Ramble

It's 10:39 a.m. on a Monday morning, and I'm high. It's not what you think, people. I'm no druggie. I'm high because I took a Xanax last night to ensure that I got a good night's sleep, and it kicked my ass. It all stems from the fact that my doctor wrote the prescription wrong. Instead of .05 mg, I got .5 mg. For those of you that are decimally challenged: .5 is bigger than .05. So, I popped this magic pill around 10:30 p.m. The last thing I remember was lying on Chris' shoulder watching her do a word search puzzle. I'm searching for Kissimmee (the theme was cities that begin with K). And can I just say that there should be a law agains words being both diagonal and backwards. That makes my head hurt, mmkay? The next thing I know it's 3 a.m., and I'm waking up from a nightmare involving lost shoes, a car chase, and bitch slapping someone's mama. Not that the dream is all that strange for me. My dreams are weird, drugs or no drugs. Oh, you would like to hear the details? Certainly!

It all starts with my friends B & C. Although, B is not B, she's one of my friends from high school, Lara. (People from high school regularly make appearances in my dreams.) So, really it's Lara and C. C really is C, by the way. So, it starts out with C and I going to B's (but really Lara's) parents house. For some reason, my shoes are there, and I need to get them. It was as if I spent the night there and left my shoes. So, I go in the house and I can't find my shoes. I'm asking her parents where they are, but they aren't helpful at all. The Dad finally says, "We hid them because you're a Republican." So, I tell C, "Let's get out of here." We get in C's car which is an old convertible something. We start backing out of the driveway, and the Dad comes out of the house and starts yelling at us not to come back. I turn around and yell, "Fuck off, you SOB!" Then, the Mom and Dad jump in a green truck and start chasing us. I tell C, "Step on it!" She starts giggling nervously and hits the gas which takes us up to a whopping 25 mph. I pull out my cell phone and try to dial 911, but the call won't go through. (This is another recurring theme in my dreams...problems dialing phones in emergency situations). I keep telling C that she needs to go faster, but that's as fast as it gets. We decide to ditch the convertible and try to escape on foot. All of a sudden we're at the top of a mountain looking down on the valley below, and I say, "Look, there's Taco Mac...we're getting close." About that time we run into a ballroom type place, and as I'm about to make my way out the back door, the Mom grabs me and says something that I can't hear or can't understand. I say, "I just want my shoes!" and I haul off and bitch slap her right in the face. Then I wake up.

So, I'm lying there trying to figure out what the hell dream means, and I think I hear a noise. Any time I hear a noise in the middle of the night, I do an animal check. If all the animals are in the room, then I investigate further. If Jack is missing, I assume that he's getting into something, and I fall back asleep. Chris always tries to convince me that any noise I hear is the refrigerator. Car horn, siren, glass breaking...it's the refirgerator. Anyhow, I do an animal check, and all the animals are in the room fast asleep. I decide to get up and investigate. I usually grab a baseball bat that I keep by me bed, but I am too out of it to prepare. I am literally drunk at this point, so I am stumbling around the house trying to be quiet so as to not wake Chris up or let the would-be burgular know that I'm on to him. A room by room search reveals no burgular, but I do stand at the front door trying to figure out who the extra car across the street belongs to. It's a gay boy couple who we have never talked to. We used to see them both alot, but then slowly we only started seeing the one. We assumed that they broke up, because we stopped seeing the silver sedan in the driveway. But then we noticed that the silver sedan was pulled around in back. AHA, we thought. Did the other guy kill him? Then this green truck (OMG...green truck, like from my dream!!) starts showing up on a pretty regular basis, but never parks in the driveway always on the street. Here's what I think, I think the silver sedan gay boy is sick and his partner is taking care of him, but he needs a little something something, so that's where green truck boy comes in, but he feels so guilty carrying on this illicit affair that he refuses to park in the driveway. So, I'm standing at the door last night trying to figure out who the marroon sedan is parked behind the green truck on the street and how that fits into my story. I decide that the gay boy is kinky and is having a threesome with green truck and maroon sedan while poor silver sedan lies in a hospital bed in the den watching QVC. Bastard.

