Archive for June, 2008|Monthly archive page

Drulerious

Definition:  When you are suuuuper tired but then you decide to have a beer, and then another, AND THEN another and you start doing stupid things like having another beer and then going outside and then night air hits you and you’re all like “I need to go pee” and then you think, “Oooooh, I should blog about this” and you do, but you’re drulirious and it’s soooo cold in your house (who is in charge of the thermostat, shit!) so you are shaking AND druliriuos, so you have to backspace after every.single.word. no kidding! and you still think “Someone will want to read this” so you hit publish without even then slightest desire to hit spellcheck.

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Do you ever feel crazy? Like in a special genius super-hero way?

I swear on all that is holy that I hear “Come on Eileen” playing right now. 

No one else at work does soI am INSISTING that it is playing versus saying “Oh, maybe it was a car that was passing by” instead of “No, listen, too-ra-loo-ra-too-ra-loo-rye-aye, you still dont hear it?”.  I believe in my super sonic hearing that only applies to songs from the 80’s because seriously?  please don’t say anything to me and expect me to hear you.  ever.  ok, unless you are telling me to the tune of “Jesse’s Girl”, maybe then.

But sometimes do you ever wonder if maybe you are the only person hearing it but it’s still real and it’s maybe your own little personal soundtrack?  Like maybe Zeus or whoever was all like “Hmm, she looks like she could use an after lunch pick-me-up” lemme see what I’ve got here.  I think maybe Oprah said at some point that believing in something that other people don’t think is real is like some big secret but then poof, that shit works, and then you are all walking down the street to the Saturday Night Fever music which causes you to make a million dollars because you are all inspired, so inspired in fact, that you find the cure for Feline AIDS, but not people AIDS.  You may be inspired but you’re not that smart.

Also, I need to get the 411 on saying Oprah’s name in my blog, yo.  I know she and Tom Cruise are pretty tight and I heard somewhere that if you talk negatively about Scientologists that they will blow your house up (which?  I toootally don’t think is true!  I’ve never met a Scientologist I didn’t like as a matter of fact! and?  why would they want to come all the way to Atl…Montana [not Atlanta] and do that? too far from the mothership headquarters!).  Sorry, back to Oprah, since the scientologists are tight with the aliens and aliens are watching everything we do, is Tom going to tell her I’m blogging about her? 

I fought the law and I won! (Alternate title: I’m a badass)

OK, so I didn’t actually *fight* buuuut I have been going to court over this STUPID ticket for the past 3 months and missing a heap of work.  I worked a little of my magic and the cop dropped the charges.  Just like that.  As in, bye, you can leave now, no need to see the judge.  My bf is an attorney by day (superhero by night, duh) and she said that NEVA happens.  I maintain that I am a badass.

What a judge can’t fix a nice set of legs can, honey, haven’t you heard? 

Episode II: Attack of the Fleas

I spend about 86 mazillion dollars a month on my pets.  I love them, and they are worth it, and I don’t want them to have fleas, or worms, or mites, or anything that may crawl on me at night and lay eggs in my hair (have you guys heard that story about the lady and the spiders?  Snopes says false I say yuck! I don’t wanna take any chances!).

Enter new yellow kitty, left stage

So, about the sad baby tiny kitten that was left alone in the abandoned house, yeah, that one.  I, um, well, er hmmmm…Ihaveanothercatnow.  This, my dear friends, is somthing I needed about as much as I need a hole in my head.  Seriously?  The world needed another folk singer before I needed another cat, so put THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Cracker.  The sad tiny baby kitten was pretty bad off so I immediately took her to my vet.  She does not have FIV and whatever else they test for but she does have ALL of the creepy crawlies!  I practically had to take out a second mortage before I was able to bring her home to my plethora of cats.  Six baths and some major(ly gross) ear cleaning later, I am the proud owner of a kit lovingly named Peach (not Peaches b/c I don’t want her to grown up to be a stripper people) (and sorry if anyone named Peaches ever happens to read this, but your mom gave you a pole name).  I am going to have her spayed and then try to re-home her.  She will be well socialized with kiddos and other cats so if you know of anyone that may need a kitten in about 2 weeks and they live in the greater Atlanta area, give me a shout.

