My weekend felt long but was super short in reality. I really didn’t get much done except one huge task. On the other hand, I did eat my way through about 1/4 of my weight in shellfish, and I had some lovely bread along the way.
Someday, I’ll go too far, and the shellfish allergy will overtake me. You heard it in here that all my jewelry goes to my mom for distribution, and the rest of you bitches can fight it out for my clothes, shoes, accessories and purses! The scarves belong in whole to Cherry.
So, yes, I spent half the day Saturday and ALL DAY Sunday washing blankets. The dogs’ blankets. Lazy motherfuckers just sat there and watched me do it, too. P.S. to Rainbow: You better stop pissing on stuff or the diapers are coming back and I AM SO SERIOUS ABOUT THAT SHIT!
Some vows are stronger than others. To me, these are the vows of girlfriends. Those transcend any situation in life and they live on, tying us together and never letting us forget we are one in the night, that we aren’t really ever far away from one another. I go on quality, not quantity. There are about four or five true good girlfriends I can really count on, and I feel better each day knowing that they are there for me, no matter what. Perhaps you have more (good for YOU!), but I think four or five is about all I’ll ever need in my lifetime. I hope those bitches know they can count on me, too, til the end of my days. I love you all.
My current ridiculous obsessions: Window shopping for sweaters and “removing” the scab in my left nostril that won’t seem to heal (probably because I keep removing the scab, duh – idiot!). Why are these obsessions ridiculous? (1) It gets cold here in Dallas about three days out of the year so what is up with all these sweaters? and (b) even though I don’t want to look like I have a bloody booger hanging out of my nose, if it is ever going to fully heal, I need to leave that fucker alone.
My mom and dad finally consented to take a vacation with me and the non-BF. This makes me as happy as a clam who didn’t get picked for dodgeball by moving an inch away from the digger’s foot. My mom seems excited. My dad? I keep checking for a pulse. Oh well, I’m sure he will get more enthusiastic as the date draws nearer.
In some cultures, it is considered rude not to burp after a good meal. I wish American culture would pick up on this shit – it’s a grand idea. It would save me from saying “Excuse me!” about 20 times a day. (I don’t eat 20 times a day, but I sure as hell burp about seven or eight times after each meal.)
My new website should be ready soon. It’s already ready, if you must know the truth, just a little tweaking needs to be done. It’s pink, by the way. (Reader: But of course it is!)
I’d like feedback if you would, when I finally get it to go live.
What is it with me and
skinny slender no-fat-all-muscle, dark-haired singers? Between Scott Weiland (a long-time favorite), Nick Hexum (another long-timer) and Adam Levine (just recently developed the hots for him), I guess I have a “type.” And yes, this seems to be it. Or this.
I ordered a sweater online and it arrived today, so I tried it on and asked the Office Mate if it was too small on me. The look on her face told me, yeah, maybe. So I told her, “Be honest…” She said it bunched up on my back and I’m like, “Well, that’s better than it being stretched out like this!” and I pulled it really tight around my waist. She just laughed. Later she told me that she just didn’t like the pattern. Me: Well, hell, I don’t care what you think about the pattern – because I like it – but how the hell does it fit? Apparently, it fits fine, so it’s not going back.
She got a kick out of “I don’t care what you think about the pattern.” (Really?? In the two years that she’s known me, when have I ever given a shit if someone liked my outfit, as long as I didn’t look FAT in it?) I told her nothing needs to match anymore, so get over the fact that my pants totally clashed with the sweater. It’s not as though I’ll be pairing the two together anytime in the near future, anyway. But when I do, it will look fabulous!
Wormy Kitty is evil. I still believe that she is plotting to smother me with her paws during the night. She likes to bite, too. I look like I stumbled into a briar patch!
I asked the non-BF how long this biting “stage” would last. Him: Oh. about two years. Me: (rolls eyes and sighs) Is that why you wanted me to keep the kitty?
