Coming off of over 41 hours awake, 25 spent in the bathroom throwing up. Happy Labor Day to me – I was laboring over a toilet.
Must have been delusional because I swear I saw Pikachu staring at me in the dark in my bedroom, sitting on top of a three foot pile of Skittles.
At four a.m., I was trying to watch “Falling Skies” so I could fall asleep but I just didn’t get the show, and the music was spooky, so yeah, probably a poor choice on my part.
Last night was the night Wormy Kitty decided to “take the day off” and wasn’t doing loud acrobatics in the middle of the night. Shit, if I was going to be awake all night, I might as well be entertained, because Noah Wylie sure as hell wasn’t cutting it for me.
Was looking at the Office Mate’s Linkedin profile. Me: Take the apostrophes off your CEO’s, VP’s, etc. It shows ownership, not plurality. The Office Mate: Well, when I worked for them, I did own them!
Even though I am a girlie girl to a fault, I hate buying bras. And panties. I am pretty utilitarian about underwear because, well, who’s gonna see it? Okay, so the non-BF does – point taken. In order to cheer myself up from my Vomit Funk today, I went to Victoria’s Secret at lunch. It’s about time I put some color on my tits & ass!
Only one thing was boring beige. The rest are so bright, I doubt I’ll be able to wear them under anything except black. (10 pairs of panties, one boring beige bra and one shiny, sparkly blue and pink bra. No more underwear shopping for me until 2013.)
When I got back from lunch, I went to the bathroom and noticed myself in the mirror. Wearing my standard I Don’t Feel Good So If You Know What Is Good For You, You Won’t Fuck With Me uniform (papery cotton baggy brown cropped pants, a fugly blah-colored t-shirt, my glasses, didn’t bother to do my hair and very little makeup because I may just be laboring over the toilet again), I looked SCARY. Ran back to the office and told the Office Mate I had to take some pizzas to a class tonight and I just couldn’t do it. Me: Look at me, I look like shit. (Silence from the Office Mate.) Me: No, I look like a homeless person! No wonder those girls at Victoria’s Secret were following me all around the store. “Watch her, bitch is gonna steal some bras so she can trade them on the street for a couple 40 ozs!”
I typically make notes of overheard shit or conversations I’ve had on whatever is around me at the time, including napkins, credit card receipts, cardboard beer coasters and once, a Tampon wrapper. Then I shove them inside whatever bag is closest to me and forget about them. Was cleaning out my work tote this evening and noticed a wadded up paper napkin at the bottom with “That dress is going to end up in a trash can later tonight” written on it. I wish to the baby Jesus and all that is holy I knew when and who the hell I wrote that about!
On the other end of the napkin, I found this. Me: Awkward teen? The non-BF: Yep, she’s never kissed a boy. But I bet she’s kissed a few girls. Me: Slumber party practice? The non-BF: Oh yeah.
Ooh, a bonus find tonight! Mom: You know, that Spanish Club El Rio. That’s where it happened. Me: El Rio? The RIVER? Sounds like a white person came up with that name. It’s like calling it El Taco or some such shit!
Conversation tonight with the non-BF – Me: No, you didn’t send me Captain Pervy. You sent two emails to me with photos of me with really bad hair and a boa constrictor wrapped around my neck. (No, NO ONE will ever understand us. I still don’t.)
On the way home from work on Friday, I was stopped at a traffic light next to a chick sitting behind some guy on a Harley. She was wearing a sweater set and pearls. He was wearing a bowtie.
Why do I always see the strangest things when I cannot possibly take a photograph, damn it?!
Why doesn’t anyone use the term “cad” anymore? I always found it so much classier than calling a guy a prick, douchebag or fuckface. Don’t you?
Had to run to the grocery store because all of my salad stuff was expired. While I was there, I decided to get the furbrats a rotisserie chicken, and I returned home to discover I picked one that was a little, um, DRY. On the phone with the non-BF, I said, “Oh well, it’s just for the dogs, right? Let Momma have a taste first…” Was so hungry from being sick for two days that I didn’t chew properly and almost choked on the motherfucking chicken! Me: Mgmpmhph…ack! Okay, I am okay. I’m okay. Him: You’re falling apart. First you pass out from swigging gin and now you’re choking on your chicken. I’m going to have to get you one of those “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” buttons. One day, I’ll come over there and the dogs will be feasting on your thighs. Me: [Click]
Of course I didn’t really hang up on him (although I kinda sorta wanted to – why did he have to say “feasting on your thighs” like they were a couple of luau pigs – so meaty! – or something?). He had a point about the fowl play on the phone, though, because if I wait too late to eat, I eat too fast. But the gin thing? Nope, the fucking Austerity Campaign has sadly kicked in. Besides who has feverish sweats and hallucinates from a gin & tonic?
Okay, okay, so from three four gin & tonics?
Swear to God, y’all, it was a stomach bug. Damned non-BF always trying to get me into trouble!
P.S. I have the swollen lymph glands to prove it. So there. Nyah!
I once had a fever so high that I had this out of body experience where I got up out of my sweat-soaked body in bed, patted Trouble on the head and went to turn the A/C up because I was freezing. I know it really happened, too, because I remember thinking to myself on my way back to bed, “Bitch, you really ought to clean this apartment more often.”
My feet are so overdue for a pedi, I’m almost ashamed to go back to my regular place. I just know they talk about people’s crusty feet in their native language while they are sitting there smiling at us.
Plus, they seem to find it amusing that my feet are so ticklish and I squirm and giggle when they are scraping them. I’m really only worried I might squirm too much one time and “accidentally” kick one of those bitches in the face.
Got up to make myself some hot tea to soothe my poor Chicken Choking Throat and looked down. There it was again. I swear, I picked out the most godawful combination of clothes in my fucking closet. Come to think of it, I think I reserve this ensemble for my Stinky Dog Bath Days.
You should have seen the one time I tried to bathe all four at once. I am Non, Queen of the Idiots!
I bought the Wormy Kitty another catnip toy but this one is a hanging one, which is much more entertaining for me. Plus the little shit can’t drag it off into her water bowl then bury it in the litter box. Was in the other room and heard this weird, semi-barking sound and ran to the crate to find Rainbow trying desperately to pull the catnip bug through the gate. “Hugs, not drugs, Rainbow! Hugs, not drugs. Your crack pipe days are over, you big pussy!”
I cannot hear “Moves Like Jagger” without wanting to get up and dance. Then go Google “naked Adam Levine.” What is it with me and skinny singers with lots of tattoos? It’s not I’d look twice at that shit if they were walking down the street. But give them a microphone and hell yeah.
I used to love it when the boys in the band would dedicate “Rebel Rebel” to me. Hot tramp, I love you so!
It’s so quiet around here sometimes now that Mr. Swirly is gone, I often forget I have other animals and try to do something for myself, like take a nap after going over a day without sleep. It’s quiet, that is, until one of the dogs leaps up on my chest and barks in my face, almost giving me a fucking heart attack. How completely impudent of me to think I’m allowed a little “me time.” So sorry!