I'm going to have to build an ark.

Seriously. If it doesn't stop raining soon, we're going to float away. This is the ark I've built. See, that's me, out in the front. No, I'm lying. But seriously, we must have gotten about 46 inches of rain. No, not really, I can't tell, because my rain gauge floated away. No, that's a lie. I don't have a rain gauge. And if I did, I would never attend to it because it belongs outside with the rain and I belong inside where the rain is not. No, that's a lie too, because sometimes I fill the birdfeeder, and it belongs outside. Once about every 17.84 times it needs filled, I'm the gal to fill it. But I'm not keeping track or anything. No that's another lie, because I do keep track. Birdfeeder, trash, toilets, dishwasher, spiders, cat box - those are men's jobs. Once in a while, to make Earache feel insanely guilty and privileged, I'll take out the trash or fill the bird feeder. But it does average out to about once every 17.84 times. Or close to it, I bet, because I wasn't really telling the truth. About keeping track. Everything else was true. Unless I said it wasn't, and then I was telling the truth.

I think.

Freakin' Cubs.

I don't know what Carlos Zambrano is on, but he should not take it before a game ever again. Seven runs in four innings. WTF?

Today I feel like writing in green. And perhaps in green, in a different font. That's different. It's good to be different. It's a rainy, cruddy weekend, and I'm attempting to make myself feel better by writing in green. It's not really working, but I'll keep trying.

I was able to get Thursday through Sunday off this week for Tulip Time so I can work at the ice cream store. That means that I'll work Wednesday at the airport, Thursday through Sunday at the ice cream store, off Monday and Tuesday and then back to the grind at the airport. Not a bad gig. We're going to bid for a new schedule soon; I'd like to bid nights but I heard that shift has been spoken for. That and I'm so far down on the seniority line I'm lucky I get to choose at all.

There's another coworker that's come down with the mumps. I feel bad, like it's sort of my fault, but it all comes down to Charmin. Blame it on Charmin.

Cha-cha-cha-Charmin.

Bitch. I'm mumpy and it's her fault. No, not really. It's not good to hang on to such hostility. This hostility will not stand, man.

So maybe I'm a little slow...

...I just figured out yesterday that my poor fish, Buster, can be fed. That little film-looking canister beside him is actually fish food and if you click and drag, it can be used to feed my poor starving Carassius auratus. No wonder he looks so needy. I'm a terrible fish mom.

I actually used to have a very nice fish tank, in a past life. Several beautiful small fish, a 40-gallon tank, very colorful greenery. I was convinced my fish didn't poo, as it was always very clean. Until I went to move one day, and the tank had to be drained. Underneath all the colored rocks and the tray that allowed air to flow from underneath, was a solid layer of poo. I was very grossed out. From that day forward, I've never been able to keep a fish. They're too deceptive.

So tomorrow was the day that I was supposed to board an airplane for my binge drinking trip to Dallas. In my condition, I don't think it's good PR for the company to non-rev and expose up to 70 people to the mumps. Plus, I'm in no mood for Sue or for Dolly, even for Ruben. I just want to sit home and sulk. I'm doing a good job of it, too. I've watched so much telly in the last couple of days, it's just disgusting. If I don't stop watching daytime soap operas, my head will explode from imbibed drama. It's just too much for me. That and the acting is just awful. Where do they find these people?

Fun facts for cocktail parties

There's a skunk outside that's preventing me from opening the windows for the kittnen; he's moderately discombobulated and I completely understand why. The stench was overwhelming and as soon as I began to crank open the window I had to start to crank it shut. He thinks I'm playing mind games with him, and while yes, that's generally the case, today I'm doing it to protect my sensitive stomach. Bleccchh. But it does have me thinking. What a life the kittnen must lead. Leisurely waking whenever he pleases, lying on his owners' chests to ensure that he is fed and watered and groomed, racing about the house, all fat-tailed and crazy-eared after seeing those imaginary predators lurking in the shadows, falling asleep whenever and wherever the idea strikes his fancy. It's a life of luxury and I am part of it only to serve him. Glad I could be of assistance.

