Montly archives
Oooh that feels so good
I went ahead and did the right thing by nixing the landline and getting a cell phone again.
Oh wait that's right, no I haven't cuz I'M GETTING FUCKED UP THE ASS JUST LIKE I DID LAST TIME! Oh sweet, sweet sodomy how I missed our little trists. What have I been up to since we parted ways a few years back you ask? Oh my, there's so much to catch up on I barely know where to begin. I'm going to try anyway though.
There was voicemail, caller ID, cordless phones, and corded phones. The cordless phone and I had a few punch-ups because he couldn't keep it up all night, but in the end that was all okay because I went behind his back and cheated on him with The-Corded-Wonder for sometimes 5, 6 hours at a go!! Ha ha ha, yeah. That happened.
Sprint's on my fucking list and tomorrow I need to turn on that Queen Margaret thing I do and go fucking handle some shiznit. Grrrr. I better walk out of this with a pink fucking cell phone is all I'm saying.
Calm happy place
Since the mini tirade last night I've kicked Mariokart ass, cuddled with kitten, consumed strawberries with cream, watched TV (gasp), and calmed down a bit. Or at least enough to stomp over to Sprint on my lunch break and keep my head from exploding or my hands from someone's (anyone's) neck. In preparation for the enormous self-control I will be exhibiting in T minus 10 minutes I wore my knee-high black boots. Why? Because knee-high black boots intimidate and strike fear in to the heart of cell-phone bitches everywhere. "Be nice to me, or I will crush you with my 3 inch heels beyotch and give me my damn pink phone already {breath} too."
Something along those lines anyway. If nothing else at least I can admire my reflection on the way back to my car after they sodomize me again. Whatev.
Also contributing to my cheery disposition is the fact that I'm now waking up to Abba. This week it's been Take A Chance On Me, but next week it *could* change to Dancing Queen. Mmmaybe. The "take a chance take a chance, take a take a, chance chance" hook has got me good. I can't be positive, but I'm pretty sure that groovy disco beat made me wiggle under the covers before my eyes even opened. Oh happy music, how you do make me happy. That will be your assignment for next week - wake up to Abba. The world would be a happier place if only everyone would love on the Abba.
Last night I posted a picture of Indigo all big and fluffylike. Now I'm getting the flood of emails wondering why I haven't talked about the little guy lately. It wasn't clear to me that anyone even cared about His Fluffiness With All The Silky Fluffification anymore, but seeing as how he's now got a small band of loyal followers wondering "WTF don't you love your cat why don't you talk about your cat anymore?", maybe it's time for an update. Stay tuned with bated breath.
(Would be so much easier if I just started vlogging already and then you could just see for yourselves. *sigh*)
Have a good weekend.
(Taylor... keep practicing)
Wisdom.
In keeping with happy tradition and passing along little nuggets of wisdom as and when they cross my path, today's item ought to be perfect for your next trip to the cellphone store. Or family gathering. Whatev.
Best and quickest way to be an asshole -- end everything with the word 'bitch'. For example...
"You want room for cream on top?" No, bitch.
"Have you been working out?" Bet your ass, beyotch.
"I think we should just be friends." Fine, bitch.
If you want to be really Minnesotan Passive Aggresive about it then make sure you do it behind their back. Midwesterners love that shit.
Trendsetting
Way hott:
I'm currently in the market for a new pair of heels and this should pretty much do it for me. Would be better if the locks actually *locked* something in my humble opinion. But as the artist describes her stiletto creation...
If this doesn't start some office goss I can't imagine what will.
Moving day
My cat is either begging for a new home or an ass-beating. Right now I'm 50/50 on which one it will be, seriously, as I'm pretty sure the ass-beating will give me more pleasure but may result in a visit to the police station. And if only orange were more my color I would have already made my decision and wouldn't be sitting here like a complete schmuck blogging about his sassyness. I can almost guarandarntee that right now the little fucker is kicking back with a stiff drink, making long distance phone calls, and laughing his well groomed, fuzzy little booty off about this latest antic.
