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Wesley from Princess Bride cutting off his own foot… to spite his face maybe?

Issue Date: Monday, Jan. 16, 2006

Ok, this is completely ridiculous. Not just the fact that I dreamt about… what else? Fucking zombies again last night. But that I have become just about retarded in my old age.

I stumble like Ozzy (or John Madden) on Oxycontin. Or I have several times over the past few days. I have new jeans and new pants from Mister that he got me for Christmas. They are all “tall’s” and for some reason they are long as hell. Either that or I am shrinking. So mix the pants with the stumbling (and mumbling) and you have yourself a picture of grace and poise.

The other morning I went into the kitchen at the office to get my cup of hot water. Ya’ll know the boiling hot-ass water that comes out of that little temperamental spigot on the front of a commercial coffee maker? Yeah, that.

I am still a little bit squicky with breakfast foods in the morning, I have been ever since the generous gift of stomach flu that I received from Santa for Christmas, so my morning breakfast usually consists of beef bouillon or soup from a packet. Just add hot water to either, the granules of beef bouillon (how completely unappetizing does that sound?) or to the dehydrated packet of soup powder.

So I got my little Styrofoam cup of hot water, my big plastic cup of cold water with ice and a spoon to take by to my desk and then I stopped. When faced with the door to exit, I thought, “Hmmm, I have to open the door to get back to hallway and to my desk so that I may continue to be a productive member of this association and contribute to the society at large.” I took the hot (scalding, boiling, magma-like) water from my right hand and braced it against my tummy and then I reached for the door.

Now, I am such the genius when it comes to foreboding so many of you probably already know what happened next. The door opened with someone else barreling through it and I moved to get out of the way and the hot (scalding, boiling, magma-like) water seared my tummy like a well sautéed onion, or shrimp… or something with delicate translucent skin.

Smart no?

Oh, and then? THEN? A few days ago when we rented the ass munch that is Deuce Bigelow, Swahili Gigolo we also got Saw. Now I seriously thought that it would be an hour and forty-five minutes of “eeeeesh” and “Good Lord.” But alas, I was wrong. The only oogie factors in the film are #1 the marionette thingy that looks like a clown with some sort of John Merrick disease plus a bad make up job and Wesley from Princess Bride cutting off his own foot… to spite his face maybe?

Oh, ya’ll… I am so damn excited. A group of my old college friends are getting together in a few weeks back in Nacogdoches to celebrate a milestone birthday of D’Wayne. We’re going to go to Jitterbugs that Saturday night and dance, dance, dance. So very excited. Ya’ll KNOW.

Maybe I’ll write a coherent entry tomorrow. Maybe.

Much love and frilly panties.

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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