Eh, just another Wednesday night, sitting around watching TLC's "Conjoined Twins: After Separation," and depilatoring my pathetic dirty-blonde mustache. Nothing like the smell of chemicals to get my allergies flowing. I'm so sexy on the couch in a company shirt with a space heater basically on top of me. I'm one fucking hot lady! Who wants to hang out with me and peek in to the lives of these poor individuals? I have an addiction and I need to share it with someone.
God, one of these poor souls has a job as a "greeter" at Wal-Mart. He claims it "opens him up socially." I missed the first 20 minutes of the show. Must remember this guy when I'm feeling sorry for myself. Oh man, he even lies to people with one of three stories: car accident, war or survival situation. Christ.
The Mattress is lying across my arms like he is Superman, and that somehow his ass would actually lift with take off. He is making it a bit difficult to type, but he is so damn cute in his walnut-sized brain way. He will not relinquish my arms at all, not even for me to scratch my ear; which is just rude, considering how much he expects me to scratch his ears. Then he drools the nastiest, stinkiest, vilest drool known to mankind all over me in appreciation.
Today I took a bathroom break, and left my iPod unattended (I cannot work without music playing; so, I have a Bose at my desk), and when I got back to my desk, "Sex Dwarf" by Soft Cell was blasting for all to hear. I was so pleased with my friendly little podder. What a good boy. Since I came back at the end of the song, I felt that I was robbed of the enjoyment, and played it again. I feel that all of you should play this at work, very loudly. You will be so glad that you did. Even if you get written up, and have to go to some Sexual Harassment Seminar, it will be more than worth it. I can only hope Twit enjoyed it as much as I did. Surprisingly, she didn't comment. Perhaps it wasn't Christian enough for her tastes.
Project Hardwood Floors 2007 is finally going to happen. We don't have an exact date yet, but we do have the week. Expect some serious bipolar-mood action during the last week of February. That is if the dust doesn't kill me when this nasty pissed-on, vomited-on, shat-on, etc. carpet is ripped up. You can decide which of those were caused by cats or by humans! That last week of February will include not just the hardwood floors but The Boy's 40th birthday, Wikus moving to his new digs right down the road and an Urban-Family Get-Together that culminates in an after-the-fact birthday party for The Boy. I'm already sweating in anxiety. So many books to pack before the flooring people arrive. Menu planning! Gift buying! Ack. Where's my Klonopin?
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