Lightning strikes on the lake near @NavyPier - amazing.—
Jasmine Davila (@jasmined) August 01, 2013
I’m cat-sitting in Streeterville until early next week. The cats live in a high-rise near Navy Pier, a high-rise that has a pool. A POOL, Y’ALL.
I put off using the pool until last night, when Lisa came over for swimming, burgers, and fireworks. Lisa can actually swim, unlike me, who half-assed my way through the swim test at my alma mater (PS they got rid of it lat year). Lisa tried to show me how to do my legs correctly. But every time I tried to corkscrew my legs in a similar fashion, my old ass would cramp and I’d go back to bobbing about.
We caught up on her job search, her recent visit home to look after an ailing parent. I regaled her with stories from high school. Which I seem to be doing a lot of lately. Which tells me I need to do more interesting shit, or I am truly turning into an old lady who can’t remember her PIN sometimes but remembers overnight choir trips from over 20 years ago.
I guess this is me returning to regular blogging about my life. Remember when I used to do that? I was reading old blog posts earlier, and I was immediately struck by a few things:
- How poorly written they were. I mean REALLY.
- They’re still pretty funny when I actually tell the story, instead of trying to use dumb jokes to make them seem wackier.
- I could not be bothered to come up with pseudonyms for anybody.
- I think I miss smoking.
- I totally miss karaoke. I need to get back to doing that.
My brother blogs everyday, usually about when he woke up, what he ate, when he poops, and what he watched on television. He’s one of the most consistent bloggers I know. Sometimes he is downright inspired, especially when he writes trip reports or, on more sober occasions, about the passing of family members. If I can get him to write a guest post, I will make sure he makes it funny or gross or (hopefully) both.
Note: I’m doing this because Luvvie told me to. Well, not me, explicitly, but I’m answering the #31WriteNow call.