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One of my searches today is ‘charlie the unicorn cake,’ which makes me feel very defensive and possessive and I would just like to say right here right now,

THEY DON’T LOVE YOU LIKE I LOVE YOU.

My cake is the best, and Marie is the awesomest. I will brook no opposition. Y’all are second rate Charlie the Unicorn cake havers. I am maybe tipsy. FTW.

Also, no one is as cool as my legs right now:

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There is something so eerie about coming home alone to a house that should be empty and hearing the shower on. I edged into the bathroom, and flung aside the shower curtain (I am so brave you have no idea), and the shower was empty. The water pounded against the far side of the wall, and I suddenly remembered that the downstairs neighbors are having a leak in their ceiling, and that our shower is suspected to be the culprit. Call me spiteful, but my heart was in such a state of mad flutter that I slammed the water off and waited for someone to come back into my house without LETTING ME KNOW to find out why their little leak system wasn’t working. Nothing like adrenaline to make an asshole out of you, I always say. Anyhow, a couple of minutes later my front door opened like someone who lived here was coming home, and a very cute stranger in work blues and latex gloves walked in. I am pleased to say that my being there startled him almost as much as my shower being on for no apparent good reason startled me. He did the one gloved hand to the heart thing and everything. He was very apologetic, and I was very forgiving, and we had a small laugh and he showed me how my shower had been broken and how it was now fixed. As everything broken and fixed was internal all this required of me was nod, nod, ok, which was a good thing because being crammed into my bathroom with a strange man wearing latex gloves was suddenly low level I have watched too much CSI freaking me out again, and all I really wanted from the nice man was for him to leave.

Now Holly and I have a shower with better internal organs, yay, and the downstairs neighbors hopefully have a ceiling that stays dry all night long. Also my heart is still running a bit fast, which is unfair because it makes me feel like I’m running through all my energy reserves right now and will eventually face plant exhausted into the sidewalk at around 7pm. I am going to make coffee. Not that it will help the heart speed, but it will maybe replenish whatever life force has been sucked out of me by fear of the unorthodox eerie.

goes the weasel

January 22, 2010

Tomorrow I’m going to my uncle’s family birthday party, mostly so that I can give my grandmother her Christmas presents (I am a bad granddaughter) and my little sister her eighteenth birthday presents (!!! and I will kick your ass). This is all fine and dandy, and I love my uncle also although I scarcely know him, but I have just realized that I have no damn idea where my grandmother’s Christmas presents are. One would think that various small brightly gift wrapped items would not be so easily lost in such a little apartment, but the thing about being myself and living with Holly, who is always very much herself, is that there is so crazy much crap jammed into every available square inch of space (we have not yet attempted to annex the ceiling, but if a good option for doing so was presented us I’m sure we would jump at it) that finding anything smaller than a piece of furniture is always something of a hassle. Add to this that I haven’t seen or thought about my grandmother’s Christmas presents for over a month, and the problem becomes even more complicated. There are any number of ‘safe’ and ‘usual’ places that I leave things before I forget about them, and I have checked most of these places, but really when you get right down to it these places fairly much encompass the entire apartment, and OMG MY GRANDMA IS EXPECTING PRESENTS. Head: pop!

I have quit smoking many moons ago, (I know, we are all so weary of hearing me talk about it), and I have recently given up smoking certain other things as well, so as to have as sharp a mental acumen as is possible for my upcoming state tax exam (worst four word phrase ever), and so I have been hitting the wine bottle a bit copiously of late. It’s nothing very terrible, I am still on the same bottle of wine that I started last Sunday, but I do tend to sip slowly out of a tiny little wasp wineglass, and if the truth be told there is only about a wasp wineglass and a half left in this bottle. The point of this confession is that I doubt the wine goggles are improving my abilities to search and deploy in any adequate manner, and I am now genuinely worried about the realistic possibilities of my finding these Christmas presents in time. Worry worry worry. Need wine. Cycle cycle cycle repeat. Head: pop!

Captain Christ. Hee.

You do not mess with 50 cent, and you do not get thrown into a pool.

Oh, this is when she starts wearing that shit on her head all the time.

Better on toast, huh?

Oooooh, way to step it up for the funky cole medina.

allah be praised

January 5, 2010

I am very tired. I’m sitting here at Alain’s mom’s dining room table waiting for my laundry to dry, and I’m very tired. I want to be taking a shower and going to bed, crawling between fluffy soft sheets and sleeping for as many hours as possible, but I can’t because my pajamas are all in the dryer right now and I don’t feel like putting on anything other than clean pajamas after my shower, and I also don’t feel like walking naked through Alain’s mom’s house. Sigh. The having the cake and eating it too, sometimes it takes a while.

I miss my cat.

She curls up like a potato bug and covers her eyes with her paws when she sleeps, and I don’t think anything cuter has even begun to bud as a baby concept, ever, in all time. None of the cats in California are as awesome as she is.

I also miss my best friend.

She has tree branches growing out of her head and watches America’s Next Top Model with me. ‘Tyra!’ we say, ‘what are you wearing now, you crazy motherfucker?!’ There are no best friends as awesome as she is in California.

I am still very tired. Hurry, pajama pants. Dry like the wind.