Mundanity on a good day:

Mundanity on a good day: in People suck. Cats are awesome. Dogs are alright.

•  June 24, 2017, 8:30 p.m.
 
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Mundanity

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Everybody else writes about their daily pointlessness. Maybe I should too, while I wait for dinner. Be jealous, sundry women, for my mate is a cook of no small talent. I never know what he’s making. He just brings in the food, and I try to act pleasantly surprised, even on burrito days.

If he dies before me, I’ll be living on Banquet T.V dinners, and it will suck. Of course I’ll be too suicidal from missing him to care, but that’s not the point.

We got over our fight a few days ago, as I knew we would. Been there, done that. At an average of one fight a month, for twenty one years, that’s 252 fights. So it’s no wonder I can predict the outcomes at this point. 
He apologized and promised to use actual words next time. (Duh!)

We had some exceptional sex yesterday. He ignored me while I was washing a cat, after I’d told him half an hour before that I was going to need help; and said cat clawed my hand, so I got mad at him, so he got mad at me, so I called him a piece of sh!t, so he called me a piece of sh!t, so I went to my art room and painted for two hours. Then he showed up with dinner; beef and vegetables, and we saw the last two episodes of Better Call Saul, and then… yeah. - I guess it’s time that I admit that I like being cussed at, sometimes. My dad was a rude person. I’m guessing that’s the reason.

(At this point I want to note that my father was a man of strong principles, not a “bad” guy. He drank, and swore, and had guns and cowboy hats. He was from Kentucky. But he was hardworking, supported his family, and never hit a woman. Which I have to specify because he did hit a lot of men; usually in bars. But as far as I’m concerned, number one is that he loved me, beyond question; which is more than I can say about any other member of my family.)

The Male is buying more wallpaper. He decided that he wants to do the whole living room in that black and gold, metallic paisley. Which is fine by me. I love black. :D

Tonight is hair washing night. So thrilling. - Yes, I only wash it once a week. It’s down past my ass, and it takes hours to dry, and I’m stuck sitting on a towel in front of a fan; so that’s enough. - I smile every time I see some girl with obvious extensions in her hair. Mine’s real. Suck it. - When I worked, I got asked if it was real about twice a year. I always stared at the one asking for a few seconds, then said: “Why would I wear three feet of extensions to work?”

And we’ll have Futurama with dinner, since the few shows I watch are all on hiatus now, except for Doctor Who. And if they hire a female actor to replace Capaldi, I will NOT be watching that. I’m a woman, (more or less), but I’ve been watching since 1984, starting with Tom Baker; and you don’t just suddenly decide to change a character’s f!@#ing gender, purely for the sake of making SJWs happy. Seriously, that’s stupid. They’ve got Wonder Woman, and Super Girl; both of which suck in comparison to Doctor Who. That’s enough.

In three days the Male gets paid, and I can get printer ink! So I can make bookmarks, and cards, and more prints, and apply for the local Art Loop thing and the little local artists shop downtown. And if they don’t want me, I might take out an ad in the paper, with a graphic of my art: “See what Maker’s Mart turned away!” Because no question I’m better than most of what’s presently on display down there. Sure, I make monsters, but you can tell what they are. Most of the stuff I’ve seen downtown was just a mess of colored shapes and lines. How can people look at stuff like that and not think “My five year old daugher/nephew/cousin/whatever could make something better than that”? Seriously. It boggles the mind.

And now we’re just three weeks from the Male’s vacation, and the first trip to Menards to buy house renovation crap. Carpet, kitchen knobs, a ladder, paint, tile; I dunno what else. He’s been saving, and he has a plan. I’ve got dibs on the far dining room wall. I’m putting a creepy forest mural on it. He just has to get me the paint.

And my Australian friend is apparently getting drunk at (plural) bars, to the point that he predicts a hangover. I used to do that. Back before I decided that it’s better to get stoned. No hangover, and the company tends to be a lot less likely to fight. And they call bars “pubs”, which sounds weird to American ears. But I must remind myself that this is the country that bastardised the language. We don’t speak the Queen’s English in good old ‘Murica. We speak American English, which is crap in comparison.

I was listening to a Playlist that someone else made for Creature Feature, while I painted, yesterday; and this was on it. I like it. It’s sort of how I feel when I’m painting; making the carnivorous creatures that would eat all of my enemies. My nigh countless enemies.