P.S. Wormy Kitty sure as hell eats a lot. She shits more than any animal I’ve ever seen, next to Mr. Swirly.
Several days ago, I made
cell mutation juice a gin & diet tonic with a heavy splash of cranberry juice cocktail. I took one sip and then we had to go somewhere, and rather than waste totally decent alcohol, I scooped out the ice cubes and stuck the glass in my freezer. Totally forgot about it until yesterday and then I open the door to a nice surprise – wheeeee! it was like an adult snowcone!!! So tonight I’m trying a G&DT with some Fanta Grape soda. It’s pretty white trash sounding but I’m hoping it will be yummy enough that I’ll be able to serve it at parties without ridicule. (The Pickletinis were a huge hit, even though I was surrounded by doubters before the first sip!) It won’t be ready until tomorrow night, though.
The way I look at it, this could go one of two ways: Either I discover a new way to savor a cold drink in this hot Texas summer, or else it’s a Tanqueray and Vomit. I’ll keep you posted.
- 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
threefour 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!
- UPDATED: I cannot stop laughing over this.
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.
The non-BF calls on his way home from work to talk, as we normally do each day. Honestly, I don’t know how anyone else follows a conversation either one of us has with someone else because we are both so fucking ADD it isn’t even funny. Except sometimes it is.
We are on our eighth topic in 15 minutes (I only switched gears twice…so yeah, PROGRESS), and he suddenly says he has some bad news.
[Mind you, this is after he is talking about getting a beer cave, so yeah, what the fuck?]
Him: There is proof now that links alcohol consumption to various cancers.
Then he goes on to tell me all this scientific crap I cannot remember enough to even paraphrase his monologue. Well, okay, let me try…
Basically, every time you enjoy one of your Adult Beverages, be it beer, a fruity frou-frou drink or the shit I enjoy (gin & tonic, extra lime, please!), there is a by-product that occurs from consuming said Adult Beverage that causes cells to mutate. Now normally, the average healthy body can fight that off and do cell repair, but it’s really a crap shoot and you could end up with DNA damage. And HEY! It’s worse when you imbibe every day. Even if it is only a glass of wine! I think a lot of us out there are screwed.
Wow, I really sound like I know what I’m talking about here. I don’t.
Him: Blah, blah, blah, scientific word, etcetera et al.
Me: (LONG pause and then) Soooo, how many mutated cells do you think I have?
Him: (all serious and shit, so WOW, because okay, I was kidding. I know how many I have!) I don’t know. You are rolling the dice every time you take a drink.
Me: What? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of me pouring myself some Cell Mutation Juice.
We ended the call about ten minutes later when he had to go feed an animal or shred something or some such shit.
Him: I will call you later.
Me: Okay, I’m off to mutate some cells!
At lunch today, the Office Mate and I decided we’d go to Target to pick up garbage bags for the office (fun!) and then go get some lunch. She got in my car and was about to toss a wadded up note onto the floor (aka, my car’s “garbage can”) but read it first.
Her: “Passport & muscle relaxers”???
Me: Don’t ask.
Later, we were standing in line, waiting to place our order, and there in front of a few people in our line stood a female Dallas sherriff with pink handcuffs. I kept trying to take a photo of her but the bitch in front of me kept getting in the way.
The Office Mate: You keep getting Glock Blocked!
Me: Ha! You think she has a pink gun, too?
I got blocked by a user on Twitter. Was wondering out loud why on above mentioned phone call to the non-BF. He told me that if I was going to write shit and put it out there for everyone to see, I’d need a thicker skin.
“I have a thick skin. I don’t give a flying fuck why they blocked me. Only said all that shit so you would tell me how fabulous I am.” You know what? It worked.
Ten or so years ago, I was surprised when people liked me. Now I’m surprised when they don’t. What the hell must be wrong with them?
P.S. The non-BF said it was probably because I’m a “potty mouth.” Fuck him.
The Office Mate and I were talking about animal pranks after I admitted I didn’t know that catnip made cats crazy.
