The Party In My Pants

It's been cold and rainy for two days, and it is making me seriously cranky.  I hate this kind of weather.  My nose is red and runny.  My joints ache, and I obviously just sit around complaining a lot.  I spent the day with The Boy shopping for various things for the house.  This is always a risky undertaking for the two of us--he processes decisions very slowly, and I'm practically two states over by the time he decides if he's okay with something or not.  This makes me very impatient and not very kind.  I also just don't like shopping very much.  He's able to handle cluttered junk shops, where I would rather rip off my skin and play in heavy traffic than go in them.  However, in Target, after being particularly jerky with The Boy, I mollified him a bit in the dressing room.  This worked surprisingly well, but not for very long.  Unfortunately, there weren't many opportunities at other shops to do the same. 

We did manage to get a few things on our list, including a flatscreen television for the bedroom (with a wall mount, which is producing some really sweet noises from The Boy as he installs it, like, "Goddamnmotherfuckingcuntbitch."). 

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It is still too difficult for me to determine if all my testiness is due to quitting the mood meds, or if it is because I am still battling allergies, rain, dust, discombobulated house, and other personal annoyances that I can't really discuss.  I know the medications are completely out of my system though, due to one wonderful thing that I have really missed over the past 20 months or so: I can have an orgasm in under one minute.  Oh the joy.  I actually had a wet dream the other night where I had three orgasms in a row.  It was amazing (and totally lesbian hot).  There have been countless times over the past two years where I've not wanted to even bother my sleeping clit.  It was too much effort to even try to get it to respond.  The situation is definitely pretty bad when you can't get your own self off, so why bother having someone else give it a go?  Now I can practically walk and cream myself.  Who wants to be me?  Your face will constantly flow with snot, but you'll be really happy in your pants all day and night long.  Jealous?

(Nauticalina stop vomiting on my shoes.)

Granny's Pie & Mama's Cake

Good fuck, I want to write right now, but too many words keep crashing in to each other, and none of it will actually go in a straight line.  I need someone to direct the traffic, but my budget is too tight for such an extravagance. The solution here is to go to bed, but it is nice under this blanket on the couch with The Boy on the right and Mattress sniffing around at my elbow on the left.  I smell of woodsmoke, and am full of fancy doughnuts--Gourdough's was finally open, and my promise to Nauticalina has been fulfilled.  Maybe I should just leave it at that for the night.  It was a pretty good day--no manual labor, barely any *real* work, and some awesome ladies to complete the night.  There's only a bit of a black smudge, someone's being squirrely, and I'm not naming names--passive-aggressiveness rules!  Or at least it does when I haven't been left with much choice.  Le sigh.

Seven Things About Me: The Stupid School Years Version

My mood is on an upswing, and I feel a bit like popping out of my skin in a pleasant carbonated way. I feel fizz-tastic.  I've been completely off my meds for a few days now (though, not off all drugs since I've practically become an allergy-med addict), and it is hard to judge how I've been faring since I have been in an epic battle with my environment (with my person taking the majority of the heavy artillery), and thus I have been anxious and terribly peevish.  I hopped in the shower as soon as I got home last night--it was the only way to keep me from bombing everything in the house. It was a really good shower.

Yesterday, I gnashed my teeth a lot, and got really angry at some lady in Wikus' parking lot (just shut your driver's-side door when getting your mail while audaciously parked in the middle of the parking lot), and then cursed at the apparent closing of House Pizza (if that ends up not being the case, why haven't they been open the past 10 days?).  However, during small moments of calm, I did catch up on my Google Reader (stop mocking me with that 1000+ unread notice).  I often enjoy reading Kendi Everyday, she seems like such an intelligent, sweet girl.  I would seriously consider stalking and wooing her if she actually lived in Austin (she's near, but not near enough).  She had posted a hilarious meme recounting various snippets of her childhood--the not-so-flattering kind!

Thus, I spent a lot of yesterday thinking of the fleeting bits of my childhood that I can remember.  I've blacked out so many of my years, but there are still some memories that cling to these sodden brain walls of mine.  Writing these makes me want to cover my face with a blanket and giggle.  There's no taking them back, so I might as well put them out there for everyone else's enjoyment.  Cheers!

1.  While I did spend a lot of time in elementary school rollerskating to Cyndi Lauper and Madonna in the back of our 4-car garage, I also really enjoyed listening to David Lee Roth.  I lived in Anchorage, AK in the mid-'80s, if that helps excuse some of my early musical tastes.

2.  While in a McDonald's drive-through in Lewisville, TX, my mother told me that I have the type of "rear-end" that black guys would like, and she was okay with that.  This would have been a way less uncomfortable conversation if there wasn't a black guy handing us food at the moment.  For the record, my ass has an equal opportunity policy statement, where it does not discriminate against race, religion, color, national origin, sex, sexual preference, age or disability. 

3. Starting my freshman year in high school and extending in to my sophomore year, I wore XXXL t-shirts on my 100-pound frame, and I thought I looked really good.  The repercussion of that fashion statement was I spent many years believing I was flat-chested.

