when throw pillows attack…they get the beat down

Remind me again why I love the Dog. Because when I come home to this:


Which is the result of a horribly mutilated throw pillow:


I have a hard time remembering.

I also take exception to people who come ringing my doorbell, trying to sell me windows and security systems and whatnot, and assume that I am not the only person living there. They ask me if I am the homeowner. I say, “Yes.” They ask me if I want whatever they’re selling (only this part takes a good twenty minutes) and I say, “No.”. They try to talk more, I say no thanks again, and then they say: “Well why don’t you talk it over with your husband and I’ll give you my card.”

It’s a damn good thing I have a security door between me and them, because I shit you not, there’d be a 2N-sized fist in the face of some of these mo’fo’s by now. For Pete’s sake. Is it that odd that I’m a single homeowner? Like, it’s just me? Is that wierd, or offensive to people?

Not to mention, even if I was married and decided to say “No”, I don’t think it’s any business of theirs whether I choose to discuss it with my husband. One big STFU to pushy door-to-door sales people.

In other news, I went to my favorite store today. I bought perhaps too many clothes. But here’s me in my favorite outfit from today:


I figure it’s a good start for the belly dancing classes that Sirensong has promised to point me in the direction of.

So I’m off to nap, and then head out for a wonderful evening in wonderful company, and hopefully I’ll be able to keep the drinks in the glasses this time. Cross your fingers for me.

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