No date for Miss Cleveland tonight. I got blown off and it couldn't be quick like a band-aid rip, could it? It was drawn out all day long and somehow, temporarily, was blamed on me (yeah, you're right, it was ME that cancelled cause I haven't been looking forward to this since flippin' WEDNESDAY)! I'm fired up, if you want me to be honest. I'm sure you could feel the heat. I know my guy is having a rough go of it lately but I've been trying to be a pal, a real sweetie-pie, and this is what I get? All I wanted was to hang out, lay low, spend a little time together, help him relax, help his muss his sheets. Even HE mentioned that it's been awhile and he KNOWS it's his fault (so many excuses...no money, so much to do, taking a break form the beers, blah blah...might as well have said his head was on fire and he had grown a mermaid tail). He promised up and fucking down that we'd be on for Monday and pleaded with me not to be sour towards him...but I'm not holding my breath. I have athsma, after all.
Instead, I'm pulling "a townie" and hitting a local work dive. There's no way I was just going to go home and pout like this date was the only hit on my dance card. I'm wearing my favorite white long for fuck's sake). And tomorrow at the Shack Shakers show, I'm going to drink, dance, and have more fun than one person should be allowed. I'm going to have more fun than anyone else there! Including the Colonel! And my dude Donny Utah will be there, not to mention the rest of the crew, so why shouldn't I have a ball.
That's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna have me a ball! You know why??? Cause...
...I got my rabbit ears on and I wanna get chummy-chummy!
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Let's start this again for real.
Today I made it my mission to be the captain of the cheer patrol. I had to turn Leo's totally understandable frown upside down, even if it meant doing a puppet show or making a smile-on-a-stick for him to carry around. That's what you do when you "cheese sandwich" someone. You go above and beyond to make sure they are happy as a hundred dollar ho, even if it means making an ass-hat out of yourself. I don't give a flying flip, do you hear me? I'm usually busy embarrassing myself any way so why not do it for a good cause? He's the number one thing in my life, hands down, and if he's sad or worried or annoyed...then I need a smile-on-a-stick! When I last saw the manimal in my life, he was smiling and my heart felt pretty fucking fat. And that's fat with a ph, y'all. I don't know if it's the vitamin D from the weather or what but all I want to do is make sure those big, fatty lips are smiling at all times. And I hope those fatty lips are all over during our date tomorrow. Here's hoping! WELCOME SPRING!
It's been so long since I had a smile.
I've stayed sad for such a long while.
If you can cheer me up, I could learn to love you.
You kiss me now and I turn away.
I think I'm still kissing yesterday.
If you can cheer me up, I could learn to love you.
Love me and cheer me up.
Show me you're the one who can make me happy.
Cheer me up! Come on and cheer me up!
I don't want to spend the rest of my days
dreaming yesterday's daydreams.
Out with the bad and in with the good.
You feel my heart girl, you're knocking on wood.
If you can cheer me up, I could learn to love you.
So generous, I'm being kind.
With selfishness in the back of my mind.
If you can cheer me up, I could learn to love you.
Love me and cheer me up.
Show me you're the one who can make me happy.
Cheer me up! Come on and cheer me up!
Don't want to spend the rest of my days
giving yesterday's promises.
Don't want to spend the rest of my days
living yesterday.
Don't want to spend the rest of my days
singing yesterday's love songs.
It's been so long since I had a smile.
I've stayed sad for such a long while.
If you can cheer me up, I could learn to love you.
You kiss me now and I turn away.
I think I'm still kissing yesterday.
If you can cheer me up, I could learn to love you.
Love me and cheer me up.
Show me you're the one who can make me happy.
Cheer me up! Come on and cheer me up!
I don't want to spend the rest of my days
dreaming yesterday's daydreams.
Out with the bad and in with the good.
You feel my heart girl, you're knocking on wood.
If you can cheer me up, I could learn to love you.
So generous, I'm being kind.
With selfishness in the back of my mind.
If you can cheer me up, I could learn to love you.
Love me and cheer me up.
Show me you're the one who can make me happy.
Cheer me up! Come on and cheer me up!
Don't want to spend the rest of my days
giving yesterday's promises.
Don't want to spend the rest of my days
living yesterday.
Don't want to spend the rest of my days
singing yesterday's love songs.
Monday, March 27, 2006
All I know dissolved, I could never reundo you.
My little life, as of recently, has been quite the sausage party. And by that, I mean boys from my past, present, and future (yes, I have a magic 8-ball AND a magic Ipod) have been circling in one fashion or another like buzzards waiting to feast on my rotting corpse. But seeing as I'm afraid of birds big and small, I really hope a buzzard doesn't feast on my rotting corpse because that might scare my ghost.
One of my ex-fellas came around recently. It was pretty gnarly to tell you the truth. I'm glad that we stopped wanting to stab each other in the eyeballs with an assortment of objects long enough to become pals. And I'm glad I found out that he DID sleep with that sleaze-beast (I knew it all along, mother truckers) AFTER I had decided not to stab him in the eyeballs with various objects. All is well. He's my brah now and I'm putting money on red that he'll be my new local drinking buddy. I've put the past behind me and my behind in my pants.
Drunk-dialed Leo while hosting the big party on Saturday. It's really not in good taste to drunk-dial someone three times in a row when you KNOW their kids are all sleeping in the bed with them and it's 2:30a. There was a discussion that freaked me out, ruined my weekend, and made things tense at work. But we have a "free nights and weekends" phone call scheduled so hopefully my sleep with be nightmare-less. I told him I loved him. He said it was nice...or great. I was sauced so all he gets are cheese sandwiches from now on.
Today is the one year anniversary (lots of anniversaries recently...my ex-wedding anniversary, today's anniversary, and Saturday will be the one year anniversary of the first time a certain someone put his fingers in my pockets and smooched on me) of the day my husband left me. Hooray! I mean, I got up and washed my hair for this day of all days!? But fo' real, everything is gravy nowadays. I just wanted to throw it out there that one year ago today, I was hanging on by a thread. Now I at least have 10 threads. A small rope if you will.
I was going to write about another boy but I want to drink Pepsi.
One of my ex-fellas came around recently. It was pretty gnarly to tell you the truth. I'm glad that we stopped wanting to stab each other in the eyeballs with an assortment of objects long enough to become pals. And I'm glad I found out that he DID sleep with that sleaze-beast (I knew it all along, mother truckers) AFTER I had decided not to stab him in the eyeballs with various objects. All is well. He's my brah now and I'm putting money on red that he'll be my new local drinking buddy. I've put the past behind me and my behind in my pants.
Drunk-dialed Leo while hosting the big party on Saturday. It's really not in good taste to drunk-dial someone three times in a row when you KNOW their kids are all sleeping in the bed with them and it's 2:30a. There was a discussion that freaked me out, ruined my weekend, and made things tense at work. But we have a "free nights and weekends" phone call scheduled so hopefully my sleep with be nightmare-less. I told him I loved him. He said it was nice...or great. I was sauced so all he gets are cheese sandwiches from now on.