It's going to be a dark and dreary day. Rain is forecasted and lots of it - perhaps it will rain out the races tomorrow night and Earache and I can spend those hours looking at each other with nothing to talk about and nothing to do. Hey, don't shoot the messenger, he said it long before I did. On Sunday mornings, after the races, they show a seven-day forecast, and already at that point, he's doing his rain dance. Why he bothers, I'm not sure. I think it just gives him something to worry about all week long - wait, am I talking about the racing or the rain? Hmmm....

I found my sweet little cousin Schmalex on Myspace yesterday; sweet she is not when among her peers. I remember being 15, but I don't remember being stupid enough to publicize my wrongdoings for the world to see. There's a whole new type of terrifying teenager out there - wow, that makes me sound so old - but it's reasons like that that I am never having children. I dig other people's kids and all that jazz, but I am scared shitless of owning them myself. Maybe owning isn't the right word. The right word escapes me presently. You know what I mean. More importantly, I know what I mean, and that's all that matters.

I'm sure I'll be back, I have soooo much planned for today. TV, Cocoa Puffs, TV, napping, Sudoku, TV, brush my teeth, Myspace... not necessarily in that order, but that about covers it. We're in day two of full my mumps coverage. Woohoo!

You can call me Mrs. Rivers Cuomo. ♥

It's day one of my mumps (at least spent entirely at home) and I'm bored already. This is going to be a long period of quarantine. Earache went to get his MMR; he says we're both invalids. Maybe I'll get some homework done. Maybe I'll get some stuff posted on eBay. And maybe not, maybe I'll just waste the next five days on MySpace like I did today. Heh heh heh...

Look what I found:

♥ Isn't he just the cutest thing ever? ♥

In an alternate universe, Rivers is my soulmate. I know it. I can feel it. *Sigh.*

I was good; I've already bought Mother's Day gifts for most of the mothers in my life. I bought Mom a necklace she's said she's wanted for a while now. But now she's changed her mind and she wants this $200 ionic hair dryer. What the hell? It's supposed to make your hair shiny. For $200, I'd want it to shine my shoes and shave my legs. I also bought gifts for bestgram and muminlaw, but I don't know what to get for stepmummy. She's tough to buy for.

Does anyone else watch the Weather Channel as religiously as I do? I think Jim Cantore is freakin' hot. I mean, he's no Rivers Cuomo, obviously, but for an older guy, choosing to be bald (sort of), he's sexy. Plus, he's manly enough to wear a pink tie. I dig guys that can pull off pink. Not enough try. It can be a very flattering color to some skin types; Earache is one of them but pink's not his bag. And, he's willing to risk life and limb to inform me about dangerous weather situations - you'll find him out in the rain, the snow, the floods, the hurricanes, the lightning, the typhoons - you name it, he's there. I dig meteorologists. Weather. Now that's hot.

Tony Danza is a punk ass bitch.

Why does he have a tv show and I don't? For God's sake, he sounds like Rocky and he wasn't even Rocky. I'd rather watch Sylvester Stallone interview the newest teen phenomenon on the Disney channel. I mean, come on. There are so many more talented people in this world. He is so not the boss and he still has 60 minutes, less commercials, of my day, should I choose to let him have it. Bastard. He is a no-talent waste of flesh. His only claim to fame was his supposed affair with Angela Bower, and I'm still not buying that. (There was just no connection between them, you know?) He's just famous by association for his used-to-be-tv-daughter, Alyssa Milano, who's gone on to bigger, though not necessarily better, things. This is pissing me off the more I think about it so I'd better go find something else to do before I pop a blood vessel and give myself a stroke. Grrr...

My Mumps

No joke. I'm mumpy. I'm one of the 1,121 confirmed or suspected cases of the mumps in the State of Iowa. What an honor, to be such a select part of the population. That's like, less than one percent of the state population. And that's me. Woohoo! I don't have the swelling, thank God. But it still hurts like a mother. My ears hurt, and the spot in front of my ears. It hurts to eat Cocoa Puffs, but I still do it. That's taking one for the home team - I am such a trooper. I have yet to tell our pals across the street, that's going to be a hard conversation to bring up. "Your cute, adorable baby girl? Yeah, I think I may have this awful, disfiguring, contagious disease..."

