Cock & Corn

Yesterday, I looked forward to going home all day, so I would be able to throw my front door open and greet the UPS guy with a huge smile.  Sadly, even though I was home in plenty of time, the UPS guy came 4 hours earlier than he ever has in the past.  Jackass.  Therefore, I had to sit through another long day at work so I could then drive to the UPS location where my box sat waiting for me.  Without really thinking about it, I left my phone in the car, and sauntered in like any other asshole customer, and asked for my package.  My tracking number?  Oh, I don't have it with me.  That guy fucking wilted my soul with his eyes.  I tried to give him my driver's license, but he made me go write my name and address down on a small slip of paper.  Then he disappeared in to some room for over 15 minutes, where I assumed he was searching for my package.  He finally came out, waived my slip of paper in his hand and told me he'd be just a minute. Then he disappeared again.  The strange inner workings of UPS.  In the end, I got my package, and made sure he knew how much I appreciated him taking the time to find my box (okay, I didn't put it that way, but I was nice about it).

I think I was justified in my excitement.

And yes, my thigh does look fetching!  I was modeling these for myself in a tank top and panties.  No one was around to appreciate it, though.  Even the cats ignored me--they were more interested in exploring the hallway closet (our only full-length mirror is on the back of the hallway-closet door).
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The boots were the best part of my day.  I got trapped in my boss' office for almost three hours, and then something I expected to happen did happen, and just because I knew it was going to happen did not make me deal with it any better.  Blergh.  Whine!  Sniffs.  This was all made better by IM-ing with a very dear friend whom I have know for 17 years--for better and worse.  He's had a terribly shitty year, and so have I, but his trumps mine.  Talking with him puts my life in perspective, and even though my grief is deep and dark for my loss of the Orange Lover and Whoopis, things are much worse for other people.  Now I sound all maudlin and emotional.  I just miss my babies, and I wish I listened to my own advice more than I dispense it. 

To that end, this is why my friends are beautiful people:

They love me, and I love them.  Thank you for the cock and corn!  I may get disappointed at times in people, but I don't have to look far to see why I don't have to give in to that feeling.

Frothy Snot Shakes

Wikus: hello

Grumples: hola

Wikus: How are you?

Grumples: snots doth pour through sinuses

Wikus: Yes, that's a given.

Grumples: it is tiring

Grumples: nothing like snorting back frothy snot shakes every few moments

Wikus: It will help  build up your nostril muscles.

Grumples: will that make sneezing more pleasurable?

Wikus: No, but you'll eventually be able to pick things up with your nose.

Grumples: what an excellent skill.  it will be advantageous during fights with enemies.  you may have trapped my hands, but my nostrils will slay you.

Wikus: Precisely.

Grumples: and even if the slaying doesn't work out as planned, i can still drown those who mean me harm

Wikus: It's true.

Swiss-Cheese Brain

Oh, Monday night.  How you have found me once again, alone, in front of the television.  Watching True Life on MTV (apparently this episode is about being addicted to food and heinous body modifications like cheek piercings and faded, blurry tattoos).  I see that the American version of Skins premieres on January 17th on MTV.  It probably won't be nearly as good as the British one, but yes, I admit, I will watch it.  It's too early to set the DVR.

My allergies are kicking my ass.  My nose is chapped, which is unacceptable.  I'm having to double-dose on my allergy meds (Allegra in the morning, Zyrtec at night).  I wheeze when I giggle.  My lungs are gurgling.  It doesn't help that I have stirred up a colossal amount of dust in the bedroom, by boxing everything up (except clothes) in preparation for the new windows and floor we're having installed.  The cats are really enjoying the boxes, and I'm worried that I'm going to tape one in a box without realizing it.  Why are those books making such a racket?

There's some stupid video-game commercial that has a guy pretending that he is taking the dog for a walk, when really he is sitting on the couch with his friend playing video games.  He lies to the woman in the house!  However, he understands the dog really does need to walk, so he puts the dog on a treadmill.  Which, while extremely bad parenting, I have to wonder how ET would like a treadmill.  It is cold outside, too cold for ET to ramble around the backyard.  So, he is busy rocking against the side of his terrarium, and making me feel like I'm a terrible mother.  He should just be grateful that I am not sitting here playing video games and ignoring his biological needs.  I'm watching MTV instead!

On NPR this morning, they were discussing some (shocking!) study that revealed that talking on the phone, kissing a passenger, eating, etc., is distracting while driving.  I know, right!  I believe the point was more that people with better educations and higher salaries tend to be worse drivers because they are the ones who can afford all the technology that creates some of these distractions.  Favorite (paraphrased) quote, "I don't have a lot of gadgets, just the standard radio...and, today, this recording equipment." Best accidentally obvious spot-on example ever!  NPR also failed to mention that listening to them on the radio can be just as distracting as passengers and Arby's roast-beef sandwiches.
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After much deliberation, I think I'm going to go off my mood meds.  It is at the point where having a swiss-cheese brain is more depressing than my regular every-day depression.  If I'm going to struggle with depression, why do it with a lower IQ?  I miss being quick-witted, and I hate that I can't remember what I have said, or even the words I need to use to say something.  When I read over something I've written it is full of words that my brain typed that aren't the right words.  They usually start with the right letter, and may sound similar.  It's like my brain is really lazy and instead of finding the right word, it just spits out the nearest thing it could find (no need to get up and find paper, when there's pepper right here!).  A lot of days I feel like I have Parkinson's.  My brain just can't communicate correctly with the rest of my body.

I've been on meds for 18 months, and in therapy for a year.  I know I am a nicer person, a calmer person, I accept more and judge less.  I have improved, but I just can't stay on these drugs.  Maybe a 6-month trial of no meds.  If my anger comes back full force, then I'll admit defeat--I'll just have to accept being dumber.  My relationships are more important than my smarts.  However, what if I have learned to recognize my triggers, and I can be better now without the medication?  How will I know unless I stop taking them? Grrrrr.

Well-Hung Old-Man Elf Schlongs

Ugh.  That's where I am at right this minute.  In ugh--I had a good time getting to ugh, so I will endeavor not to complain about the ughness, other than to say, George came for a holiday visit, and he is hurting my insides terribly.  Stupid George.  Of course cedar and mold are visiting as well, and no one gets along, least of all me with them.

There's a Law & Order: UK?  Geez.  There's really only so much television I can watch, and I'm probably going to have to let this one go.  Though, a quick glance tells me that the barristers still wear curly white wigs--the ladies, too!  I see Freema Agyeman has a steady gig now after Doctor Who.  Maybe I will have to watch this after all.  Grrr.  The theme music is really powerful.  I feel that law and order coursing through my veins when hearing it.

