Only Cute While Sleeping

Yesterday, on one of my 20 trips up and down the stairs to keep the dog from eating out of the litterbox, the dog stepped in front of me and I not so gracefully sprained my ankle trying to catch myself.

I was in such pain, began crying, and the stupid, evil dog, came running up to me and crawled into my lap, despite the path to the litterbox now being clear and there being no way I was going to stop him seeing that I was bawling from the searing pain in my ankle.

He sure can be sweet sometimes. Usually it is while he is sleeping though.

Three's Company Had a Very Clean House

I just saw a news snippet about polygamy. I only saw a minute of it, but it appeared to be a threesome in some third-world country stating that their way of life is the only way they knew, that it was normal for a husband to have two wives.

Maybe I am just tired and my fingers a bit dried out from cleaning the shower, but I think it is safe to go on the record in support of multiple wives. Personally, I need to find a wife that can be the bathroom cleaner, the laundry washer, the floor scrubber, the cat handler, the grocery buyer, the dinner preparer, etc., and so forth. I can handle the couch cuddling, companionship, lights going out wifely duties, I just would like to interview a few Stepford Wives to handle the other duties I have.

I understand that from the beginning of time, women handled the household duties while men hunted, came home and sat around the campfire farting. No matter how I consider that women all across the world are doing more than men are at home, it doesn’t make me feel any better or less tired or less resentful that I am scrubbing dishes at 10 at night instead of curled up on the couch.

Years ago, yet in an incident I remember so vividly, I was with my parents handling the cleaning of a relative’s home after the mother had died. My mom and I scrubbed and swept, and dusted and mopped while my dad sat on a bench outside and stared into the sky. I asked my mom how she handled that all these years. She just sighed, and said, “Well, I got used to it.” I remember being mad at my dad initially, and then getting angry with my mom as the words settled in. She allowed it to happen. She allowed him to be lazy and not give his share. I told myself that I wouldn’t allow that, it was going to be equal in my house.

Oh, youth. How naive I was.

Or maybe it’s true, men marry their mothers, women marry their fathers.

Give me a woman who doesn’t feel that she does more around the house, with the management of finances or chores or the children. I want to meet her man. And kidnap him.

I don’t want to come across as too much of a Complainy McComplainer Pants. Not Craig is amazing. He is such a great man and I love him to pieces. He is wonderful in a million different ways. I would rather have him be all that he is, than merely a great housekeeper.

Thing is, I just wish that I wasn’t in charge of everything at home. I wish when I got home one night, the house would be clean, the laundry started, dinner on the table, the cats fed. I wish my weekends were spent carefree, not wondering where I was going to squeeze in a stop at the grocery store or wondering just how many days I can wear those pants before they start reeking.

It is one of those great axioms of life. To make a man feel loved, give him sex. To make a woman feel loved, do the dishes.

How about you? How are the household chores divided up? Do you feel that you do more than a fair share? Does your hubby help out willingly or just because you have threatened castration? How do you handle the anger/frustration about this topic? How often does it come up as an argument point?

Just tell me I am not alone here.

Racist, Decapitating Elevators and Other Things I Make Up

This morning when I was in the elevator, the doors were closing and out of nowhere, this guy pops up, throws his arms between the doors, setting off the sensor and allowing the doors to reopen.

While ascending to the lobby, we have the standard banter about elevators, banter like I typically have with others who threaten amputation by elevator door. (Look, it happens). In my building, some elevators don’t respond to an obstruction in the path of the doors. They just keep closing no matter whose arm, leg or bag may be trying to set off the sensor so the doors reopen. You can trust your various body parts to some elevators, but need to be wary of others. (And I am not even mentioning how rude it is to force someone to wait on you when you were clearly not in time for that elevator. It is extremely rude, but I am not mentioning it.)

Personally, I respect the sovereignty of the elevator doors. If they are closing, I don’t try to get them to reopen by throwing my arm in between the doors. I wait for the next elevator.

I have strange fears - I refuse to put any item in the back window of my car because if I am in a car crash, I will be decapitated by the flying box of Kleenex. I once heard that in driver’s ed. Or somewhere. Same thing with the elevator, I just can’t bring myself to test fate and hope that the elevator I am trying to catch has a sensor that isn’t dusty and will definitely not crush my arm and then once trapped, will decapitate me.

