Mine’s boring - I’m at my desk at work (yes, fully dressed), drinking a V-8, fighting a bad cough, listening to Pearl Jam on the radio, getting ready to eat my Lean Cuisine lunch.
Considering how much naked time you have had in that room, I think $14 is a bit conservative.
I’m calmed down a little now. Let me explain.
I got up to take inventory of the cupboards in the kitchen, to see what I needed to finish making a peanut butter Yule-type log that I was making for the husband’s family. The jellyroll part was unrolled, and I had spread peanut butter on it earlier. I then realised I was missing some ingredients I’d need later.
So, my husband and I were doing the little “kitchen is too small” dance as he dug around in the fridge and I was scanning the cupboard shelves. He went to move the pickle jar so he could get to the strawberry jam behind it, bent over, knocking me in the hip, I fell forward, with one arm in the peanut butter on top of the jellyroll. He dropped the jar of pickles, which smashed all over the floor. I whirled around at the noise, lost my balance a little, and stepped on a bit of the glass while trying to steady myself. OUCH!
I hopped over to my computer chair, which was the nearest chair, holding my foot out. My husband quickly got a washcloth and some bandages and fixed my leaky foot.
While my husband went to rustle through the recently-washed laundry to find a decent towel so I could clean the peanut butter off my arm, I leaned back in my chair. Behind me is a large corner cupboard, which I love very much, but I often place things there “for just a moment” and forget about them. Especially on the higher shelves. As I lean back in my chair, I go a little too fast, what with one foot sticking out and throwing off my balance a little bit, and hit the cupboard a little too hard. I hear some things rattle around, but think no more of it. I close my eyes… and feel a strange, cold, gooey dripping…
Hair gel. I left hair gel up there. I didn’t knock it completely off the shelf, I just knocked it over, and the cap, apparently, was off. Now I have gel dripping onto my head. I eventually managed to hop up, turn around, and put the bottle back on a lower shelf, upright. I run my hand through my hair. It feels yucky. I lift my hair with my one, un-peanutbutter-y hand, and manage, somehow, to “style” it, into what my husband called an “Elvis 'do”. He had come running out when he heard me cursing.
With everything otherwise under control, if a little bizarre, my husband goes to the bathroom to wet a towel for me, so I can clean off my arm. I lean back in my chair again. Why? Apparently, I forgot about the gel, or, I’d somehow figured nothing worse could happen. Thud.
A strange noise. “shhhhh.”
I look at my peanutbutter flavoured arm. It was covered in glitter. You see, last night, I had constructed an angel out of styrofoam bits and cheesecloth, and a little bag of glitter. The bag was not closed. I set it on the shelf for “just a moment”. Now it was stuck to my peanutbutter arm.
One cat leaps into my arms, I’d like to think to comfort me, but in reality I’m certain it was just because she was not the centre of attention as she should rightfully be. The other cat begins licking my elbow.
Me? I give up.
I did just take a nice, long, shower, though. I feel better.
As for the clothes, that’s just what I had been wearing when I woke up.
I can’t top that, but…
Me too! Those rolls are great, ain’t they. Which room are you in?
right now i am in bed reading (now posting on) the sdmb on a psp and listening to music and thinking about the girl I love.
I’m sitting at my desk alternating between watching the rain and Maury. I am however wearing only shorts, white socks and a white t-shirt.
No, I can’t top that. Actually, if I were naked I’d be freezing. I’m always freezing, so I try to avoid nakedness as much as possible. Pizza rolls sound good, though.
Anyhow, right now I am sitting in front of the computer in my work clothes, listening to the local long-hair music station, slugging my first martini of the evening, exhausted from two nutty pre-Christmas weeks and delighted with the first draft of a graphics project that I managed to hand in on time, just under the wire, and thinking about how much I enjoy my weird-ass job and the weird-ass people I work with, and looking forward to Christmas with my fabulous weird-ass family.
That’s a lot of weird asses.
No, I ain’t drunk.
Without reading any farther, I think we have a winner.
Alright, it seems Anastasaeon might be in the lead.
I’m now fully dressed and getting ready check out of the hotel and go to the airport.
I’m applying ChapStick.
In a hotel room by yourself wearing only black socks. That makes me wonder if the camera crew just left.
This confirms it.
Depends whether they appeared in the movie.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting here reading this thread to Zyada as she finishes knitting a scarf for a Christmas present. She wants you all to know it’s “an incredibly gaudy yarn called BlingBling.”
I can’t compete, that’s for sure. I’m just sitting here at work wasting time until the company party.
Of course, I am only wearing white socks.
There are mounds of papers and papers in mounds and mounded mounds of paper mounds surrounding me on the east, west, south, north, left, right, up, down, and even some existing in my light cone. Unfortunatly, applications are due at the beginning of the year, instead of whenever I feel like it. For Columbia I need to write an essay about whatever I well please, while Tech just wants something about dreams. All I can dream about is escaping from these mounds, to some how leave this valley, the only place in the room without paper. Actually, t isn’t just paper, but various elements of Christmas cheer and other implements better left undisclosed, although admittingly there is nothing beyond a small corporate office surrounding me. Like a neutron star, where a teaspon of its matter is heavier than all the people on earth combined, including the fat biker twins, I’ve never seen so much paper and mounds and mounds of paper in such a small area, in such a small space, in such a high density. After the first of the year, on the second of the year, I also have close to a googolplex of words to define, beat into submission, date, not tip, have sex without calling, father rape, and whatever else you can do to show a group of words you aren’t kidding about your precieved level of hatred. Then there are several thousand chapters to read and do notes and do a song and dance for, but being biology, it is worth it, and cathartic, and an evening well spent, if only I could find it. Last time I checked, it was in one of these mounds, one of these mounds of paper. Maybe I’ll find it; maybe I’ll clean up. Maybe I’ll sort these mounds into lesser, bigger hills; maybe I’ll just call it an evening and continue writing vague threats to the people who steal my garbage every Thursday in my diary. In all reality, I just hope that maybe I’ll find my friend under all these papers, because I haven’t talked to her since they started building, sometime when the revolution occured, sometime when I wasn’t too busy living to really enjoy life, sometime when she still knew my name, sometime when I remembered anyones name at all.
To put it simply, I’m sitting here thinking about all the stuff I have to do, and generally enjoying life.
If you’d started this thread last Friday, and I’d noticed ot at 1:30 AM, I’d have you topped. The situation was:
Naked (not even socks)
Drinking whisky straight from the bottle
I’m sitting in my street clothes after work at my secretary’s desk eating fried chicken, drinking a diet coke, and waiting for my laundry to dry so I can go to my martial arts class.
I’m sitting here fuming about whether or not to start a Pit thread on the anonymous jerk who put a $2000 dent in my car this afternoon without leaving a note. Probably not. I get mad and regret it later.
And I just sneezed all over my hand. Hooray.
George Jetson, is that you?
I am sitting back in a pair of fuzzy fleece lounging pants, comfortable sweatshirt, and lambs wools slippers drinking a Pepsi spiked with some McNaughtons Canadien whiskey and knowing that I am off work till the 3rd of January. Woohoo!!!
Well, if you replace whiskey from the bottle with brandy from a brandy sniffer, and chips with chocolate, and add on a cell phone connected to my boyfriend, then you have me at this moment.
Okay. I like a challenge.
I shall now finish my strawberry-banana margarita while listening to the theme music (drums and whistling) from John Carpenter’s The Thing as I type with my naked breasts: