Alcohol: Only Fun For The Sober Guy
Mood:  surprised
So last night we went out to the Fleet lounge with some of the hub-unit's friends for karaoke night. I hate karaoke. A LOT. But, we haven't been out in a while, so I obliged him and told his friends to just get him really drunk and make sure he had a good time.
Oh, how he got drunk. The three stooges went up and sang a rousing round of songs, including "Secret Agent Man", "She Fucking Hates Me", and "Play That Country Music Cowboy". My hubby can't sing. He's so tone-deaf it hurts other people. But he kept pounding down the drinks, and I sat there and watched the new lows they hit with a sparkle in my eye. It reminds me of why I quit drinking in the first place.
Not that I'm a teetolar or anything, but I only drink once in a great while, and never that much because I like to retain control of my motor functions. If I do feel the few and far between urge to get seriously hammered, I do it in my own house.
And me, being the sober one, got charged with the dubious honor of taxi service. I drove one guy's girlfriend (in truth, my friend with the gallbladder thing) home because she needed to take her oxycontin and go to sleep. Then I took these two total strangers to the bank, and it was like packing a backseat full of drunk teenagers with little impulse control. Then I had to drive everyone home that night, and some of them lived out on the edge of the island...
I hate being able to drive.
The hub-unit, fit-shaced and amorous, got home just in time to vomit copiously for the next two hours. I don't think I v;e seen anything more pathetic than a naked man horfing his guts out at 3 AM, surrounded by curious kitties. It was bad.
So with the husband fucked out of his head, I got to play nursemaid. I'm not complaining, it was rather amusing.
This morning, he's huddled up on the couch sucking down water like he's been in the desert for a month and chewing aspirin like his head's going to explode.
I don't know about anyone else, but watching the drinkers suffer is just a continuance of the fun from the preceeding night.

The Icky Things That Girls Talk About
Now Playing: Bumble Bee Tuna, Mephiskapheles
The Bestest Best Friend called yesterday, and we spent three hours talking about errant body hairs, shaving in uncomfortable places, periods, yeast infections, and urinary tract infections. It's amazing what us chicks talk about when the men folk aren't around.
Worst news ever, it turns out that the neverending occurences of UTIs and yeast infections that plague the BBF and every so often her husband turns out to be Chlamydia. They've been together for three years, so that means that they've been passing it back and forth for that long. I can say this with all certanty because she would never cheat, and he's not that fucking stupid because her mom would KILL him and bury the body in the backyard. It certainly explains some. YUCK. All I gotta say is that makes a perfect example of why everyone should get tested. Again, YUCK.
I woke up this morning to find a pad wrapper stuck to my back with kitty spit. I have to curb her craving for plastic before she chokes, or embarrasses me. She does the same thing with the plastic from cigarette packs. Just fishes them out of the garbage can like some sort of twisted raccoon and drools on it. Ick.
TODAY'S DIET:
Two pieces of toast, light butter for breakfast, skip lunch, and Arroz con Queso for dinner.
Hey, I can't give EVERYTHING up, can I?

Things that make me go Wooooooooooooooo
Mood:  silly
Now Playing: "Taste in Men", Placebo
God, how much do I LOVE Britney Spears? She just makes normal life appear so, well, NORMAL.
One of my unfavorite blondes has decided to go without a prenup for her surprising nuptials to Kevin Federline. That means that should their marriage fail (god forbid), Federline is up for at least HALF of her 100 million dollar fortune.
I'm suddenly glad that I have no money and rely completely on my hub-unit's income. Gotta love those community property laws!
So I jumped on the hubby last night for a quick "this is the last time before I feel better about myself" romantic interlude, and somehow, I don't know HOW, I upset him. Apparently he thought that because I hopped up immediately afterward and ran for the shower and then started loading the dishwasher that I didn't get anything out of it.
Well of COURSE I didn't. But NOOOO, it can't be just about him for once, I HAVE to get something out of it. If I had to get something out of it every time I had sex, we'd never have freaking sex. I don't get guys sometimes. Anyway, so even though he should have been doing the post-orgasmic glow thing, he was grumpy instead. Did I mention that I don't get guys sometimes? Let me reiterate.
And who the fuck was the genius who invented pantyliner? What the fuck kind of WASTE OF TIME are those ridiculous things? They don't stay put, the leak, they don't have enough adhesive to hold them in any one place for more than a few hours. It's like the manufacturers expect us to stop moving once we start bleeding. Sorry, guys, that's really NOT how it works. I hate 'em.

Mood:  bright
Now Playing: Everything By Nickelback
I hate this computer.
My gazelle has shipped today, which means it will be here by the 12th. I'm almost excited about working out, because maybe just maybe I'll be able to fit back into that Morticia Addams panel skirt I bought back in 2000. I was HOT in that skirt, not to mention pretty Goth-y.
My fat monkey-cat decided that 3 AM is the perfect time to move her hoard of purr-loined shiny things onto the bed. That is specifically, the crack between my bare back and the mattress. It was fun rolling over. After ceremoniously dumping the mass on the floor, I heard the tinklings and dinglings that signify her moving them to an even sneakier place somewhere down the hall. Pretty soon we're gonna need a bigger apartment.
My friend with the gallbladder problems was moved back up here to the Island for a few days, only to be moved back to Seattle when she developed a heart murmur. She's home now, resting up for a few weeks before surgery, when she'll go back to Seattle. God, that's gotta suck.
My Bestest Best friend is still bedridden and pregnant. Diagnosed with an "incompetent cervix". COME ON NOW. As a female, I'm almost offended by that term. Almost. They might as well just call it a stupid cervix and have done with it.
I'm doing fine, thank you for asking. Still leaking the silly putty-colored stuff, but that could be from the onset of yet ANOTHER monthly feminine problem. Any physical contact attempted by the hub-unit is rewarded by a high-pitched and Gollum-like squeal of "Unclean! UNCLEAN!", retaliated by a gentle bonk to the noggin.
Sometimes, I abhor being a female almost as much as I hate my computer.

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.