Today is the one year anniversary (lots of anniversaries recently...my ex-wedding anniversary, today's anniversary, and Saturday will be the one year anniversary of the first time a certain someone put his fingers in my pockets and smooched on me) of the day my husband left me. Hooray! I mean, I got up and washed my hair for this day of all days!? But fo' real, everything is gravy nowadays. I just wanted to throw it out there that one year ago today, I was hanging on by a thread. Now I at least have 10 threads. A small rope if you will.
I was going to write about another boy but I want to drink Pepsi.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Don't tell me no jokes cause I'm not gonna laugh.
I shouldn't even focus on today as being a landmark in my life. I should focus on the fact that in 8.5 hours, I'll have a house full of people and bands rockin' out in honor of 4 people I would fight tigers for. They all popped out of their mamas during the month of March and I can't think of a better reason for a celebration. But I picked an iffy date for the event.
Today would have been my 3 year wedding anniversary.
Regardless of the fact that I am over the moon about another guy, it still stings when I think about what I went through. I'm 27 and divorced and it rots. There's no way around that and there's so many painful, gut destroying memories that are creeping up on me. Due to the symbolism of today's date, I've been replaying them over and over in my head. Now, I do not love my ex-husband anymore and he isn't even a part of my life in any way (unless you count the few random objects I still have from our life together and the fact that I can't really listen to Sam Cooke anymore), but I do keep thinking, "Could we have made it work? What if we had tried a little harder? Would I be in Vegas right now, celebrating? How did we fuck this up so bad when we were so in love?".
I think this is all pretty normal junk. Like I said, I'm madly in 'cheese sandwich' and can't really imagine still having Ezra as my partner, eventhough it has been said that we are more compatible now then we ever were and it's too bad we can't be together by one of his closest (probably THE closest) friends. The wheels in my head are just going because of what happened three years ago today. In two days, it will be a year since we were laying in bed, eating pizza and watching "Fat Albert" and he looked at me and told me it was over. I think I have a right to feel sort of blue. No one can tell me differently.
For posterity, let's review how things were on this date for the past 3 years.
AFTER THE WEDDING
It's 12:42p Las Vegas time and it's good to be home.
I DO NOT LIKE: little airplanes that wiggle from start to finish, taxi cabs where the drivers like Nascar, cards that advertise hookers being handed to me on the street, reaching for Roulette chips before the marker has been moved and being reprimanded, girls that say "Heeeeeeeeeey" and raise their fake nails in the air, having to stand in an Elvis pose during professional photographs, Harry Potter and Star Trek: Nemesis as in-flight movies, different time zones, losing all the money I was excited to have made, blisters from wearing high heels, missing Johnny's birthday, motherfucking jetlag, leaving Las Vegas one day too early and therefore missing the B-52s at the Hilton, every dick in Vegas asking Pirate how he gets his hair to stay up, landing.
I DO LIKE: being refered to as "wife", winning 5.00 on black due to Meg-Dog's insight (along with approx 75.00 in video poker and 110.00 in Roulette and Craps...all of which was lost so refer to above), a hotel view of the mountains, 5.99 buffets that feature the world's best round potatos, the book "White Oleander" which has taken good care of me during the plane rides, getting a lift back to the hotel with an Elvis impersonator (named Gary), getting cheese, cookies, and berries as an airplane snack, the New York New York Hotel and Casino, the stuffed flower that Brodie won me with darts (second only to watching him bust a move on some dancing video game), beligerant Brett's defiance regarding Las Vegas' right to his "quarter", being drunk at 1:00p Vegas time.
I LOVE: The Knife, Brodie, my husband (not only for marrying me but for saying things like Hello wife), and 1.00 MARGARITAS.
1st ANNIVERSARY
Who knew we would make it to 1 year? I certainly didn't, I'll tell you that much! I'm going to wish myself a Happy 1 Year Anniversary(it's the paper anniversary so fork over your cash!) because I consider it QUITE an accomplishment and a special occasion INDEED!
Last night, what was supposed to be a birthday gathering for my Mom was actually a surprise anniversary party for us kids. We even had a wedding cake, which was totally abscent at the actual wedding. And gifts!! We got our first wedding gifts...also abscent since the actual wedding (wah). New dishes, glasswear, pillows, picture frams, CASH...the whole event really destroyed any ill feelings I had about my family's disintrest in my union. It was a rad evening and just what I needed.
For my paper anniversary, I recieved plane tickets to Las Vegas. I don't want to jinx anything, but right now, I don't feel like things could get any better. I'm in a swell mood, MARK THIS DOWN ON YOUR CALENDARS, Y'ALL! And ask me how I'm going to spend my special day. I'll tell ya...I'm going to dinner and a movie with The Knife because my husband (of 1 year) has to work. So responsible!!
Enough babble. Las Vegas preparations need to me made and I am the one who needs to make them! Feel free to send your anniversary greetings my way!!!
2nd ANNIVERSAY PART ONE
Two years ago on this very day, around this very time, I was standing in my white polka dot dress before a Puerto Rican camera man, a gold la mae-clad Elvis impersonator named Gary, my two witnesses (Brodie Davis, Jr. and The Knife), and the man whom I would shortly be bound to for the rest of eternity...or longer if I become a vampire as planned. We swapped some vows in a 1950s-inspired diner and became man and wife, for better or for worse. I think we've survived the worst of the worst and can count on some better times ahead. I supposedly said it once and I'll say it again: I look at him, being all goofy, and I know I got the best of the bunch.
Yesterday we became first time home owners and I have never been happier (except, perhaps, when I bought the door knocker but now it officially has a door to go on). Life sure had a way of shocking the Hell out of me. I married the man for me, graduated, found a job that kicks ass as far as I'm concerned, and now, I'm going to be buried in the back yard of a house that I'm pretty sure was built for us to live in...way back in 1929...so we're a little late in our arrival. Sometime this summer, there will be one Helluva house warming champagne jam in the West Park area of Cleveland and it won't be reminiscent of being packed in a sardine can! Screw you, Kent! I'm outta heeeeeeeeeeeere! And all you Clevelanders...lend me some sugar! I am your neighbor!
2nd ANNIVERSAYR PART TWO
Not the second anniversary I had imagined even if it did start out with rad text messages, a dozen roses, cowgirl coasters, and 4 Shag Pink Panther glasses followed by a romantic dinner. Our outing ended in crocodile tears, cruel words pulled out of the meanest parts of us, and broken, bloody hearts. I am hated and I get that but it's like pouring poison in my ear to hear the same person who was showering me in affection earlier tell me that they don't want a house and don't want to deal with bickering and don't want to deal with me. I understand that getting back together is equally as difficult as breaking up and that I have to fight for this...but sometimes I make mistakes and roll my eyes and get hurt feelings and bicker. I'm human (though I do prefer to tell people I'm a robot).