Me: I thought that stuff made them stoned and they’d just go to sleep.
She laughed at me and told me “NO, they kinda get silly from that shit.” I really have a LOT to learn about kitties.
So then she told me about a Pug bowling video, which sounded awful but she assured me the dog wasn’t hurt. I told her I got into trouble with my mom many years ago for something similar.
Me: I had some balloons from my birthday…and yeah, I was an adult, so what?…and so I tied the balloons to her dog’s collar and watched it run around the house trying to get away from them. She ended up under a bed, barking at the balloons.
While it was funny at the time, I believe I may be going to hell for that one.
P.S. I’ve grown up a lot since then. I only tease my animals when I know it will make my life easier.
Not really. These fucking dogs pretty much own ME, not the other way around. And I really don’t need fucking PETA or anyone else on my ass right now. My dogs eat better than most homeless people do (don’t worry, I don’t give my dogs beer money, sheesh!). Tomorrow night, they will get scrambled eggs on top of their kibble because, hey, it shouldn’t just be us humans who are happy that it’s FINALLY FUCKING FRIDAY!
P.S. Again: Blindie just ninja-kicked me off the sofa and onto the floor. No, “this is not my beautiful house.” Yeah, I pay the mortgage but it’s really their place. They just let me live with them.
- 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!
“Looks like somebody has a case of the Mondays.” I swear to the baby Jesus and all that is holy, if anyone EVER says that to me, I’ll knock them upside their head with my 20 pound purse!
I give you my Bitchy Monday:
- Wormy Kitty (as she is now called) doesn’t seem to be doing any better. Might be because I am an idiot and wasn’t giving her the proper dosage of nasty ringworm meds the first two days. I really need to read labels.
- I don’t seem to be doing any better myself. Feel like the fucking Typhoid Mary.
- Woke up sick this morning, slept a little too late and had to go into the office wearing a ball cap because I had fugly hair from being a lazy bitch this weekend. Also wore baggy cropped pants, a mismatched t-shirt and flip flops that didn’t even come close to pulling the “outfit” together. I looked like a homeless person dressed me.
- Now, don’t get all shitty about the above bullet point. I give them beer money, remember?
- The bandage covering my ringworm is irritating my skin (eew, that still grosses me out to say “my” and “ringworm” in the same sentence!). Between welty skin, a fungal infection and my Lysol Arms, I’m a train wreck.
- Was chastised by the non-BF yesterday: “You sure do cuss a lot more these days. It’s like your blog has taken over your real life.” Oopsy! Can’t have THAT happen, can we?
- Forced Austerity Campaign has not been too much of an adjustment for me. I didn’t opt out of my emails, but now I delete them all. Okay, so I take a tiny peek at them and then I delete them. Oh yeah, and I threw away my “Shit I Need To Buy” folder! PROGRESS.
- I know I really am overdue on a Man-Skeeter post but I’m so busy at work these days, I don’t even want to think about her when I get home. Soon, my bitches, very, very soon.
- Totally forgot to turn up my A/C this morning and came home to a super cold house, a shivering Wormy Kitty, two pissed off dogs and a condenser that froze up.
- What would I do for a Klondike bar? I don’t really like them, so yeah, probably nothing.
- I just looked at my surrounding area and realized I have four bottles of nail polish out. Three are pale pink with shades so insignificantly different from one another, it makes me wonder why I bought all three of them. Oh wait, the Shopping Problem. I fail.
- “Forgot” to eat this weekend, except for some Cheetos, so I had two chicken biscuits and biscuits and plain gravy for breakfast, and a sandwich for lunch. Damn, I’ve had my carb intake for all of September the last week in August. Nothing but salad and apples for this bitch for four weeks!
- I have to get up really early tomorrow, so I set three different alarms on my phone and I’m having my mommy call me in the morning. I sure miss my “alarm clock dog” (Mr. Swirly). For more reasons than that, obviously, but hell, that dog could wake the dead.