4. When I was 13 or so, I accidentally dyed a very conservative friend's hair bright, cotton-candy pink (I swear I was shooting for a very lovely shade of dark auburn).  She never spoke to me again, and I'm pretty sure her mother posted a warrant for my arrest that stated she preferred me dead to alive.

5.  My first job was at a car wash, where I was often made to sit in a small shack where some dude smoked copious amounts of pot.  I stole quarters from people's ashtrays to make myself feel better about my lot in life.

6.  In 4th grade I thought I won an art contest (I drew a fabulous cornucopia in crayon!), and told everyone I knew how it would be hanging in some bank building in downtown Edmund, OK.  I stood up and announced it to my class just to have my teacher stand up and tell me I had not actually won anything at all, and what I had received was a notice thanking me for competing.

7.  I wasn't properly kissed by a boy until I was 14.  It happened the day I got rubber bands to wear with my braces.  It was a very short-lived romance.

Fish Cream!!!

Saturday was one hell of an awful day.  Wishing for death seems a mild way to express how I felt.  I wanted death, craved death, asked repeatedly for death.  Fucking cedar, mold and dust.  There was a lot of sleeping that day, but I did accomplish one very important thing: Mailing Ivy Vyne her very belated Chicken Day prezzie.  There's a long complaint I could make about post offices not being open on Saturdays, and how USPS doesn't seem capable of updating their hours of operations on their website.  But I won't.  Because Ivy got her prezzie today, and I am filled with happiness over it.

Sit down.  Be prepared for the jealousy that is going to wash over you.  Because you can't have it.  It's an original, never to be duplicated, not even so I can have one of my own.  This isn't the best picture of it, but the house is in a bit of a disarray, so I am unable to download the photos off of my camera at this time.  This iPhone photo cannot do it justice, but still, I believe the beauty shines through.

Fish Cream, 12/17/10

 

 

 

May it have a happy home in Brookline, Mass.  If all goes well, it'll return to Austin this summer.  Fingers crossed that Ivy Vyne and Fish Cream are able to move here.  My life will be ever closer to completion with both of them by my side. 

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I'm thinking that if I really want my life to be complete, I need to get one of those Craftmatic beds, and put it in the livingroom instead of having a couch.  While our floors are being finished in the bedroom and office, we have our mattress on the futon.  It is piled high with pillows and blankets, and oh man, it is so fucking comfortable.  We're watching The Lost Boys in some serious style.  I kind of want this to be permanent.  Sure, almost everything we own is now towering over us in the livingroom, and the cats are having a little too much fun, but it may just be worth it.  Mattress (the fat Siamese cat) likes it so much he literally slept in my arms almost the whole night.  I don't want to give up this kind of good action.

"Are you freebasing? Inquiring minds want to know." 

Do I have to go back to work tomorrow?  Or, can I just keep watching all these movies I loved as a teenager?  Is all this regressing indicative of a mid-life crisis?  Can I not be an old lady on my Craftmatic AND watch Welcome Home Roxy Carmichael and Cry-Baby as I did when I was 15?  This truly is the best of both worlds.

"My own brother--A goddamn shit-sucking vampire."

I'd be very happy for Jason Patric to come suck my neck.  Right.  Now.  I have needs that need to be met.  Right.  Now.  I'm waiting right here on my wannabe Craftmatic, Jason.  I'm in my panties, if that helps at all.

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The office at 7:30am this morning:

The office at 4pm this afternoon:

I never realized how much our house looked like a Tex-Mex cantina.  I'm not complaining, just observing.  Margarita happy hour, The Boy & Grumple's office, tomorrow at 4:30pm.  I'll be the one passed out on the bed in the livingroom as you make your way to the back of the house.  Don't mind me--I'm too busy dreaming of making out with Jason Patric.  Enjoy the free drinks!

Take Me, I'm Yours

The Wedding Present is making me go deaf in the mornings.  Okay, perhaps it is not them, and it is more due to a refusal to turn down the volume.  I can't stop listening to Bizarro while driving (okay, it's just been since Tuesday night, and I've barely been in the car--stop contradicting me).  I've stopped listening to NPR so I can drive recklessly and loudly sing garbled lyrics to myself.  I find this all extremely satisfying.

Bizarro is an album I should have had as a teenager.  I would have copiously quoted from it in melancholy lovelorn letters to all those boys who never returned my affections.  Or, at least, never kept returning them.  Wikus introduced me to the Wedding Present when I was in college, and instead of taking a positive position of thank-goodness-I-am-listening-to-this-excellent-band-now, I take the why-the-fuck-did-I-not-listen-to-this-before-college. My glass is always close to empty.