Eventually, after white trash World War III, the night ended with us being all intertwined like crazy snakes the ENTIRE night (and he rarely cuddles me so it was pretty effin' neat) but I was getting up every 15 minutes to cry hysterically in the bathroom so I didn't vibrate the bed. I was terrified to initiate any discussion about whether or not we were OK and if he was 100% sure he didn't want the house that he had been so thrilled about but after he called me "baby", I found the words. I was reassured that we are OK and in love and together and are both going to be nicer and better to one another. I was also told that the Cleveland move is on, thought I was less convinced about this. He admits he's scared but claims he's still happy and excited. I, on the other hand, feel like a royal jerk-off for how our anniversary turned out and I almost feel ashamed for being so excited about moving when my aprtner is so weary. I feel like a lesser life form that is some times hated by the person I love.
I had an uneasy day with my family coloring Easter eggs. It was good to see them and I had fun and caught a nice nap but I was worried...a little panic had set in about last night's fight. I needed more reassurance that things were really and truly alright between myself and Duckie. The excitement I had about "the house" wasn't in full affect as I was showing off pictures and the new door knocker and talking about moving. I felt sad. So instead of going to see Brennan's Revenge and Nightbreed this evening, I'll be in my bed in my pajamas, all nervous-like, watching "Fat Albert", "The Incredibles", and "Taxi", hoping that I'll get some company. I want to go back to yesterday morning when we were the happiest couple on the planet and then to tomorrow night where I would let what started our bickering to just roll off my back. If only I had finished that time machine...
*End note: I shouldn't have read these things. Fuck.*
Today would have been my 3 year wedding anniversary.
Regardless of the fact that I am over the moon about another guy, it still stings when I think about what I went through. I'm 27 and divorced and it rots. There's no way around that and there's so many painful, gut destroying memories that are creeping up on me. Due to the symbolism of today's date, I've been replaying them over and over in my head. Now, I do not love my ex-husband anymore and he isn't even a part of my life in any way (unless you count the few random objects I still have from our life together and the fact that I can't really listen to Sam Cooke anymore), but I do keep thinking, "Could we have made it work? What if we had tried a little harder? Would I be in Vegas right now, celebrating? How did we fuck this up so bad when we were so in love?".
I think this is all pretty normal junk. Like I said, I'm madly in 'cheese sandwich' and can't really imagine still having Ezra as my partner, eventhough it has been said that we are more compatible now then we ever were and it's too bad we can't be together by one of his closest (probably THE closest) friends. The wheels in my head are just going because of what happened three years ago today. In two days, it will be a year since we were laying in bed, eating pizza and watching "Fat Albert" and he looked at me and told me it was over. I think I have a right to feel sort of blue. No one can tell me differently.
For posterity, let's review how things were on this date for the past 3 years.
AFTER THE WEDDING
It's 12:42p Las Vegas time and it's good to be home.
I DO NOT LIKE: little airplanes that wiggle from start to finish, taxi cabs where the drivers like Nascar, cards that advertise hookers being handed to me on the street, reaching for Roulette chips before the marker has been moved and being reprimanded, girls that say "Heeeeeeeeeey" and raise their fake nails in the air, having to stand in an Elvis pose during professional photographs, Harry Potter and Star Trek: Nemesis as in-flight movies, different time zones, losing all the money I was excited to have made, blisters from wearing high heels, missing Johnny's birthday, motherfucking jetlag, leaving Las Vegas one day too early and therefore missing the B-52s at the Hilton, every dick in Vegas asking Pirate how he gets his hair to stay up, landing.
I DO LIKE: being refered to as "wife", winning 5.00 on black due to Meg-Dog's insight (along with approx 75.00 in video poker and 110.00 in Roulette and Craps...all of which was lost so refer to above), a hotel view of the mountains, 5.99 buffets that feature the world's best round potatos, the book "White Oleander" which has taken good care of me during the plane rides, getting a lift back to the hotel with an Elvis impersonator (named Gary), getting cheese, cookies, and berries as an airplane snack, the New York New York Hotel and Casino, the stuffed flower that Brodie won me with darts (second only to watching him bust a move on some dancing video game), beligerant Brett's defiance regarding Las Vegas' right to his "quarter", being drunk at 1:00p Vegas time.
I LOVE: The Knife, Brodie, my husband (not only for marrying me but for saying things like Hello wife), and 1.00 MARGARITAS.
1st ANNIVERSARY
Who knew we would make it to 1 year? I certainly didn't, I'll tell you that much! I'm going to wish myself a Happy 1 Year Anniversary(it's the paper anniversary so fork over your cash!) because I consider it QUITE an accomplishment and a special occasion INDEED!
Last night, what was supposed to be a birthday gathering for my Mom was actually a surprise anniversary party for us kids. We even had a wedding cake, which was totally abscent at the actual wedding. And gifts!! We got our first wedding gifts...also abscent since the actual wedding (wah). New dishes, glasswear, pillows, picture frams, CASH...the whole event really destroyed any ill feelings I had about my family's disintrest in my union. It was a rad evening and just what I needed.
For my paper anniversary, I recieved plane tickets to Las Vegas. I don't want to jinx anything, but right now, I don't feel like things could get any better. I'm in a swell mood, MARK THIS DOWN ON YOUR CALENDARS, Y'ALL! And ask me how I'm going to spend my special day. I'll tell ya...I'm going to dinner and a movie with The Knife because my husband (of 1 year) has to work. So responsible!!
Enough babble. Las Vegas preparations need to me made and I am the one who needs to make them! Feel free to send your anniversary greetings my way!!!
2nd ANNIVERSAY PART ONE
Two years ago on this very day, around this very time, I was standing in my white polka dot dress before a Puerto Rican camera man, a gold la mae-clad Elvis impersonator named Gary, my two witnesses (Brodie Davis, Jr. and The Knife), and the man whom I would shortly be bound to for the rest of eternity...or longer if I become a vampire as planned. We swapped some vows in a 1950s-inspired diner and became man and wife, for better or for worse. I think we've survived the worst of the worst and can count on some better times ahead. I supposedly said it once and I'll say it again: I look at him, being all goofy, and I know I got the best of the bunch.
Yesterday we became first time home owners and I have never been happier (except, perhaps, when I bought the door knocker but now it officially has a door to go on). Life sure had a way of shocking the Hell out of me. I married the man for me, graduated, found a job that kicks ass as far as I'm concerned, and now, I'm going to be buried in the back yard of a house that I'm pretty sure was built for us to live in...way back in 1929...so we're a little late in our arrival. Sometime this summer, there will be one Helluva house warming champagne jam in the West Park area of Cleveland and it won't be reminiscent of being packed in a sardine can! Screw you, Kent! I'm outta heeeeeeeeeeeere! And all you Clevelanders...lend me some sugar! I am your neighbor!