Ok…so…. Moving on from the decapitation. Because I am pretty sure now everyone knows elevator = decapitation.

So this guy and I are talking about how some elevators you can get to reopen and others won’t reopen no matter how anxiously you wave your arm between the doors as they close.

Some elevators close no matter what.

And this guy says, “Those must be Republican elevators.”

I laughed, “haha, yea.”

Yet I have NO IDEA what that means.

How is an elevator either Democrat or Republican, how do we know it isn’t Independent or perhaps a Libertarian? I bet that elevator actually is all “Ron Paul 2012!”

I am so tired of the election, talking about the candidates, seeing their mugs all over the news, hearing all the allegations of who is being meaner, who will ruin the economy, who is the racist-ist. I am so sick of it all.

I want to say that as soon as I finish voting, on October 20^th, the day early voting opens in Texas, that I will be done with it. That I won’t watch anything about it on TV, or read Drudge, or discuss it with my co-workers. Yet I can’t say that because I know it is a lie. I will. I will stress out for the remaining weeks wondering who will win. Although I am sure this election will have another Florida mishap and we won’t know who the President-Elect is for weeks after November 4^th.

I am thinking that maybe I should just tempt fate once I have voted and see if my fear of decapitation by elevator is warranted. I consider it my civic duty.

The Bailout

I found this somewhere today. It speaks perfectly to where our nation has fallen.

From Bondage to Spiritual Faith

From Spiritual Faith to Great Courage

From Great Courage to Liberty

From Liberty to Abundance

From Abundance to Complacency

From Complacency to Apathy

From Apathy to Dependency

From Dependency back to Bondage

A Democracy will prevail until the populace learns that they can vote themselves entitlements. This leads to Governmental Fiscal Irresponsibility. And this leads back to bondage.

Hurricane Fatigue?

We are continuing on in the land of gas lines and the unbathed. More and more electricity is getting reconnected. Or so I have been told. 2 of my coworkers have power now, which, if I can still do math, means about 5% of the city of Houston has power. Some peeps, those with wells, or apartments with weird water constructions that I don’t understand, don’t have water because the power is out.

I can handle no electricity. I am perfectly fine at home without power….I have a job to go to that has power and electricity and TV dinners and supposedly open restaurants within walking distance (I am a bit excited about lunch, ya’ll. A hot lunch. Wee!) At home, I finish Sudoku puzzles, and swat mosquitos and go eat dinner elsewhere. Or pick my toes. There are lots of things to do without electricity.

We have candles and lanterns for light in the evening.

We constructed a fancy ass screen out of a mosquito net for our open windows.

Get this – The Academy store did not have power. When Not Craig went on a mission of mosquito control, he had to be escorted around the dark store by an employee wearing a headlamp and then walked to the registers, the only portion of the store with power, supplied by a generator.

We have tacked up mosquito nets over our open windows, we have plenty of poptarts left, we are doing well. Thriving.

We listen to the radio in the evenings a la Fireside Chats. (Which given the economic news recently, quite reminiscent of the actual Fireside Chats!) It is kinda irritating listening to the callers though. Many, many people are taking this all in stride, calling in to thank the workers who are trying to restore power, those serving ice, water and MRE’s at the “Points of Distribution” or POD’s, thanking the Mayor and his sidekicks in keeping the public well-informed. Others…..well…. the hurricane left some complainers behind.

Callers complaining that they don’t have power. Hmm? 1.5 million households don’t have power. Ya think calling a radio station or your power company or your mama will get your power turned back on ahead of those 1,499,999 other households. Callers complaining that a POD ran out of ice and how are we gonna survive another day without ice or complaining that they can’t wait in a gas line for an hour or complaining that the curfew is martial law or complaining that the city didn’t respond quickly enough. And on and on and on.

It is really sad.

It is really sad that when people have lost their homes, every single belonging they have, their place of employment, pets and photos, and children’s toys and so many things that they cherished, that people are complaining about having to drink room temp water.

It sucks. Yea, it does. I wish I had power to my coffee maker and could take a hot shower in a room that was well lit.

I wish that my friend didn’t lose her house, too.