I have another problem. I am slowly becoming addicted to MySpace. I need to detox. I need days away from my computer, or at least away from MySpace. It's sucking up entirely too much of my time. How do people function with thousands of friends? I don't even have a dozen and it's draining for me...

I'm feeling slightly perturbed this morning, I don't know why. Here's a list of things that are bothering me currently:
* Tony Danza has his own show. This is a fucking joke. He sucks. He's not funny. And you can so obviously tell that he's reading from the cue cards.
* My favorite TV show, The Office, has been in reruns for like a month now. This has been pissing me off for a long time.
* I can't ever get through to the radio station contest. I know the answers; they know I know the answers and when I call they won't pick up because they don't want to give away $1,000!
* Gas is $2.79/gallon. That's fucking ridiculous!!! Congress is thinking about passing a bill that will allow an instant $100 relief to taxpayers, if they can begin drilling up the National Wildlife Reserve in Alaska. Republicans. Grrr.
* My cavity is killing me, yet I continue to eat white bread and Cocoa Puffs. Someone had the nerve to write and ask me if I would consider changing my ways and start eating Cap'n Crunch. It's square and then I would be eating 'square meals'. No freaking way. I dig curves, man. This hostility will not stand, man. You go off and eat your Cap'n Crunch. When the sharp corners of the tiny square nuggets tear through the soft tissue inside your mouth, don't come bleeding and crying to me. I'll be eating an easygoing bowl of Cocoa Puffs, damn it. I fear change and I won't be bullied.

I think that's about it. I dont' know. Since I'll be home for the next 3 to 26 days, I'll probably add to the list of pissers.

It could be a crackhead.

This actually made the news somewhere. How sad is that? Do you think he's really Irish?

Apparently I have nothing better to think about.

If I ate three solid meals of nothing but Cocoa Puffs everyday, would it still be called three "square meals?" Because, honestly, there's nothing square about a meal made of Cocoa Puffs. The yuumy, chocolately puffs themselves are little round balls. The bowl from which I eat them is also round, as is the spoon - no squared off edges. The jug of milk, while not perfectly round, is certainly not sqaure. I'm not much of a toast eater, so we can count that out. The only thing that hints of square-ness at this meal is the box of Cocoa Puffs itself, but I'm not eating the box, so it doesn't count.

I think this is a great example of how one could go about daily life, surviving on nothing but three hearty "round" meals a day. Cocoa Puffs. The breakfast of champions.

I actually had Reese's Puffs for breakfast, but the same concept still applies, wanker. Back off.

I'm kind of a big deal.

Today was a good day. I didn't do a freakin' thing all morning long, tanned but didn't burn crispy-like, had a great hair day and work was good. It's Naked Juice day, meaning that I can pick up my case of juice from the ice cream store. I love juice day. This week it's Blue Machine. Last week it was Green Machine. I don't know what next week will be but I have to decide by Monday. Do you see the kinds of pressure I face? Each bottle contains one pound of fruit and all the goodness that goes along with fruit, which means that I don't have to actually peel a banana or pick kiwi seeds out of my teeth. However, I continue to purchase bananas and kiwis because I have a lonely Longaberger fruit basket that probably cost me $80 and it looks pretty stupid sitting empty. That and bottles of Naked juice just don't look as nice in it.

Tomorrow is test day in Stats. I'm hoping Nazi test bitch, oops, Professor S., will have a lapse in memory and fail to remember that I'm a second round Stats student and some of the questions will be repeats. I need to try to find the first test, as well as the second test; I have a feeling they will really help me through the third. I haven't actively participated in school for over a month. I don't know what my problem is. I don't know if I'm yearning to fail or if I am suffering from a serious mental defect. (I could argue several ways on that point. You probably could too, but this is my blogger and not your blogger and I kindly invite you to shut the hell up.) It could just be that I am a WANKER.