2nd ANNIVERSAYR PART TWO
Not the second anniversary I had imagined even if it did start out with rad text messages, a dozen roses, cowgirl coasters, and 4 Shag Pink Panther glasses followed by a romantic dinner. Our outing ended in crocodile tears, cruel words pulled out of the meanest parts of us, and broken, bloody hearts. I am hated and I get that but it's like pouring poison in my ear to hear the same person who was showering me in affection earlier tell me that they don't want a house and don't want to deal with bickering and don't want to deal with me. I understand that getting back together is equally as difficult as breaking up and that I have to fight for this...but sometimes I make mistakes and roll my eyes and get hurt feelings and bicker. I'm human (though I do prefer to tell people I'm a robot).
Eventually, after white trash World War III, the night ended with us being all intertwined like crazy snakes the ENTIRE night (and he rarely cuddles me so it was pretty effin' neat) but I was getting up every 15 minutes to cry hysterically in the bathroom so I didn't vibrate the bed. I was terrified to initiate any discussion about whether or not we were OK and if he was 100% sure he didn't want the house that he had been so thrilled about but after he called me "baby", I found the words. I was reassured that we are OK and in love and together and are both going to be nicer and better to one another. I was also told that the Cleveland move is on, thought I was less convinced about this. He admits he's scared but claims he's still happy and excited. I, on the other hand, feel like a royal jerk-off for how our anniversary turned out and I almost feel ashamed for being so excited about moving when my aprtner is so weary. I feel like a lesser life form that is some times hated by the person I love.
I had an uneasy day with my family coloring Easter eggs. It was good to see them and I had fun and caught a nice nap but I was worried...a little panic had set in about last night's fight. I needed more reassurance that things were really and truly alright between myself and Duckie. The excitement I had about "the house" wasn't in full affect as I was showing off pictures and the new door knocker and talking about moving. I felt sad. So instead of going to see Brennan's Revenge and Nightbreed this evening, I'll be in my bed in my pajamas, all nervous-like, watching "Fat Albert", "The Incredibles", and "Taxi", hoping that I'll get some company. I want to go back to yesterday morning when we were the happiest couple on the planet and then to tomorrow night where I would let what started our bickering to just roll off my back. If only I had finished that time machine...
*End note: I shouldn't have read these things. Fuck.*
Thursday, March 23, 2006
I never asked for the truth but you owe that to me.
Today, I really wish I had an auto-focus function that I could trigger by twisting a nipple or something because focusing just ain't on my "to do" list. Putzing, slacking, goofing off...those are all valid options but focusing is for the dogs. I can't do it and certainly not enough to write anything brilliant. I didn't get enough sleep (there were pros and cons to that), I had too many cocktails last night, and I have way too much to do. Focusing or putting forth any sort of effort at the current moment would just be too much to ask of me and I'd probably rip your head off, ninja-style. Enjoy the following worthless tid bits:
I just can't bring myself to poop at work, even if it would rock.
My bees are killing me, yo.
Leo gave me a toothbrush for sleepovers at his digs :::swoon:::.
I ran around the outside of his house in my knickers last night.
"I was pounded like a chicken cutlet" is a funny declarative sentence.
I have to make up a PFG routine to Reigning Sound's "Get It!" today.
There are 47 minutes left in the work day.
Nowhere near ready for the March Madness Beach Party Birthdays.
I'm really looking forward to left over pork.
I'd like to BE porked.
Only boys and pervert cartoons use "pork" as a verb.
I hope I'm not too fat for my party bikini top.
Phoebe will always help me for money off her rent...thrifty bitch!
Leo wants to meet my parents.
I need a shower like nobody's biz and it's upsetting.
That's all I've got. Even the random flow isn't flowing. All I can think about it using the can and hitting the dusty trail but I still have time to burn. It's that last flippin' slow hour! Makes me want to rip my eyeballs out in search for a ket that's hidden in my skull...or whatever. I should have been a happy clam today since I woke up intertwined with my fella and he treated me to a pretty boss breakfast before work...but this clam turned to a crab. But my clam doesn't HAVE crabs. I guess I should count my blessings. Blather. I'm pouting and that's that. I got a stiff neck just writing this.
Blather. Blather.
I just can't bring myself to poop at work, even if it would rock.
My bees are killing me, yo.
Leo gave me a toothbrush for sleepovers at his digs :::swoon:::.
I ran around the outside of his house in my knickers last night.
"I was pounded like a chicken cutlet" is a funny declarative sentence.
I have to make up a PFG routine to Reigning Sound's "Get It!" today.
There are 47 minutes left in the work day.
Nowhere near ready for the March Madness Beach Party Birthdays.
I'm really looking forward to left over pork.
I'd like to BE porked.
Only boys and pervert cartoons use "pork" as a verb.
I hope I'm not too fat for my party bikini top.
Phoebe will always help me for money off her rent...thrifty bitch!
Leo wants to meet my parents.
I need a shower like nobody's biz and it's upsetting.
That's all I've got. Even the random flow isn't flowing. All I can think about it using the can and hitting the dusty trail but I still have time to burn. It's that last flippin' slow hour! Makes me want to rip my eyeballs out in search for a ket that's hidden in my skull...or whatever. I should have been a happy clam today since I woke up intertwined with my fella and he treated me to a pretty boss breakfast before work...but this clam turned to a crab. But my clam doesn't HAVE crabs. I guess I should count my blessings. Blather. I'm pouting and that's that. I got a stiff neck just writing this.
Blather. Blather.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
But my bee-stung tongue wants in there.
Bees! Bees! My elbow is going to be attacked by bees in about an hour! And while they won't be REAL bees, they will be bee-utiful bees and there will be a "buzzzzzzzz buzzzzzzzz" noise in the background that will make me scream about BEEEEEES!
Break it down! I'm finally getting my left elbow finished, suckah chumps! Let's face it, my former hubba-lubba-ding-dong and I may some day be on speaking terms...maybe a high five here and there...but I don't ever think we're going to be close enough for him to finish the three phat tats he abandoned. I don't think I would trust him to drive vibrating needles into my lilly white flesh anywho. Regardless. I'm more than happy to give my dough to Sean Jaundice. And I will! TODAY! :::shudder:::
I'm also going to get my Danzig skull shaded pinkity pink. Switchblade doesn't think Danzig will like that which is EXACTLY why I'm doing it. I could take that mothah-suckah down with one pound from my ineffectual fist. Take that! Pow pow! {Pink Danzig skull. So pretty.
Lovely luscious liquor-lovin' Leo asked if this would be my last one with a sort of pleading tone. I said yes...after my left foot is done...and my right leg...and my achor is colored in...and my butterfly is covered up...and my octopus is wearing a crown...and I get my Polkabot matching Ben Lybarger's. Then yes, Leo. I will be done (lies, lies, lies...and I guess this is why my mother says to never put anything in print). He said I was addicted. My clever response was a stone-faced "Duh".
I can't believe I just spent all those paragraphs talking about tattoos. I actually hate talking about tattoos. It's such a brain dead, "I have nothing else to blather about" subject. And here I am STILL talking about it!
Now I will switch to the story about how I found two of my cats in a garbage can outside my house when I got home from work yesterday.
Actually, that's pretty much the whole story. They escaped, got into a rumble, and they they fucked me up. But all is good at the Ol' Kentucky Shark Corral for the time being...until I get rabies.