She doesn’t have a house. So shut up that you are missing out on So You Think You Can Dance. Because I am about to shove a mosquito net down your throat.

Last Discussion About the Hurricane (Which is Such a Lie.)

I don't mean to drone on and on about the storm. On Twitter, Plurk, here, at work, on various chat boards, yawn!!!

How would ya'll deal with a fucking huge storm on top of your island oasis? You would be pissed. And hope for the best. Optimism! Wee!

Then....add on to that stupid asshole of a storm, a potential that while you are working on getting a tan in potential downpours, that same fucker of a storm hits your hometown. Where your friends, favorite bar, home, job and cats are. All unattended.

I would probably guess that you would develop an ulcer (and then you would name it Tom).

And then you would drink Vodka. And maybe tequila. And if you had red wine, you would drink it, but you don't, so you stick with vodka.

And then you would pack and hope that all those cute little skirts and bathing suits will come in handy.

At this point, due to the insurance industries' strict definition of "uninhabitable" and disregard for "ideal vacations" which is totally not defined within the policy, it appears that we are going to Jamaica, bitches.

Of course, just like the spot where the storm will hit the U.S., that will change in the next update, in the next hour.

Palpatations

There is a fucking hurricane over Jamaica right now. I am going to kill Gustav. Ya'll...I am freaking out and am super pissed and want to destroy Gustav and his family.

I hope I don't run into any guys named Gustav today. Because I will spit in their general direction. And maybe hiss.

What the hell do you do when there is a fucking hurricane in the path of your vacation?

I twittered that it should hit Europe. I don't hate Europe or anything, well not most parts of it, but I am not flying to Europe in a matter of days. Flying over a fucking hurricane.

Ya'll, I am about to puke and then punch out random people. Which is probably better than the Bloggess who is tattooing random cats today. But whatever. Fucking hurricane.

Someone count the number of times I have used fuck in this post, because that, my friends, is the definition of restraint.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck!!!

The Sweet In Between

It isn’t that I am at an in-between stage anymore. I am in a completely different stage.

The problem is, I haven’t quite figured myself out in this new stage or even exactly what stage I am in, or how to meet and make friends with others in this new stage, whatever it may be.

A stage beyond the last one. A stage where I have left a good friend of mine.

It sucks to notice the different settings we are in. To look back and wish her the best. But know that I am not there anymore and I don’t want to be. She does. This creates a rift.

It might be easier if I had more friends in this new stage. If I could just say, sorry, too busy, can’t do what you want to do.

Instead, I say naaahh, not interested. And stay at home. Because I haven’t quite figured out where I am and how to meet other people that aren’t sure where they are at either. So at least we could be at a spot unknown, together. So I won’t be alone in this in-between.

My Boss Thinks I Am Crazy. Again.

I was late to work today.

Not because I slept in or played too long on the computer this morning or because I couldn’t figure out what to wear or because I had a flat tire or because of traffic or because of any other plausible excuse.

I was late to work this morning because on my way into the office, just as I hit the downtown streets, the downtown streets of the fourth largest city in the U.S., at 8 A.M., which is rush hour, in a huge metropolitan city, there was a frigging horse in the road. A HORSE IN THE MIDDLE OF AN INTERSECTION IN DOWNTOWN HOUSTON.

What was a horse doing in the middle of a freaking intersection in the middle of rush hour in Houston?

The Horse was surrounded by large buses and a bazillion cars in the middle of an intersection, because the Ass that was riding it was pulling over someone.

A mounted cop, took his horse into the middle of an intersection, causing traffic to back up onto the freeway, causing people to slam on their brakes in order to avoid hitting a HORSE IN THE MIDDLE OF AN INTERSECTION in order to pull someone over.

I can’t come up with a good reason to pull over someone that involves taking your HORSE INTO THE MIDDLE OF AN INTERSECTION. Can you?

/Rant

Name This Post.

I feel that it is important to accomplish something every day. Big or small. Although the big accomplishments should, of course, outweigh the small on the grand scale. So I live my life that way, curing polio one day, taking a shower the next. Big and small.

Today - I did not punch out the dentist. It took great strength to hold back, yet I did it.

Big or small? Who knows, but now, I can go back to bed.


