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I may be a bit over taxed.

Issue Date: Wednesday, Jun. 27, 2007

Warning: Hardhat area. Swinging moods, unstable emotions and maybe even a little weeping. 30˚ grade decline. Put vehicle in Low Gear as not to burn out your breaks. Handle with care. Fra-geee-lay.

This morning I was all WOOOO! because of the extra 21 minutes (in seven minutes increments) I slept in each had a full awesome movie with famous people who were totally in love with me. One was scored with soaring strings and an incredible instrumental by an orchestra that I would like to follow me around on a daily basis so that my life would have a soundtrack. Another was something to do with working at a roller skating rink. I was thin and fabulous with the obvious adorations of Kevin James as he leaned on the snack bar to buy some of my splendid nachos. [Nachos... suuuure.] And the other was something mythical, but I am pretty sure that I was marvelous and my beauty was without contest.

Now?... A full oh, two and a half (maybe a bit more) hours later? I am all dabbing at my right eye because of... allergies or some shit. Shut up. It is pollen season. I am NOT crying.

I totally noticed in the mirror at the back of the elevator on my way up to the office that my right eyebrow is just about a full centimeter below my left. Awesome.

I have cramps that feel like the weather looks outside. Unstable and very angry.

And... ANNNNNNND. My poor baby, Max (the cat, shut up... he is my furry little child) had to have four teeth (a canine and three molars) pulled yesterday. He was drunk and disorderly when I picked him up from the vet at 4pm. He was all stumbling around, shaking with the after-effects of the anesthesia and growling at anyone who spoke to him.

I brought him home, brushed him softly, spoke soothing words to him and held him up as he leaned on me. He was miserable. Kept trying to lick his feet and then he’d remember that his mouth hurt and then he’d try to shake the stitches out of his mouth. I gave him a bit of canned (soft) food when his anesthesia was wearing off so I could give him another pain pill and when I opened his mouth I accidentally put my finger where his (half)fang used to be. He said, “Ow”.

Seriously. His mouth was open so the “Me” part couldn’t be formed. So what Mister heard from the kitchen was, “Here’s your pain pill baby.” Max, “Ow!” Mister, “What did you do to him? Did he just say ‘Ow’?” I kept apologizing to the cat... he ran to the safety of Mister, who is allergic to him and pets him with a Kleenex.


I just tried to post this teeny little entry and it absolutely crapped out on me. WTF diaryland? Seriously. No, seriously. It was like Sanskrit. I immediately deleted it and thought to myself, “Oh well, I’ll post it later... maybe I’ll have more to say.” Yes, very passive of me ... and now, I’m mad about it.

I am mad that it takes such a long time to post an entry, I am mad that if you click submit more than once you will have the same entry posted eleventy-ninehundred times and it jacks up your “latest five” at the bottom of the page.

I am...

I am, full. I just had a baked potato and I am full. And crampy and would like to go home now. But I just remembered that I have to go to the Ear Nose Throat guy again this afternoon and I don’t know if he is going to ask to scope my sinus cavity/throat again, but if he pokes me in the brain and I learn how to read hieroglyphics I am going to be one angry (I almost typed she-male here... why? Not sure.) lady.



It is now Wednesday. The melancholy, she is not lifting. I had a weird experience this morning and it has left me feeling unsure of myself. To make matters worse, I am reading a John Irving novel, A Widow for One Year. Talk about your bipolar moments. One minute I will be laughing outloud enough for Mister to be all, “Oooh, tell me, tell meeee...” So I will read him the passage. The next minute I will be, “Oh, holy shit, he did not just put that in a book and print it for millions of people to read. Why you wanna make me cry John, why?”

Oh, something else. I was talking to mike via Google chat this morning and my boss came by. Bossman said something – he was totally cranky – so I showed him a pin from Miss Doxie that has a little doxie dog on it wagging his tail and it reads “Butt Likes You”. I told bossman that he should wear it. He reached for it and I, Mistress of Smooth, accidentally stuck him with the pin. He dropped said pin, I bent over to get it and he goes, “Um, you need to uh... you know...” and he made the motion to fix the neckline of my shirt. I looked down and it was cleavage city. So I fixed my shirt and told my boss he owed me a dollar.

I told mike about it after bossman walked off and appropriately mike thought it was hysterical.

Which it is.

Laugh, damn you.

If you don’t I will have to tell you my theory on how one person can be your personal beet. Their (for lack of a better term) juices run all over and taint EVERYTHING they touch.

Yes, I have lost my mind.

Okay, not really lost my mind. But I am having a bit of a quandary and because of my vault like status of never telling anyone’s secrets and because I haven’t had the pleasure of Happy Hour with Stacey since MAY THIRTIETH... I may be a bit over taxed. I am traveling with my job in earnest. I have shit on my mind and nowhere to put it. I can’t put it here, like I normally do because of the delicate matter at hand.

Subject change.

My daddy sent me an email with seventeen pictures of cute stuff. Like type stuff. The message was, “Thought you’d enjoy seeing these! Love You, Dad”. Who are you and what did you do with my father? Normally he will delete anything with attachments, and he has never (to my knowledge) forwarded anything that wasn’t purely informational. For example; A message to him from my sister, forwarded to me so I would know a weekend schedule.

That is the extent of it.

Now he’s sending me pictures of puppies?

I just called him and asked if he really sent them. Yep. He’s officially sweet.

I should really stop typing. This is going on three days of blathering and I am about fed up with myself. The last post was a meme for God’s sake... and now I am just typing to be typing.

Oh, and the Ear Nose Throat guy did NOT scope my noggin/nasal passages again at yesterday’s appointment. He said, “Let’s schedule a CT scan and then evaluate if you need surgery.” Hi. Fuck, you. It is just Snoring. I will sleep in the guest bedroom for the rest of forever okay? I am sick of being poked, prodded and cut upon.

Apropos of that, I got a cartilage piercing last Tuesday in my left ear.

I need a beer.


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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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