Break it down! I'm finally getting my left elbow finished, suckah chumps! Let's face it, my former hubba-lubba-ding-dong and I may some day be on speaking terms...maybe a high five here and there...but I don't ever think we're going to be close enough for him to finish the three phat tats he abandoned. I don't think I would trust him to drive vibrating needles into my lilly white flesh anywho. Regardless. I'm more than happy to give my dough to Sean Jaundice. And I will! TODAY! :::shudder:::
I'm also going to get my Danzig skull shaded pinkity pink. Switchblade doesn't think Danzig will like that which is EXACTLY why I'm doing it. I could take that mothah-suckah down with one pound from my ineffectual fist. Take that! Pow pow! {Pink Danzig skull. So pretty.
Lovely luscious liquor-lovin' Leo asked if this would be my last one with a sort of pleading tone. I said yes...after my left foot is done...and my right leg...and my achor is colored in...and my butterfly is covered up...and my octopus is wearing a crown...and I get my Polkabot matching Ben Lybarger's. Then yes, Leo. I will be done (lies, lies, lies...and I guess this is why my mother says to never put anything in print). He said I was addicted. My clever response was a stone-faced "Duh".
I can't believe I just spent all those paragraphs talking about tattoos. I actually hate talking about tattoos. It's such a brain dead, "I have nothing else to blather about" subject. And here I am STILL talking about it!
Now I will switch to the story about how I found two of my cats in a garbage can outside my house when I got home from work yesterday.
Actually, that's pretty much the whole story. They escaped, got into a rumble, and they they fucked me up. But all is good at the Ol' Kentucky Shark Corral for the time being...until I get rabies.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
I'm okay alone but you got something I need.
R.I.P. Pete's mama. I love you, Pete.
Why am I up and raping the internet at 8:15a on a Sunday? Because the man I slept next to is fussy and doesn't know the meaning of sleeping in. But the sleep I did get was quality so I'm not complaining. Spooning is totally for the cool kids. Whoever says that it's for pussies deserves a really heavy boot to the jaw. A jack boot. Now who's a pussy?
I'm pretty amped up this morning, despite being tired. I had one of those k-rad weekends that rocked me at my foundation from beginning to end. I am a happy kid and, of course, my happiness was pretty much ignited by a boy. Friday, we left our posts early to celebrate St. Patrick's Day and it was more fun than a bag full of kittens floating out to sea. It was just a fun, drink-filled, drama-free, smooching-heavy evening that ended with me having a slumber party with my fella. So that was the FIRST night I didn't sleep in my bed this weekend.
Then it was off to work at 5:30a after beer, beer, beer, whiskey, beer, cherry bombs, beer, beer, a margarita, and beer. And little sleep. And lock jaw. So this was just a goofy-as-all-get-out work day. Leo and I were just ridiculous (the term "beer belly" CAN be mistaken for "dare devil" if you haven't slept much) and let's be honest, it was a bacon morning. I was pretty excited at the prospect of having a breakfast date since we really don't get to spend to much "not at work" time together. And here's some moosh for you...actually, two doses of moosh.
Mushiness numero uno: Leo told me that if I waited 15 minutes, we could leave work and have bacon together (he still owes me flapjacks). I was struggling to stay awake so he suggested I go in his office and sleep in his comfy chair and he would wake me before breakfast. He kept telling me, in a cute, quiet, boy voice, to just shut my eyes. He turned off the light and covered me up with a big coat so I wouldn't be cold. He really does try to take care of me. It's attractive.
Mushiness numero dos: We ended up having breakfast at a co-worker's house because it was free and it was fun. Leo asked me if I wanted to split a hasbrown but I already had one on my plate so I suggested we just split that one. I cut it in half and he took it off my plate. I don't know why but I got all moist in the heart region. It felt very couple-like. I have a hard time not knowing where we stand, what we are to each other...but things like that, the little things, they let me know that whatever this is, it's good. So I'm putting my patience pants on for now. Life is good.
The SECOND night that I didn't spend in my bed got rolling around 7:00p when we hit the Cleveland Autorama! There were two 1957 Chevy Belaires which left me wishing I had brought a change of panties. AND the Leroy Thompson Choppers crew were there so we talked about how great our show at their shop will be this year. I felt so important to know people at the auto show. Chopper people. I used to be so uncomfortable with certain groups of my ex-husband's friends, but I just felt so relaxed last night. I had a lot of fun and was treated very well. I was informed that this was "our first official date". He paid my way in, bought some cocktails, gave up a public smooch and some hand holding, and even bought me my very first Hot Wheel. It's purple and shiney and it's called "Evil Twin".
The post-car show bar outting was good stuff, too. We had a few more drinks, got some food, and then from somewhere deep, deep, deep down in there, I gathered up some courage and told Leo I wanted to spend the night. I even told him how nervous I was asking...I had never just said, "Hey, I want to sleep over tonight, is that cool?". It had always just happened. But last night, I really wanted to spoon. And I did. While wearing his pajama pants. And here I am...typing away at this early hour. But you can reference paragraph 1 for that explaination.
Today is race day (GO JIMMIE!!) and I might be watching alone. There was no discussion regarding getting together but I'm not going to bitch since I had 2 almost full days and nights with the guy. I'm thinking I might FINALLY finish cleaning my downstairs since I have a party right around the corner, make some cheese soup, watch "Degrassi Junior High" season 1, chillax. Things are really good right now...with Leo and Pussyfoot Girls and just life in general. I hope this feeling sticks around awhile because I could stand being smiley and geeked.
Why am I up and raping the internet at 8:15a on a Sunday? Because the man I slept next to is fussy and doesn't know the meaning of sleeping in. But the sleep I did get was quality so I'm not complaining. Spooning is totally for the cool kids. Whoever says that it's for pussies deserves a really heavy boot to the jaw. A jack boot. Now who's a pussy?
I'm pretty amped up this morning, despite being tired. I had one of those k-rad weekends that rocked me at my foundation from beginning to end. I am a happy kid and, of course, my happiness was pretty much ignited by a boy. Friday, we left our posts early to celebrate St. Patrick's Day and it was more fun than a bag full of kittens floating out to sea. It was just a fun, drink-filled, drama-free, smooching-heavy evening that ended with me having a slumber party with my fella. So that was the FIRST night I didn't sleep in my bed this weekend.
Then it was off to work at 5:30a after beer, beer, beer, whiskey, beer, cherry bombs, beer, beer, a margarita, and beer. And little sleep. And lock jaw. So this was just a goofy-as-all-get-out work day. Leo and I were just ridiculous (the term "beer belly" CAN be mistaken for "dare devil" if you haven't slept much) and let's be honest, it was a bacon morning. I was pretty excited at the prospect of having a breakfast date since we really don't get to spend to much "not at work" time together. And here's some moosh for you...actually, two doses of moosh.
