- I wish for a real winter this year so all the mosquitos and other bugs will die. I hate bugs with a passion. All these idiots around here who hate cold weather need to shut it this year. I’m sick of worrying that each time I take the dogs out, a West Nile Virus mosquito will get me.
- When I kill a bug, I have to use about eight paper towels to pick its dead body up with. Not one – no, that might mean I’d feel its crunchy, nasty, broken bug body through the paper towel. I also have to Lysol the floor and surrounding areas (just in case some bug juice got there, too).
- If I see a bug, I squeal like a little girl. I know, pathetic. I’m pretty independent but I’ve been known to call my mommy and daddy to come kill bugs for me. I tried that with the non-BF once and he just sighed and told me he was going to bed. My charm works most of the time, but a 30 minute drive to kill a spider? I don’t think so. (I will still try anyway…never hurts to ask.)
- I don’t even know why bugs were ever created. What fucking purpose do they serve, other than to annoy me and make my skin crawl, and to keep exterminators employed? Maybe bugs were created on the Seventh Day, when God took a rest. Some rebel angel thought, “Hey, let’s mess with the humans and give them this shit!”
- Looked at the bottom of my foot just now and realized I am overdue for a pedicure even though I had one less than two weeks ago. SO ready for fall to be here where I can switch to boots and flats and not have to worry about my crusty-ass feet! I still shave my legs every day, even in the winter. I’m not that gross, thank you very much!
- No offense to those of you who don’t in the winter. I just cannot stand to have hairy legs. I probably could skip a day or two, though. It takes forever for the hair to grow back on my legs. Should really look into laser hair removal, I know.
- Was at a dinner party this past weekend. When we arrived, I poked the non-BF and pointed at a tall vase sitting on the floor of the host/hostess’ house. It was about 1/3 full of wine corks. I told the non-BF, “See? I’m not the only one who does that!” (I have several vases in my house with all these different wine corks in them. They’re pretty – try it.) The non-BF, to the hostess: I have a friend who has his guests sign the cork and he dates them. You know, if it is a special event. We all agreed it was a clever way to document good
drinkingentertaining memories. I thought to myself but thankfully didn’t add to the conversation that mine would all look like: (2 corks) “9-3-12, non-GF, it was a Monday“, (4 corks) “8-31-12, non-GF, full moon”, or (3 corks) “5-15-12, non-GF, an old woman gave me a dirty look at the grocery store today.”
- When people see my Lushy Wino Cork Vases for the first time, they always exclaim, “WOW, that’s a lot of wine you’ve had!” I give them the Stink Eye because it’s not like I collected all of them in one month or anything. It took me two.
- Rainbow likes to bite his own toenails. Yep, pretty disgusting and also quite unusual – I don’t know anyone else who has a dog that does that. He will sit and snack on them like he is gnawing on a log of wood or something. I tried painting Rainbow’s toenails once but he only let me get by with doing two of them. It bugged the shit out of me that he walked around like that for a week.
- When I go on vacation, I always pack a few workout outfits because yeah, I’m going to be more dedicated to doing that shit when I’m on vacation than I am in real life. Dumbass. That’s just more room for shoes!
- At least I stopped carrying an extra suitcase for shoes. My Vacation Suitcase (as opposed to my Work Travel Suitcase) can fit a smallish woman in it. I know because I climbed inside to see if I could when I first got it. Even so, I still needed an extra suitcase for my shoes. Or so I thought. The last vacation, I didn’t do that because I got sick of the non-BF bitching about all my luggage (that he ended up carrying, ha!). So I thought I’d be nice and scale it down a bit. He spent 10 minutes at the airport moving shit from my Large Enough To Stow A Dead Body bag into his small bag so I wouldn’t have to pay $100 for an over the weight limit suitcase. He’s so sweet like that. Next trip, hon, I promise I’ll be better!
- When he gets a little too grumpy about it, I remind him he could be traveling with Kate Winslet on the Titanic. That usually shuts him up. Only because he typically won’t respond to the more absurd things I say.
- I’m so OCD that years ago, I used to keep a Clothing Diary so I wouldn’t wear the same outfit in a month. Once, a guy I was hanging out with found it and wrote the next day’s date in the diary, then penned “Red dress again.” I was so pissed off at the time. I thank God and the Clothing Fairy that I grew up because now, I’d snap a photo of that shit and post it on Facebook. It was funny. And yes, I was way too uptight back then.
- I no longer keep a Clothing Diary, by the way. The Compulsive Shopping Illness I have has kind of taken care of me ever having to worry about that again.