Beside eating a lot of cookies and Cheez-Its (three days in a row I've had them for breakfast), I've been a bit busy.  Considering I do not have any family, and most of my friends are out of town, I am a bit surprised at how busy I have managed to keep myself.  Yesterday was the busiest, which I will prove with a numbered list:

1. Cheez-It breakfast and leftover blueberry pancakes
2. Watched The Boy do this and that and more of that and this
3. Airport run
4. Rare Exports with Guamaniac
5. A drink at Charlie's with Guamaniac
6. Started a game of Words With Friends, and bingoed on the first move with "SCHLONG" (which led to many old-man elf schlong jokes thanks to the movie); I never thought it would actually go through as a word (Blogger is yelling at me that it is most certainly not a word)
7. Napping at home
8. Shower (that's right, this happened way later than it should have)
9. Boxing up bedroom (we're getting new windows and hardwood floors in the bedrooms in a couple of weeks)
10. Watched Freaks & Geeks marathon
11. Gave ET a bath, and scrubbed his plastron  squeaky clean with a toothbrush
12. Started donation-clothes pile for the women's shelter
13. Got in fancy dress (slightly Victorian and very purple)
14. Went to Guamaniac's for a drunken Baby Jebus birthday night, where we went to the:
15. Driskill (get the fucking Kobe beef flatbread if you want something tasty in your mouth [beside well-hung elf schlong])
16. Oilcan Harry's
17. Rain (met some nice boys)
18. Back to Guamaniac's for food (orange Cinnabons!), Futurama and The Simpson's 
19. Given "Big Red" to bed down with on the couch for the night (best blanket ever!)

The End

Today the plan is to endeavor to finish the best mosaic ever--the weather is complicating things in that it is hella cold, and therefore my tits are going to come out my back while I'm in the garage.  And I'm not getting warm with drink like I did last night.  If I am feeling up to it (meaning the ughness has abated), then I will ask Wikus if he wants to come over and watch the new Doctor Who Christmas special that aired last night.  Thank you BBC America!

I've procrastinated long enough with this.  It's either the garage or more work in the bedroom.  It'll be great when all of these projects are accomplished, but right now I will allow myself to be peeved about it all.

Snorting & Huffing Fluevogs

Last week the executives tried to show how they can relate to us plebs, and baked some cookies "from around the world," and sent a mass email out to the whole building inviting us to join them in celebrating the holidays.  Since it had only been three days since eating the fatty fancy doughnut, I couldn't conceive of eating something sweet, or really eating at all, thus I didn't bother looking over the offerings.  I also did not want to get stuck chatting with someone about what I am doing for Christmas.  The next morning, one of the executive admins asked if I wanted any of the leftover cookies.  She had a funny look on her face, so even though I most definitely did not want any leftover cookies, I inquired in to what was left.  Anise-flavored cookies.  I have no idea what country they were representing (Greece to go with some ouzo?).  I threw-up in my mouth a bit, then told her to give them all to me.  I know someone who will probably love the shit out of them.  Good ol' Wikus.  He's so gross.

However, I have yet to give him the cookies!  I suck as a friend.  I'm acknowledging it here so no one can say they are surprised.  They lived in my bag for quite a few days.  The Boy put them in the fridge.  I have seen Wikus a couple of times since obtaining these nasty little treats.  How can I think of him at work, but not when he's actually in my presence?  Those were to be some disgusting, anise-flavored cookies as a bonus Chicken Day present.  Note to Wikus, they're in the fridge--please just grab them the next time you are over here.
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For Chicken Day, The Boy made me the proud owner of these beauties:

Since today was a self-designated filing day (Whoops, was that a file from January still sitting in that pile?), I felt wearing these and crawling around on the floor (What? How do you file?) was not very loving of me.  Therefore, I plan to wear them tomorrow.

When I file, I like to reward myself when I reach X point (I yawned and filed two pieces of paper, reward!!)--today's rewards included Words With Friends, texting, reading blogs and buying myself these with my mosaic winnings:

Yay, Fluevogs!  I'm not a junkie, I swear.  The Boy bought some of them.  Therefore, if I am a junkie, he's my enabler.  So, there.  Fingers crossed that these arrive Monday.  I will spend next week fondling both pairs of boots, and cooing to them, telling them how beautiful they are, and thanking them for making me feel so pretty.  (You, too, Boy...you, too.)

Twit's Lofty Goals

Twit has spent a lot of time on the phone today with the University of Phoenix.  She would really like to see about getting some "accounting" credits, because all the jobs she looks at require it.  Really, the jobs she's looking at specifically specify accounting hours as a requirement?  I bet they are actually looking for either a degree in accounting/finance or prior work experience.  As Ivy Vyne pointed out to me, Twit can't handle her own timesheet, how can she do accounting work?

Twit also told UoP that she plans to retire with this company.  Please say another department will hire her, and get her out of this building.  Or at least off my floor. 

In other works news, I just saw a work-related injury report that states an employee injured herself by experiencing a sudden change in movement while walking and hit her arm on the edge of a door, and thus cutting her hand.  Seriously.  I guess I really should be filing those injury reports when my hands are a little bloody after filing.  Those manila folders can cause one hell of a paper cut. 

Also work-related, there's a good chance EM is transferring to a different department and getting a nice fatty raise to go with it.  I'll be extremely sad to see her go, but am very happy for her. 

This afternoon I took a 10-minute break and played outside.  The weather is fucking magical.  The creek is quite low, and I bounced around on the limestone rocks in glee.  I almost touched a cedar tree by accident, but I managed to escape its clutches.  I also did not even come close to toppling in to the water.  I jumped in some leaves, and looked for herons.  I wish I could have skipped the rest of the day, and spent it outside.  Perhaps with fried chicken and doughnuts? 

Since it is so nice, I have no excuse not to spend the evening in the garage mosaicing.  A cold front will be here in a few days, so I should make the most of it while I can.  And also while, you know, I'm still feeling like a huge winner whose art strangers walk in from the street and buy!

Two Things of Non-Importance

Earlier this week I was at happy hour with CSP and his friends.  At some point someone had the audacity to say that Highland Mall was closed.  She said it with such authority.  No one would think to disagree with her.  However, my ass had just been in that mall the night before when I accompanied Wikus to pick out his nerd glasses.  That mall may have many empty stores, but dammit, it is not closed!  For fuck's sake, one could still shop at Wet Seal--a true hallmark of an alive, breathing mall.  I made sure the table understood that she was dead wrong.  I also apologize for interrupting the conversation I was having with someone else in order to make sure everyone knew that Highland Mall was still with us.  I cannot fathom why this matters so much to me.

