I love the shit out of that movie, “Thelma and Louise.” Every time I go to a liquor store, I am tempted to buy about 40 airplane-sized bottles of Wild Turkey and drive my convertible off a cliff into the Grand Canyon. Except I don’t have a convertible. And it really isn’t very economical to buy booze in those airplane-sized bottles.
Plus, I don’t like Wild Turkey all that much.
I ripped one of my fingernails off yesterday. All I can find in my house are monkey Band-Aids. That’s gonna look SO professional at work tomorrow. And I really can’t fucking type very well with that damned thing on my finger!
Why on earth did I ever buy monkey Band-Aids?
Every now and then I do something productive at home. I try to balance that with a nap and eating bon-bons so I don’t feel like I’ve been an over-achiever.
I may have to start slipping Prozac into the non-BF’s water. He’s gotten kinda cranky lately. I can say that knowing he doesn’t really read this shit. I know this because last night I asked him if he did and got the cranky answer that prompted this bullet point.
I still love him more than all the shoes in the world.
I found the 80s music channel on my U-Verse. I alternately want to dance, sing, vomit, laugh and cry. And the “Did U Know”s are killing me. Cher had a “Farewell Tour” in 2002? She’s gone? I thought I saw her the other day, buying wigs in K-Mart.
No, I don’t go to K-Mart. And I didn’t see Cher. But when I need a fix, I YouTube “Just Jack” and his Cher doll. I so miss Will & Grace.
I spent the last three years of my life following around behind a blind, epileptic, diabetic, senile, incontinent, crazy-ass dog. Some nights, I find myself looking for him and then remembering he’s gone. Some dogs come into our lives and stomp their fucking pawprints all over our hearts. I will never, ever be the same.
P.S. Yeah, there will be a LOT of Mr. Swirly references for the next six months or so. Get over it. Or else stop reading. Be glad you weren’t reading the “old” non-girlfriend because I name-dropped Trouble all the fucking time. It’s my blog and I’ll obsess if I want to.
The longer I listen to this 80s music channel, the more I worry about my generation. I’m just glad I wasn’t old enough at the time to get into the Starck Club back in the day. Look it up.
Wow, I just dated myself. Ah hell, who gives a fuck? I still get carded and I probably look younger than your teenager when I’m not wearing makeup. Nature blessed me and probably fucked up when that happened. Thank you, good genes.
I often repeat myself. Please excuse if I do. My short-term memory SUCKS. But I can tell you what I was wearing on any random day during high school.
The Probably Broken Toe I have been complaining about has been throbbing. I looked around for an Ace bandage and came up empty handed. So I took some painter’s tape and wrapped the Probably Broken Toe and the neighbor toe together. End of problem. Except for the fact that the tape is purple. Better get my ass to a drug store before I go to work tomorrow. A monkey band-aid and painter’s tape? Not good.
Purple is my 4th favorite color. Right after red, pink and rainbow. Rainbow ISa color, damn it!
There is a scary fake dog staring at me, and it’s wearing a Rangers baseball cap. I appreciate the love that the non-BF displayed by sending me a silk flower dog that looked like one of my dogs with a cute card signed by all the furbrats but that motherfucker is creeping me out right now! Stop it! Stop staring!
Jesus, Sister Christian on the 80s channel? Go away. No “motoring” for this bitch, thankyouverymuch.
I often repeat myself. Please excuse if I do. My short-term memory SUCKS. But I can tell you what I was wearing on any random day during high school. Ha HA! You WERE paying attention!
I lost my appetite yesterday. Looked all over the house and I still cannot find it. I’m watching the Cooking Channel to try and coax it back. Never watched “Good Eats” before but if I were ever a cooking show, I would probably be similar to Alton. This cheese episode is fucking insane. I love it.
Even when I am being all slack-ass and lying around my house all day on the weekend, if I have to go to the store, I color coordinate my boxer shorts and t-shirt. I even wear a cap in a complementary color. Lazy doesn’t necessarily have to be ugly.
Sorry, stamps.com, but there are a LOT of things worse than going to the post office and waiting in line. Stupid commercial.
On the third episode of Good Eats and it’s not working.
I decided to start approving some of the spam comments. I can respond and fuck with them all I want and I know they won’t talk back. Wish everyone was that way.
You can’t get it hot enough for me, food-wise. I eat habanero peppers (seeds, membrane and all) and have been known to toss some ghost pepper sauce on my meals. I eat jalapenos right out of the jar like someone would nosh on pickles. If food doesn’t make me sweat, most of the time it isn’t worth eating.
I don’t ask for Tabasco in five-star restaurants, though. That’s what the purse-sized bottle is for.
I once wrote a blog post that was one entire run-on sentence. It was about 12 inches long on the screen. Someday, I will do that again.
Just found a website entitled “Rage Against The Minivan.” I’m so fucking pissed I didn’t come up with that myself.
My dogs are so fucking boring. All they do is lie around and sleep all day. Aren’t they here to entertain my ass? No, wait, it’s the other way around. Yep, in pissing order, I’m about as far away from being the Alpha it really isn’t even funny.
Case in point: Baby Bro once caught Rainbow trying to pee on me. He was marking his territory.
I get really flirtatious when I drink. I’ll flirt with a lamp post if I’m loaded. The non-BF has come to accept this and just shakes his head at me. I think he kinda likes it, because every time I threaten to stop imbibing, he tells me I’m The Most Fun when I am tipsy.
Then he bitches at me the next day. It’s a no-win situation. But one we seem to love to enter into on a regular basis.
UPDATE: He just told me I’m not always The Most Fun when I am tipsy. Fucker. Neither is he these days. So there.
I just told him I was going to “really, seriously bitch about him in my post.” Response: “I don’t care.” I love the hell out of our relationship!
My Probably Broken Toe feels so much better now. I’m sticking with the painter’s tape.