By this time, I'm kind of awake so I turn on the TV and watch Modern Marvels: Welding on the History Channel. I get half way through and pass out again.

So, here I am having sucked down 3/4 of a large sweet tea, and I am still high. My boss came in here earlier and said, "Jeff E. called for you Friday afternoon. He can't get on the internet." I responded with, "Awww...that's too bad for Jeff." Then I sobered up really quick with, "I'll give him a call."

I'm a hop skip and a jump from shaving my head and going to rehab, people. Just say no.

:P <--- Not me

So, I went to the dentist today, and I got a clean bill of health. No cavities for me! If you don't recall why a simple dental cleaning is blog worthy, feel free to revisit a certain post entitled The Importance of Oral Hygiene.

But actually, something out of the ordinary did happen. The cleaning was over and Dr. G came in to check out my teeth. While she was looking around she said, "You know, we can do something about your tongue." I instantly puff up, "What's wrong with my tongue?" Actually, it came out more like, "Wha wong wi my thon?" She explained, "you're tongue tied." Ok, so once again, I am bearing my soul and defective body parts for you people, I hope you appreciate it. So you know how there is that membrane that connects your tongue to the bottom of your mouth? Well, I guess mine is a little longer than it's supposed to be. There is a name for it and everything, Anklyoglossia. It can cause speech problems if severe enough, but in my case in just means that I can't stick out my tongue.

[Enter your own "lesbian who can't stick out her tongue" joke here]

Apparently, they can laser that bad boy, and voila, instant Gene Simmons. I said, something like, "Ok, I'll keep that in mind." So then, I called Chris.

Me: You're never going to believe what Dr. G said to me.

CJ: What, more cavities?

Me: No, she said she could laser that thing under my tongue.

CJ: So, when are you doing it?

Me: Wait, wha...

CJ: Let's see, you will probably need someone to drive you home. I'm free anytime next week. I could block out time in May as well...no wait, I've got that big project coming up...oh screw it, this is much more important.

Then I call my Mom who tells me that my sister had her tongue clipped when she was a baby. "I guess yours just wasn't that bad," she says. "Tell that to my girlfriend," I thought.

So, I might be getting my tongue clipped sometime in the near future. I just wonder if it's going to make me talk differently. Or if in the middle of polite conversation, my unencumbered tongue might unfurl onto my plate.

::Sigh:: Why, must these things always happen to me?

The search is over...

I finally decided that since I couldn't find the perfect red t-shirt for GayDay at Disney, that I would just design my own. Here 'tis:The pic is really small, but it's two women with the text "drunk straight girls need not apply" underneath. Although, I do owe getting laid in my early 20's to drunk straight girls. But that's a another t-shirt for another time.

VA Tech

I had the urge to write a post Monday morning whining about how I couldn't sleep Sunday night. I spent the entire night watching the History Channel. But then the shootings at Virginia Tech happened, and bitching about insomnia didn't seem so appropriate.

So, this is just a plea to my blog readers (all 3 of you): can we please stop shooting each other? Can we just make it a little more difficult for someone to walk into a gun shop and buy a 9mm glock? Can we please teach our kids how to deal with anger/rejection/disappointment in a healthy way? And if your 23 year-old college kid is depressed, has no friends, and doesn't talk, get him some fucking help, no matter what the neighbors might think.

A typical Thursday night...

No, not Pavlov's dogs...the other ones

My mother-in-law was in town last week. Simply refer you to my archives...look up November 2006, and you'll get a pretty good idea of how my week was. Truthfully, it wasn't all that bad this time. Other than the underlying tone of misery, the overuse of the word shit, and the threats to move in with us, things went just great. ::clenched smile::

Last time she visited, I was all up in arms, and posting everyday about what she had done. Now, I just don't have the energy. I'm like one of those dogs from the learned helplessness experiments in the 60's. I'll just take the shock. I won't even try to avoid it, much less complain about it.

I do know this, I think a little more time needs to pass before Mommie Dearest comes back to visit. And when she does, there's a lovely Holiday Inn right down the street.

