ChompSki's had horrendously bad gas lately. Like, what the fuck did that dog eat? Tires, skunks, and bear shit. Has to be. Then he puked it up and ate it and NOW he's farting. I've been joking that he should have the decency to at least finish it off with a vanilla candle chaser.
So then Magnus decides to take the advice instead. I catch him in time. He's only licked a little bit of flavory wax off his fingers when I stop him. My house is getting taller and taller by the minute. The high shelves are in demand and getting fuller and more crammed. And damned if I can ever find my beer.
I remark on having caught him in time when Rob shares with me not to worry: the candles aren't toxic. He knows from calling poison control. He was wise not to mention this to me. I've turned into some what of a fretter, in a way I'm not especially proud of. I'm afraid I may raise a mama's boy.
A short time later, Rob shares how he spent 20 minutes driving around town because he was so enjoying singing Concrete Blonde's "Joey" at the top of his lungs but was determined to get through the entire song without laughing and was having trouble. Not laughing. He was having trouble not laughing. Singing "Joey" at the top of his lungs for 20 minutes wasn't a problem at all. That's why the 20 minutes. I swear I'll start whislting it if he ever comes to a meeting I'm at late.
In other news, I've been spending some time on creative writing and started this blog:
My plan is to do some writing on there every day for six months. We'll see how it goes. I know I've been known to start other blog projects in the past and... ahem, not follow through. Hopefully I'm more deligent on this one.