Later in the week, I kept seeing various women at work who were wearing perfectly sensible, nice outfits.  Good, solid work outfits.  Pressed slacks and soft sweaters.  Not high fashion, but not terrible either.  However, I kept noticing that when I got a peek at the ankles of these women, they were all wearing athletic socks with their sturdy heeled shoes.  I kept trying to figure out how to slip them a note recommending tights or trouser socks, but I couldn't figure out a way to do it nicely.  People, when wearing anything other than a sneaker, please consider if the shoes you are wearing should have a thick sock shoved in to it.  This is not a very difficult task, and it will save you from looking like an idiot every time your pant leg shift in a way to expose your horrible choice in socks.

I'm pretty sure you can even buy some nice thin socks at Highland Mall.  It's near downtown, and easily accessible.  There are hardly any people to get in your shopping way.  It will also only cost a few dollars.  A worthwhile purchase.  I promise.

Making Merry For Chickens and Myself

The past couple of days I have been on a giddy high.  It's very much like being drunk, but I've only had one beer over the past 48 hours.  Sometimes I worry that when I get like this, I'm showing some latent tendencies toward bipolarism (if I'm making up a word, so be it).  I recognize it as a sort of mania--I'm squeeing happy, and forget half of what happened during these times of smiles and giggles.  I know that it probably is not the healthiest to swing between days like this, and all the other days when I am apathetic and making love to the couch.  However, dammit if I don't like these excessively joyful times.

Not that all this is pure brain chemistry over-firing--really good stuff has been happening. Like Chicken Day!  Presents were exchanged, games were played.  I really couldn't have had a better day.  I even snuck in a nap.  Sure, I spent quite some time on my hands and knees scrubbing down the bathroom, but I made sure to reward myself by playing Words With Friends and Angry Birds every few minutes--scrub three tiles, play a game!  The evening was a raging success, and I thank all of you who came and made merry with me.  R (or is it B?) played a beautiful Chicken Day offering on The Boy's wonky piano.  She has such a beautiful voice, and even though her brain was drowning in tequila, she still did an amazing job.  D&T made a surprise late showing, which finished out the night nicely.  My friends are such amazing people--they even seem to accept me as I am when I pull out my Chariots of Fire soundtrack and proceed to fake conduct it with glee. 

For everyone who wished me a Happy Chicken Day, thank you for making this bittersweet time after Whoopis' death so meaningful to me.  I love all of you.

Then today.  Oh man.  I don't even know how today ended up as it did.  I woke up feeling completely hungover (thanks allergies), and all wracked with nerves regarding the award reception I had to attend for my mosaic winning first place.  I had no idea what to expect, and the best I could do was don my party dress (after brushing some pool-hall chalk off of it), take a Klonopin, and try not to make an utter fool of myself.

I cannot promise that I didn't totally make a fool of myself, but something entirely surprising happened.  A very nice gentleman who just happened to be doing some business on the property of the museum, had wandered in to just to check out what was happening, asked if I would be willing to sell my mosaic (I had indicated that it wasn't for sale--more because I didn't really consider anyone would want it versus me wanting to keep it for myself).  I didn't exactly handle all of it gracefully, but I am sincerely flattered.  I've spent years giving my mosaics away, and not really taking people seriously who called me an artist, a good artist.  My natural inclinations are to think less of myself, and my abilities.  I'm completely self-taught, and therefore distrust that I am truly good.  It's something I fuck around with, a hobby, because really, what else could it be? 

The Boy is an amazing artist, who has made a career for himself doing everything he loves.  Perhaps I never imagined the same could happen for me.  Not that I think I can quit my job and become this full-time glass mosaicer.  Yet, I feel it means I should take myself more seriously, and make myself get out in that garage and do more than one major mosaic a year.  Perhaps I should set some goals.  Stop being such a slacker, a mope-about who thinks she has a bad lot in life.  I don't really.  It's just so rarely that I am up here on top to see how I am when I am down below. 

I sold a mosaic to a stranger today.  It was magnificent.  I then took a very long nap. 

Hungry

Twit is back to full-time this week.  I saw an email to our boss from yesterday that said she (Twit) would get with me about taking back some of her job duties.  Seems she is not actually in a hurry to do that, though.  I haven't heard nary a word from her.  I wonder how she will fill up her first 40-hour week in six months.  Maybe she'll just play a lot of Angry Birds like I do.

CSP graciously invited me to happy hour with his friends, and I spent a pleasant evening in their company.  Two bites of spinach dip and many glasses of water later, I am hunting for some dinner, but don't think I'll find anything substantial.  We have not been to the grocery store for a proper shopping trip in ages, thus food is a bit scarce, but I'm too cheap (and lazy) to find myself a proper supper.  The Boy and I did share a sesame-seed bagel.  Tomorrow I have to go to the store.  I felt pressured in to bringing something to my work floor's holiday party.  Due to my generosity, everyone will be able to have a beverage with their green-bean casserole and turkey and mashed potatoes.

All Hat, No Cattle

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The Smells of My Day

There's a flubby Siamese cat squishing my stomach and purring to the point of drooling on himself.  It isn't a bad way to end the evening.  Though, he has made my left arm useless with his weight.  If I rub his ears exuberantly, he hyperventilates and stands up coughing and purring.  He's just like me when it comes to grace and style.  I'm a very proud mother.

In the bathroom at work, someone put a Febreze air-freshener on the counter.  This wouldn't be worth mentioning except the scent is "lavender vanilla and comfort."  What does comfort smell like?  And why do I want the restroom at work to smell like comfort?  I like it to be more of a sterile non-smell or something soapy but not sinus-stinging perfume (like lavender for instance).  It just struck me as a really odd thing to sell to people.  Maybe I would be more willing to accept it if the bathroom had a couch in it (like the one Meggles and I discovered at the Hoover Dam).  I am open to the smell of comfort if I am recumbent.

Another olfactory experience today, was Wikus handed me some album he had been discussing--Add N to (X), and I immediately turned over the CD and looked at the back cover.  It was a fairly normal back cover except there were two matte squares on it.  They didn't seem to have anything to do with the overall design, and I immediately sniffed them.  Good fuck those squares stank.  I handed the CD back to Wikus asking if he knew that they were scratch-and-sniff, and smelled like gross trees.  He never noticed.  Which is shocking because it really did stink.  I have no idea what made me immediately know that those spots were to be sniffed.  Is my inner 8-year-old girl showing?  But hey, neat, scratch-and-sniff album cover!

