pen? Could be an early warning sign for something awful. I should see a physician at my earliest convenience.
Today, other than my walk and subsequent front porch sitting with my walking buddy, I have enjoyed alone time. It makes me a tiny bit giddy and whatnot. Lately I get almost NO time alone. None. Zero. Zilcho. Don't get me wrong. I loves the men who inhabit this space with me - but I would LOVE to know what it feels like to LOVE them from afar for a minute.
The smell of chicken breasts broiling after having marinated in Intensity Academy's Green Tea Gourmet Sauce for several hours is almost more joy than I can stand. I'm a terrible cook, as I've said here before, but I'm thinking given the way the house smells right now, I may have turned a corner.
PS: I have no idea what it means to broil something. I'm just using that word because I think it makes me sound fancy. What the chicken is actually doing is sitting in a tiny oven thing I have, sweating as though it's about to be asked to settle down and marry me. I can't even say for sure that it's cooking.
I have an O Magazine that just came in the mail today with my name written all over it (not really, but how cool would that be?) and roughly 4 tablespoons of Blue Bunny ice cream left in the freezer that the mens somehow missed. I'm going to eat my chicken, spread goo all over my face, and just be straight up girlie.
At least for the next half hour until one of them shows up here again talking 'bout, "That chicken sure do smell good," and "Can I have that freezer burned ice cream?" and "Why are you sitting around with Cool Whip on your face?"
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