So, where have I been, and what have I been doing, none of you asked.

Well, I’ll tell you!

First, I was working. A lot. Which sounds worse than it actually was– I loved my job and the people (especially the people, my god!) and how I got a paycheck and how my commute was “against the traffic,” so it didn’t take nearly as long as it should have, by LA standards.

Then, I got a NEW(!) job, which is even MORE busy. Somehow, I don’t even have time to check Twitter, which is a shock to the system, let me tell you.

Plus, I started learning the ukulele. This is noteworthy, because I have all the dexterity of an inebriated silver back gorilla. Learning anything that involves coordination between my right and left hands is beyond challenging for me, and yet, one day, driving back from work, I just decided to buy a ukulele. So far, I know enough chords to play about 10 songs. Very. Slowly. With lots of pauses for me to go, “No. Wait. Shit. Hang on… there!” Have you ever heard “Honey Pie,” by the Beatles as a dirge? I don’t recommend it.

Then, in the middle of all of that, I bought a home. Which, funny story, I’m not currently living in, because it came with some tenants who are finishing out their lease. It would be completely fine, except for how I don’t have an apartment right now, either. The timing of everything is what I would describe as “poor.” As such, all of the things I need to get by on a day to day basis are packed into my car. I use the word “packed” loosely. It’s more like, “tossed around wildly as though a group of hobos had recently raided the place for pringles and half-empty beer cans.” I gave someone I don’t really know very well a ride the other day and spent the first 10 minutes of the drive pointing out the sights in an attempt to distract him from my manic effort to cover up a basket of freshly-washed “unmentionables” with a moving blanket. All while navigating the streets of Burbank. How much is the ticket for that, I wonder?

In my limited free time, I sit in parking lots, playing ukulele and telling people that, no, I’m not early for a flea market, this is just my stuff and it isn’t for sale. There isn’t a lot of time for blogging in the midst of all that.

The other thing I’ve been doing is eating dinner at restaurant bars. That is the best place to eat, I found out. Please note I am not talking about TGI Friday’s or any other place that serves sugary rum drinks in a branded hurricane glass for $11.95. I’m talking about restaurants for adult humans that serve things with goat cheese in them. People there are not interested in picking you up. They are interested in eating things with goat cheese in them and maybe striking up a conversation with everyone at the bar about how ridiculous the girl who just left looked with that orange lipstick on. It’s really an excellent way to spend an evening. I like to show up alone, order one drink and something to eat, and hang out for a few hours. Even if you don’t end up having a conversation, it’s nice to just take the place in. Seriously you guys, try it.

Finally, and this is the most important part of this update, I found a lamp that looks like butt hole:

God, I’ve missed you all.

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