Then there was that email I sent to CSP making fun of John Aielli on KUT.  I noted that John was quoting Yeats, or at least that was what I thought he was doing.  CSP wrote back that it was Joyce, Finnegan's Wake specifically.  I felt insecure and shame for somehow confusing the two.  I beat myself up and didn't respond to CSP's email because I am obviously a serious idiot who should not have friends.  Later on the phone, this embarrassing moment was mentioned, and he admitted he was fucking with me, and he thought I knew he was fucking with me.  How mean.  He's an awful, awful man.  So now I was probably correct about the Yeats, but still feel like a moron for not even realizing that he was just being a jackass.  Thanks, CSP.  The only reason I haven't sworn him off as my friend is because he totally brought me food from his group's holiday lunch.  Sure, he may have felt that I demanded him to bring it, but really what I said was someone better be bringing me food.  I did not say it had to be him.  Geez.

Medication Can't Fix This

There's a pair of pink panties that I can't shake.  They are too small for my shapely ass, and I keep placing them in my Goodwill pile.  Yet, they keep appearing back in my underwear drawer.  How can this be?  I find it very perplexing.  They fool me every time.  It seems I naturally gravitate toward these pink panties, just to be disappointed when they go straight up my ass.  Now that I have caught on to how crafty they are, I check all pink underwear for appropriate Grumple butt proportions.  I'm smarter than underwear, dammit.

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Over the past couple of weeks, besides playing an inordinate (fine, embarrassing) amount of Angry Birds, my emotions have been splattered really high and grievously low with various levels of annoyances in between (like the slow demise of my crappy Dell laptop, and having to wait for my HP to arrive).  At this point, I don't think I could bear to detail it all, but the high point was my trip to Vegas with my lovely girlfriend,Meggles, and the lowest was having to put Whoopis to sleep the day after I returned.  Thus I am a mess, a jangling tangle of emotions.  Oh, the weeping.  The drunken weekend (so many of my friends were so pleased to see me giggling and sloshing about...though, I think I did scare one person with my exuberance, but eh, so be it) was a great escape, but I've been sitting in sober reality since Monday morning, and I don't like it very much.  

The time in Vegas was blissful, and I wish those idyllic five days could continue on for months and months.  I did not gamble a cent, and I toured the Hoover Dam.  We shopped, cuddled, visited the Diamond Lounge nightly, enjoyed a "topless extravaganza" from a private, front-row booth, and watched a lot of The IT Crowd. For years to come we'll advise each other to sex it up, and ask who gave Kanye West's new album five stars (That's what I'm investigating!).  Gary and his tooth thought we were cool, but his friend thought we were bitches.  That's because we are a couple of heartbreakers, Meggles and I.  Even if we aren't sexing it up.

Sorry for the inside jokes, but I simply cannot help myself.

To Whoopis!

Whoopis: 9/1/97 - 12/3/10

Two Babies in One Year

We had to put Whoopis down today. My heart is broken. I have nothing else to say.

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I'm a Winner!

Although this has been an inordinately quiet blogging month, it has paid off in the end.  Kind of.  Whoopis finally seems to be on the mind and the spider lily mosaic won first place.  That gets me a blue ribbon and $300.  A ribbon I tell you!  We tried to go see it yesterday but were 40 minutes too late.  Why do museums keep such dumbass hours?  Sadly we couldn't see my mosaic from any of the windows (last year you could see the seahorse from the entrance).  I did see a cupcake drawing by a young child.  It didn't win anything, which was sad.

Unframed, freshly grouted

Unfortunately, my laptop is dying.   It is sluggish and cannot even defrag itself.  Blue Screen of Death happens all the time now.  It is extremely frustrating to use it right now.  I have to wait quite some time before the words I am typing show up on the screen.  The anger it causes me makes me want to drive to Dell and tell them that I am glad they are going out of business.  But that would be rude to all the Dell workers who have been going through lay offs, and will continue to be laid off. 

This damn thing is just a couple weeks shy of being two years old.  I got a BSD the second day I owned it.  Due to my innate laziness, I didn't send it back.  I couldn't bare to be without a computer for however long it took Dell to fix the damn thing and get it back to me.  It probably wouldn't have worked anyway.  The hinge broke within months.  I've held it together with wishes and duct tape.  Opening and shutting it sounds like I am breaking the laptop in half.  For the most part it stilled work, but within the last month it has been gasping.  I've started using my iPhone for everything, and just not doing anything that involves spreadsheets.ward

I hate this fucker.  I'm going to back-up my files, and try to minimize my computer use until I can figure out what to do or give it to some shop to fix it.  I really don't want to lay out the money right now to buy a new computer (hello HP!).  Therefore, blogging will continue to be sporadic.  I apologize.

Sure, I just won $300 (I don't think I'll get it in hand until mid-December), but that isn't going toward a new computer.  I'm getting these beauties:

Fluevog: Mattie Silks

One Sure-Fire Way to Make Your Relationship Stronger

With less than three hours remaining, I remembered to pay our car insurance.  My mind has thrown up some kind of roadblock when it comes to paying bills these days.  I can't explain it.  At least most of them are in The Boy's name.  Brahahahahaha.

Whoopis is getting better in the tiniest increments.  He cleaned himself for the first time in over a week.  Sadly, we just discovered we have fleas.  We are not winning any pet awards this year.  Though, for the record, I did pull poo off of Whoopis' butt fur a bit ago with a Nutty Bar wrapper.  As Wikus said, "hilariously appropriate."  Nothing like jokes at the cats' expense.  So what if they have no idea why I am laughing at them.

I was out of the office for most of the day, and when I got back in this afternoon, Twit's timesheet was on my desk with a doctor's note saying that since she has now finished her radiation she needs a week off of work, and can return to work on November 34th.  WHICH JUST HAPPENS TO BE THANKSGIVING WHEN WE AREN'T WORKING!  So actually she gets 1.5 weeks off of work.  Bully for her.  My boss didn't say a word to me, and Twit just left her unfinished tasks on my desk to do for her.  Bitch.  The doctor's note also said that she'll need intermittent leave during December for "weakness and fatigue."  Hot damn, I should getting my own doctor's note if that is all it takes.

I coordinated an appreciation lunch for a group of my peers.  We normally have quarterly meetings, but we all agreed that me finagling a free meal for us would be a much better idea.  We have a crazy old lady who works with us, she's a widower who gets befuddled and upset very easily.  She called me the other day to yell at me about how upset she is that we were not having a meeting.  She thought we were having a meeting then a lunch.  She didn't want to do the lunch--she actually preferred to have a meeting.  She literally told me how UNFAIR it was, and that she was VERY VERY UPSET.  These are the people I work with.  And no, she did not show up for the 100%-free-to-her lunch today.

Not that this is bragging per se, but The Boy and I just finished Showgirls.  It took four or five sittings to make it through to the end.  It was a very hard thing to do, but I'm sure our relationship is now stronger because of it.