- Going to start calling my girls The Nips. Going braless? “Taking The Nips on a walk.” Breast self exam? “It’s Jane Fonda time for The Nips. Work it, baby!”
- Rainbow is licking his penis (because he can), Blindie is licking her arm and Wormy Kitty is licking the crate gate. I am surrounded by saliva. It ain’t pretty.
Heard that song on Pandora yesterday and apparently, it was foretelling. The following was my day. And it isn’t over yet.
It was cool early this morning, so I was walking up and down the street while I was talking to the non-BF on the phone. Saw a neighbor’s dogs out in their backyard and without even thinking, I went up to the fence and stuck my hand over to pet them. The alpha bitch totally bit my ring finger, broke the skin and bruised it. Now I have done enough dog rescue to know that it is really STUPID to do such a thing, but I just wasn’t thinking. Talked to the owner later and was assured that they were all up to date on their shots – said that because of the breed, he had all the paperwork, etc. I’m quite sure he thought I was going to sue him. Nope, I just apologized for my utter stupidity and went home. What kind of fucking idiot goes up to a barking dog in its own backyard and tries to pet it? Me, that’s who.
I can’t help it. I love dogs and I really love Pitties. Did the same thing several years ago to my neighbor’s Dachshund and still have the scar to prove it. Fucking dumbass.
Had to break up three dog fights in under an hour later this morning. Mr. Tail was visiting and Blindie kept picking fights with him when he tried to get next to the foster kitty’s crate. Blindie “guards” the kitty by sitting in front of the crate and snapping at anyone who comes near, including me.
By the way, that “spider bite”? Not only is it not lethal, it isn’t a spider bite. The foster cat has ringworm. Now so do I. No good deed goes unpunished. At least I can color coordinate the monkey bandages with my outfits next week. Always look on the bright side of life, right?
By the way, don’t use Lysol on your skin if you are worried about something spreading. Anti-bacterial soap is enough. My skin is itching so badly now, I’m like that bitch in the ABC After School Special who took those drugs, started screaming “The worms! They are under my skin!” and leapt out of a second story window. That shit really dries out your skin! I cannot find any body lotion, so I’m using a tiny pot of $25 lip balm to salvage my arm skin. Fuck.
Ran an errand in a dicey part of DFW and got laughed at by what I can only assume was a cheap hooker and her “date.” Bitch, please! I was sporting a super cute ocean blue sundress with matching Coach cork platforms, my dog bite and my monkey bandages on my chest. She had electric blue eyeshadow from fake lashes to brow, day-glow tennis shoes and stretch pants in an off-black snakeskin print that barely covered her huge ass. She and her “date” were buying vodka and a jug of orange juice. They took off in a Mercedes and I thought to myself, “If the car is a rocking, don’t come a knocking.” Classy.
I’m toally going to bed before anything else goes wrong!
Okay, so the Blog Immodium didn’t work and y’all are getting two posts today, but “a few blogposts a day keeps the doctor away.” As well as the cops. Kinda helps me not punch anyone in the face.
UPDATED: Well, not really two posts in one day..I started writing this before I fell asleep after possibly subjecting myself to aerial poison. More on that later.
I FUCKING HATE CAPTCHA.
I was reading comments on this post, and when I tried to respond to one, fucking blogspot made me do a captcha. While I totally get why – it’s to protect us (“I’m a robot, I’m a robot!”), except it doesn’t protect non’s ass from some bitch in Brazil who keeps spamming my comments with shit so yeah captcha, you FAIL– but fucking HELL, can’t they make the bunched up letters and numbers a little less bunched-the-fuck-up?
Took me five captchas before my comment was published. By that time, I was just about to say “Fuck it,” and move on.
I probably need new glasses.
I was on the phone with my mom and heard all this raucus at the back door. Rainbow was outside and I figured he saw a doodle bug and it scared him or something. So I open up the back door and there are fucking feathers EVERYWHERE. Rainbow got one of the neighbor’s hens, but being smarter than your average chicken, that bitch played possum and survived. I even got to pet it when I went to tell the neighbor it was possibly near death in their front yard. Good chicken! Bad Rainbow!