Our weekend in DFW is all but confirmed. As a D2 passenger, you're never really confirmed, but we're as close as we can be. I'll be heading out April 29, a Saturday, and returning April 30, for my lovely 1330 shift in hell. It's not really hell, but I bet it is when you're hungover as shit. And that's my plan. Because Sue and I can drink for days, and Dolly will drink until she's literally under the damn table. There's no competition there, she's not drinking anyone under the table, she just happens to end up there. Don't know why. Regardless, should be entertaining. Thankfully it is tax refund and school money month, as drinking for days is expensive and I still haven't been able to find my paycheck. It's off in Direct Deposit-land somewhere, they say it should arrive sometime this week. That would be nice.

Look at this picture. This cracks me up. I want a bunny like this. Actually, I want anything with such cute little (I say little rhetorically, of course) paws. This last weekend was Easter and I didn't get squat. Now, granted, I realize I am 26 years old, but this is the first time I've been over looked by the Easter Bunny.

In fact, the Bunny screwed the whole damn family. Craig called to bum peanut butter eggs from me and to see if I got a basket, becuase he didn't get one either. I'd have been pissed if he'd gotten one and I didn't. I know Jordy didn't get one, he's never the favorite kid. Now, if live-in son Greg got a freakin' Easter basket, there's going to be a full size Easter revolt on Mom's hands. It won't be pretty. Especially now that you can't even get those giant size Reese's peanut butter easter eggs anymore, and those are my all time, forever easter favorite.

Not that we need any more candy. I think dh Earache has left the same icky jellybeans in the gumball machine for nearly two years. If I could just figure out a way to fit the Girl Scout cookies in the gumball machine and charge him for them, they'd last a whole lot longer. Not going to happen anytime soon, but sounds neat all the same.

My cavity is freakin' killing me. I can see into the bottom of my jaw, practically. It's a giant black void of tooth, a black hole. I could lose my toothbrush or my cell phone in there if I'm not careful. I don't plan on it, but you never know. Stranger things have happened.

I think that's all. I need to go play Sudoku. It's calling my name. Peas out, bitches.

And that's that.

I told him I wasn't happy, that I don't like the way things are going and I don't know how to fix it. We don't feel like "us" any more and we haven't for a long, long time. He didn't say a lot, laughed when I told him I don't know where to start, and got up when I started to cry.

I can't say I didn't warn him.

Wanker!

I didn't go back to bed. I realized why I'm not getting my paychecks, and really it has nothing to do with giving away all my hours at work. We sign up for direct deposit online, and I entered my checking account info incorrectly. I am such a wanker. And today being Good Friday, well, there's no way to get in touch with payroll. So, at least until Monday, I remain poor. Hopefully, the Tax Refund Fairy will make an appearance sometime soon.

I think wanker is the most underused word in the English language, at least in the lower 48. I know that it's more popular across the pond (in both directions, really). But I didn't know that in addition to acting like a general wanker, I could write like one as well. Fun facts for cocktail parties. That hottie from Oz that is no longer welcome here due to his inability to conceal his inebriated condition (at least behind the wheel of a car) used to say wanker all the time. It was so fucking cute. It's not me that won't allow him back, by far. It's the government. It's like that scene in the Big Lebowski: "Stay outta Malibu Lebowski!" But I don't think anyone threw a coffee cup at his forehead. I hope not, it was a cute forehead. Damn the man. Save the Empire.

I have a wicked cavity. I believe that each and every Cocoa Puff I eat falls into this black hole void of a cavity I have and eats further and further into my jaw, so far that eventually it will make it's way back around my head and into my brain. But do I stop eating Cocoa Puffs? No, as I am cuckoo for them. Wanker.

I must work today, but I'm in no mood. Weird things are going on at the station. Leads are pissy. Subordinates are pissy. Passengers are pissy. Flights are full. Warm weather brings thunderstorms and delays and cancellations and more pissed off people and the circle goes round and round and round and round. For what I'm making, it's not worth it. In about a month - oh holy hell, a month from today - I'll get a neat-o 50-cent raise. Rock on!