Indigo Sassypants is a dog born in cat body, for real. When I'm home he plays fetch and eats popcorn. When I'm not home he plays with his doggy toys and runs around the house looking for anything to shred. "What's this, bra strap? I LOVE BRA STRAP!!! *chomp chomp chomp*" Why does he do this? Because the $5000 dollars I've spent in kitty toys JUST DOESN'T CUT IT. "Kitty condos are for bitches, yo."
His sassyness mocks me, truly.
Last night he crossed the line and has entered movie-of-the-week territory. Imagine my horror when I came home to find that my cat - MY SWEET LITTLE INDIGO PUMPKINHEAD - had gone INTO the bathroom trashcan, pulled out one of my *ah hem* feminine hygiene products, and proceeded to bat it around the apartment like I left it there just for his enjoyment. Ha ha ha, yeah not really that funny. Not even a little. Especially since his playful escapade climaxed the moment he SHOVED IT UNDER THE FRONT DOOR, right in to the middle of the hallway for god and everybody in my apartment building to behold.
I decided to stay in my apartment for a few more months, but this "incident" pretty much means I won't be showing my well-shrouded face around the building for the next 24 hours.. at which point I will be the one wearing big, dark sunglasses, a long black hood, and quietly moving my meowie kitten and his shit to our new abode in the middle of the night.
*sigh*
Heaven in denim
Today I'm sucking it all up and enduring the torture of strappy high heels not worn in a full year, FULL YEAR!, for a pair of jeans I bought that were A) wayyyyy to expensive and B) fit something fierce.
Fierce: too small, hugs all curves, and requires a wiggle, tongue of newt, and interpretive tribal dance to get in to 'em
For real. On Saturday I became that person who spent a ridiculous amount of money on an article of clothing that transformed from "Maybe in another life when I am fanned and served" to "I just want to see what they look like on" after the owner of the shop used the words "Italian label" and "you're 3 sizes smaller than you think you are". I didn't actually mean to laugh in his face, but after putting on the 3 sizes too small jeans I had an epiphany right there in front god and everybody: I buy clothes that are too big. I also publically acknowledged that a man was right. Um yeah. For real.
Even if it was only in my head, it was still in a public place and still felt all funny 'n stuff.
Full-service jean shopping experience extraordinnaire means that I am now a super-mega-lightning-awesomely satisfied woman typing this blog post in a pair of jeans that actually caters to womanly curves and isn't sewn for a 12-year old boy. Which, apparently, if you ask Express, Forever 21, H&M or any other store in the whole of the Mall of America or the entire world will lead you to believe otherwise. Where have curvy jeans been all my life? Turns out they've been hiding in Ivy at Calhoun Square. Check this fab store out if you get a chance, yo. The owner was fabulousness in yellow and beyond helpful.
I am a very satisfied woman, feel free to share.
Rock out...
A special reader-mail post today just for char. She asked real nice-like for a sampling of what's in my current playlist and I have brutally ignored her. Yes, brutally. UNTIL NOW!!! Yay for catchup time.
- The Cinematic Orchestra - these albums make me all happy and chill-like
- Fiona Apple - saw her in concert last week and she rocked my socks off. Reminded me how much I adore "When The Pawn Hits". And "Tidal". And "Extraordinary Machine".
- Thom Yorke - can't... stop... listening... except for tracks 1 and 6 this album has been on repeat for the better part of a week. SOMEONE STAGE AN INTERVENTION!
- Nelly Furtado - get up and shake that thang
- Damien Rice - saw him in concert last week, too, and let me just say *holyfuckingshit*. I definitely won't miss him live again - ah-ha-ha-mazing.
- Massive Attack - *calm happy place*
- Inara George - like a female Damien Rice, but not really
- Charlotte Martin - sue me
- Kelli Ali - have no excuse or explanation for why I listen to this album. It's not like I CHOOSE to listen to it. It's more like, it comes on and I just don't turn it off. Inaction ya'know?
- Radiohead - I can still like Radiohead if I want to
Alright fine. I'm stilllllllll listening spinning myself dizzy in the living room to Madonna's latest too. I can't help it. She completes me.
Stumped for words
Um, wow. Check it.
I haven't seen the show or even an advertisement... but sixteen, S.I.X.T.E.E.N., F#@!ing kids?
Aw HELLS no.
(So... do you think the producers did a high-five when they learned the father's name was Jim Bob? Just sayin'.)