And if you were wondering where I have been, I blog all the time over at Twitter. Do you have any idea how hard it is to create posts that require over 141 characters? Nearly impossible, folks. I have found just enough strength and not utterly boring stuff to blog at Twitter. One day, I may do better. But today, I didn't punch out anyone. Work with me here.

Oh and think positive thoughts as my sis rides out a hurricane. A baby hurricane, but those things are powerful. 6 hours north of her and we are getting rain bands. Rain bands, much like rubber bands.

(Is this really a blog post or just the mad rantings of an idiot. It is hard to tell sometimes!)

What I Have To Say Now

Thank you to all for the kind words in response to my last post. They really put a smile on my face when it was hard to stop crying, much less smile. I have wondered exactly how much to tell as it is not my tragedy. It is a tragedy belonging to a family I love very dearly. To a friend I call a sister, to her mother, who I call Mom.

The best I can come up with are just some things I really want to say.

Don’t take life for granted. It can end in moments.

The little things count. Make an impression on someone by simply being friendly, considerate, just there. No matter what.

Get your finances in order. Don’t be caught unexpectedly in an emergency. Have some cash stashed. Have a way to pay for expenses that you never ever ever thought you would have to pay.

Work in a job where they care enough to let you leave at a moment’s notice and for as long as necessary for a friend.

Get a will. Also get a living will. Making your family make those decisions… …. Just don’t make them think about it…. Discuss the undiscussable.

Spend more time with people and not so much time online, cleaning, sleeping, and working.

No matter what you say, you can’t say the right thing to make someone who has lost their dad or their husband feel better. There are a lot of wrong things you can say. Don’t say those.

And never, ever forget to wear sunscreen.

Things Learned This Weekend

1. Do not ever ever ever let a dentist from West Texas work on you. Ever.

2. If you are stupid enough to let a dentist from West Texas work on you, ensure you are deft enough to catch your crown when it dislodges for the 4^th time since placement without swallowing it.

3. Don’t go to Wal-Mart. Ever. Ever. If you are stupid enough to go to Wal-Mart, you are going to see things that will forever be stuck in your mind. A smell that will forever be remembered, an experience you are probably going to cry over when your crown falls out Again and #4 happens.

4. If you know there is a problem with a certain car part before you buy a car, don’t cry when it happens for reals after you signed the paperwork.

5. I need big girl panties.

6. Best Buy and probably all sorts of other evil empirical giant stores create false shortages of the Wii’s. Talk to the stupid sales guy who will tell you all the secrets.

7. I have a big problem with false shortages. My Wii hunt is on hold because I am mad.

8. Reading a book, while drinking a Shiner at 3 in the afternoon is the only way to feel better after 2, 3, 4 occur in quick succession.

9. Smoothies help. Smoothies with vodka instead of milk help even more.

10. I hate bad teeth, doctors, dentists, Wal-Mart, traffic, not being sold something because Nintendo tells an evil empirical giant store to not sell it so its popularity will increase, bad brakes, etc., etc. and so on and so forth.

Tell me what you learned this weekend. Or what you hate. Or what I should hate.

Does Anyone Have Any Estrogen Lying Around?

There are many awesome things about being a chick. Being able to pee sitting down. Using hormones as an excuse for biting someone’s head off. Bath and Body Works. Thongs. Fruity Drinks drank without worry as to the “gayness”. Not having to kill spiders. Being able to feel boobs anytime, anywhere, and for any reason.

There is one thing though that makes all the above-listed items shrink away. Something that makes me wish I was a man. Something that if I can’t become a man, really requires me to work super hard in order to find that hidden reserve of estrogen somewhere deep in my soul.

Showers. What a horrible, horrible torture that only women are forced to endure. A horrible torture employed by women, upon other women.

The idiotic games, the shrieks of laughter from 20 chicks at the display of a chip and dip set/onesie/lamp/diaper rash cream/other stupid gift. The forced sitting with people you either don’t know or hoped not to have to see again. I hate the whole process. Especially baby showers where alcohol isn’t even available.

I have attended many showers, wedding and as the wedded started spawning, baby showers. Out of all the showers though, I have never had something seem so contrived as what I will endure tomorrow.

A Grandmother Shower.