Imagine being a 15-year-old listening to these lyrics in a car on a rainy night:

That must've been a knowing look
Oh when you moved to pass your friend his book
And oh that feeling
When your hand returns to mine
I think I might as well stay out here
Oh but, can you kiss me just once properly
Well of course I mean it! I think about you all the time

Oh won't you put that down and take me, I'm yours
When will we have this chance again
Oh please just put that down and take me, I'm yours
We might never have romance again

Warm hands and things you say
You get lovelier everyday
Warm hands and things you say
You get lovelier everyday

                                                                        --Take Me!

Alas, I am a 35-year-old and it is just silly for me to write those things these days.  However, I am crafty and put them here for nostalgia's sake.  Sure, the words are no longer applicable at this time in my life, but it doesn't mean I can't rock out to them, and think of times when one could get away passing lyrics (or a mix-tape) to a boy in hopes that he would finally, truly understand how you felt. 

I'm trying to find some suitable lyrics from Bizarro that I can dedicate to The Boy; sadly, David Gedge mainly writes about heartbreak.  I'm sure I could find something if I mined all his songs, and took bits out of context.  But I do have actual work to accomplish, and he knows how much I love him (even if the Ambien sometimes makes it so I  have no idea if we had sex or I had a really great dream).

Ahem.  Please don't ask me where I was going with that.  The cedar and mold have been kicking my ass, and I fear my brain has once again turned in to snot-jelly.  Yes, SNOT-JELLY!  Oh, you think that is really gross and an unfortunate combination of words?  THEN JUST THINK HOW I FEEL!

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The past three nights I have had the pleasure of being in C's presence (remind me to call her something like Cowhide from here on out).  I've also been in her attic (we both heard that fucking scratching and squawking, I swear!), and slept on her couch (when was the last time I stayed up to 4am, especially after a Christian Slater double-feature?).  We enjoyed ourselves immensely at IKEA (dude, they are actually selling cowhide there, and wouldn't you know that branding marks are an "inherent characteristic?"). 

OMG!  New Lower Price!

There was also all that making out that we did, but I swore to her that I wouldn't release the details because she is totally shy about it.  (Call me!)
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We had new windows put in this week.  The house is a disaster zone, and it makes me agitated just walking in the door.  It needs to be pulled more apart before we put it back together--hardwood floors are being installed in the bedroom and office on Monday.  The weekend will be spent going through my clothes, and moving furniture.  Who's coming over to help?  Or at least take my cast-off shirts and underwear?

PSA

"Watering my orchid" is not a euphemism.  Please keep that in mind.

Nasal Tampons Save Me Now

My banana is way too green.  My allergies are kicking my ass, and I have a way-too-green banana.  I'm wishing for death but don't want to die at work, because that is just frightfully embarrassing and pathetic.  Imagine Twit finding my soiled little body slumped in my chair, covered in snot and tears.  My fantasy right now is two Benadryls and my bed (I realize that my fantasies are generally much more exciting than this).  There is construction happening at the house, so there is no way to make it a reality.  New, energy-efficient windows are being installed, and those expensive fuckers (thanks, Boy!) better have some magical, allergen-repelling powers.  I'm so not kidding.

There was something that was said on KUT this afternoon that made me surly, but fuck if I can remember what that was.  I guess it is good that I don't hold on to my anger like I used to.  However, I miss ranting about trivial matters. 

I would like The Boy to make a recording of what I hear inside my head when I blow my nose.  I know it is audible--I've had him listen to my ears.  Squeaks and squelches.  It would be fantastic if it wasn't so awful.

Thursday I went roller-skating.  It was a mustache party with '70s costumes.  Nauticalina bought us pink mustaches, and she wore hers with pride--mine kept falling off due to my sweaty-lip syndrome.  I love my mouth, but not the skin above my upper lip.  Guamaniac drew a green mustache on me and Ms. V made it sparkle.  We were joined by Cattleboy who out skated us, but always promised to be there if we fell.  To laugh and point.  No really, he was great.  Nauticalina and I managed to defy gravity, and he skated with us almost the whole time, while everyone else drank and posed for pictures.  My ass still hurts from all that exercise.

Not to mention all the eating Nauticalina and I accomplished since Thursday night.  We spent three nights in a row driving all the way to south Austin for a fancy doughnut, but Gourdough's was a fail each time (if you aren't going to work your posted hours, please put a motherfucking sign up on your trailer--it can even be handwritten for all I care).  We were not thwarted for long, and found ourselves at Ken's Doughnuts, IHOP and Mrs. Johnson's Doughnuts (in that order).  We also visited Trudy's and Burger Tex in there.  We are beautiful women who know how to celebrate during a long weekend.  I adore Nauticalina.  She's the brightest of stars.  She's shiny and special in a good way.  She is 22, which is only to say that she makes me feel 22. 

I refuse to list my highs and lows of 2010.  It was a bad year.  The end.  So far this year I kicked some ass at C&L's playing Settlers of Catan Cities and Knight's expansion pack.  I slaughtered those poor people.  I was the USA, and The Boy was Ethiopia.  There was barely any sheep to make our wool, but naked savagery worked just fine for me.  Butt-naked savagery!

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.

Posted from Blogium for iPhone

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.