The non-BF and I keep calling Wormy Kitty a “he.” I told the non-BF she was going to end up with gender identification issues. The non-BF: “Don’t you mean gender identity issues?” Me: “Here is something I will say that you cannot correct: Fuck off.”
Rainbow is a Spiteful Pisser. I have to be careful when packing for a trip because he will pee on my luggage. His resentment towards Wormy Kitty is evidenced by him pissing on the jug of kitty litter. Vindictive little bastard.
Even so, he isn’t as bad as Trouble was. I once pointed my finger at him and chastised him for something he did. Little shit snuck up behind me while I was doing my makeup, bit me on the ass and ran off.
I miss that damn dog.
LONG day today – at work before 7:30. On the phone with the non-BF just now. Me: It’s been quite a day. I think I am just going to relax. Him: Translation – Hoda.
Wouldn’t it be great to have a job where you get paid to drink early in the morning on TV?
Hate going grocery shopping without a list. I forgot nail polish remover and at the last minute put back the Woolite. Good thing, since I have three big jugs of it at home already.
Forced Austerity Campaign has sucked in one way: mani/pedi. While my toes turn out looking halfway decent, my right hand looks like a three year old took to it with a crayon.
Someone told me I smelled nice today. Them: What’s that you’re wearing? I like it. Me: Lysol Spring Waterfall scent.
Just spilled wine on my carpet. (No, Mom, I’m not drunk. Just fucking clumsy is all). Good thing I prefer white wine. Oh well, the stain will go well with the vomit stains from Rainbow’s illness a week ago. It was a genius idea I had to put light beige carpeting in my den of a house that has (had, at the time) four dogs.
No, wine is not on the off-limit list for Forced Austerity Campaign, at least not for today. Don’t push the issue, either, because I will push back. And I can push harder.
Trying for the third night in a row to repaint the Pointer Finger and Fuck You Finger on my right hand. Now I don’t remember which of the three-insignificantly-different-shades-of-pale-pink-nail-polishes I used on the other eight.
I’ve had every hair color imaginable. Okay, well every hair color found in nature. I will try pink someday. I just cannot pull off being a redhead, though. Not because of my personality. I just look like Ronald McDonald when I do.
Totally know when it is time for a visit to my hair stylist: I start braiding the top of my head. Time to hide the scissors AND the alcohol. Bitch may start cutting if you don’t watch out!
I swear, I can’t remember crap from like five minutes ago, but I know what outfit I was wearing on a date in 11th grade. Is that early onset Alzheimer’s shit selective?
Between Blindie’s insulin injections, the animals’ medicaton distribution and wrapping up my Probably Broken Toe, I am quite sure I was a nurse in a former life.
I just hope it wasn’t Nurse Ratched.
Wormy Kitty sounds just like Woody Woodpecker when she mews. I really need to record that shit.
Every now and then, I look around at the stuff that is my life. It really is a dichotomy. On the one hand, there is all this shit I have to do to keep this one dog (and now cat) alive and well. And there is all of the animal-related heartache I endured. On the other hand are all the beautiful people I’ve met along the way. And all the animals. Mr. Swirly left a legacy, as did Trouble. Blindie probably will as well.
Rainbow, on the other hand, only gave his opinion on window treatments. Yeah, and okay, he is the most precious momma’s boy EVER! “I wish all my boys were gay. Then they would never leave me!”
Well shit if I didn’t mess up the Pointer Finger again. I fucking give up!