Mushiness numero uno: Leo told me that if I waited 15 minutes, we could leave work and have bacon together (he still owes me flapjacks). I was struggling to stay awake so he suggested I go in his office and sleep in his comfy chair and he would wake me before breakfast. He kept telling me, in a cute, quiet, boy voice, to just shut my eyes. He turned off the light and covered me up with a big coat so I wouldn't be cold. He really does try to take care of me. It's attractive.
Mushiness numero dos: We ended up having breakfast at a co-worker's house because it was free and it was fun. Leo asked me if I wanted to split a hasbrown but I already had one on my plate so I suggested we just split that one. I cut it in half and he took it off my plate. I don't know why but I got all moist in the heart region. It felt very couple-like. I have a hard time not knowing where we stand, what we are to each other...but things like that, the little things, they let me know that whatever this is, it's good. So I'm putting my patience pants on for now. Life is good.
The SECOND night that I didn't spend in my bed got rolling around 7:00p when we hit the Cleveland Autorama! There were two 1957 Chevy Belaires which left me wishing I had brought a change of panties. AND the Leroy Thompson Choppers crew were there so we talked about how great our show at their shop will be this year. I felt so important to know people at the auto show. Chopper people. I used to be so uncomfortable with certain groups of my ex-husband's friends, but I just felt so relaxed last night. I had a lot of fun and was treated very well. I was informed that this was "our first official date". He paid my way in, bought some cocktails, gave up a public smooch and some hand holding, and even bought me my very first Hot Wheel. It's purple and shiney and it's called "Evil Twin".
The post-car show bar outting was good stuff, too. We had a few more drinks, got some food, and then from somewhere deep, deep, deep down in there, I gathered up some courage and told Leo I wanted to spend the night. I even told him how nervous I was asking...I had never just said, "Hey, I want to sleep over tonight, is that cool?". It had always just happened. But last night, I really wanted to spoon. And I did. While wearing his pajama pants. And here I am...typing away at this early hour. But you can reference paragraph 1 for that explaination.
Today is race day (GO JIMMIE!!) and I might be watching alone. There was no discussion regarding getting together but I'm not going to bitch since I had 2 almost full days and nights with the guy. I'm thinking I might FINALLY finish cleaning my downstairs since I have a party right around the corner, make some cheese soup, watch "Degrassi Junior High" season 1, chillax. Things are really good right now...with Leo and Pussyfoot Girls and just life in general. I hope this feeling sticks around awhile because I could stand being smiley and geeked.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
I'm a get get get get you drunk!
I'm tossing any shread of sobriety out the window for tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day! I have my "Official Irish Drinking Team" shirt and a lust for liquor! In the immortal words of Lords of the Highway, "Don't fuss, don't fight, just have a good time". That is my plan and I'm sticking to it. I don't even care if I throw up on yo' mama!
Monday, March 13, 2006
I never knew...what good love could do.
I wish I had some pie. Where are you with pie, Rocko?
I'm having a lot of random thoughts. Right now I'm thinking about whether or not chicks can get jock itch because I can't keep my paws out of my drawers. And I can't stop talking about it. I'd probably chase a bum down the street just to talk about how itchy I am in the knickers. I think it's due to me being a cheapskate and getting generic detergent. I'm going to have to buy new undergarments before work tomorrow so no one sees me fussing with my bits! Damn, I wish I had fingernails.
Now that Issac Hayes has thrown in the bloody and sweaty towel, abandoning his post as the voice of Chef on 'South Park', I can honestly say that I hate Scientologists even more. I think we should bring back religious persecution. We need a healthy dose of it right about now. And someone needs to wipe out Tom Cruise, for crying out loud. I think I am going to plan The Crusades, take 2. They better write Chef out in some dramatic fashion. He should get Ebola. And then give it to Ryan Foltz, brand new owner of a collection of Sanding Sticks, available at Sear's.
When my fella was in seventh or eighth grade, he had a mullet and was the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I've been carrying around a school photo of him all day and it's kept my spirts high, eventhough I'm going on two very snore-interrupted hours of slept and a heavily liquid Sunday diet. We slumber partied at his digs for the first time last night and it was nice to have my arms and legs wrapped around a big, warm man. He probably wished I had taken the time to shave my legs. Nice time to get hygenically lazy.
There's goofiness oozin' out my vagina today, I'll tell you. I'm smitten. I'm beyond smitten. I cheese sandwich a NASCAR fan, by golly! But I will say, his love of NASCAR won me $110 as I joined the work pool to lengthen that list of things we have in common to include more than bars, beers, and bad behavior. Jimmie Johnson was my guy yesterday and he blew my mind during the last lap, as all men tend to do. Bah dunt dunt. Now my pockets are fat and I'm taking Leo out for steaks. He has to deliver the winnings he owes me fashioned into a little ten dollar bouquet...pantsless. We're goons. I've never been happier.
At the upcoming "March Madness Beach Party Birthdays" celebration, there's going to be a bacon eating contest. I won't be participating. I'm not buying the bacon, cooking the bacon, or scarfing the bacon. I will, however, be tossin' some cash flow out to buy the TROPHY! It wouldn't be a real contest without a flippin' TROPHY! I wish I could get one with a dancing piece of meat on top but I think that might be tuff to find. Though I think they have trophies with cows on top...for rodeos, cattle roping, Best of Show. Man, I don't know if I'm more excited about getting kissed good-bye at work or about this mothertruckin' trophy! TROPHY!!!
Speaking of this shin-dig, I'm slightly disappointed about one name absent from the guest list. I guess I can understand not wanting to come to yet another par-tay when we just recovered from My Birthday Party Pajama Jam AND New Year's Eve. But still...not showing up at all is a pretty bold statement and seems slightly over the top. And it just burns my toast since it seems like I can't get this person interested in doing much of anything that I'm involved in. Just a little irked. No major surgery needed. Just needed to let it all out. Trying not to keep things all bottled up, y'all. I'll be at the party...dressed like goldfish bait, if everything goes my way...and I'll be having more fun than you can shake a hula skirt at.
This current season of Gilmore Girls has been highly disappointing. I didn't like how Lorelai treated Luke. I wanted to box Rory's face in. I'm totally anti-Luke's long lost daughter. About the only "thumbs up" thing that I can rally for is Lane and Zach getting engaged. Phoebe and I were mulling around how we think the series will end since we're thinking next season will see the end to the quick wit and speed chatter. Somehow it was decided that Lorelai and Rory will be pregnant at the same time. As long as Sebastian Bach is some how involved, I can dig it! How did I get on this subject? I watched the entire season 4 and 5 box sets while I was sick-o. I've got Gilmore on the brain.
Thank GOD Netflix is bringing DEGRASSI JUNIOR HIGH SEASON 1!!!
I'm having a lot of random thoughts. Right now I'm thinking about whether or not chicks can get jock itch because I can't keep my paws out of my drawers. And I can't stop talking about it. I'd probably chase a bum down the street just to talk about how itchy I am in the knickers. I think it's due to me being a cheapskate and getting generic detergent. I'm going to have to buy new undergarments before work tomorrow so no one sees me fussing with my bits! Damn, I wish I had fingernails.
