildew-infested one that makes me afraid to close my eyes when I shower; and clean and organize my closet, and my bedroom, and get my bookshelves all organized and my various projects neatened up so I might actually be able to work on something once in a while instead of getting disgusted and giving up during the initial stages of actually trying to find supplies and a clean flat surface on which to work. There is also much general cleaning and dusting and crap that needs doing around here, but I suspect that by the time I get done with the fucking kitchen, I will have lost all the rest of my ambition for the day. I need a maid. Two maids, actually. A sexy French maid to flick the dust around daintily while we ogle, and a nice Polish lady who comes dressed for vaccuuming and scrubbing. (I was SO not meant to be poor.)

One reason I am so behind in all the housework, besides my general slothfulness, is that I accomplished absolutely nothing last weekend and it was grand. See, the Prince and I celebrated our 3rd anniversary last Sunday by spending an afternoon at this place It was fabulous!

See, we don�t often get time alone together. We don�t live close to family that could keep the Evil One overnight, and I managed to screw myself out of the one benefit divorce usually brings to those who have kids, the much under-rated �every other weekend off� feature. And seeing as how my kid can only seem to maintain friendships with people who possess penises, we don�t even get the occasional �bye mom, I�m spending the night at Jenny�s.� (Well, she tried using that line once, but what she really meant was: "Me and the Boy and his brother and another kid are going to spend the night having group sex, partying and wreaking miscellaneous havoc at Chris�s house because his parents are out of town." Which thankfully, was brought to light BEFORE it actually came to pass, because Mama ain't nearly as big a fool as she seems to think. But I digress.)

So we almost never get the chance to have loud, energetic sex in our own apartment, nor to get away for a night or a weekend, because what kind of fool leaves a teenager alone in the house overnight? But� we CAN often manage to get out of the house for an afternoon or an evening, and wonder of wonders, I discovered that a Sybaris offers a four-hour afternoon rate.

There is something deliciously dirty about renting a room for an afternoon just to have sex, anyway. Like "who's got time for all that romantic bullshit, let�s just get you out of those clothes and hit the sheets, baby!" I had already visited the porn megastore on Friday night, stocked us up on filthy movies and purchased a couple of new sex toys. So on Sunday morning all we had to do is fill up a gym bag with all our naughty paraphernelia, and head out.

The room was really nice. The bed was king-size and had a million pillows, and a light switch panel where you could change the mood lighting anywhere from "Hey check me out!" Hollywood spotlights to a gentle "cover up a multitude of sins" glow. There were mirrors everywhere, and whatever surface wasn't mirrored was covered with this dark green carpeting stuff. There was a small fireplace in one wall, a TV in just the right position for viewing while lying on the bed, and very strategically placed and angled mirrors over the bed. You couldn't miss watching your own action if you tried! Which I thought I would hate, seeing as how seeing myself naked tends to be a little depressing these days, but I had brought my favorite black nightie, the one with the underwire which actually lifts my boobs up off my thighs while covering everything else I don't like with black lace, and I actually thought I looked kind of sexy lying there with the Prince doing naughty things to me.

So we drank champagne, watched porn for awhile, tried out the new toys, and did the deed (and did it well if I do say so myself.) Then we decided to try out the whirlpool, and nearly killed ourselves in the process. We got it way too hot, but we were thinking, it's like a hot tub, it's SUPPOSED to be really hot, right? So we did the oooch-eeeech-ouch thing and sat ourselves down, and it was nice for awhile, and we talked and laughed and fought to keep sight of each other in the 150 pounds of bubbles I apparently went a little bit overboard with. Then we started fooling around again, and things got a little heated, and suddenly I realized they were a kind of OVER-heated. Like, sweaty, nauseated, head-achingly over-heated. So I got out, took a cool shower, and layed down on the bed in all my naked glory to cool down. My face was bright red and my heart was pounding scarily, and all I could think looking up into the ceiling mirror was "I'm going to get to watch myself have a naked heart attack right here in the sex motel, and I'll bet the Prince won't even think to cover my nakedness before he calls the paramedics." I mean, hell, it WOULD be a fitting end to the story of my life... a death that would be sure to get a few chortles at the attending paramedics' next drunken Christmas party: "Hey, remember the fat chick who got too hot and had a heart attack at the sex motel? Wonder if her hubby took one last go before she cooled off? Har har..."

Which he didn't, because meanwhile the Prince began to realize he had gotten a little overheated himself, and was feeling pretty weak and shaky when he got out of the whirlpool. So he turned on a cool shower, and since I was still feeling pretty crappy myself, I decided to join him. It was a really nice shower, too... large and roomy with many sprinkler heads spewing out the cool droplets of water, and a long bench along the wall where we sat and talked for the better part of an hour while we cooled off, and then wound up playing some silly S/M games in there, because I am a wuss about pain but the accoustics in the shower made even the tiniest ass-slap sound quite impressive. And by that time we were feeling better, so we dried off, changed out the old porn tape for a new one, and had quite a nice mutual wank session on the bed. Then we finished off the last of the champagne, cleaned up and left a nice tip for the maid because I felt guilty about the blood on the bed (don't ask.) We checked out with about a minute to spare, went out and had a nice dinner, and made it home by early evening with the kid none the wiser.

Until she snooped in the gym bag. "What the hell? How come you guys are carrying around a bag full of porn and sex toys???" Uh....

Now we've decided that we need to be rich so we can go there every weekend, because it was so much fun. The Prince even had the gall to say to me, "It would be nice to go there just to relax in the whirlpool and shower..." until he saw the look in my eyes. It was about the SEX, dude. The SEX, ok? Or maybe it was about some romantic shit or something, but it definitely was NOT about the shower or that death-dealing whirlpool. (Although we are planning to build ourselves a bedroom just like that if we ever get in a position to build ourselves a house. But it will be a room for sex-having, dammit. Nothing relaxing about it! Jeez.)

Now, with that little overshare out of the way, it's off to the kitchen with my lazy ass. Even though I still don't wanna.

4 felt the need to share

Previous - Next
Last Five
Crappy job crap, weird neighbor, and someone whose baby I apparently want to have - 2006-05-08
Live from the dump - 2006-04-09
Kind of like a muzzle for your brain - 2006-03-29
...and then she fell ass-first into my cereal bowl - 2006-03-28
Playing catch-up - 2006-03-27

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