Meanwhile, stay tuned for Episode III: Pass me a Fifth

edit: I found a home for Peach on Sunday.  I went to the home yesterday to clean, only to find 2 more kittens.

Late Night Randomness

I just randomly remembered that my senior year, in AP English, my friends and I did the most off the wall group project.  Blame the fact that I was a little whacked out that year (note: do not let 16 year old child live on her very very own) or the fact that I had just read Watership Down but our project was about tripping rabbits.  Hear me out people.  The assignment was to write a sonnet (long ass poem) or story about a group’s trip (yeah, so we did get a little literal, it’s English, right?) through several novels and their respective time periods.  What better explanation for the random leap from so many different stories and eras than a bunch of rabbits on acid, right?  We worked diligently on a sonnet (ten pages, single spaced, and all that shit rhymed) and completed the assignment having met and exceeded all of the criteria.  We were the only group in the entire graduating class that chose to write a sonnet.  We had the most memorable project that year.  We all made a D.  This fact totally exited my memory until, the other night, when I saw something while a show on acid.  I immediately called my BF to remind her.  We laughed our asses off and then sat and talked about the fact that we had totally forgotten about the whole damn thing!  I have a feeling that out teacher didn’t.  Bitch gave us a D because we were druggies.  Geniuses, but still druggies.

I love my new tennis arms.  My tennis gals and I were having some after-tennis refreshments (read: Corona) the other 900 degree night and as per usual were doing the whole chick talk thing (which is inevitable b/c we’re chicks and we talk about chick stuff).  All of us gals were going on andon about certain things that we dislike about ourselves physically.  I made the very Oprah-like suggestion that we go around and talk about the things that we like the best (physically b/c seriously? all of my girlfriends have the personality of awesomeness so there was no need to state the obvious, which is, in case you didn’t know, we’re so very rad.  In every way.) about the current company.  My arms stole the show from the rest of my features (which? randomly enough my eyebrows are usually the show stopper).  I have neither liked nor disliked my arms particularlybut after tonight I did stand in the mirror and feign a racket swing.  I must say that my personality being A#1, my arms are a close 2nd.

Kegorators rock my world.  My mom recently got married to a younger guy.  His kids are the same age as mine which now is a blessing but at first seemed a little odd.  Since getting married he has moved in and built a kegorator.  I never new how much I loved draft beer until it was in my own mother’s home.  Pair that with the fact that she has the perfect backyard, equipped with pool, and you have just imagined what is and will be my perfect summer getaway.  Yay mom, you hubby rocks (but, um, why couldn’t you have done this a little sooner?  Like, say, when I was in high school?).

And thus completes my random post

Episode I: The Phantom Tenants

Today, in a galaxy far far away, sits a vacant home.  No ordinary home, this is. 

I try not to be a lover of “things” but I do reeeeeeally like like this house.  So much so that I let it sit vacant and pristine for months in lieu of renting the house out b/c I didn’t want anyone to mess it up.

Then I found (what I thought was) a lovely couple on that wonderful cyber-orgy known as craigslist.  Turns out, not so much.

I went to the house yesterday b/c they were “moving out” on the 5th.  Yesterday was the 5th.  They have moved nothing.  I had a right mind to throw everything away, but I was able to get in contact with Mr. Sucktastic and tell him that whatever he does not get by Saturday will be disposed of.  Here is a list of what I disposed of yesterday:

  • approx. 75 bowls/cups/plates that were craftily (is that a word) used as an ashtray
  • baby diapers, dirty ones
  • rotten meat and spoiled milk (Oh, did I mention that they didn’t pay their power bill and the power was off for 9 days?  Because they didn’t, and it was. grrr)
  • cat poop (I guess I also didn’t mention that they left a baby kitten in the house with little food, no water, and no way to escape the 95 degree heat of the house with no power.  Double grrr)
  • random shoes in the front yard, I can’t make this stuff up peeps!
  • Piles of piles of piles of fashion/gossip magazines because, really,  why waste your time paying bills and cleaning and taking care of your kids (which BTW are no longer in her custody) when you can sit around and smoke cigarettes and read about Britney smoking cigarettes and not cleaning and not taking care of her kids…see now doesn’t that make you feel muuuch better.

