Back to Life. Back to Reality.

Yay! Now you'll have En Vogue stuck in your head for the next 36 hours! You love me.

You know what I hate most about coming home from vacation? It's not the resumption of life (I'm okay with my mundanity); it's not my cluttered apartment (it's home, after all); it's not the mountainous backlog of TiVo I will probably never get to (except for Dollhouse which I'm tapping as soon as I blog). It's the laundry. Somehow, the dirty laundry has quadrupled since I left and did I really wear that many outfits during my short sojourn to our northern neighbors? Apparently.

And of course there are no quarters to be found. Why would there be? Why would Fate make it easy on me? Stupid fate.

So what's next?

Other than obsessing about being on submission, you mean? Of course you do.

Well, there's Banish which is begging for some TLC. She's been so quiet and demure, waiting in the corner like the junior high school girl at Winter Formal whose taller than all the boys in her class so none of them will ask her to dance. But by the time she's 18 she'll be a statuesque goddess with a Ford's modelling contract, beating off boys with a stick until she develops that inevitable eating disorder - and then the coke addiction - and has to go through rehab to get her shit together only to write a tell-all book about the fashion industry that gets made into a feature film and then, finally, she's on the invite list for Elton John's Oscar party for life...

Okay, yeah maybe not like that. But she has been waiting patiently while I figure her out. I think it's time I started cranking.

Except there's this new idea tugging at my brain stem, tickling my cerebellum and whispering "We could have so much fun together. Just one little kiss. C'mon, you know you want to."

Stop it, new idea. You're such a tease.