Does Not Meet (Expectations)

I really thought I'd have it all together once I lived at Chez Bang Bang by myself. Here's how I thought it would go down.

What I thought would happen: I'd go to be bed at a reasonable hour, resetting my fucked-up internal body clock. I've seen enough House Hunters, Diners Drive-Ins & Dumps, and every episode of Seinfeld and Big Bang, I don't need to waste precious sleeping hours watching more.

What really happens: Still rolling around in bed til 2 a.m., watching infomercials and other banal telly.  And then I've stayed up so long I'm hungry again, so I need a snack. And then the cats want a snack, too, so we're all standing in the kitchen eating. At 2 a.m. 

What I thought would happen: I'd become an early riser on the weekends. An early riser by my standards, Reader, not some crazy person's standards. My standards equal getting up somewhere in the neighborhood of 9 a.m. Or 9:30.  Surely by 10. 

What really happens: I still roll out between 11 and noon. See above point. I may wake up earlier, but then I find every good reason to just loll around in bed for a while longer. Where "a while" equals several more hours and then I'm staring noon in the face. 

What I thought would happen: I'd take those extra hours I gained in the morning and hit the gym, firming up my fat and getting it bikini-ready (well, that's hyperbole, we both know that, but you know, something less jiggly and large). 

What really happens: I think about going to the gym. Then I make breakfast, which should really be called lunch due to the time of day it happens, and eat some sort of cake that I have leftover from something.  And make plans in my mind for Evening Me to go to the gym. Which never happens, because Evening Me says fuck you to Morning Me who makes those plans. 

What I thought would happen: I'd really take some pride in my appearance, paying extra special attention to my grooming with no one here to interrupt me. 

What really happens: I haven't showered since Thursday night. Part of the reason I tossed and turned last night was because my legs are so prickly and my hair is so dirty, I was bothering myself on all ends.  I do brush my teeth, but that's as far as it's gone this weekend.  Yesterday was Pajama Saturday.  Which, as I pointed out on Facebook, is an exercise in efficiency, because it makes getting ready for bed a snap. 

What I thought would happen: I'd maximize the quiet time in the house to start my book idea, and have a finished product by next summer.

What really happens: I play Candy Crush, read the same shit over and over again on Facebook, read about Snooki getting married, check out Kim K.s Instagram photos, and delete my Twitter account because I just don't have the time to send Tweets out into the Interwebs.  But you do get this, Reader. You're welcome.

What I thought would happen: The house would be spic & span at all times. Because there's only me.

What really happens: I forgot the part where I live with eight (don't judge me, Reader! I'm well aware that is a very large number) furry ninja assholes. Who knock over furniture, scatter any random paper left out, track kitty litter through the house and sometimes forget where they are supposed to pee.  The answer is litterbox, not my bathroom rug, in case you were wondering. 

What I thought would happen: I'd have zero amount of dirty laundry, and it would all be hung in closets on color-coordinated hangers and I'd put my work outfits together for the entire week on Sunday nights, complete with accessories. 

What really happens: Went to switch the laundry around last night, got distracted, didn't do it, shut the dryer door. Woke up this morning (well, afternoon...is it still considered morning if it's the time you wake up?), opened the dryer and two kittens jumped out. 

Yep.  I accidentally locked Walter WhiteEars and Gussy in the dryer. For at least 12 hours.   

Guess who pooped in the dryer?    

And with just me here, guess who got to clean poop out of the dryer? 

Me. That's who.  

So I coulda killed the kittens, and now I'm cleaning shit out of the dryer.  I needed to use a screwdriver on a cloth to get it out of a groove in the back of the dryer. All before my first cuppa coffee. It was awesome.  

What it boils down to: Reader, my life has gotten more glamorous being by myself here at Chez Bang Bang. Don't be jealous.  It's not all hats & horns.