Crappity crap.

I just remembered that I forgot to shoot drugs up my nose this morning before I left the house. Which means that there’s a good chance that I’ll be a puddle of snot and watery eyes by noon.

Also, I forgot to put any hair-taming potion in my mop today and I can already feel it growing to Jackson 5 proportions.

Even with those two issues present, though, I’m feeling pretty good.

It’s Friday, I get a paycheck today (although 80% of it is already committed to stuff), and I’m drinking margaritas tonight.

Rock.

Random: tallgirlsam told me last night that she wants to skip school on Monday. Why? Because that’s when the award ceremony is and she hasn’t missed any school this year. So she’s up for the Perfect Attendance award. And she doesn’t want it. Also, she and I think this would turn out to be really funny.

They’re announcing the winners of the Perfect Attendance award. They begin reading the names. Bobby. Susie. Sally. Mary Ann. Tallgirl.

Tallgirl?

Tallgirl?

And…she’s not there.

Anyway, it seemed funny at 10:30 last night when we were Krogering. But then, we’d just come across the Linda McCartney frozen dinners, so everything was funny at that point.

Yeah, that’s right – Linda McCartney has a line of healthy frozen dinners.

Woot.

Hey, everyone, remember when I wrote about a certain local meteorologist in this entry and in this entry, and I posed a question about his sexual orientation? A question, I might add, that came in response to an anonymous guestbook post I got after writing the first entry?

Well. Said local meteorologist Googled himself yesterday. Actually, he used Hotbot, but to say he Hotbotted himself doesn’t have quite the ring to it, and actually makes me feel a little dirty and wrong. So, anyway, he searched for his name, and guess whose little site he found?

Yeah.

He very nicely took the time to email me last night and set the record straight. He is, and I quote, “straight as an arrow.” You have it from the source, ladies and gentlemen. I can put my concerns to rest.

But seriously, of all the very nice emails and guestbook posts and notes I’ve gotten since I started writing here in January? Best. Response. Ever.

I have David Gray’s “Dead in the Water” stuck in my head today. Occasionally, “Be Mine” will sneak its way in and stay there for awhile, but generally it’s DITW all the way.

I bought myself A New Day at Midnight as a reward for having worked out all week. Well, actually I bought it yesterday, before my Thursday workout, but now I’m using it as a guilt-trip motivator if nothing else. I’ve now worked out 4 evenings in a row, and have spent a total of 3 hours and 40 minutes, or almost ten miles, working it on the new treadmill. I’m really excited about this. Even though it’s too soon to see results, I already feel stronger for having gotten off my ass and moved my body. Woo-hoo!

Anyway, the point was that I rewarded myself with this CD, which I’ve been wanting for some time, and I’m pleased to note that it’s as lovely and haunting as I hoped it would be, and perfect for dreary weather like we’ve been having this week.

And holy motherfucking shit. I just bashed my knee into the corner of the desk drawer I left open, and OW, it totally hurts. Now Sam and I will be able to compare bruises. Speaking of Sam, tomorrow is her 16th birthday, so if you get a chance, pop over and wish her a happy one. It’s the least you can do, really.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this yet or not, but tomorrow if the weather is as nice as predicted, I’m heading over to Suz’s lake house for a big Memorial Day barbecue. She thinks I’m not going to come so she’s trying to coax me in with tales of excitement and other guests. Here are the “draws” she keeps promising:

1. volleyball
2. “lots of boys”
3. 11:00 News Anchor Karen

I don’t know why, but I find these draws funny, and I’m not sure why she’s thinking that I’ll only come if the three above lures are present. But like I said, if the weather’s good, I’ll head over for awhile. I’ll tell you all about it next week.

So, y’know, in case I don’t write again for a couple of days, I hope all of you have a fantabulous and safe holiday weekend. Drink a Corona for me!

When I was a kid, I was awful. Completely awful. It’s a wonder my parents didn’t drown me in the river. It’s even more of a wonder that, after all the torture I caused them, they went and had three more daughters.

I was “gifted.” Or possessed by demons – you decide. My mother was only 22 when she had me, and since I was her first, she didn’t know that all the shit I used to pull wasn’t normal. Like how I used to pour all the shampoo and conditioner and laundry detergent down the drains. Every. single. day. My parents had to switch to the cheap shit because I’d pour, on average, a bottle out a day.

I enjoyed carrying barybabe around by her ankle like a frozen turkey when she was a newborn and I was two. I also used to lock her into other rooms a lot. I think my parents went through a lot of credit cards breaking her out of prison.

I threw fits. Big ones. Big stomping, screaming temper tantrums on the floor in the middle of the mall. They walked away and left me once. Damned abandoning parents.

Oh, and also? When I’d get in trouble, I’d be sent to my room and I’d open the window and scream out of it until the neighbors called our house or came over and asked what the fuck was going on. My mom’s all, “yeah, she’s kind of dramatic.”

True dat, Mom. True dat.

I had some imaginary friends. One was named Susan. She lived behind my door and had a bunch of white horses. Once my mom was away for something or other and when she came back she asked what we’d done while she was gone. I told her Susan came over and spent the night. Problem was, my dad once had a girlfriend named Susan. I bet he had fun explaining that one. “No, it’s her imaginary friend! I swear!”

Orange Triaminic cough syrup was really good. Those child-proof caps were no match for me. I drank a lot of that stuff.

I used to beat other kids up when I was, like, 2. I don’t know. They made me mad, probably.

When I was ten or so I created an evil twin to blame all my bad deeds on. Her name was Sinead, because bald women are scary!

But no one would ever believe me when I said Sinead did it.

Anyway. I was really awful.

Okay, I love Coldplay very, very much. Their music fills me with joy and sorrow and love and hope and a million other emotions every time I listen to it. Both CDs have a permanent place in my car changer; if I want to listen to something new, I’ll take one of the other two CDs out – but I won’t touch Coldplay. Chris Martin is a genius and seems like a truly nice guy, as well.

But I would just like to say one thing:

Chris Martin looks decidedly autistic when he’s performing.

It can become a little disconcerting at times.

I’m not trying to diss the autistic community or anything, honestly. It’s just that I’ve seen plenty of autistic children, and they look like Chris Martin looks when he’s playing the piano.

I’m just sayin’.