Fatty Lumpkins Nom Noms

Yes, Whoopis ate some food!  He started last night--I heard some nomming of the kitten kibble, and it wasn't the kittens eating it.  My little Chirpy Bird was shaking that food dead and actually ingesting a bit of it.  We're so proud of him.  He hasn't eaten a whole lot today, so more IV fluids and forced feedings.  We're going to start a decongestant for him (we can't give him too many medications at once due to his diabetes and how that affects his kidneys).  So it goes.

Wikus helped me draw out a fantastic mosaicing idea for a special someone for Chicken Day.  I am so excited to get started, but my allergies are so terrible that I fear I should not go in to the garage tonight.  It's a very simple project, so it won't take long to do (but may actually be my best design yet).  Since it is a prezzie, I won't be able to share it until after Chicken Day.  Just know I am constantly pissing myself with excitement.  I taped the design to my wall at work this morning, and it has garnered laughs (probably more of confusion than actual merriment, but I'll take what I can get).

NUTTY BARS!  A very nice gift from The Boy.  Yum.  This has been an awesome day for food; though, my body (specifically my heart and intestines) may disagree.  Barbecue, pizza and Nutty Bars.  I tried a banana, but it was actually not remotely ripe, and I had to spit the only bite in the trashcan (I felt like I had poured chalk dust in my mouth).  I cleansed my palate with three grape tomatoes.  Obviously that means I have a full serving on fruit, right?

I am sucking back some serious snot.  It is wholly unpleasant, which means I will make it just as unpleasant for all of you.

Can't Smell It, Won't Eat It

Whoopis is still not doing well.  His eye got better, but his infection is lingering, and he still isn't eating.  It is so distressing for all of us.  Multiple times a day we drag him out from under the bed to force various fluids in to him.  It is horrible.  He acts like he wants to eat, and cries like he is hungry, but simply will not go through with the act of eating.  I think he probably can't smell, and therefore won't eat anything because he can't smell to determine if it is edible.  He will drink a bit of water, but not enough.  Thus The Boy has to stick an IV in to Whoopis' back and have me squeeze fluid in to him.  As terrible as that is, it is way easier to do that then force his mouth open and shoot liquid down his gullet.  I'm not sure how much longer I can make the little guy go through this.

In other news, I just cleaned out the fridge.  I removed SIX packages of deliquesced vegetable matter (spinach, collard greens, etc.).  There was a bag of coffee that had been lurking in the back of the fridge for almost a year.  The Boy always insists that he will use something, but then it goes and  lives behind the front row of items, and it lingers until I come through and evict it.  The Boy just came home with groceries (yay, food!).  We'll see how much of it actually gets used.

Then Things Were Marginally Better

I'm sitting here watching the most recent 16 and Under, which may not sound like a good thing to some people, but it means that a) I didn't die, and b) nor did Whoopis.  It's just another low-key night in the Grumples' household where Whoopis is hiding his evil blind eye under the bed, and I'm sitting here accepting that I probably have some fatty log stuck in my intestines.

Using my health-measuring yardstick, not being dead after 36 hours of pain in my right side means it is not appendicitis.  Now I'm just going to do my best to ignore it.  I took some Metamucil (jesus, those pills are huge and you have to take five just to get one serving size) and ate an apple.  The Boy fell flat on his face and died when I asked him to bring me some fruit.  I swear I didn't mean to kill him.  I'm only eating it out of desperation.

Best quote ever, "...my girl's going to be working down at the local Piggly-Wiggly as a cash register."  Yes, that would be very sad.  I would much rather be a cash register on some swanky grocery store like Kroger's.  At the Piggly-Wiggly I'm mostly fed moist singles and worn coins.  It would be so unfair.

The vet came to visit Whoopis in his time of gurgling breathing and blood-tinted mucus.  It seems he just has a bad infection (she couldn't tell if it was his eye or a tooth), and put him on antibiotics and gave him an IV for hydration and nutrients.  We now get the phone of giving him eyedrops, pills, and more bags of fluid.  He already seems better, so I am much relieved.

Maybe my pain and his infection will go away magically by morning.  That is my hope for us at least.

In the meantime, here is a picture of my mosaic before I framed it.

Things Are Not Good

Things are not good.  They started out good in that I finished my mosaic (my absence from here was due to spending every last damn moment I could in the garage toiling away at the damn thing).  Then things went bad.  Whoopis is very sick, and we're waiting for the vet to come see him.  I am very worried this is it for my little guy.  He's having problems breathing and seems to have gone suddenly blind in one eye.  And he's drooling a foul brickish-colored mucousy substance.  Please say it is not blood and just weird cat snot, and that he has a cold.  I don't even care if he loses the eye.  Just let my baby be okay.

Oh, I also have a pain in my right side.  I woke up with it yesterday and it has not gone away.  It is not near my navel, and I refuse to think it is appendicitis.  I take high dosages of iron, and seriously hope it is just constipation.  It is not acute.  It more like a menstrual cramp that doesn't go away.  Like someone is lightly squeezing an ovary.  Nothing to make me scream, but hard enough for me to say "cut it out."  I am horrified at the thought of going to the doctor to find out I just need to take a huge shit.

I would hate for The Boy to have to deal with me having surgery and with Whoopis dying.  I'd hate it, too, but at least I would be knocked out for some of it.

For now, I'm just going to sit here on the couch and watch Whoopis breathe and gurgle. 

Damn Ungrateful Kittens

Best keyword search phrase for October, "jewelry strangulation" & "babies." My first short-story collection will totally be called that.  Or, my next NaNoWriMo book.

That reminds me.  I have decided not to do NaNoWriMo this year.  It seems too overwhelming for me right now.  I must spend the next 10 days really concentrating on the mosaic and nothing else.  Then a much deserved break where I will do nothing at all but stare at the television, and possibly drool on myself.  That's pretty much my plan through the end of the year. 
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Last night, after deeply cutting my finger and bleeding all over the mosaic, I wondered if instead of crying on the dollars people send me when I lie to them, that I could just bleed on the dollars instead (for no reason at all!).  CSP thought there might be some takers on such an offer, and that it would even be fair for me to ask for $2, and only send one bloody dollar back.  I asked if he'd want one, a little Halloween gift, but he did not respond.  Does that mean he wants one and he's just being coy?

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A while ago, I mentioned one of the best things that happened this year was Frijole's visit in August.  While still true, there was an equally awesome best thing (a tie!) when Ivy Vyne swung through in late May.  Remember how we almost died?  And her visit eventually sparked the knitted fish taco.  How I could have neglected to mention her before, was a gross mistake on my part. I apologize, and hopes she will forgive me, so that we can attempt to do a better job at not dying the next time we go tubing.  In November, I expect to have a three-way tie of awesome friend adventures, when I get to see a very dear friend of mine. It'll be a fantasy come true.  That is how magical it is. 

