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Mental Enema or Vain Glory?

Issue Date: Thursday, Mar. 04, 2004

For those of you playing the home game and have an understanding of Kim [if not… you can get caught up here and here] Mister and I have yet to use the phone number he gave to ex-Co-Worker C.

For the most part that little printed out email has been sitting next to the home computer since the day I got it. Unused and forgotten.

I noticed it this morning when I went to put a receipt in the envelope for bank account reconciliation.

I haven’t called, and I don’t think Mister has, but I did have a dream about Kim last night. It wasn’t very flattering either. Actually it was more likely this morning that I had the dream and Gomer* made an appearance as well.

*This entry doesn’t show up on my archives page… I wonder why. Hmmm

I swear, it is attack of the ex-boyfriends. My subconscious is purging something fierce.

The dream itself wasn’t all that bad. Kim and I had apparently gone to some sort of reunion or fundraiser or something for this family that seemed on the edge of poverty. I was sitting on the end of a picnic table with Kim to my left. I was talking to this woman who [forgive me] looked like the southbound end of a northbound mule. She made Charlize Theron look hot in Monster. All scrawny and underfed with that premature female pattern baldness going on with her freckly self.

I have nothing against freckles, I promise, as I am one of the freckled myself… but on her it just looked like bad sun damage and poor hygiene. Yanno?

Anyway, I turn to see who is trying to tap me on the left shoulder, thinking that Kim had to tell me something. So, I turn and see that Gomer is trying to reach around Kim to … I don’t know… stroke my back or something. Kim and Gomer are doing that whole ‘You’re on my siiiiiiiiiiide!!’ ‘Nooooo… you’re on myyyyyyy side!’ little kid thing with one of them trying to touch me, and the other trying to prevent it.

The Monster lady got all deer in the headlights and shot a look at Gomer who I guess was her husband. Who knew?

I was just so tired [seems to be a recurring theme aye?] and I wanted a nap so badly that I asked Kim if I could just crash in the extra bedroom at his home/trailer. He said sure and led me into this pit of a room with a broken waterbed, dried up caulk tubes with one rusted out caulk gun and cat vomit on the carpet and the sheets.

Um… Ew.

I woke up.

So, either I am so incredibly vain and arrogant that I think that these men [neither of which I want to have anything to do with] should be bickering over me… or I am afraid of cat vomit and trailer trash.

I vote for the cat vomit and trailer trash. All in favor? Say aye.


Let’s talk about the virtues of Mister. He so rocks my world daily. He found out yesterday that a job offer is in the works for him. His ginormous brain has garnered the attention of a company that works for a very wealthy and benevolent benefactor. His talent and drive have once again bitch slapped the standard rise up the corporate ladder as he engineered a virtual corporate elevator to fly upwards and onwards!

Poorly Used Metaphor: *tap-tap-tap* Um, excuse me?

Me: Yes?

Poorly Used Metaphor: You’ve got to be kidding. “virtual corporate elevator”??? Come ON!

Me: Look, it’s the best I can do… I’m tired… and my …

Poorly Used Metaphor: Don’t tell me… Your uterus dictated that you butcher the English language and all that?

Me: Well, no. I’m just lazy and I can’t really get into all the righteous stuff Mister has done because the offer letter isn’t in his paws yet.

Poorly Used Metaphor: Fine, but look missy, just be careful with poorly used metaphors, they can become a habit.

Me: No kidding, check out my essays from my Senior Lit class…

Poorly Used Metaphor: *snort* Heh… those did suck.

Annnyway. So yeah, Mister has an offer on the table to join a company where he could work from home, garner an amazing pay raise, have three weeks of vacation and have some righteous health insurance. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay Mister!!!!!!!

I had a strange moment of “no shit!”-i-ness yesterday when my coworker said, and I’m not kidding, “Well, you look great. It really looks like you’ve lost some weight.”

:: jaw drop ::

A comment coming from her really floored me since she’s all, “I have to go train tonight before I go out on the town.” Yep, she’s a Size 6. She’s a tiny little cute thing with ginormahuge blue eyes and pretty little dainty hands.

I want to believe her.

I also want to eschew the common standards and revel in my chubby, round, Rubenesque goddess-like proportions.

Who knows which neurosis will win out?

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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.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

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