Linkety dinkety doo: Why yes, I am bossy

The small child has been sick all week, work has exploded all over my laptop screen, the Man Detox is not yet complete, and I've been slowly but surely hobbling my way back in the right direction toward five miles on the treadmill (I'm not saying it's pretty, but at least it is happening). While I'm all wrapped up in these lazy-ass ways, I've decided you should read this stuff.

• This is the fucking funniest thing I have read in a long time. I'll just go ahead and say it. I am definitely an 87, occasionally a 62, very likely a 14 and clearly a 19.

• Speaking of being a 19, researchers now say red hair may have been caused by bad weather. Also? I am here to tell you it may also be caused by a smoking hot Polish hair stylist who waves a hand over your brownish blond hair and says, "Annnnnd now you arrre rrrredhead, Jesseeeka." It can also be banished by a wee and most-awesome Amelie-adorable hairstylist who says, "Yeahhhh, no. You are so done with red hair."
  

• That makes me wonder who said what when looky-who also followed (ahem) the path from blond to auburn to delicious chocolate locks. Some people say she looks pissed off, I just contend that having way-dark hair is excuse for all that goth-grrrl-wannabe energy to finally come bubbling up. Now go tear up some fishnets, kitten.

• Have you read my incessant and irritating Facebook status updates in which I cry about how hard it is find and keep a cleaning person? Oh, good. You and everyone with a cleaning person they want desperately to NOT SHARE are ignoring those. Well, screw all of you and your microfiber dusting cloths! I am totally hiring this dude. I don't care how many pairs of my skinny jeans he steals. (Who am I kidding? These kinds of guys could fit a whole band of themselves in my skinny jeans.)

• This site is both bizarre and awesome. The celeb Tweets? Bizarre. The illustrations adding to the strangeness of overly privileged folk's Tweets taken out of context? Awesome.

• I am wayyyy not having a baby, but if I was, I would totally be lusting over these. They are the prettiest, most Zen, most freaking expensive baby mattresses EVAH. Maybe I could do it up like my mom used to and push two or four of these together, "secure" them by putting one sheet over the mass of mattresses and then complain about falling into the crack all night.

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The Man Detox that didn't take. Yet

It was very quiet in my house over the weekend. The day still was stretched out ahead of me and what happened in the hours that had already past left me a little weepy.

I wrote about all the things I could do to take care of myself, but my secret mission over the weekend was to Man Detox. I didn't tell anyone except my therapist, who said she fully supported my mission of clearing out the little reminders scattered around my home that remind me of the men who have come before.

Those men are all gone now. Or at least they are in the distance. Some of them live and work and have drinks with friends miles away. A few can probably be found just around the corner. Others are just on the other side of my Facebook profile, unfriended and separated by privacy settings. While I wonder occasionally how one of them might be doing, if another is happier now, what another might be listening to these days, cutting ties is something I have never been good at and so it has been healthy for me to let those ribbons go.

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And all along I just thought it meant I didn't feel like dusting: The diagnosis

I've let the post about my triumph on the treadmill sit on the throne of Sassafrass for a few days so the idea that I ran five whole miles would sink in and you could just roll around in the fact that I am kicking ass.

But really, those are not the facts. Yes, I did run five miles -- powerfully, amazingly, perhaps even enthusiastically. The truth is, however, I was not kicking ass.

There was absolutely no kicking of ass.

In fact, the only thing my ass was doing was floundering like dead, limp rabbit. OK, maybe not a completely dead small animal (and definitely not furry like a rabbit). Maybe more like a half-dead small (alright, not so small, but firm...fiercely firm) animal.

How is this possible?

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