My mac says the battery won't charge.

And now I just want to eat away my emotions. And also drink them away. Is this an annual thing? Last year at this time I was post breakup with David and drank a couple of whiskeys a night. Now, it’s December again and here I am trying to come to grips with my Dad and am still aching for those whiskeys. I guess the good part is I haven’t drank whiskey in practically a month? I can’t freaking remember the last time I had one to tell you the truth. And they are SO GOOD! Okay fine, I’ll just drink red wine. We go through bottles of it here like a family of four boys goes through gallons of milk. A LOT. I’m going to find myself something to watch on the boob tube. I guess. I don’t much feel like reading. Fuck, I don’t feel like doing anything. Is it terrible that I just want to sit and stare into space? I hate social media. It’s made me a freak. 

My computer says that the battery isn’t charging when I have it plugged in. I need to get this shit looked at. Perhaps this weekend I’ll take it to a mac store and say “Skuse me sir, can you fix me computer?” But in a more sophisticated accent than the one you’re thinking. We aint no redneck folk round here! Straight up British with a side of Tiny Tim.

Our landlord is fantastic – super friendly, forgiving (we often put our rent checks in his box day 2 of the month), and is always bringing us samples of his yummy, native food. His kids are adorable and were once terrified of Falcor, but after a couple dance parties this summer on the patio, they’ve completely warmed up to him. Except when they taunt him with sticks and he chases them. They haven’t quite figured that one out yet. But their squeals of joy and fear sure are awesome.

Anyway, they, landlord, wife and children, live above us. And are always BUILDING something. Or creating, or reconstructing, or God knows what. Turns out they put in an industrial kitchen out back so they can prep and test foods for their food truck. Awesome?! And then all the sudden our bathroom door doesn’t close anymore. When we  tell Buu about it, he comes in, swings the door back and forth a few times, sure enough, yep, gets stuck. And get this, without missing a beat, “looks like this door just needs to be trimmed. You guys mind if I take it and bring it back later?”

“Uh, sure?”

Do you want to maybe talk about how the ceiling is sagging now that you have your bad ass industrial kitchen upstairs? Maybe later? Okay! Ha! Anyway, like I said he’s awesome, and brought us back a whole new door! Well, it was really the same door just a couple inches whacked off. And filthy. Where did he cut this thing? In their indoor greenhouse? I’m not complaining – this shit is hilarious and is one of the 10k reasons we love living here. And the point of all this is, they’re building again tonight and as such, Falcor is a walking growler with the occasional huff of a bark. Cracks me up.

Wine anyone?