Now that Issac Hayes has thrown in the bloody and sweaty towel, abandoning his post as the voice of Chef on 'South Park', I can honestly say that I hate Scientologists even more. I think we should bring back religious persecution. We need a healthy dose of it right about now. And someone needs to wipe out Tom Cruise, for crying out loud. I think I am going to plan The Crusades, take 2. They better write Chef out in some dramatic fashion. He should get Ebola. And then give it to Ryan Foltz, brand new owner of a collection of Sanding Sticks, available at Sear's.
When my fella was in seventh or eighth grade, he had a mullet and was the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I've been carrying around a school photo of him all day and it's kept my spirts high, eventhough I'm going on two very snore-interrupted hours of slept and a heavily liquid Sunday diet. We slumber partied at his digs for the first time last night and it was nice to have my arms and legs wrapped around a big, warm man. He probably wished I had taken the time to shave my legs. Nice time to get hygenically lazy.
There's goofiness oozin' out my vagina today, I'll tell you. I'm smitten. I'm beyond smitten. I cheese sandwich a NASCAR fan, by golly! But I will say, his love of NASCAR won me $110 as I joined the work pool to lengthen that list of things we have in common to include more than bars, beers, and bad behavior. Jimmie Johnson was my guy yesterday and he blew my mind during the last lap, as all men tend to do. Bah dunt dunt. Now my pockets are fat and I'm taking Leo out for steaks. He has to deliver the winnings he owes me fashioned into a little ten dollar bouquet...pantsless. We're goons. I've never been happier.
At the upcoming "March Madness Beach Party Birthdays" celebration, there's going to be a bacon eating contest. I won't be participating. I'm not buying the bacon, cooking the bacon, or scarfing the bacon. I will, however, be tossin' some cash flow out to buy the TROPHY! It wouldn't be a real contest without a flippin' TROPHY! I wish I could get one with a dancing piece of meat on top but I think that might be tuff to find. Though I think they have trophies with cows on top...for rodeos, cattle roping, Best of Show. Man, I don't know if I'm more excited about getting kissed good-bye at work or about this mothertruckin' trophy! TROPHY!!!
Speaking of this shin-dig, I'm slightly disappointed about one name absent from the guest list. I guess I can understand not wanting to come to yet another par-tay when we just recovered from My Birthday Party Pajama Jam AND New Year's Eve. But still...not showing up at all is a pretty bold statement and seems slightly over the top. And it just burns my toast since it seems like I can't get this person interested in doing much of anything that I'm involved in. Just a little irked. No major surgery needed. Just needed to let it all out. Trying not to keep things all bottled up, y'all. I'll be at the party...dressed like goldfish bait, if everything goes my way...and I'll be having more fun than you can shake a hula skirt at.
This current season of Gilmore Girls has been highly disappointing. I didn't like how Lorelai treated Luke. I wanted to box Rory's face in. I'm totally anti-Luke's long lost daughter. About the only "thumbs up" thing that I can rally for is Lane and Zach getting engaged. Phoebe and I were mulling around how we think the series will end since we're thinking next season will see the end to the quick wit and speed chatter. Somehow it was decided that Lorelai and Rory will be pregnant at the same time. As long as Sebastian Bach is some how involved, I can dig it! How did I get on this subject? I watched the entire season 4 and 5 box sets while I was sick-o. I've got Gilmore on the brain.
Thank GOD Netflix is bringing DEGRASSI JUNIOR HIGH SEASON 1!!!
Friday, March 10, 2006
And you wish you could make it stop!
Suck-o! I've caught the mother-truckin' sickness.
I haven't had anything to eat since Wednesday when I ate chicken fingers next to a grown man wearing a bib. Why is it that all large men eat wings? It's like a rite of passage. Regardless, if not for the uncomfortable distress my body is going through, I'd be happy to be on the Sickness Diet and shed some winter weight. I have zero appetite but I've had so many cans of Pepsi, I've got non-stop shakes and really stale soda breath. Yesterday, after I zombied my way through work and was told I looked "hit", I came home and slept for 18 hours. 18! And I feel like garbage that has been puked on, ate by a racoon, and puked up by that very same racoon.
This is what happens when you work in such close quarters. You either catch whatever bug floats around the office (and the current buggy has landed a salesman in the hospital getting poked and prodded) or you end up fooling around with a co-worker. Those are really your only options. Check and check check.
So here I am, losing 8 hours of pay and being all around effin' grouchy. Had yet another uncalled for spat with my fella after a bar outting on Wednesday. He blames it on the beer and a previously pissed-off attitude. He apologized and promised it would never happen again but I told him I didn't buy it. I bought into that package for four years and ended up barely alive. So who knows where that whole thing stands. I'm not a big fan of crying at work, I know that much. I left throwing my hands up in the air and saying, "You're driving me fucking nuts". And that's the truth.
I predict a long and lonely weekend in bed with soup. Don't forget about me.
I haven't had anything to eat since Wednesday when I ate chicken fingers next to a grown man wearing a bib. Why is it that all large men eat wings? It's like a rite of passage. Regardless, if not for the uncomfortable distress my body is going through, I'd be happy to be on the Sickness Diet and shed some winter weight. I have zero appetite but I've had so many cans of Pepsi, I've got non-stop shakes and really stale soda breath. Yesterday, after I zombied my way through work and was told I looked "hit", I came home and slept for 18 hours. 18! And I feel like garbage that has been puked on, ate by a racoon, and puked up by that very same racoon.
This is what happens when you work in such close quarters. You either catch whatever bug floats around the office (and the current buggy has landed a salesman in the hospital getting poked and prodded) or you end up fooling around with a co-worker. Those are really your only options. Check and check check.
So here I am, losing 8 hours of pay and being all around effin' grouchy. Had yet another uncalled for spat with my fella after a bar outting on Wednesday. He blames it on the beer and a previously pissed-off attitude. He apologized and promised it would never happen again but I told him I didn't buy it. I bought into that package for four years and ended up barely alive. So who knows where that whole thing stands. I'm not a big fan of crying at work, I know that much. I left throwing my hands up in the air and saying, "You're driving me fucking nuts". And that's the truth.
I predict a long and lonely weekend in bed with soup. Don't forget about me.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Cooling my blood. Warming my heart.
I just ate a hot dog, some Butter Pecan ice-cream, and a pain killer. I'm hoping that cocktail helps with my ever-growing back pain, brand new cold symptoms, and loneliness. I was told I could call my fella to be bailed out of jail, if need be. Guess that counts for something. I could still cry.
That about sums it up.
That about sums it up.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
We can't know for sure until we open the door.
Tie a ribbon around an ol' whiskey bottle! I got back together with my ever-lovin' wife. Silence can be deafening so I waved the white flag. There was hugging, a public display of boob touching, and all is well in the Corral and the cubicle.