- No, I don’t have a spreadsheet for my clothes. But it’s a grand idea, thanks!
- Buy your inner child lots of presents. Your inner child just loves presents.
- Always give in to your inner child, especially when she throws herself on the floor, kicking and screaming. Your inner child will thank you later. Maybe.
- Remind your inner child often, like every hour, how beautiful she is. Even if your inner child is having a Bad Hair Day.
- If your inner child comes in at second place in the school poetry writing contest, tell your inner child that she really deserved first place. They just gave it to that other girl because she’s ugly and her mom shows up in dirty sweatpants all the time when she comes to pick her up from school.
- When you are playing Monopoly with your inner child, ignore the extra $100 bill she took when she passed “Go.” Let your inner child get all the good real estate, even if you land on it first. And let your inner child win, every single time. She may very well become a real estate magnate someday, and let you live on Park Place. Or at least let you live on Baltic Avenue at a reduced rent.
- If there is only one cookie left in the box, let your inner child take it. As your inner child says, “You didn’t need a cookie anyway, fat-ass.”
- When you are at a party and your inner child gets all silly and stumbly and knocks over the punch bowl because she had a few too many fizzy gin drinks, explain to the hostess and other party guests that your inner child had a bad day and she really just needed to cut loose. Trust me, we all know how hard your inner child
- Answer your inner child with “Yes, you are the smartest and the prettiest girl on the block.” If that doesn’t work, say the entire world, In fact, you might as well say that to begin with because that is what your inner child thinks anyway, and it will save you time and energy in the long run.
- If your inner child tells you “NO!” or “Fuck you!”, don’t spank or chastise her. She is merely expressing herself and is well on her way to growing up and becoming the mouthy bitch everyone else will hate but will be too afraid to say it to her face.
Not to be confused with #FF, even though I love it when I get a shout out. Thanky Snarky XO
Each Friday (well, each Friday I can remember to do so), I am going to link to a few blog posts I really love. They may be new or from the archives. But these are the ones that either really got to me (in a good, visceral way), made me laugh so hard I snorted gin up my nose or made me stop and think.
For my First Favorite Friday, I give you:
Not only is she honest, beautiful, real and not afraid to be who she is, she’s the one I have to blame for the serious sinus cavity damage from all the alcoholic beverages that have shot threw my nose while reading her blog. Jenny’s blog inspired me to resurrect non-girlfriend.
All of it was awesome, but especially the 1970s People Names For Dogs. I called Blindie “Beverly” for about a week after reading this post.
Totally cried over this one…who wouldn’t? (Those of you with no soul who probably also don’t like dogs and don’t give homeless people beer money, that’s who!) She is inspirational!
Kitty DrunkDrunk is my feline alter ego.
I will never, ever look at a pedicure the same way again.
Need I say more?
HAVE A FABULOUS FUCKING FRIDAY, ALL!
So yeah, the catnip shit, while I thought it would be hilarious to watch, has backfired. Damned Wormy Kitty is WIDE AWAKE at 3 a.m. and I don’t know what she is doing in there, but it sounds like she may be re-tiling my bathroom.
P.S. I’m quite certain I misspelled that word. Give me a break, it’s 3 a.m.!
Nope, Internet check – I was right. Anyway, about thirty minutes ago, I woke up to the sounds of someone moving furniture. My house alarm didn’t go off, so I was pretty sure I was okay. Which is a GOOD thing, since my wasp & hornet spray was in my bedroom. (No one wants me to have a gun, so I have to make do with what I can). It was the Wormy Kitty.
My mom, with all good intentions (I hope), gave the Wormy Kitty a jingle ball. That bitch is in there right now, batting it around, high as shit on the catnip, making all kinds of noise. I’m used to dogs that like to sleep through most of the night (well, I am now that Mr. Swirly (RIP) has passed). This is not how I wanted to spend my Friday night.
[I don’t really know how I wanted to spend my Friday night/Saturday morning. Except for maybe SLEEPING.]
After getting up, checking on the kitty (who mysteriously stops all that she is doing to just STARE at me – creepy!), I discovered that Rainbow had once again Spiteful Pissed on the kitty litter jug. Several unmentionable words, about 20 sheets of paper towels and half a can of Lysol later, I was too wide awake to go back to sleep.
So now I am doomed to spend the rest of normal people’s sleeping hours awake, listening to a kitten bounce off the walls of her crate, folding laundry, giving myself another fucked-up manicure, watching “Titanic” for the 157th time and contemplating my really badly tan-towled legs.