I think I’m switching from first aid tape to duct tape. That first aid tape shit doesn’t stick to itself very well. Does duct tape come in colors other than gray?
On the phone with my mom again. I said “fuck” one too many times, I suppose, because she chastised me with “Watch your language!” What the hell am I, twelve??
I found out the place I’m moving to next summer does not allow “farm animals.” So no goat for me (insert sad face here). I wonder if I gave the pygmy goat a jeweled collar, dressed it in a really cute outfit and called it Trixie, they might think it would pass for a “domesticated animal?”
This waking up at 3 a.m. and falling asleep at 5 only to wake up at 6 is totally jacking up my day. Especially now with very little caffeine..
They are spraying for West Nile virus tonight and tomorrow night. We are basically QUARANTINED for the next eight hours. I hope that stray kitty outside who lives under my porch is okay.
I just spent an hour outside with the fucking stray, trying to coax that bitch inside. I count four bites and goddamnit, if I die from this shit, know I did it trying to save yet another fucking stray. If I were to be buried, y’all could put that shit on my tombstone! Fortunately, I’m set to be cremated. Just sprinkle my ashes on a pile of dog shit, that would make me happy.
Not really. I want a fucking shrine, y’all. And it better be pink.
I love that movie “The Family Stone.” Totally have a girl crush on SJP and Rachel McAdams. Plus Luke Wilson in those sweatpants by the car? Um, YES. By the way, I have a freak flag, too. It’s just that I only fly it in here.
The above paragraph has nothing to do with anything except that I love the quote from that movie and needed an excuse to use it. Kind of like my “Thelma and Louise” quote from the other day.
It has been one hell of a busy week: Rainbow finally came out, I finished my thesis, Blindie learned to count to three with her front left paw, Mr. Tail filed an emancipation suit against me, and I crocheted a really ugly baby cap even though babies in Texas in the summer don’t need really ugly crocheted baby caps. Actually, no baby anywhere needs one.
Okay, so none of the above happened. I did have a stray kitten move in under my front porch. Found $2.17 in change in my couch. And my power went out in the middle of the night. Not good. It was back on again later, so my food was saved, and my dogs could stop freaking out at grandma’s house and go back to doing what they do best: sleeping on their bed all fucking day. Lazy asses.
Some mornings, when I finish getting ready to go to work, I look at myself in the mirror, sigh loudly and say, “Whatever.” Such a morning was this one. When the FUCK did I start having hair like Carol Brady???
Don’t you just hate Snappers? You know, those annoying asses who snap their fingers at other people. I worked with someone like that once, felt my skin crawl every time they did it. Especially when they did it at me.
Well, I must confess…I am a Snapper. But only with my dogs. I’m sure they are annoyed when that shit happens. Still, it’s very effective. Especially with Rainbow when I’m trying to get him to come inside. He is very anti-Snap but that bitch hops to it when I do it. No wonder the Snappers do that shit!
Driving to the store one evening this week, I totally fucking saw a guy on a unicycle using a walking stick to propel him forward. Almost ran my car off the road. Why is it that I always see the weirdest shit when I cannot possibly take a photo of it???
Went out to see an 80s cover band play tonight. While we were having dinner before the show, the non-BF poked me and said, “Look! There’s the waitress who was worried about your alcohol consumption the last time we were here.” I asked him if I should hold up my drink and tell her, “It’s Diet Coke!” (it was, as a matter of fact). He said, “No, she probably wouldn’t recognize you in a vertical position” When I saw her later and apologized, she was all gracious and cool about it. “You were bad but you were good bad.” I still got thrown out of the club. [Clarification: Thrown out the last time we were there, not tonight. People really shouldn’t put couches in nightclubs and serve cocktails. I get sleepy when I have a few! But tonight, I was sober and fully cognizant of all the aging idiots in the audience trying to party like it’s 1999.]
