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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