I called a reliable source who confirmed this is out of the norm. My mother, a grandmother herself, called it “ridiculous” and “stupid”. Maybe she was just jealous, but when she called the thrower and/or the throwee greedy and self-absorbed, well, who am I to argue.

Lord help me. Think of me tomorrow as I will be forced to smile, shriek in unison and eat finger sandwiches, all while attempting to not stab myself with a plastic knife.

Next week, could you clear your calendar, it is Yoda’s birthday, we are having a party.

Yoda is registered at PetSmart, Macy’s and Wal-Mart.

Dell-y Smelly

Over the next few days, major surgery is occurring on my little laptop. I have a Dell laptop, purchased just over 2 years ago. If you were blind and sitting where I am currently sitting, you would assume it was a steam engine locomotive in front of you, not a computer. The thing is noisy. And slow.

A couple weeks ago, Not Craig wiped the whole thing out. Blanked out my computer, reloaded everything, cleaned and polished up my computer.

It has not helped at all.

In order to be Frugal McFrugalitis, instead of buying a new computer, I searched out a new hard drive.

Could someone explain to me, how, just over 2 years ago, I bought this laptop for $1,400, enough to feed a South American village for 18 months, and now, I want to replace the very mostest importantest piece of equipment in it and it costs $75. How the hell does that compute? Guess what, Michael Dell! It doesn’t.

(The above paragraph contains 7 commas. That is excessive comma use, but I am too impatient to try and delete pieces of text. That is extremely burdensome for my poor piece of crap computer. Now this paragraph has 8 commas. And a run-on parenthetical. And sentence fragments. My 8^th grade English teacher who attempted to teach me how to diagram sentences is rolling in her grave, if she is dead. Kaytabug?) The parenthetical is now longer than the paragraph itself. I may be extremely bad at the English.

So if I disappear from the face of the innernets, it is because I became impatient and tried to replace the hard drive myself instead of waiting on the much more capable, technical guru in my household. One day, I should tell you how I bought a new Ipod battery and tried to replace it myself. In the middle of it, I decided that was a bad idea and hired Not Craig to be the supervisor. Unfortunately, this project failed miserably in the end. My Ipod is instead just defective. It works for approximately 15 minutes and dies a horrible death. I will tell you that story one day. Or not.

Wish me, Not Craig and the Dell luck. If this doesn’t work, a $1,400 piece of crap will be flung from a 3^rd story window. Although perhaps it is powerful enough in its chuggin, chuggin, chuggin to fly on its own accord.

House Guests

(Men - proceed at your own risk.)

In my Saturday post, I wrote, “Where is my crown?”

I meant where is the crown I deserve for being a super cheap-ass furniture finding mo-fo.

The crown that goes on your head because you are the shiz-nit.

Somewhere, in some really evil parallel universe, a gnome read that blog post.

That gnome, apparently had dental issues. I wanted to know where my princess-y crown was. The location of my dental crown was not in question.

There was no reason for that parallel universe gnome to up-seat my crown. Yet he did.

Hours after writing that fateful sentence, enjoying a piece of chewing gum, my crown dethroned itself. That evil gnome ruined the crown’s self-esteem causing it to fling itself out of its secure post.

Today I spent 4 hours at the dentist with my mouth stretched wider than a cheerleader on prom night.

With a wedge of cotton in my mouth to stop some bleeding, I begged for a potty break halfway through the torture.

And really…. It’s Monday. My head is being drilled. Was that anytime for my Aunt to stop by for a visit?

Dumbassery At Its Finest

I received a visit from a crackhead last night.

I returned home from the airport at close to 10 P.M. and with my luggage and my poor aching ski-injured body, I parked along the street outside of my house, instead of in the back.

This morning, I was pleasantly surprised to see that my driver’s side door lock was all jacked up.

Never in the long ownership of this car have I ever feared that it would be broken into or stolen.

This had to be the work of a crackhead. Why would a person in their right mind attempt to steal a 10 year old Toyota Corolla? There wasn’t anything of value in sight unless you count the beige steering wheel cover.

What were they going to do with a Corolla? What kind of resale value does an extremely well-used Corolla have? How fast are they going to be able to joy-ride in a go-cart with nearly 190,000 miles on it.

They also attempted to break into 2 other cars on my block. One of them was an older truck that has the small window in the door that you can tilt open. They busted that, yet were not able to steal the truck. What kind of idiot cannot complete a car theft after they bust a window?

