Bite Me Friday

I’ve only been in the house for not two hours more and already I am ready to pack my stuff and go probably to Greece or Ireland or Brazil. IF ONLY. And the funny fact is this: The reason for this feeling of wanting to just throw my hands up in the air and run away? A cat. Or, to be more specific, a kitten.

I’ve had an easier time dealing with my nephews when they were in their Terrible Toddlers stage.

Now,  forward march to other things not cat related!

Um… Well, let me grapple with other things to say… Let me consult my checklist:

  1. basketball games of my guy friends here in our Village
  2. long weekend due to Holy Week
  3. basketball games of my guy friends from my former company
  4. pending get-together from one of my sets of friends
  5. Dianne leaving a Facebook message about going out for some drinks
  6. throwing in something more to my nest egg
  7. eat breakfast RIGHT AFTER THIS BLOG POST
  8. watch the rest of my “Ghost Whisperer” DVD
  9. play with my PSP
  10. go somewhere on Sunday (maybe in Ruins for new DVDs and new PSP games AND eat shawarma!!!)

That’s it, folks. Next post will be an anecdote, a blast from the past. So I can share my utter stupidity slash klutziness. Also, I was thinking of starting a vlog. Just a thought but then I always end up with “Nah. No no no no no NO.” Because I wouldn’t want to be responsible for giving you nightmares when you’ve seen my face shoved in this.


Author: Anna

Awed/delighted/floored with anything horror. Indulges in chocolates, blogging, writing, and reading. Attracted to the offbeat and the quirky / the odd and the strange / the weird and the eerie.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s