Nightmares and Trashy Dreams

Had a horrible nightmare last night.  I dreamt that there was a spider web, hanging over my head while I was asleep.  Ickier still - there was hair in it.  Blonde hair woven throughout the sticky web and it was going to land on my face and smother me in my sleep.  In my bed. Alone.   Okay - now that's freaky enough - and you know what made it worse?  The fact that it disturbed me so badly that I sat up half the night terrified that a hair spider was going to land on me and end up lying it's eggs in my eyelids.     Any of you Freudians out there - please feel free to interpret and then get back to me 'cuz I sure as hell don't know what it means.  :)  

 On a lighter note, I once again topped the charts of domestic divahood by actually taking the trash out - again!  Now - I know that that seems like no big deal - but I am terrified of my neighbors.  I live in an ulta-snobby subdivision which has a list of unbreakable covenants that rival the bible in length (with similar wording). Everyday I live in fear that I have managed to unwittingly break one of these neighborhood codes and will be booted out of my house for no reason other than breaking the coveted "Thou shall only stack thy trash in a pyramid fashion."       

I am now sitting at the kitchen table, reveleing in my bliss of domestic tranquility and watching the O.C. (a show I don't detest - but don't really like either...).  It's nice.

AND tomorrow is Friday - which means I have two days of FREEDOM!!!  

HAVE A SMASHINGLY FUN WEEKEND!

Phoebe

This is Phoebe - I've written oodles about this little furball and thought ya'all may need a visual to go with the various stories that pertain to her! 

She is the one who protects me from the Boogeyman in the wee hours of the morning - she can fend him off by purring loudly and drooling ever so slightly on to his Boogeyman loafers!

Until next time!

 

Happy V-day!

 

 Yipppee! My lovely hubby came home this weekend and we spent much quality time together!

 

I am now at work desperately trying to cover up the large puce-colored remnant of that “quality time together” that is inconveniently located on the left side of my neck!

 

Nothing says “Happy Valentine’s Day” like a big ol’ hickey from the one you love!

 

Ready for Anything!

So - I am feeling like quite the little accomplished woman as of late.  Since it has now been a week since my dearly departed husband left me (no, not for that great big leather couch in the sky - but for a new job, silly!) and I am still alive, my cat has not been neglected, and I have managed to NOT burn the house down!

With pride I can report that I have single-handedly :  Cleaned up bug carcasses, gathered up the trash, remembered to take said trash to the corner and, I even went to the grocery store ( a place I find terrifying to go alone) all by my little ol' self!

I am so proud!

More later!

 

Killing bugs and other soon to be neglected Manly Duties...

My husband is currently packing up his things to leave me in a flight of fancy that will foretell our future as husband and wife.

Okay, melodrama!

He's actually just leaving me for five months to partake in a great opportunity to strike fear into the hearts of Bank CEO's across the nation!  He's going to be an auditor for F.D.I.C.!

I'm quite happy for him.

I'm quite miserable for me.

Why?  Let me shed some light:  I have to sleep in a cold bed alone, there will be no one there to guard me from the purring/nibbling/drooling antics of a hyperactive overweight Himalayn, I will have to clean up cat puke (why is it always ORANGE???), I will have to empty the litter box, I will have to kill and dispose of the still-wriggling bodies of creepy bugs with too many useless legs, and I will be the one who has to lug the bins to the curb on trash day!  Me!?  And in my delicate condition!  Okay - so I'm not pregnant - but I'm lazy  - and that's pretty delicate if you ask me!

So, as the days of "manlessness" surround me, I will have to dig deep for the "Inner Xena: Warrior Princess" and start doing things by myself, for myself and with myself.

Wait - that went weird.

Sigh.

 

And so are the days of my life...

Have you ever had a "fat day"?

 A day when nothing fits right, nothing looks right, so, in desperation you throw on whatever has been shoved to the depths of your closet?  You end up at work wearing a sweater that has "fuzzed" all over your chair, desk and co-workers and a pair of old cords that make awful "swish, swish" noises when you're walking down the hall, sparks flying from the friction of your thighs?

To add to the faulty fashion faux pau that is corderoy pants, I have bags under my eyes that heroine junkies would be jealous of and my cheeks are semi-permanently rubbed a delightful shade of "influenza red" due to a late night with the dear hubby...

Not that minded the late night grope-a-thon, but this morning, by the light of day, I just kept thinking (while smearing on concealer under my puny eyes) - why couldn't we have just waited until tonight when the idea of sleeping in followed by a repeat of the previous night's performance would have been a potential possibility?!

It's official, then.  I'm old. 

At 26 I am quite possibly the oldest twenty-something gal out there.  Wanna know what I did the other night for "fun"?  I watched the end of a Lifetime Movie of the Week. 

The last nails in my coffin of youth? 

When I rush home from work to catch Matlock on TBS. 

When Tapioca pudding starts to taste good. 

When Ben Gay starts to be useful. 

When going five miles over the speed limit seems dangerous. 

When I start clipping coupons. 

When I willing purchase a cardigan with animals knitted on it. 

When I start to sleep under an electric blanket... in July. 

When four PM is dinner time. 

And, finally, when I start dressing a 20lb stone duck that sits outside of my house in seasonal attire.

Until I meet the aforementioned criteria, I will just consider myself "wise beyond my years."  Now, pass me my Ensure, please.

Mornings suck...

Woke up, yawned, punted my cat across the floor, and after some apologies, went to take a long  lukewarm shower (hot water isn't doing so good right now). Getting out, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, put some goop in my hair and wrestled my contacts (well beyond their expiration date) into my eyeballs.

Plopping down on the carpeted bathroom floor, I grab up my trusty 1875 watt blow-your-head-off hairdryer and started the tedious task of turning 20 lbs of wavy hair into soft, managable straight hair.

 I shut off the dryer after about three minutes of fluffing to extricate my hairbrush from Phoebe (the aforementioned unwilling furball/football) who had decided it was her new boyfriend. I wiped off the cat drool and curled it around a piece of hair. Flipping back on the dryer - I waited.  Nothing happened. I flipped the switches a few more times, prayed for a miracle and then yelled some rather profane statements while I flung the appliance around the room, banged it on the counter and probably resembled swamp thing on a bad hair day.

Phoebe ran.

I then spent the next 30 minutes on all fours, in front of the space heater, trying to dry my hair with convection and sheer determination.

Harry, my husband, walked in on me, in my underwear (sexy oh-la-la granny panties) and on my hands and knees swinging my head back and forth, trying to keep up with the oscilating heater.  He left without saying a word.

Thirty minutes later, I was slightly dizzy, half-dry and was sporting a half-curly, half-frizzy afro.

Ten minutes later, I had stuck in some curls with a curling iron and slightly tamed the frizz. I am now at work, a little damp and wondering what could possibly happen next.

I realize that that last statement was a bad idea as the sky blackens and I am quickly reminded of Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds".

One is pecking at the window, mocking me and my fuzzy head.  More than likely he is staring at my head a la "bird's nest" and thinking of how to decorate when he moves in.