I forgot to drop my money last week, and while I realize this is a serious problem, it's not an offense punishable by public humilation or flogging. But ever since, I've been treated like the village idiot and I don't think it's that big a deal, especially since 1) the money was recovered - no harm, no foul; and 2) it was $25 lousy dollars. I would have replaced it myself if I had needed to. They make mountains out of molehills and reduce flaming emergencies to nothing. We're all so out to protect our own asses that no one is seeing the big picture. I like my job, but I don't like it well enough to be treated like shit. At least for an extended period of time. There are so many little cliques it's disgusting, and if you're not kissing the right ass, no favor goes unpunished. I guess that must be how the real world works...?

So the dh came home the other night. Things have been pleasant since then, but I have to admit my head is in the clouds. I can't come down off my personal plateau and get back into the swing of coupledom. I'm all for me and none for us lately, and it will be the bullet that kills my marriage. I don't know how to fix it.

The shindig that's planned for the end of the month in DFW is certainly not helping matters much. Sue and I, as well as the always invisible Ms. MSN have extended invitations to others, such as City Kevin and Country Kevin and Buff Jeff, as well as the other from MKE, in addition to the recently silent KOA Misty and Reba, who we believe is gallavanting somewhere near TPA with a "friend." Our attitudish pal Tihana from Albany may make an appearance, but she's a lot of talk and not so much walk. Most likely, it will end up being the three of us, perhaps City Kevin, only because he's dying to meet Ms. MSN, and of course, RRRRRRuben! Ruben told us that because we were students, he couldn't party with us the times were were in Dallas before. But now that we are no longer students, he told us to look him up whenever we come down. Too cute. I'm torn on the Ruben being gay issue; he's too adorable - I'd like to believe that he's not, but he does dress awfully well. There is a rumor going around that he's spending an awful lot of time with a former student in LaCrosse... a former female student...

But what would I do if the other were to arrive? I have no freaking clue. The entire prospect freaks me out, because I don't know that I can trust myself. The only thing that I can rely on is his ability to control himself in that situation, should the situation arise. That's awful. I'm such a wanker.

Bonjour mon ami...

Do you think the mafia gives out job applications? That could be an interesting line of work. I hear it pays well, although there is a serious risk of bodily harm. Hmmm....

I am soooo tired this morning and I don't know why. I think I'll go back to bed and get up in an hour or so and try again.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood...

...a beautiful day in the neighborhood, won't you be mine, won't you be mine, won't you be mine, won't you be my neighbor?

It's going to be an absolutely amazing day today, and you know what I have to do? Well, technically, nothing. But I need to pay bills and do homework. Will I do it? Hmmm... I've been putting that off for a good two and a half weeks, and the homework has been calling my name for over a month. I just have no ambition lately.

No, I can't even say that's really the case, because I have all sorts of ambition for things that I can't talk about freely. I watched a segment on the Today show yesterday that talked about adults keeping secrets and how in some cases that can be healthy. It gets to be unhealthy when it starts to control your life and you start to be deceitful in order to conceal your secrets. Food for thought.


Yankee Stadium will be closing in the next couple years, at least the old, historical Yankee Stadium. We've got to get to New York. I've got to see Kyle Farnsworth in pinstripes once again, and if it can't be done at Wrigley, *old* Yankee Stadium is the next best place. That, and who wouldn't love to see a cleanly shorn Johnny Damon? Ooh, ooh, ooh.... :P

My pal Sue is bugging me to come to Dallas at the end of the month, for a reunion of sorts. I wonder who all will be there? Apparently Ms. Dolly Madison will make an appearance on her way to Hawaii, which could be fun. Dolly is a good time, but if I know Dolly and Sue, this will end up being at least a two-day trip due to my own inability to think clearly the following morning. Could be interesting.

That was so third-world.

Just spent an hour and a half sitting in the dark, thanks to a fantastic lightning storm. I couldn't even find a flashlight so I risked life and limb lighting candles in the dark. Now I know why it's such a hazard to leave my slippas right in the middle of the hallway. No worries, we're back up and running, mate. Thank god, it's hard to play Sudoku in candlelight.

