Rock Me Amadeus!
Mood:  mischievious
My Inner Hero - Rogue!





It's a good thing I use my powers for good and not evil, because quite frankly, I could get away with murder. I'm clever, tricky, and charming. I know how to make you laugh with one hand and pick your pocket with the other. Not that I'd ever DO that, of course...



How about you? Click here to find your own inner hero.

This is SO me it hurts. (snork)

A Change of Plans
Mood:  caffeinated
I've had coffee, so I feel better.
I hate Windows XP, but it's better than Windows 95.
After telling the hub-unit not to touch me because it's illegal to have sex with pasty bullfrogs, he dragged me out of bed at 3 am to get online and search for exercise equipment.
After an hour of searching within our spatial and financial limitations, we decided on a Tony Little Gazelle Elite, and some Phenolox pills to regulate my appetite.
I want to work out, I do. But I don't have access to the car during the day, if the weather's crappy I don't want to go (crappy weather in Washington? NEVER!), and the fact remains that all the people at the gym are already skinny. I don't know where they went before they were skinny, but watching them maintain their skinnyness only made me feel like a bloated toad. With a home gym-thing, it eradicates the obstacle of working out in front of people. I don't need to be self-conscious while working on the self-improvement. The hub-unit said he'd go to the gym with me, but the motherfucker weighs 20 pounds LESS than me so he can go spit up a rope.
I'll be keeping track of my progress, because as god as my witness I will be a size 9 before flying to Florida for New Year's. Shit, a size 11 would make me happy.

EEEEEWWWW
Mood:  incredulous
Now Playing: Coming Clean, Hillary Duff (HOW appropriate)
OMG I got my first yeast infection. How do you women DEAL with that???? I blame my hub-unit for getting creative romantically.
Seriously. There's itchy burning stuff going on, and there's this pink silly putty STUFF, and my mom told the Hub to put me in a vinegar bath....
So now I'm sitting here waiting for the Monistat to show up (hubby's got the car), itching like crazy and not scratching and smelling like a pickled bullfrog. I am NEVER going through this again. EVER. I don't care if I have to take drastic measures. DRASTIC I tell you.

Testing...Testing....
Mood:  irritated
This stupid page isn't working all of a sudden, with no updates showing up since june...waaaaaaaaaaaaahhh.

Mood:  irritated
Now Playing: Silence. Blessed, pure silence.
Awright, I went and wrote this huge entry, and then my computer fucked up. I REFUSE to write it again, so here's a synopsis:
Go buy a Chillow because they're awesome. I'm stupid because I should have bought one for my hubby AND me.
A friend of mine went to the hospital after a long night of partying with me and some others because her gall bladder gave out. They shipped her to Seattle and we haven't heard anything in 24 hours.
Welcome to Col. Mustard, who became an official tenant of the Rantsville Apartments after posting more than once. See how easy it is to move in here?
Check out The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse by Robert Rankin. Fucking Funny.
Till Tomorrow, when I'm not so cranky.

HOT! HOTCHA HOT!!!
Mood:  incredulous
Now Playing: On No, Mos Def
Hey, my options changed! Suddnely I have all this cool stuff to add to my blog, and it's neat! Well, rock me Amadeus...
The last threee days have been HOT up here. I mean CRAZY hot. Not a breeze in sight, and for the last three days we've actually gone to sleep with the back door wide open. Yesterday it got so hot that I had heat exhaustion and didn't notice it (I'm not good at diagnosing myself). I was laying on the couch all day sucking down bottled water, like literally six bottles in two hours, and I couldn't sweat. Then I tried chugging some ice water before trying to take a nap, and I ended up barfing a LOT. Seriuosly, I couldn't sweat. Then, when my dad calls to regale me with tales of his weeklong houseboat adventure, he tells me that drinking bottled water is bad because there's no minerals in it. Fuck me if I knew that. Then, like a half an hour later, my husband's friend tells me the same thing. He says that I'll just stay thirsty and stuff.
So, armed with this knowledge, I am now prepared for this crazy fucking heat.
Wouldn've been nice to know BEFORE I dehydrated and puked everywhere.

The New Security Blankie
The last three days I've noticed something about my cat: she's got a security blankie.
Well, it's not really a blankie, but it comes to the same effect. She's been carrying around this thick rubber band she found somewhere on the floor, and seriously will NOT go anywhere without it. Seriously. She just walks around with it hanging out of her mouth, and every now and then she'll drop it and just STAND by it, miaowing piteously. She jumps up on the bed to sleep, and she always has to have it right by her side, or better yet, she flings on my bare back so that it sticks to me with kitty spit. YUCK. She bats it around, refuses to leave it alone for even a SECOND, and frankly I'm slightly unnerved by the whole thing. And rubber bands, no matter HOW thick, are not toys, so this thing keeps snapping into smaller and smaller bits that I'm afraid she's gonna choke on. And when it breaks, she's gotta transport all the bits around with her, and she makes like twelve trips to wherever she's going to make sure it's all there. I keep rolling over in the middle of the night and getting bits of rubber band stuck to me because she figures of SHE'S got the right to sleep in the bed, then so does her rubber band buddy. It's gotten to the point where she'll sit on the bed and stare at us until the hub-unit asks "where's your rubber band buddy, pig?" and she runs to go get it with squeaks of joy.
Fucking cats. I think maybe we'll just get her a new rubber band.
Because one strip of kitty spit-wet rubber is better than twelve.