There have been times this year, where I've been so dejected, sad, feeling like no one likes me as much as I like them (self-pitying insecurity is so lame), but how can any of that be true?  How can I feel that way when I have such wonderful people in my life?  Especially ones who will take vacations just to see me!  What exactly is my problem?  Stupid brain can really fuck up seeing reality correctly. 

Maybe it is because the kittens still love The Boy way more than me.  Maybe that is my problem.

Stoned Panda (New Band Name?)

Before heading out to the garage and spending the afternoon inhaling glass dust, and getting more bloody fingerprints on the mosaic, I thought I'd sit down and watch the season finale of Project Runway, and check in here.  Seems like more and more days stretch between each update, and I blame so many things (damn  you EM for getting me addicted to Angry Birds!).  There are many distractions right now: iPhone apps, friends needing help, finalizing vacation plans, waiting for the McRib on election day, hormonal craziness, crying jags in the car, weepy moments by the creek, coming close to peeing myself in happiness, etc.  The swings are so up and down that I can't say where I am emotionally at any given moment.

Thursday was so awful.  I was so angry and upset, and none of it was about me, but I had internalized someone else's pain and sadness.  It eventually trickled over to my own problems, and made me look at every thing negatively.  Yet, so many good things happened that day.  Made vacation plans with one friend, made peace with another friend, and finally talked to someone dear to me for the first time in almost two months.  At tutoring I ran in to two of my girls from last year, and oh god, the pleasure the girls gave me by squealing like small animals under attack, and so fiercely hugging my sides, that I thought they were going to pull me down to the floor and start nibbling on me in their exuberance.  I don't think any kids have ever been so happy to see me.  And, I have never enjoyed children as much as I have in that moment.  They love me!

Then they were late to class and came running to find me to write them an excuse for being late.  I highly doubt a note from me changed anything, but I happily obliged. Such power!

That afternoon I got a much needed hug from a friend.  That didn't exactly turn my mood around, but I really did appreciate it.  Though, the gusting wind was a distraction, and there was like a 10-year-old girl just hanging out in front of my office building kind of staring at us.  That was totally weird.  Sometimes there are stray cats loafing out side the building, but rarely any stray kids.  Especially stray kids hanging out in seemingly gale-force winds. 
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Wikus and I went to Hobby Lobby today.  There were a lot of obese people buying crafty stuff.  By the cash register were some seriously stoned stuffed animals.  Look at the eyes on this panda!

Nothing like giving children the idea that dilated eyes are way cool. 
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When I got home, I found this on my door.

Damn, I missed the religious crazies.  I am totally going to go worship with them at the Country Inn & Suites.  Nothing like church in a hotel.  Especially if I manage to pick up some hot, young thing, looking for a bit of spirit and faith--there's plenty of rooms to show him (or her!) what religion is really all about.  Heh heh. 

Goslings

Autumn is here. The leaves are falling and look like baby ducks floating in the creek. The wind is brisk and the light is casting yellow-gold angles. I'm wearing a wool skirt and tights to honor the change. I'm in all brown with hints of mulberry and turquoise.

Normally I'd be quite happy with this moment--this pause before winter. Yet, I found myself by the creek this morning to quietly grieve on a friend's behalf. It's not my burden; yet, I have internalized and feel just awful for what she is going through. I want to cry and breathing is difficult. I want to help her, change things that have already been put in to motion. Make the world stop, so we can all catch our breath and feel the loveliness of fall on our skins.

I am left hollow, wind-blown and ragged. Winter is around the corner. I already feel it. All I can do is keep my friend warm with support, comfort and love.

Posted from Blogium for iPhone

Give Me a Dollar, I'll Cry on It

Apparently, I took my Ambien too early last night.  Luckily, I did not learn a harsh lesson, but a lesson was still learned.  Things I did on Ambien with zero memory of it happening:

1. Posted my blog to Facebook with the comment, "Wherein I am pretty sure that I did talk about sex and make other inappropriate thoughts and references. If that isn't true. Send me a dollar. I'll cry on it and send it back to you." I did not talk about sex (inappropriate or otherwise). So it seems all of you should be sending me a dollar, which I promise to cry on and send back to you.  Why would I say that?  I have no idea!  However, it is a catchy phrase.
2. Every night, before I go to bed, I lay out what I want to wear the next day.  I managed to put an ensemble together, but it was a total surprise to me when I went to get dressed this morning.  Thankfully, it all matched, and I only had to find socks to wear with it.  The only strange thing was I picked a strapless bra to wear under my tank top and sweater.  I wore it anyway.  It's best to follow what my subconscious tells me to do.
3. When The Boy got home from rehearsal, he claims I wanted to watch How I Met Your Mother. He complied, just to have me pass out on his side of the bed.  The kind of passed out where he couldn't move me.  I woke up on my side of the bed, so I managed to get there at some point.  Go me!

At least nothing embarrassing happened.  Such as:

1. Realizing at work that I had been waking around with not only my fly unzipped, but also not buttoned.  I had only managed the belt.
2. In the car, after attending a wedding on Saturday (congrats you crazy kids), I noticed that my slightly tinted lip gloss was all over my mouth heading toward my chin. I looked like I had spent the wedding involved in some serious heavy petting with a bearded person.
3. Something else that I can't even bear to mention, because it was less about being embarrassed and more about my own insecurities.

Sorry, that last one was kind of lame, but it is the most painful for me.  Ah, such complicated feelings and mixed emotions.  I think I should just stick to playing Angry Birds, and keeping my mouth shut and fingers busy.  Thank you EM for getting me addicted to yet another iPhone app.  We really know how to waste time at work.  Experts even.

Bloody Finger Type Night

Texting in traffic is sometimes easy, and sometimes rough--especially when the red lights keep turning green at inconvenient times. I was madly trying to text Frijole to let her know I was running late, and might miss our 6pm call. Seeing that Frijole is the best friend a lady could wish for, she immediately texted back how I need to take care of myself and get dinner in to me. She knows me so well! If we had talked, I would not have eaten. Therefore we moved the call to Wednesday night. I ate some tortellinis and ran out to the garage to mosaic.



I swear my fingers are getting lacerated way more on this project than any other before it. Almost all the glass has some of my flesh and blood on it. Maybe part of my art showcase will be to have Ex-Cop come down and spray luminol on it, and show the people how much I have suffered for my art.