Are all old people full of crap?

Does it happen to everyone, that when you reach a certain age, a certain threshold, you suddenly run out of actual things to discuss with others and instead begin discussing random meaningless shit? It's Tuesday, second job day, and I'm sitting in my glass cubicle, surrounded by old men talking nothing but meaningless shit. Is it a form of communication for the older generation? Is there an underlying code that I'm obviously not picking up on? It doesn't sound like they're speaking in tongues, but you can't be too sure.

I once went to a church where they spoke in tongues, that was some scary poo.

I found my all-time favorite South Park on YouTube last night, amid drinking an entire bottle of wine. Cripple Fight. Cracks me up every time. Heh heh heh... My other favorite episode is when they adopt the Ethiopian. "That's my Ethiopian!"

Cripple Fight

More Chuck...

The facts, from Chuck himself...

Chuck cracks me up...

Kudos to thehotlibrarian.

Little ol' me...

...all alone in this big house for the next few days while dh travels for business. It's kind of a relief, in an odd way. No pressure. I can revel in my own little world until he gets back, drink loads of wine and watch movies until dawn, and then when he returns, I can decide what kind of mood I want to be in. Lately I've been mega-bitch, terror to all in my path. It's almost been subconcious, and not limited to those at home, let me reassure. I ought to issue a blanket apology if only I accepted those myself. Shucks.

As far as the other, well, there was a period of none, and then some, and now plenty. He seemed not at all interested. Then I offered some clarification, and now we're sort of back where we started. He's available and interested, and I'm not available and interested. What a pickle. My feelings haven't changed, and with every message, I want to know more and more. I know there's no perfect person, but what if there's a person that's better for me? Is there an easy way to find that out?

This is my new Coach bag. It freaking rocks. I got the wallet to go with it. It makes me beautiful. I mean, I was gorgeous anyway, but a great bag always helps. :)

I got back from Chicago on Friday. I had to go for ramp training, me and another girl from my station. I thought for sure she was quiet, laid back, someone I could get along with. I was dead fucking wrong. We work for an airline - she's afraid of flying. I don't mean moderately afraid, "seat me over a wing" type afraid. I mean, she's the kind that needs to be sedated in order travel. Now I figured she'd be quiet - I was so wrong. This chick would not shut up to save her life. She talked for four straight days. That and she followed me around, like a little lost groupie. I went to the bathroom, she followed. I went to the credit union, she followed, still talking. Everywhere. It was awful. She's also one of those spineless, "I have to call my husband" women - she has to check in and make sure that what she's doing is okay. I hate that.

The kicker to the whole thing is that she weighs about 350 pounds, no joke, so when we're on our way home, I had to assist in strapping her in her seat. Now, she's too proud to ask for a seat belt extension (where this came from, I don't know, because she's been fat the entire trip). So instead, she heaves up a part of her stomach that I don't think should move and she tucks it under her chin so that I can buckle her seat belt. I nearly puked. I'm thinking she ought to be motionless at this point, but Groupie's hand to mouth reflex is still working pretty well, so she asks me to reach for her Gardetto's, under the seat in front of her. There's no way she can reach them, she looks like a giant watermelon wrapped in a teeny-weeny taco shell. So I oblige, I'm far too nice a person. So there we sit. She's sweating like a pig, because 1) she's on a plane, and 2) it's a turbulant flight, but she's still eating. I've managed to find my ipod and at the first 0.047 second lull in the conversation, I stick in my headphones and drone her out. (Side note: my battery dies about 15 minutes into our 90 minute ATC delay before we even took off, but I never said a word and I certainly wasn't going to let on to Groupie.) So finally, we're airborne. I thought perhaps, just perhaps, the situation would improve, but no, it gets worse. Now, every time we hit even the slightest of bumps, she grabs my hand with her ham-shaped arm and pins it to the armrest between us. I'm covered in fat lady sweat and Gardetto's juice. I would have asked for a beer if they'd been serving drinks, but due to turbulance, I was out of luck. I couldn't get home and bathe fast enough.