I was going to apaologize for not writing any entries for the last couple of days, but then I thought better of it.
The last couple of days have been super-rough for me, and I've been fighting out from under one of the darkest depression cycles I've had since I've been married. The hub-unit has been trying his best to cheer me up, and I've had to sit him down and explain to him that it's the things he can't control that make me get this far down and out. The recent change from great weather to crappy, the fact that the house was a fucking mess I couldn't seem to get clean, the fact that I was suddenly conscious of my weight gain, it's all stuff he really couldn't fix by cuddles and kissing no matter how hard he tried (the effort was noted and appreciated however).
I finally just got myself up and around yesterday, and had one of the best weekends ever. The house got cleaned spotlessly, I got enough sleep so I could MOVE, I baked a couple hundred banana cakes and pans of brownies, and we actually had time for some long, drawn-out nookie sessions. And believe me, all of our activities are time-sensitive when he's working 12 hours a day. We made plans to go camping in a month, sketched out a couple of trips to the zoo and Pike Place Market, invited some people over for dinner, and took time of our own. I think mostly I was down because I thought I was in a rut, because every now and then I feel like I'm not contributing to the house. Sometimes I have to be reminded that I'm human.

I probably shouldn't be putting this on my blog, but... I have no diary and no one reads this but for a few.
This weekend I was having one of my 'bad days' and I think my hub-unit was kinda freaking out. It wasn't a total breakdown, but the whole housewife thing sort of got to me.
I mean, what happened was this: while I clean and do laundry and cook all week for the most part, the hub and I set down that at least one day during the weekend we scrub the apartment from top to bottom. Wash the floors, wipe down cabinets, vaccuum everything, scrub the coutertops, dust EVERYTHING, so on and so forth. Like, the SERIOUS cleaning, so that during the week I only have to do maintenence and the house doesn't look like a fucking tornado hit it. Unfortunately, the last month or so I've lost my get-up-and-do-it, and now that the place looks fucking hideous I didn't know where to start. Clutter, everywhere. Dust, on everything. Dishes to the fucking SKY, NO clean clothes, the kitchen floor got some sticky stuff on it that I never got around to wiping up, all kinds of stupid meaningless piffling crap that I should have done during the week but can't seem to get moving on. And I should be able to. I sit at home ALL DAY on my ass and it wouldn't be so mindbreaking to get off the damn couch and start a load of laundry would it? With the hub-unit working twelve hour days I rarely get to see him, and the only quality time we get to spend together is when we're sleeping. However, if I got to bed at 10 every night, I'm up by four or five, so when he gets home at 7 or so I'm awake and can't get back to sleep. It's either keep his schedule or keep mine, and I'm not very successful at either. He gets up at 5 PM, we sit together for maybe a half an hour, then he's off to work..and at this point I have two options. I can stay up until his lunch break at around 10 and lasts two hours so that I can see him and make him some dinner which is what I SHOULD do and then go to bed around two or three. From six PM to whenever I should be cleaning, but I'm so out of it I can't get started and by then it's too late to do laundry or run the dishwasher at midnight. Plus, staying up all night waiting for him to come home affects me when I want to get up during the day and run errands, or get some cleaning done, or see the sunlight for once. I've been trying to stay up for him, stay up all day to get stuff done, and then stay up all night for him to come home for dinner so I can stay up all night waiting for him. I get NO sleep, and it's been fucking with my head.
Now HE says I don't have to stay up for him, but if I don't wait up so I can make him dinner, what the hell have I accomplished all day and most of the night? NOTHING, because I'm so fucking tired I can't do ANYTHING.
Take this morning for instance. I was up at 4 AM because I went to bed at 11PM when the hub went back to work from his chow break. I'm going to sit here and work on my writing and my bog for the allotted four hours I give myself each day, drink some coffee, and try to wake up enough to get some stuff done today. HOWEVER, since the man is going to the gym today he won't be home until 9 or 10 AM, which means that once he gets home he's going to want me to go and lie down with him until he falls asleep. If I do this, one of two things will happen: I'll either fall asleep again because I'm always so freaking tired and won't wake up until he does tonight and get nothing accomplished, or, I'll get up and realize that I can't do anything because he'll wake up if I make too much noise and get nothing accomplished. Then I'll wake him up or get up with him at 5 and them sit on my ass watching TLC and trying to wake up so I can make him his coffee and his snack and get him off to work on time, where I'll remain sitting on my ass trying to wake up until he gets home whenever to have dinner. And if I've stayed awake all day, by the time dinner is done he has to pour me into bed because I've passed out standing up at the sink.
In case you're wondering why I'm bitching about this, I'll explain. Lack of sleep is NOT GOOD for my bipolar disorder, and seriously impedes my attempt at normal living. It increase my agoraphobia so I'm petrified to leave the house, and it depresses the shit out of me because I can't get anything done when all I do is stay at home and I should be able to get EVERYTHING done because I'm home all day, which depresses me further that I'm depressed. It's a cycle. I need a fucking SCHEDULE.
I didn't think being a grownup was going to be so hard.

First, some pop culture from over the weekend:
Ronald Reagan died while I was sleeping sometime this weekend. He was 93, and probably didn't even remember he was ever president. Lucky for him, everyone else did.
JLo got married AGAIN. Some bitches just never learn that you can be madly in love for a very very very long time and you don't have to get married to cement the relationship. If it ain't broke, DON'T FIX IT. Jeeezus.
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban raked in a whoojezus 92.6 million dollars this weekened, at least 13 dollars of it were attributed by me and the hub-unit. Harry Potter rocks.
On to the only-slight criticism...A lot of background information (read drawn out exposition) was dleted from the film in order to fully milk all the special-effects laden shots. A lot of explaining from the book was left out, however in order to fit the ENTIRE tome into 2 and some-odd hours I see that it may have been necessary. I won't go into all the major points because maybe not all of you have seen it yet, so I'll wait until later on in the week.
More to come; I need some TLC.
The channel, you perverts, not the sweet lovin.