You Should Wish You Were My Guest Room Mattress

Liz continues:

Killer has asked that I pick up blogging so that he can do nothing that uses his precious physical and mental energy while he is on vacation for the next 3 months. I reminded him that I am on vacation as well, and that I only get 2 weeks a year. He was not impressed.

I challenged him to a laze-off to see who can do the least this week. So far I've gone 3.5 days without showering and I haven't finished unpacking or doing laundry. I slept 15 hours on Wednesday. Yet I'm complying with his request to keep the blog fresh. I'm sure it's going to be the tie breaker in the laze off and he, yet again, will best me.

While I was in Italy I had a housesitter. Someone has to be here for the cats if I'm gone more than 2 days. I want to make sure they are mental stimulated between naps. Walking by them mentally stimulates, so that and throwing some food in a bowl is really all I ask of my housesitter. When I got home, I noticed a flat iron on my bathroom counter. Hummmm.... my housesitter was a domestic short-haired male, which can only mean one of two things: I either bought a flat iron while in a drunken stupor and don't remember it or he had a girl over.

I'm no prude. I understand that the human animal has a sex drive. But I'll be damned if my "guest" don't get more action than I do. So G and this unknown vamp had a sex romp in my guest room? No big deal, but I also know that that same mattress provided support for an unplanned pregnancy when another guest was banging on it. It saw a lot of action several years ago when it was being used by a girlfriend in college. I won't even get into the physics of the complaint I had from a couple that visited last summer. They said that the bed was too hard for sleeping, so they used it for other activities. I bought a feather bed and put it on the mattress that week. Now it's too inviting. I think it must be magic for all who lay upon it.

G's harlot has done me a favor. My suitcase had gotten up to around 75 pounds. That's A LOT, especially when you're rolling through terminals and getting on and off of trains. Several places we were didn't have elevators. That meant lugging that giant Samsonite and one backpack that weighed around 15 pounds everywhere I went. So I mailed some things home. I'm an idiot. I didn't even think, in my frantic obsessed unpacking haze, to ship carefully. Here's what I mailed home:

• One bathing suit
• A bottle of truffle oil
• Two leather purses
• One illegal, fake Prada purse
• Glass souvenirs
• Dirty clothes
• My favorite bra
• Chocolate
• Lemon candy
• A towel (from my house)
• A towel (from the hotel)
• Rocks
• A Chi flat iron

It's going to be A MONTH before the packages get here, if they even make it. I was told the Italian Post Office can be sketchy. What's even worse, maybe, is how poorly I planned the shipment. I know. I mailed ROCKS home. These free rocks costs me about $7 a pop. Idiot. But you have to understand my anguish. All I wanted to do was unload that fucking suitcase. I would have mailed home money or a baby if they were weighing me down.

The things I did bring home are great, but this cheap flat iron isn't doing the trick. I hope that shipment makes it. And I hope that lemon candy doesn't reek of the confined odors of sweaty clothes in a cardboard box. That was going to be my Christmas gift to Killer.