Look, this isn't going to be a great post because I got nothing. Seriously, nothing to report. I hardly leave the house except to walk the Pug. I could write a long post about the walking the Pug: how he goes ape-shit batty when he sees me put on my shoes; how he gets himself work into such a spazmatic tizzy that he yips and moans and whines for at least the first two blocks; how his ears bounce as he weeble-wobbles down the street; his strange habit of mounting the low-growing shrubs in front of the Lutheran church before he pees on them. The Pug and I are so tangled up in each other's lives and emotions that I don't know what kind of separation anxiety is going to go down when school starts this fall.
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It's pretty bad to resort to dreams for material, but I guess I could write about how I had a dream about how I went to the Albertson's in Grand Junction to buy a pack of cigarettes while wearing just a tee shirt and a pair of polka-dot undies. Even dreaming, I knew it was socially inappropriate to go out into public in that outfit, I knew I shouldn't do it, but I just couldn't bring myself to put on a pair of pants. So I got in my truck and drove to Albertson's, got to the electric doors, and stopped myself. I thought, I can't go in there! I don't have any pants on! So I stood outside the doors trying to figure out a route back to the truck that would shield me, you know, hiding myself by darting between cars. After several minutes of plotting, during which time people walked past me, and I felt pretty sure they saw my underwear, I dashed back to my truck. Once there, I thought about how there should be a No Shame, No Pants Day, a national day where no one is shamed for not wearing pants. I felt positive if I made that into a status update on Facebook, that No Shame, No Pants would catch on internationally. Then I woke up.
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There is how I saw a psychic in Minnetonka who told me she saw me surrounded by little dogs, lots and lots of little dogs. She suggested I adopt a terrier. She also told me my spirit guide's name is Marcus.
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There's how Mary Roach's book Spook is really, really good. So is Season Three of Big Love.
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And this: I love people who like my book. I love them a lot.
*
It's pretty bad to resort to dreams for material, but I guess I could write about how I had a dream about how I went to the Albertson's in Grand Junction to buy a pack of cigarettes while wearing just a tee shirt and a pair of polka-dot undies. Even dreaming, I knew it was socially inappropriate to go out into public in that outfit, I knew I shouldn't do it, but I just couldn't bring myself to put on a pair of pants. So I got in my truck and drove to Albertson's, got to the electric doors, and stopped myself. I thought, I can't go in there! I don't have any pants on! So I stood outside the doors trying to figure out a route back to the truck that would shield me, you know, hiding myself by darting between cars. After several minutes of plotting, during which time people walked past me, and I felt pretty sure they saw my underwear, I dashed back to my truck. Once there, I thought about how there should be a No Shame, No Pants Day, a national day where no one is shamed for not wearing pants. I felt positive if I made that into a status update on Facebook, that No Shame, No Pants would catch on internationally. Then I woke up.
*
There is how I saw a psychic in Minnetonka who told me she saw me surrounded by little dogs, lots and lots of little dogs. She suggested I adopt a terrier. She also told me my spirit guide's name is Marcus.
*
There's how Mary Roach's book Spook is really, really good. So is Season Three of Big Love.
*
And this: I love people who like my book. I love them a lot.