Needless to say, I will be parking in the back of my building from here on out, the cats will surely scare off the crackheads that really suck at grand theft auto.

Stage Left

Scene: Bustling law office, 3 P.M., our heroine is suited in a demure white sweater and grey slacks that are just a tad tight due to several days of extra helpings of General Tso’s chicken. She is busily typing an email to her friend about how she wished the day was over already and is thinking about Chinese for dinner.

(Insert ringing of cell phone)

Heroine: “Hi Landlord! How are you doing?”

Landlord: “Well, pretty good. Took a vacation day today. You have a washer and dryer now. However, remember how you couldn’t get the stove to start and I thought it was because you were an idiot? Well, it appears that you aren’t a complete idiot, it appears that the gas company shut off the gas.”

Heroine: “I told you I graduated 5th in my class! Someone with those kinds of brains can surely figure out how to turn on a gas stove. I will call the gas company and find out what is wrong.”

(Muted tones wherein Heroine and Gas Company discuss how the gas company screwed up, they apologize and will get someone right out to fix their error and Ms. Heroine should have a nice day.)

(Cut to new apartment. Apartment has limited furnishings. No cable, no internet, no couch, an air mattress. Requiring our Heroine to hunch over her only real furniture, a kitchen table, completing Sudoko puzzles and listening to an audio book.)

Time: 10:00 PM

Heroine: “Hi Gas Company. I have been waiting here for 4 hours. It is a Friday night. I am becoming a hunchback, although my analytical skills are surely improving due to the 26 Sudoko puzzles I have completed. However, I am curious if I will have gas tonight?

Gas Company: (Evil maniacal laughter) We show up when we want. You must wait for us, you stupid peon.”

Heroine: “This is your fault, however. You unilaterally shut off my service, whereas there was no logical reason to do so as heretofore my service was appropriate. Therefore, I would appreciate some candor as to the reasoning on the inappropriateness of cutting my gas. (Smile smugly due to use of big law firm words.)

Gas Company: “Yo, bitch, shut up. We do whatever the hell we want. You want gas? Shut up. I is putting you on hold.”

3 minutes pass.

Heroine: “Hmm…he sure told me.”

4 more minutes pass.

Heroine: “Should I interject that I work at a law firm?”

2 minutes pass.

Heroine: “Should I call Marvin Zindler? Dammit, he is dead. Maybe Wayne Dolcefino? Angelina Jolie? Larry the Cable Guy?”

2 more minutes pass.

Heroine hangs up. And hangs her head.

(10:30 PM. Insert ringing cell phone.)

Heroine: “Hello?”

Heroine’s Friend: “Are you still there? What if the gas dude is a maniacal serial killer? Do you have pepper spray? A Tazer? How about some nunchuks?”

Heroine: “Dude. Chill. You are freaking me out. I only have a knife. But if it will make you feel better, I will keep knives stashed in convenient locations so if this gas dude gets fresh, I can stab his ass.

Friend: “Good, use an upward angle, and when it is in, pull up really hard.”

Heroine: “You are fucking crazy. And you are scaring me. Goodbye.”

(Heroine dials a number on her cell phone.)

Heroine: “Hello? Gas Company? I have been told that ya’ll show up anywhere until midnight? Is that correct?

Gas Company: “Bitch, I told you we show up whenever the fuck we want. What are you bugging about?”

Heroine: “Well, I am a bit concerned for my own safety (Runs finger along knife edge.) as well as the safety of the technician. I don't know my neighbors, but wasn’t the Joe Horn incident just up the freeway and through the woods?”

Gas Company: Yo. Our technicians are ninjas. No one messes with them. They will be there when they want to be there. Quit calling.”

Heroine cries. And goes back to her hotel. Dejected and without gas. She then proceeds to fart all night long from the General Tso chicken and is struck by the irony.

Boo. Hoo.

I really should come around more often. But in order to write a blog post, I feel that it should be funny, and uplifting and make fun of myself (or others) in some way. Provide a funny anecdote. Something.

I am just not there right now. I am trying. I do my best to be positive and uplifting and make fun of myself and find humor in my situation.

