The last week has been so busy I have barely had time to breathe. My company’s twelve-second mention on the Dr. Phil show continues to rain in orders, so my days at work are 8 hour flurries of pouring, packing, and answering the phone. We get a brief respite after our UPS guy leaves at 4pm, but then it’s back to work. I dream about packing perfume. It’s awesome, we are all super grateful for the business, but it’s really fucking exhausting. I’ll be glad when it calms down a bit.
Other than that, I don’t have much to say except:
1. We went out for brunch twice over the weekend, which I love. However, I think we need to start a new trend of calling it “blunch”, which, although breakfast foods such as eggs and pancakes can be enjoyed, is more lunch than breakfast, takes place later in the morning, and is more leisurely.
and
2. Britney Spears needs serious help. Ironic, isn’t it, that I have trouble getting pregnant (and staying that way) while this mess of a girl can pop out two kids in the space of a year, and then abandons them so she can snort coke at night clubs and shave her head at random hair salons in Tarzana. Chaos Theory of Reproduction (CTR) in action, people.