Part of running late was my desperate need for petrol (otherwise, I would be very sad on my way to work tomorrow morning). As I stood out there fueling up, the wind whipped my hair all about my head, and blew up my shirt in a mostly non-sexy way. Which got me to thinking. I believe that the Shell gas station by my house is the fucking windiest gas station in town. There are normal breezes at other gas stations; mundane wind. The kind you barely notice, and can easily be found in various places, such as the local swim hole, behind the garage, near the open door to a hot Chinese kitchen, just not at my local gas station. I do enjoy a nice breeze, especially when it is 90 degrees outside. Breeze makes me feel light and fluffy, happy. This strong jerky wind hanging out around the Shell gas station is just evil. It works so hard to find a seam to crack open, and thus causing chapped internal organ. Help my gallbladder seems to be chapped, and needs to stay home from school. Does anyone have a good organ balm? I was planning on surprising Ms. Left Ovary with a kiss--which is going to be completely gross to the organ on the other side of my kiss.

When I finally got to the house, I noticed a clump of bronze leaves in the front yard. No matter that it was in the 90s today, it appears that autumn has arrived in Austin.

Thanks to Schmutzie.com, I discovered PictureShow

There's some exciting news I am bursting to share, but nothing has actually been settled yet. It is still in concoction stage. All I know is that crossing my fingers seems to have worked, and now I just have to work out the details. If this all comes to fruition, I will absolutely piss myself with joy. It's going to be one of the best things that has happened this year (Frijole and me at the Stephen F. Austin hotel has been the highlight of 2010 so far). Many happy clapping at my desk today. Sneaky little claps under my desk, and then some out-in-the-open claps with a maniacal giggle. I am flush with love and happiness.



Ok, feel free to go puke in your hand now. Especially since my love just brimmed over and shot out of me and hit you in the eye. Sorry about that. I can't always control myself.

Who's Got Elevator Butt?

For the first few months of the kittens' lives, we felt that they were almost too fragile to cuddle.  That if we petted them too hard, their skulls would cracks and ribs would break.  Everything about them was dainty and delicate.  Then one day, we discovered that they were ready for grabby hands and elevator butt.  Horchata, in particular, loves elevator butt.  He wants you to practically beat on his ass, and he'll raise his haunches high in thank you.  They still won't crawl in my lap, and prefer The Boy over me, but at least I can manhandle them now.
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Yesterday was almost fully taken up by a friend's wedding.  It was a blend of Amerian and Indian customs, with plenty of beautiful saris and jodhpuri suits (at least I think that is what the men call their garments).  It was all very lovely, and it was an honor to be a part of it.  We even got to enjoy sexy dancing with veils and gyrating bodies.  Yum.  American weddings are so boring with the entertainment at the reception.  You have to sit through a lot of toasts and the guests' crappy dancing.  Not so at an Indian reception.  They entertain you with actual talented groups of people dancing for you.  I bet there were some boners in the room.

The only downside to all this was how I didn't get to mosaic, and that the catered dinner was Indian food.  I know, what did I expect really?  I just can't stand the stuff.  I have tried it.  I remember going to an Indian restaurant in Harvard Square with my besty college friend for her 21st birthday.  I think I was only able to eat the paratha bread (and as I picked the peas out of it, I cried on the inside).  The smell of curry hits my brain in such a way that I feel like my eyes are being stabbed out and the lining of my sinuses doused with gasoline and lit on fire.  If I vomited on a plate of Indian food, I wouldn't be able to discern the difference between my puke and the food.  As a general rule, I like to my food to be a little less already-digested looking.

So, I ate a cupcake for dinner.  It was tasty.
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Thus today I spent mosaicing.  Actually I squandered some time in front of the television.  Then I took the trash and recycling out to the bins.  I accompanied ET on a walk around the backyard (he has put a hole in our chain-link fence, and is fully aware of how to find it every time he'd like to leave the backyard for a visit to the front yard).  Then I got to business.  I spent an hour or more actually redoing part of the mosaic I wasn't happy with, so my progress was diminished a bit by this.  However, I feel way better about how it looks now.

Light table courtesy of MC (aka: awesomest girl in town)

Am I Really the Only One?

Okay, I am apparently the only one in the whole fucking world who thinks anal sex when the words "soul raiders" is said.  I have no idea why I thought of that--and still do think of it.  It definitely has something to do with the word "raider."  It sounds so intrusive.  You know, like anal sex.  When you have anal sex, you may very well feel your soul is being raided.  There's a lot that goes on during anal sex.  I don't think I'm totally crazy for thinking this.  However, it looks like some people disagree.  Regardless, I can't stop myself.  When ever CSP talks about his Soul Cats, I'm going to immediately think Soul Raiders, then right on the heels of that, ANAL SEX.  So what? 

Middle School Soul Raiders

In training today, I suffered through a bit of a sneezing spell.  Some computer tech was in the room repairing something, and he said that my sneezes were "precious."  I disagree.  They are totally tough and convey what a badass I am. 

Tutoring finally started today.  I have three students: two girls and a boy, and they seem really awesome.  Nice, smart and quite calm.  The teacher assigned the students to a group, so no more knots of besties speaking secret girl talk and giggling.  I'm very much looking forward to hanging out with these kids every Thursday afternoon.  We are calling ourselves The Lynxes (I realize "lynx" is the plural, but so is "lynxes" and it is just more fun to say that way).  They first said "cheetahs" until I turned them on to the awesomeness that is the lynx.  The iPhone makes for great educational moments.  Their teacher had no idea what a lynx was (and couldn't figure out how to spell it), and I found that to be very disappointing, and sad.  I find that knowing your different types of cats is a vitally important to being a well-rounded human.

CSP's group was almost the Soul Raiders, but ended up the Soul Cats, which I don't find as fun.  It pales terribly in the shadow of Soul Raiders.  Which sounds really really dirty to me.  I immediately thought of anal sex.  Then started imagining logo suggestions for the Soul Raiders.  It involved a very thick dildo with spikes.  This all happened in about a half-second, and we went our separate ways without me once saying what I was thinking.  Baby, who's going to be my soul raider tonight?  Oh, oh, oh.  It's you!  See, it even makes for a good song.   Anyway, one of his kids suggested Soul Raiders, but consensus wasn't reached until Soul Cats was put out there.  I bet that kid is totally going to be an ass-pirate in a few years (please say he isn't already--there are so many 12-year-olds having sex these days, and it terrifies me; even I waited until I was 15 for crap's sake!). 

Soul, soul, soul raider! Hiyaaaaa! 

I need to take a break from mosaicing tonight.  I really shouldn't, but I have fucked flayed my fingers on glass, and it just hurts way too much.  Even typing right now is less than ideal.  I'm not using the ring-saw on this project, and there are so many little itty bitty pieces, which really just means more potential to have glass embedded in various bits of my hand.  I must accomplish a lot this weekend for the slacking off I did on Tuesday (Red Dwarf), tonight (crybaby) and tomorrow (outdoor scary movie and chili fun times!).  Saturday I have a wedding to go to in the afternoon, so really it is going to be a date with myself in the garage Saturday night.  I'm sure I'll just have a soul-raiding good time.  With glass. 