But I am throwing a pity party. I have been for several weeks now. I have been down longer than I have in my past history. I want to get out of it, but until I find an even surface, I am not sure I will.

I am getting there. I have a place to live in Houston now. I am currently in the State Adjacent getting some stuff to fill the new living arrangement. Hopefully, once I get settled in a bit, we can laugh and carouse around this little internet space like we used to.

So, tell me, how are you doing? Is something bringing you down? What do you do to snap out of the doldrums?

All I Want For Christmas is...

Curious folk may ask themselves why I spent so much time this morning preparing a new template and customizing it and mastering HTML like a big dog, as opposed to simply writing a post. A post would be much simpler, less time consuming and cause 59% less eye strain.

However, I am a glutton for punishment. Changing templates sucks. However, I am thrilled that I have completed the change. I was wanting to get rid of purple, I am not a very purply person. I am much more white/black/blues. My outfit today? Black top, black jacket, grey pants, black shoes. Yesterday? White top, black pants, same black shoes. Tomorrow? Blue top, grey pants, same black shoes. Very monotone. Very simple. None of that trying to figure out an outfit mess for me. I do really well with matched sets. This sounds like it could be a Christmas list. Or not. (Email me for sizing, as necessary.)

So, point is, I could have written a post this morning. Lord knows I haven’t posted much this month. And the Good Lord also knows my life isn’t lacking substance. In fact, I could use a bit less substance. And more stability. And housing. Housing would be awesomest. And perhaps, a Dyson.

In fact, let’s revise that Christmas list, shall we?

• A place to live that is in excess of 300 square feet.
  
• A cappuccino maker that fits nicely on my kitchen counters in my new apartment that has enough space for me to do yoga if I ever decided I wanted to do yoga.
  
• A closet. Or....two closets?
  
• Neighbors that don't try to unlock my door because they can't read the numbers that are on the wall right next to the door.
• Neighbors that don't burn their dinner every night, setting off the smoke detectors and stinking up the whole floor with their burned crap.
  
• A landlord that is not so front desk like. Not so 18 and working at a hotel because mommy made your ass get out of bed today and so you gotta be rude to me.
  
• And oh yea, a Dyson.

Thanks Santa, you rock. I will have cookies and soy milk laid out for you in my new place, if you could see fit to arrange a pre-Christmas day gift for me.

Pretty Miserable Sister

I am so very, very tired this week. But see, I have no one to tell how tired I am because a certain very important someone has worked triple digit hours in the past week. Triple! How do you even work triple digit hours in 6 days? Who am I to complain of how I worked from 8-7 in a cozy little office with air conditioning, carpet and a cushy chair. My working conditions and hours prohibit any bitching to him this week. Dammit dammit dammit. Cuz mama is tired.

And has thought of many new ways to kill the cutest weetle kitten. She needs Benadryl, Valium. I am quite sure the cat has ADD, a major sleeping problem and a slight empathy problem. I don’t think it matters how early I go to sleep anymore, she is going to destroy several hours of this sleeping business.

And the dreams of someone breaking into my room, they could stop. Thanks!

I have a really hard time with motel places. The ones where the rooms open to the outside. I get really freaked out that some dude in a red hoodie is breaking in and attacks me. He has followed me across many states for many years. Well, he apparently has followed me to Houston and has upgraded his hotel stays.

And the night before last, both cats decided to join in on the fun activity of Wake Mama Before Sunrise. To the right of me, the usual culprit Chloe was licking my face, to the left, Yoda joined in by nuzzling at my neck. Hi, kitties, love the attention and all, but it is 4:00 A.M. When the clock says 7:00 and I have overslept, then and only then is this acceptable behavior. Please, pretty please with a mackerel on top?

How will I ever survive a child? I was trying to rationalize with a damned cat at 4:00 this morning. “Look, little kitty cat, I will give you treats, I will make a special Fiesta run and get you Canned Cat Food, if you will just let me sleep until 6:30 without any further interruption.” “No, really, please.” “Ok, well, how about a new toy? You like mice? Would you like a brand new mouse?” And by 4:45, I was offering the damned kitten a pony.

I can just see it now, my 6 month old baby will have a Maserati.

Would someone please babysit a very friendly early rising kitten please? Pretty please with a Maserati on top?