Totally weird conversation I had with Bunny tonight…
Me: Do you want one of my chewable aspirin? They’re orange flavored.
Bunny: Only if they have cocaine in them. (I love her sense of humor. Hugs not drugs, people! Hugs. Not drugs.)
Me: I don’t like the orangey flavor but I had to get the chewable ones in case I have a heart attack.
The non-BF gives me a What The Fuck? look.
Me: I haven’t liked the taste of these things since I overdosed on a bottle of them when I was 16 months old.
Disclaimer to the immediate above – when I started walking, I started climbing. My mom thought they were stored where a child couldn’t get to them, on the top shelf of a wall cabinet. Being the little monkey that I was, somehow I found the bottle and ate its entire contents (about 3/4 full). When there’s a will, there’s a way! I guess I really liked the taste of them then. Explains why I hate orange flavored shit now and why I absolutely HATE taking pills! One of my earliest childhood memories is of me in the ER going to get my stomach pumped but I saved them the trouble and threw up the spinach I ate for dinner. P.S. My mother always had the hardest time getting me to eat anything but vegetables when I was a kid. God bless her. I know she tried. I’ve been “difficult” since I exited her womb.
On the way home from the concert, I stopped off at a drugstore still wearing my club wristbands. Had to pick up some Tums and Ben Gay. I do appreciate the irony of that. However, I doubt the guy behind the counter did.
I spent my childhood and teenage years pretty shy, and the time from age 1 until my late 20s being more of a follower than a leader. I don’t know when exactly all of that changed, but I am glad it did. Now, if you don’t like me, I wonder what the fuck is wrong with you. Now, I don’t wait for someone to step up and take control of a situation, I
volunteer to be in charge take over. Now, I don’t mind being the boss. In fact, I prefer it. Sometimes, I might even be a little too directive. Case in point – my parents’ anniversary luncheon. My mom was suggesting I ASK the other siblings to contribute this or that, and I told her I’d take care of it. Three text messages later, the menu was taken care of and no one had any doubts about their contribution to the whole thing. I have found that most people really want to be told what to do, and are waiting for someone to be the one to tell them just what that is. I kinda like that role, as bitchy as it sounds.
Overheard this week:
- Salt and fat, that’s where it’s at!
- They’re fashionably late for a non-event.
- I am slipping into a Carb Coma…
- So then she tells me that her gynecologist asked her if she was still having hot flashes, and she told him to check back with her in November because it was summertime in Texas and how the fuck did she know if she was. Really, I don’t know why I ever accept lunch invitations from that crazy bitch.
- He promised me this birthday, I’d have a Jaguar. Asshole went out and bought me a BMW. (Me: Oh, I’m so sorry for your inconvenient life! Whore.)
- Dude, clean your car! It smells like a witch’s crotch in here!
- (Deadpanned after seeing a girl dressed like a $20 hooker) I have that same outfit!
- Woman in front of the grumpy old woman in front of me in the 15 Items Or Less Express Lane: You can’t count every single can in my six pack as a single item.
- I really have no idea WHAT THE FUCK is going on in my toilet!!
Finally bought legitimate first aid tape to bind my Probably Broken Toe to the middle piggy to keep it straight. I looked down at it just now and realized my Probably Broken Toe is a LOT longer than my Captain Toe. I’m glad the non-BF isn’t like Jason Alexander in Shallow Hal and gets all icked-out by that shit, because that motherfucker is freakishly long.
I gave up giving up for Lent this year. That was a lot easier than giving up smoking, drinking, online shopping, reading People magazine and mainlining butter.
For twelve years, the non-BF has been telling me all kinds of false shit, knowing I’d believe him, only to wink and laugh when someone else called me on it. Tonight, for example, I made the waiter tell me exactly what cheeses were in the Truffle Mac And Cheese because the non-BF swore there was bleu cheese in it. “But no bleu cheese, right?” The waiter just gave me a look and said, “Um, NO.” The non-BF just laughed and laughed.
