I lead a boring life

For some reason, after the big party-night with the Finnish youth and after resolving the big blow out with my mother (by staying away for a couple of days and then pretending like nothing ever happened, i.e. the Finnish way of apologizing), I have felt like going analog - into the real world, with real world peeps - quite a bit. Who knew I had it in me? It has been nice golfing with the hubby and the brother who still refuses to put gas in the car and actually do some exercise with my body other than hitting the keyboard (for me this counts as exercise, since I do this uncommonly hard and can't seem to be able to stop doing it so), drinking with people who are able to spontaneously hug me all of a sudden and call me an intelligent woman (while slurring horribly, Ta, K!), dining with my crazy marathon-running brother (he showed me his black toenails as proof) and his über-sporty yet cool girlfriend, avoiding my dad who has suffered through the mother of all colds (my mother wondered whether I had it in me to give him the swine flu), and teaching my mother how to use her Mac and her new SLR camera. I know now fully well where my dislike to reading any kinds of instructions stems from. And I didn't even need the hubby to point this one out. 

However, I think that last night I hit my real world rock bottom of doing something very, very dubious when I could/should have been reading all of the blogs I have been needlessly ignoring, or updating my blog roll that is in serious need of a refresh.

"What did I do that was so important?" you ask.

Why, I was watching the 2006 remake of the disaster-movie 'classic' Poseidon. On Finnish television. With the ever so entertaining Finnish subtitles. I also had a glass of the Zebra-wine in my hand, which seemed to vastly improve the endurance capabilities of my posterior. But that might have also been brought on by the chair I was lounging in - the ugliest, nastiest La-Z-boy in the world that my brother refuses to get rid of, regardless of having been told to do so numerous times by his girlfriend resulting in the chair inhabiting our apartment as sort of neutral ground, and us not really being able to do anything about it. The chair is hideous, but superbly comfortable. Kind of like a pair of Crocks (the new national shoe of Finland, it seems).

But I digress. What dawned on me while I was watching a more and more scantily clad mother of a young boy jump, swim, dive, run, glide, trapeze, tunnel, climb, and crawl all the while holding onto her son through an upside down ship for two hours straight that I would never, ever have made it out of the upside down ballroom (where it all started) of the ship. I would instantly die in a disaster movie.

This made me slightly depressed. So I flung the leg support of the La-Z-Boy back into its original position and went to pour me some more from the zebra-striped carton. But then I realized that Fergie from the black eyed peas never made it out of the ballroom either. And she is married to Josh Duhamel, and I liked him in Las Vegas.

And that made me understand why I have been hanging out with real peeps:

I have nothing intelligent, or even funny to write.

I'll be back when I have something other than how watching Poseidon makes me think of Josh Duhamel, or how I just vacuumed up the case for my sunglasses and had to have the hubby search for it, to write about.

I promise, I will be back.