Jun 022008

(*and by busy, I completely mean lazy.)

Urgent. Will die without reading.

  • 07:14 I’m subtitling 2008 as The Year I Gave My Dentist Too Much Money. #
  • 07:21 Chooch has determined his breakfast to be a red freezepop. #
  • 10:56 On the way home from work last nite I had a clear vision of a jagged piece of glass slicing through half my face and one eyeball. Awesome. #
  • 04:32 At one point last night, Christina noted that an entire hour passed without me mentioning murder. Gold star alert. #
  • 05:07 The dinner Henry made me looks uncannily like dog food, which is apropos I guess. Tastes good though. #
  • 05:56 Was standing still in front of my desk, lost balance and half-fell. Sent a fork catapulting through air. 1 witness. #
  • 06:00 Me: Eleanore, remember when I totally fell? Eleanore: Uh, yeah babe. It was five minutes ago. #
  • 08:36 Shit I hate Tina so bad that it makes me laugh murderously. HAHAHAHAMURDER.#
  • 09:41 were my arms too short to ransom you from leper’s skin and snacks of glue? #

  • 10:52 Henry: what kind of woman are you? You don’t carry Kleenex or have tampons. #
  • 12:47 Henry just explained to me the concept of fire and how it doesn’t get along with clothing. #
  • 14:46 She makes me feel pretty. #
  • 17:43 Saw a dead fish in a pond and henry gently reminded me that animals really do die. Except it wasn’t so gentle. #
  • 20:15 Chooch is now the owner of a neon pink fish named Switchblade. Wagering with Henry on who kills it first: Chooch, the cats, me. #
  • 21:20 Chooch’s head is big enough to use as an ottoman. #
  • 23:36 I think part of my eye just peeled off. #

  • 10:00 I know this comes as a shock, but: 2-year-old + pet fish = what was I thinking? #

Other than that, I spent my weekend chasing my kid through a cemetery, getting all up in Henry’s hair, eating pizza, watching through my fingers as the Penguins lost, being treated to a good grilled cheese lunch by my friend Jess, wishing I was in Ohio, and getting lost in my own ‘hood.

May 132008

Urgent. Will die without reading.

  • 13:05 I think some ppl only understand the meaning of NO when its followed by a knife in the gut. #
  • 15:20 I just know when I’m stuck behind an I<3Bingo sticker, I’m going to be late for work. #
  • 17:54 Seasonal lesbianism in the hizzouse. #
  • 19:32 my stomach is still exacting revenge after yesterday’s cereal mishap. #
  • 20:40 this makes me die inside: "were my arms too short to ransom you from broken skin and black and blue." #
  • 21:39 I don’t get enough naked chicks sending me friend requests on MySpace. WHAT’S UP, HOES?? #
  • 22:52 waiting for the death blow. #
  • 23:01 i could have a sword lodged in my sternum and my fave security guard could still make me smile just by giving me a thumbs up. OKMAYBENOT. #
  • 08:00 Apparently saying "whatevelyn" is even more annoying than its abbreviated sister "Whatev." Glad I inducted it into my lexicon. #

And then these ones didn’t post yesterday because LoudTwitter thinks I’m a whore:

Urgent. Will die without reading.

  • 09:46 Ordering cereal with a chronic sniffler behind me. Gross. 
  • 09:50 I’m eating cocoa puffs, lucky charms, malt balls and choco syrup. Best cereal ever.
  • 09:58 All cereal should have malt balls in it. And I don’t even LIKE malt balls!!! 
  • 09:59 And a goth girl named Simone works here AND the Cure is playing. Cereality pwns.
  • 11:32 Sick
  • 08:01 Just got my son stuck in a shirt. It was scary because I thought he was going to kill me.
  • 08:02  I gave him cold pizza for breakfast in an attempt to make amends

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Feb 262008

I did a really Big Girl thing today — I made my own dinner to take to work. It was a delightful entree consisting of two slices of fifty billion grain bread (jetted here directly from France; the cellophane bag promises that it’s straight from a hearty hearth and I believe it), one hearty slab of savory mozzarella, and a couple shreds (the slice kept ripping when I tried to peel it out of the deli bag) of the most ambrosial American cheese your tongue ever did molest. Picture all of this off-set by the tangiest helping of dijon-flavored soy-mayo ever to sink into those tiny pockets in bread.

It was then plated with lots of love and care in fine tupperware with a bright yellow banana to add some flair to the presentation.

When I finished, I took off my toppling chef’s hat and stood back to admire my work. I bet Bobby Flay does that too.

But halfway here I realized I left it on the dining room table. I keep texting and email Henry, begging him to bring it out to me, but he won’t reply. I was nice at first, but then I started in all caps (I WANT MY SANDWICH!) and now I’m threatening to hold the damn Girl Scout cookies I bought from one of the dayshit employees (FOR HENRY) hostage.

Collin, more Pro-Henry than ever, doesn’t seem to think Henry should risk his life driving my lost sandwich to me. Why, because it’s snowing a little?  "It’s just a sandwich," he chided. But it’s MY sandwich. I nearly gave myself callouses in its preparation. I might die if I don’t get to savor the amazing craftmanship that went into building that true artisan sandwich. I’m so upset that I’m chewing on my hair.

Why do I feel like Chooch is probably eating it right now?