I’m now bringing my blog up to date. Oh, do I keep writing it? Does anybody read it? Am I doing this for any reason? Should I bother? Is any thing I say the least bit interesting? Yes, at least it keeps me writing, it makes me write stuff. I'm aiming for a new blog regime of writing every day.
I have finished photos for now. Restoring the collection, but I have just completed one set of holiday photos. I still want to get all of the photos restored so that I can present them to my brother and sister and have them be impressed with my work. Our entire family photo collection spanning one hundred years. Well, they have to insert their lives for the past 20, or so, years. It is just on hold while I do some writing.
10:45. Sam messages and suggests I should take the dog to the park. So, I do. The crones are there, I see, as we stride through the gate. Buddy runs around the perimeter, his usual demeanour. It was good, I got the opportunity to smoke the j I rolled. There was a break in the inclement weather, I had to grab it while I could. If it had to be as soon as I got there, so be it. That does not show any signs of piggery, it is just good time management.
Buddy shits twice, just as I ready myself, both times. It is as if he is doing it out of spite… maybe, it is his silent protest against the new military regime of rules for him.
He barks like ScoobyDo, he just did the best impression.
I wander around behind the play, doggy owner play, (which most entails crossed arms and an agreeable look on your face) nearly with my left hand over my mouth. It is a fresh windy day, so the telltale odourless smoke isn't evident. Deed done, every last morsel sucked in, I head to the middle and ask the crones what they though the best pet insurance is?
“Pet Plan,” says the throw-to-the-fifties. “I don’t have it myself.” I love her style, she is like some fashionista lesbian golf play from the 50’s, she never fails to impress me. Dame Edna sunnies, a bouffant and a bonnet, that takes a true eye.
Who does have it, I think? Rachel said she didn’t have it either.
“Pam?”
“Yes?”
“The best pet insurance. Pet Plan?”
“Oh yes, Pet Plan. They say it is good. Medibank private is notoriously bad at making refunds. I’m with Medibank Private, I meant to change. I must change.”
She was such a Pam, non-descript mouse-coloured hair, mission brown jumper, beige slacks.
The rain started to fall heavier and we all decided that it was time to leave. It was a washout. I needn’t have been, but none of us had umbrellas, we conceded to the elements.
I make jam toast. I make jam toast with ridiculous amounts of butter and obscene amounts of jam, thick whole meal toast bread. Yum.
I get my blog right up to date, I even publish a picture for today. Something stupid I snapped, just right at them, as they walked towards me, just like that. I had the balls to pull it off.
I go to the supermarket, under sufferance, to get potatoes. Potatoes? I ask you? The humble spud, I need 2?
“You are just lying on the couch. You are doing nothing. I am work. I want to retire too.”
That is the major drawn back of being a stay at home pot smoking boyfriend, you have no comeback and you are, practically, open to any abuse the alleged, slighted boy friend can throw at you. It is hardly fair, I tell you. The average partner becomes a tyrant, power hungry with the free points they automatically clock up every time their partner lights up.
We had hashbrowns and salad for dinner. Sam cooked. I collected the 2 potatoes. Later, I get chocolate paddle pops from the shop. He tells me I am fat.
I smoked pot until 1am. Buddy sat on his mat all night.
Mark even asked, “How is my dog?” On skype. Cute, huh? They got home safely.
I can't down load any photos, Sam admitted that he broke the card reader.
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