It's dinner time.  I've had three cookies and a banana today.  Now moving on to a fruit shake and Amy's margherita pizza for dinner.  Thus, I balance out all that badness with tons of fruity goodness.  So there.

This morning's sunrise out by where I was in training:

Going to Get You, Little Fishy

Here is my fish taco.

It is in my lap at work.  He looks great with my pink dress.  I felt Senor Senior Del Mar would be more safe at work, out of the kittens little clutches.  Wikus said that when he says my fish taco, he starts singing, "I'm going to get you, little fishy," from Red Dwarf.  Cat sings it.  Obviously.

This is how far I have gotten on my spider lily:

That's five days of work.  Not consecutive days.  I am doing all this by hand.  No ringsaw.  It is exhausting work.  Tonight I think I gave myself a sandblasting facial while grinding the glass for the pollen bits.  I have three weeks left to finish this.  I'm trying to feel optimistic, but my sinuses are conspiring against me.  Jackasses.
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The Vaselines were awesome.  Granted, my expectations were a bit low going in to it.  One album two decades ago.  Never really toured.  Just how could they be that good?  After suffering through three hours of waiting for the damn opening bands to quit the crap, we were treated to something really nice.  Their voices sounded great, and their new songs (yes, a new album was released in September) were fun and catchy.  I highly recommend the show if they come through your town. 

While waiting in near agony (Emo's has these hard, wooden bleachers that I'm pretty sure were specifically designed to make people NOT want to sit down, or at least drink themselves in to a stupor so they won't notice how much their asses hurt), I noticed that the majority of the women in the crowd were dressed in the most fucked-up, ugly-ass outfits.  From the looks of it, they all went to various thrift stores with the instructions to buy three things.  Then they all got together and played an elaborate game of pass the items around--two to the left with one to the right, then one to the left and two to the right, one twice to the right and two three times to the left.  Time is called and everyone has to don what she is holding.  A kind of musical chairs for crappy floral materials.  Embarrassing and non-flattering.  They all seemed so happy, though. 

Way back in the way back when, when I was probably 13 or so, I decided that I would look really awesome in a sweater dress.  It was red and black striped, wide stripes.  I work it with black pantyhose (I was sheltered and did not have access to tights) and some heinous Payless black flats.

I felt awesome.  I just knew I looked awesome. 

Looking back, I was really fucking wrong. 

Hand-Knitted Fish Taco

Mosquitoes love me.  There will be zero mosquitoes around, NONE, and suddenly they will appear all over my body.  People will stand around and stare at me as I slap myself and grumble.  The weather has been a lot cooler, especially at nights, and one would think the mosquitoes are wintering in Florida by now.  However, spending the afternoon in the garage mosaicing has learned me a valuable lesson.  The garage is filled with invisible mosquitoes, and I should cover myself in a bug net, and pretend to mosaic.  They fucking bite my fingers for crap's sake.  My forehead has a few red, itchy bumps.  My shins are ablaze.  Even my stomach wasn't left alone.  Fucking mosquitoes. 

Last night I got a prezzie in the mail from Ivy Vyne.  It was a hand-knitted fish taco.  It is so fucking awesome.  Tortilla.  Lettuce.  Cheese.  Salsa.  Fish.  I can feel the world's jealousy prickling my skin.  I would never ever eat a fish taco, and to have this knitted representation of the most foul combination of ingredients ever, is the most magical, thoughtful gift I have ever received (okay Boy, the Fluevog shoes obviously count as well).  I'll post a picture of it tomorrow.  I hope the next thing she knits me as a grumpy Carebear.

Last night I went to happy hour with CSP and a couple of his friends.  It was a very lovely afternoon, and his friends were very entertaining, and didn't seem to notice that I was stabbing myself in the leg when they were talking about football.  They even hugged me when I left.  And I didn't mind!  We had this very cute boyish girl waiting on our table, and I swear, I SWEAR, that she was my waitress this morning at breakfast.  We kept giving each other the eye, and I just couldn't bring myself to ask if she worked at Freddie's (south Austin) and Kerbey Lane (one far north Austin).  It seems so inconceivable. 

Tonight we're off to see The Vaseline's.  I have no clue what they are going to sound like here in 2010, but I'm looking forward to it.  Off to shower the glass dust off my body.

My Affair

Wow, that Mentos commercial that I just watched was absolutely vile.  Making out with your boyfriend while he is shaking your dad's hand, and then your brothers watch with interest over dad's shoulder while they eat some food.  If taking Mentos makes that happen, why would anyone have one?  Is fresh breath really worth that trouble?  Pop that shit in the car when you are at least a mile down the road.  Jesus.
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After work I had the best intentions to go straight in to the garage to mosaic.  I had to eat first.  I really had to eat before heading out there.  Trail mix, a banana and a handful of cherry tomatoes were not going to get me through the night.  Of course while I'm eating dinner (tortellinis), I had to sit on the couch and watch television. That would have just been preposterous to sit at the table and eat.  Thus, I got sucked in to two episodes of Teen Mom.  Since I got home after 6pm tonight, that meant it was 8pm before my attention flickered away from the tv.  But, then the DVR told me how America's Next Top Model was ready for me to watch.  Fuck mosaicing!  It was over, no fighting it. 

I did wash the dishes, though.  I cheated on the couch to do those dishes.  The couch is hurt, and isn't talking to me right now.  I don't blame it.  I really should have just stayed on it, and refused those dishes.  I'm not very strong.  My emotions totally take over, and I stop making logical decisions.  I live in the moment, no looking back.  Sorry couch, I had a need, and I had to fulfill it right then.  Kisses, dishes!
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There was a truck in front of me today that had its cab window open, and a lovely puppy was jumping in and out of the cab and the back of the truck.  It totally looked unsafe, and not just for that poor dog, but for me.  That dog had the largest fucking balls I have ever seen.  They swung so low that he smacked them against the truck every time he jumped through the window.  It was mesmerizing.  If that dog decides to chase its tail, those balls are going to get twisted in an ugly knot that all the licking in the world will not untie.  Thankfully they turned at 11th, and I was able to continue to 12th without the distraction of a dog's genitalia.
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Twit is still scheduled to return tomorrow.  Standby for the renewal of the Amazingly Stupid Adventures of Twit.  Or, she'll be allowed to work from home, and it'll be like she never came back, which probably will make me less stressed in the end.  I am so not looking forward to all the eavesdropping that is about to happen.  I have gotten very used to hanging out in my little corner, and being able to have open phone conversations, and mostly-private talks when someone is visiting with me.  That is all going to end once she takes up residence at her desk.  I'm just going to have to start inviting people to step outside if they would like to chat.  I have such mixed emotions about all of this.  Sigh.