These are Days

Can I just say that back in 1993 I so wanted to marry Natalie Merchant? I loved her so. It wouldn't have worked though. She wouldn't take too kindly to my conservative (read: NOT REPUBLICAN) ways.

Best.Day.Ever

WTF Moment of the Day

Ok, so I'm sitting here at work minding my own business when there is a knock at the door. If someone knocks, it's usually a sales call. I say, "Come in!" As I am about to give my "We have a policy against solicitors," speech, I notice that it's housekeeping. She seems surprised then says, "Oh, am I early?" I look at the clock and it's 3:30 p.m. Uh yeah, since you usually come after hours.

But whatever, I can go with the flow. If anything, I'm flexible. So, I say, "it's ok, come on in." She does. What I don't realize is that she is on her cell phone. She's talking to her child who apparently had just gotten home from school and is hungry. But that's ok because there's meatloaf in the fridge but no mashed potatoes. I know all this because the entire time she was in here cleaning, she talked on her cell phone. THE ENTIRE TIME. One point, her assistant (aka her teenage son, I know this because when he came in he said, "Mooooom" in that whiny way teenagers do) came in and they had an entire conversation. Something about him wanting to leave and her saying, "What, you don't want to work anymore?" Then, thank God my phone rings so I don't have to sit there and try to look occupied. While I'm on the phone, she comes up behind me and says, EXCUSE ME, so she can put the trash can back under my desk. I'm like, WTF, I'm on the phone!!! This is a business!!! Nevermind that I was talking to my girlfriend at the time. It's the principle of the matter!!

And as I type this, I swear she's right outside my door vacuuming. Oh no wait, now she's mopping and every once in awhile, SLAM, the mop head hits my door. And oh yes, that's the lovely smell of ammonia wafting through the air.

Me and Lady Lysol are going to have words before this is over. I can feel it.

run a carbon black test on my jaw and you will find, it's all been said before

R.E.M. (my favorite band in the world) is being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame tonite in New York City. I thought I would take this oppurtunity to list my all-time favorite R.E.M. songs. How exciting for you!

1. Radio Free Europe (Murmur)
2. Don't Go Back to Rockville (Reckoning)
3. South Central Rain (Reckoning)
4. Superman (Life's Rich Pageant)
5. Document (The Entire Album)
6. World Leader Pretend (Green)
7. Hairshirt (Green)
8. Losing My Religion (Out of Time)
9. Automatic for the People (The Entire Album)
10. What's the Frequency, Kenneth? (Monster)
11. New Test Leper (New Adventures in Hi Fi)
12. Be Mine (New Adventures in Hi Fi)
13. Daysleeper (Up)

And yes, I know all the lyrics to "It's the End of the World as We Know (And I Feel Fine)."

Try me.

Diapers, Canned Air & A Lesbian With Power Tools

CAPE CANAVERAL, Florida (AP) -- Astronaut Lisa Nowak was fired from NASA on Wednesday, a month after she was charged with trying to kidnap a woman she regarded as her romantic rival for the affection of a space shuttle pilot.

...wait for it...

That's the way the diaper droops. (Ba-dum-bum.)

In other news of the not-so-obvious variety, can I just say how much I love canned air?
Not only have a blasted enough crumbs out of my keyboard to recreate an entire lunch, I have also dusted my entire desk, detailed my car, AND cleaned out my belly button. Although the latter might have left me with a wee bit of frost bite. No biggie though, navel sensation is overrated anyhow.

The view out of my office window is gorgeous today. Nice and sunny. And my trip to lunch confirms that it's warm as well. This is the time of year where I get all inspired to do yard work. I'm planning on doing some planting this weekend, maybe some ground cover in the back yard near Abba Avenue aka Poopy Trail. (Brief explanation, our special needs dog has serious OCD, and when we first got her she wore a path from the deck to her bathroom spot. The path just got worse and worse to where it was almost a trench, so Chris and I finally edged it with about 1000 brick pavers and lined it with 4 inches of mulch. We named it Abba Avenue. Well, since the unfortunate incident with the car running through our yard and the subsequent repairs, Abba refuses to go into the back yard but chooses to poop on her trail, hence the new name Poopy Trail). So, ground covering by Poopy Trail or I might tackle planting some border plants on either side of our walkway in the front yard. The front yard project will involve power tools (i.e. electric edger), so I'm leaning toward that a little.