More on this saga (and the kitten) later.  Now, please excuse me while I go throw some shoes in the yard.

It’s one millllllion degrees here

Nothing about this weather is doing anything positive for my look, unless shiny foreheads, frizz, and pit stains are suddenly all the rage.

Summer (which does not officially start for 17 more days kill.me.now) is my next to the least favorite season (after winter b/c, duh, you can’t swim).  The swealtering heat coupled with the shitty weekend traffic from all of those lovely people going to/fro Florida sucks hard!  Also, (and then I will be through with the complaining) my office, which is fah fah away from the thermostat, happens to be the only office with windows.  Did I mention that my windows were made in the Bermuda Triangle and are made of some “diva” type material, in that the sun rises AND sets on them. 

If you know anything about how your typical thermostat works you know that it measures the temperature within a 1 inch radius, and then tells the unit “more cool refreshing air” or “stop blowing” based on that temperature (or at least that’s what my ex said and, didn’t you know? he knows everything!). 

Our thermostat is in the coolest, darkest place imaginable. 

My office is in the hotest, sunshineyest place imaginable. 

Right now our thermostat is set at 76 (which, really?), meaning that my office is about 2 degrees cooler than hell.  I’m in hell.  A hell where the booze, coke, and loose women are replaced with coffee, customers, and, well, still loose women.  A hell with a special spot saved for the people who designed this building.

 

 

Favored

I’m pretty much everyone’s favorite.  I’m my mother and father’s favorite child, I’m all of my grandparent’s favorite grandchild, I’m everyone’s kiddo’s favorite grown-up, I could go on but I won’t. Well, other than to say that I am now Jesus’ favorite as well, according to my co-worker.

Funny thing is I really don’t “try” to make anyone like me, or to get favor (um, certainly not Jesus, I would think he would pretty much dislike me after this weekend).  I think that is key.  My friends from high school had a particularly crazy mother who chased me with, on 2 different occasions, a baseball bat and a gun, respectively.  I was also her favorite of her daughter’s friends, not because I kissed her ass, or was a particularly good influence (just the opposite actually), but because I came back after she chased me with a bat, and then again after she chased me with a gun, and because I told her she was bat shit crazy. 

So, back to Jesus.  Some people would call it being lucky but my co-worker says that I am favored, by Jesus.  That’s deep.  Good things do happen to me, a lot.  Every day’s troubles turn into the following day’s blessings.  I ask, I receive.  I wish, it is granted.  

You hear about the power of visualization, that you imagine something in your life, or claim that something for yourself, and it will come to pass.  I totally believe that, but wouldn’t say I sit around visualizing answers to my problems.  I usually just don’t think about my problems.  A blessing and a curse.  I am concerned with things; paying my mortgage on time, making it to work when I should,  rationing out my vacation time, by you will never see me sweat if I am low on cash that month, or need to take a sick day.  Change what you can, and what you can’t leave it alone.  Have the sense to know the difference between the two.  That is my favorite Marvin Gaye song, and that’s a long list people, because I love me some Marvin Gaye.

My mom says I’m as free as a butterfly, my best friend calls me a hippy, my ex says I’m irresponsible and need to grow the hell up.  I say I’m happy, I never do without, and I’m having a great time loving my life (bad circumstances and all) and spending zero time worrying.  Worrying never paid my bills, made me heal, fed me, got me laid, brought my kitty home, or kept my children safe.  Breathing in life and allowing my mind and heart to suck every last bit of it in, the good and the bad, and then choosing to look past the bad has made me favored.  Funny thing is, being favored alone has never paid my bills, made me heal, fed me, got me laid, brought my kitty home, or kept my children safe.  What being favored has done is brought an ocean of people into my life, people that have done one or all of those things (here’s looking at you, Jesus).