My little life managed to morph in to quite the circus this weekend. In all actuality, I feel like this weekend was ten days long and I'm really late for work. Spent what I THOUGHT was going to be a typical Friday night at the local work dive with pals. Enjoyed cocktails and conversation and plotting, all the while hoping my fella would show up post a big job downtown. When he does, he's in a rather unpleasant mood...shocking, I know! Work's hard, I get it. But when your pseudo-chick has been waiting impatiently to see you all day (just for five minutes...just for a hug and kiss) and you've got your crabby pants on...it's no naked picnic on the beach. It's understandable, sure, but frustrating. Especially since I was frisky all day at work (in fact, I was told that I had an X-rated mouth, tee hee...I'm nto denying that. I am, after all, a 12 year old boy).
Once we parted ways without a kiss or much chatting, I had to come up with a plan B. I knew some of his work guys were at a west side bar so I went there. Not like me to just show up somewhere alone but I strutted right in and acted like I owned the place. After a beer and a shot and a few minutes rubbing some strange girl's head, I was at a strip club getting a lap dance and putting $1.00 bills into some other strange girl's drawers! Who knew I had it in me?! I felt like such a pimp. And my willingness to broaden my horizons earned me the honor of being "so fucking cool". That's right.
Saturday was the longest yet most fulfilling day of my year thus far and you may be scratching your junk sayind, "WHY??". I had to be at work before the sun came up and there was my fella, still a moody dude. Further bent out of shape that I ended up out and about with other dudes...his work dudes to be exact. Thought I did it to razz him but in actuality, I just wasn't ready to go home and feel shabby about being ignored. Not two weekends in a row (but as a side note, I don't know what it's like to be the boss and work all the live long day. I don't envy having to hire and fire. So...). My dude and I have a little chat and even though I get an apology, once again, I ended up leaking some tears. I came home and threw myself rather dramatically into bed. FANTASTIC! I slept from 8:30a to 8:30p, getting up only to rehydrate and use the facilities. Other than thatm it was me, Futurama, and my pajamas. It was just what I needed.
And speaking of "Just What I Needed"...
I didn't think my coma day could get much better but a half an hour phone conversation lead to the possibility of a sleep over!! And I'm not talking pillow fights and Ouija boards, people! Around midnight, I get a call that my fella is on his way...in his pajamas and with beer! We watched TV, had some drinks, got goofy about each other and then...well...spent the rest of the night upstairs. I love sleep overs. I loved waking up in the nook and getting my back rubbed. There was supposed to be a breakfast date as I was promised flapjacks but that is being rescheduled. Flapjacks would have been nice. Staying in bed all curled up until 10:00 was better.
So here it is, Sunday, and I've got big and ultimatly fascinating plans. In this order, I'm going to go to the grocery store, make cheese soup, clean my dining room and kitchen, do laundry, order take out Olive Garden, and watch the mother-truckin' Oscars until I can't keep my eyes open even a second longer! It may sound boring to you but it actually sounds pretty fantastic to me. If I have any spare time, I'll work on making up routines for Pussyfoot practice this week. I'm a happy clam. I'd say my clam in happy but that's just gross! No one ever said I had class!!!
But to back track for a second, there was weirdness on Wednesday. I want a lable, lame as that is, and I don't have one. I know my guy is not ready to be one-on-one but it hurts me to just be. Yeah...to just BE. But yesterday, I was informed that he had opened up and confirmed the rumors to a few co-workers. That step has made it a little easier for me to sit back and wait. I have high hopes that we'll be "together" at some point. I just have to go at his speed and practice patience. for him...anything.
My little life managed to morph in to quite the circus this weekend. In all actuality, I feel like this weekend was ten days long and I'm really late for work. Spent what I THOUGHT was going to be a typical Friday night at the local work dive with pals. Enjoyed cocktails and conversation and plotting, all the while hoping my fella would show up post a big job downtown. When he does, he's in a rather unpleasant mood...shocking, I know! Work's hard, I get it. But when your pseudo-chick has been waiting impatiently to see you all day (just for five minutes...just for a hug and kiss) and you've got your crabby pants on...it's no naked picnic on the beach. It's understandable, sure, but frustrating. Especially since I was frisky all day at work (in fact, I was told that I had an X-rated mouth, tee hee...I'm nto denying that. I am, after all, a 12 year old boy).
Once we parted ways without a kiss or much chatting, I had to come up with a plan B. I knew some of his work guys were at a west side bar so I went there. Not like me to just show up somewhere alone but I strutted right in and acted like I owned the place. After a beer and a shot and a few minutes rubbing some strange girl's head, I was at a strip club getting a lap dance and putting $1.00 bills into some other strange girl's drawers! Who knew I had it in me?! I felt like such a pimp. And my willingness to broaden my horizons earned me the honor of being "so fucking cool". That's right.
Saturday was the longest yet most fulfilling day of my year thus far and you may be scratching your junk sayind, "WHY??". I had to be at work before the sun came up and there was my fella, still a moody dude. Further bent out of shape that I ended up out and about with other dudes...his work dudes to be exact. Thought I did it to razz him but in actuality, I just wasn't ready to go home and feel shabby about being ignored. Not two weekends in a row (but as a side note, I don't know what it's like to be the boss and work all the live long day. I don't envy having to hire and fire. So...). My dude and I have a little chat and even though I get an apology, once again, I ended up leaking some tears. I came home and threw myself rather dramatically into bed. FANTASTIC! I slept from 8:30a to 8:30p, getting up only to rehydrate and use the facilities. Other than thatm it was me, Futurama, and my pajamas. It was just what I needed.
And speaking of "Just What I Needed"...
I didn't think my coma day could get much better but a half an hour phone conversation lead to the possibility of a sleep over!! And I'm not talking pillow fights and Ouija boards, people! Around midnight, I get a call that my fella is on his way...in his pajamas and with beer! We watched TV, had some drinks, got goofy about each other and then...well...spent the rest of the night upstairs. I love sleep overs. I loved waking up in the nook and getting my back rubbed. There was supposed to be a breakfast date as I was promised flapjacks but that is being rescheduled. Flapjacks would have been nice. Staying in bed all curled up until 10:00 was better.
So here it is, Sunday, and I've got big and ultimatly fascinating plans. In this order, I'm going to go to the grocery store, make cheese soup, clean my dining room and kitchen, do laundry, order take out Olive Garden, and watch the mother-truckin' Oscars until I can't keep my eyes open even a second longer! It may sound boring to you but it actually sounds pretty fantastic to me. If I have any spare time, I'll work on making up routines for Pussyfoot practice this week. I'm a happy clam. I'd say my clam in happy but that's just gross! No one ever said I had class!!!
But to back track for a second, there was weirdness on Wednesday. I want a lable, lame as that is, and I don't have one. I know my guy is not ready to be one-on-one but it hurts me to just be. Yeah...to just BE. But yesterday, I was informed that he had opened up and confirmed the rumors to a few co-workers. That step has made it a little easier for me to sit back and wait. I have high hopes that we'll be "together" at some point. I just have to go at his speed and practice patience. for him...anything.
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