Wish me luck!

Dang It x 2

I missed the lunar eclipse tonite because I got swept away in cleaning the bathroom. :/

In other news, Dove Chocolates (the ones individually wrapped in foil) are the new crack.

Carry on.

Dang It!

I forgot my lunch again. :/

Not much to say...

Not alot going on this week, hence the lack of posts. The biggest news of the week:

• I was weak and signed up for another 2-year agreement with Cingular so that I could get a new phone. It's a kick ass phone, and I'm psyched. Per FedEx tracking, it's on my back porch right now. Whoop whoop!

• After a mysterious absence, Luda is back working the drive thru at Wendy's. Wha wha? Everybody now:

Watch out my outfit's ridiculous
In the club looking so conspicuous

• My dog has the uncanny ability to chew the buttons off of shirts without damaging the shirt at all. She's done this twice in the last week. As a result, I spent 2 hours last night doing nothing but sewing buttons. How domestic of me!

How you doin'?

While getting my lunch at Arby's today, the drive-thru attendant called me honey (twice!) and baby.

Big J loves the fast food and apparently the feeling is mutual.

"And he knew what else he wanted..."

Mr. Bungle. I so remember watching this in elementary school. I used to harass my best friend in our adult years because she didn't remember who he was.

Gotta Love YouTube

You have got to be kidding me...

The Apocalypse is upon us.

Trash bags aren't for licking.

All morning long I have smelled doughnuts. At first, I thought my office mate was hoarding the tasty pastry in his office and not sharing. Then I thought the people down the hall were having a doughnut party and didn't invite me. Next, I thought that I might have a brain tumor, doughnut-shaped, of course. God does have a sense of humor after all.

None of the above. Apparently, when emptying the office trash, housekeeping replaced my trash bag with a vanilla scented variety. A word of caution though, although the vanilla smell is very realistic, the taste...not so much. It's just what I've heard. Not that I know this first hand.

Ahem.

For My Valentine

Chris and I will be celebrating our 7th Valentine's Day this year. In honor of such, here is an email I wrote her a month or so after we met.

Date: June 10, 999
Subject: 7 minutes before 3:00 a.m.

i can't sleep. not that i don't want to. it's not that i'm not tired. maybe it's that two hour nap i took at 7:45 p.m. ( a really bad time for a nap, don't you think?) or maybe it was the two glasses of tea i drank while i was talking to you at 1:00 a.m. (really bad time for tea, no?) i read your poetry tonite. all of it. maybe that's why i can't sleep. it could be you, i suppose, wandering around through my head. i keep closing my eyes and i keep thinking about what it would be like if you were here. how good it would feel for you to be lying next to me. how i would sleep like a baby then, but probably wouldn't want to if you were here. i know that i must be frustrating with my indecision which i am slowly trying to overcome. i am scared. not of you. not of us, but exactly the opposite. the "not you." the "not us." the absence of what i have felt with you over the past few weeks because it's gone away before, you know. and i don't think i want it to go away. but i am still afraid to let it in. i told you that i couldn't get you out of my head. that was true. but it's not my head that worries me. i don't think it's my head that won't let me sleep at 3:10 a.m. could be that nap though. or the caffeine. or quite possibly...you.

slow is good.

i have no problem with slow.

i just wish slow would hurry up a little.

8

Dear Publix,

As a frequent shopper, I must say that I appreciate your "carryout service," in which your grocery baggers offer to take groceries out to one's car. I have even seen signs discouraging tipping as this is free service you offer. A very nice gesture, indeed.

However, you might want to address the issue of the "overly aggressive bagger" or OAB. The OAB does not ask if they can carry out one's groceries but insist by placing a death grip on the cart and refusing to let go. Is it really necessary that I have to physically wrangle my cart away from the OAB? Shouldn't a "no, thank you, I can manage two cans of soup and mini-pads" suffice?

Just a thought.