Motherfucker, you are SO getting your eyebrows Naired off, and SOON. This is not an empty threat!
By the way, I’ve always been that way. Years ago, a really good friend told me that the word “gullible” wasn’t in the dictionary and I went to look it up and prove her wrong. Busted.
P.P.S. I will so NOT Nair off the non-BF’s eyebrows. His eyebrows are quite cute and plus that would just be mean-spirited of me. Besides, after 12 years, one would think my jackass mind would figure out that he is always fucking with me.
I cannot get the last fucking club wrist band off my right arm. My scissors must be too dull. I considered gnawing it off like a coyote caught in a trap but I like my right hand. It allows me to type stupid shit in here and plus I need it for work. My next thought was to use a paring knife to cut it off but those were all taken away from me and locked up since the time I did two shots of vodka and tried to chop lemongrass for a Thai recipe. Good thing, I suppose. No one but the furbrats around to call 911 when I accidentally sever the end of my arm.
Goodnight.. I give you this:
For some reason, any stray or lost dog in the neighborhood always seems to find my house. I’m quite certain the all the dogs in the Dog Universe talk to each other, and one must have spread the word about me years ago.
“That bitch down the street? The one with the red car? Sucker. Yep, go sit in front of her house and look sad. Or cute. No wait, both. Both is better. You’ll have a home in no time at all.”
I come home from picking up the bed, and as we drive up to my house, I see my neighbor looking over the fence into my backyard.
I ask my dad, “Now what?” because all the fucking animals in this town seem to like my backyard. Including my neighbor’s chickens. [Yes, my neighbor has chickens. And no, I don’t think it’s legal, but I love chickens so I don’t give a flying fuck. Until they get in my backyard and Rainbow, my gay dog, kills one of them and I have to chase his ass down while he is prancing around, all proud and shit, to try and pry the dead bird out of his mouth and then skulk over to the neighbor’s house in shame because Killer over here has once again mauled one of his stupid fucking chickens that cannot seem to learn that dog + chickens is not a pleasant outcome. Chickens are stupid.]
I digress. Anyway, I get out and run around to ask her what is wrong (I’m thinking possum, skunk or wayward cat, but once I found a dead green parrot. Oh yeah, and the pigeons. My chicken-loving neighbor also has pigeons. I’ll bet the non-BF won’t be driving the new car and parking it in front of my house. I get a LOT of bird shit.) According to Neighbor, two kittens ran into my backyard.
Jesus H. Christ, just what I fucking need! After the hour of pleasantry with my mom and dad (unloading a mattress and box springs with them is no fun, but hey, I gave my dad a six pack and thanked him, even though I got yelled at more than I did my entire eighth grade year), I found the cute little bastard hiding behind a bucket of shit my dad really needs to get out of my goddamned backyard. Neighbor helped me take him to the local shelter, where I was assured one staff member would find it a home.
While we were trying to figure out what to do with the kitty, however, Rainbow and Blindie were going bat-shit crazy trying to get at the cat. Rainbow tried to put its head in his mouth, which worries me because next week, I get the foster. [By the way, a friend suggested I call her Foster. I’m leaning more towards Hey Baby Girl.] Cute Little Bastard Kitty was clawing my arms and Rainbow was clawing my legs. I ended up looking like a meth head who needed a fix.
Now that all of that drama is over with, I’m back at home and crazy-as-fuck Rainbow won’t stop looking for that kitten. He ran around sniffing everything, went outside where the kitty was hiding and basically acted like a total idiot until I finally used the Momma Voice to shame him back into the house. He is sleeping next to me right now and all is peaceful. I really should buy that damned dog a treadmill with a fake cat on the end of it so he can wear himself out. My life would be so much easier.
Is 2:30 in the afternoon too early to start drinking?
P.S. Thanks for the Costco chicken, Mom and Dad. And the limes.