Sunday, June 13, 2010

Another One (Sunday) Bites the Dust...*

The day started off in a more-or-less promising manner, because I'd made this little plan, you see. There was some work-related stuff sitting around which I planned to tackle (stuff I've been shoving aside and shuffling around on my desk for much too long, now). Maybe a little housework, too (because it's just a fact that there's always plenty of that to be done). I'd blog (about the OMGosh-I-just-now-found-this-awesome-classic-favorite-in-2010! that I've been promising, yay!). Throw in some reading (hopefully), some cooking (obviously), and the opener for Season 3 of True Blood (the one thing that was absolutely non-negotiable on the to-do list), and I figured my Sunday was pretty much complete.

It sounded so good in theory.

My plans, of course, got shot to hell. (One wonders why I even bother making plans. Really.) First I was coerced into helping my significant other work on a big project... which took Four. Hours. When we finally got home (and after having a very late lunch), there was more work to do... but it didn't involved diving into the pile on my desk, or even attacking the laundry or the tub (unfortunately for my heaps--plural--of laundry and the tub). Next up, it was time to work on the pool. Again. (Because I swear it is thisclose to being up and running for the season. No, really. It will happen. We will one day don gaily-colored, hibiscus-themed swimmies and get into the stupid thing, and this happy event will occur before the leaves on our trees start turning yellow and orange again.) And then, at about 6 p.m.--by which point the very hottest part of the day had arrived (93 degrees with the kind of humidity you could cut with a steak knife, if you're wondering--I decided I simply HAD to mow the lawn. Right. Then. (Obsessive? Who, moi?)

It always takes a good hour to do the whole lawn. It's one of "my" chores, but I don't really mind it. Here's the thing, though. My mower came with the house... because the previous woman-of-the-house declared it "too hard to push!" [in dainty feminine voice] and persuaded her husband to leave it behind. (Clearly she didn't want to sully her new digs with this crappy mower--smart woman). So basically, I'm pushing around a relic, a dinosaur that refuses to die. (And note that I said "pushing"; this ancient beast is powered by gasoline, but pushed/pulled/maneuvered entirely by me. I seriously doubt they'd invented those new-fangled "self-propelled" babies when this one rolled out of Sears yea, so many years ago.) Anyway, to say it was hot out, and that I was sweating, doesn't begin to cover it (trust me). Still--for good measure (or because I'm totally insane once I get an idea into my thick skull, take your pick)--all that mowing simply had to be followed with another 30 minutes in the sweltering heat, pruning the taller-than-I weed/tree things that are so hell-bent on taking over our yard. You know, just for fun. (Somehow I don't think this is what Cyndi Lauper had in mind, but...)

By the time all was said and done, I was too tuckered for much of a workout, so opted for a compromise; walking on the treadmill (not running!) while reading the Kindle. (See? Got me some reading in, after all.) And I didn't even have to cook supper afterward, because we grilled out. So, it was True Blood... with a Boca burger, grilled veggies, and a nice tall gin-&-tonic on the side. (It coulda been worse, that's all I'm sayin'.)

So here we are, the very tail-end of Sunday. Instead of the blog I've been looking forward to writing, you get this... erm, absolutely-scintillating look at my day. [Insert eyeroll here, okay?]

Oh, well. There's always tomorrow... and perhaps I won't try to plan it out beforehand, this time (since we all know how well that works out).

[*You ARE singing/humming along to Queen right now, aren't you? Dude, please, the title?!? Get thee to iTunes or youtube if you need help...]