August 7, 2003
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As some of you may already know, I have been up for hours already. Them there dogs woke me up at 7:45 this morning, using a sophisticated method of torture. It works like a charm each and every time and really, it is a wonder. I can set five hundred alarm clocks and still wake up two hours late, yet when that great Newf works her tongue around my face, I simply jump up and out of bed very willingly. I am spontaneous that way.
As I fell out of bed, I caught a glimpse of my man, lying there very smug, grinning like a fool, albeit (frantically, even ) pretending to be sound asleep. Oh how he loves it when I suffer. It makes his day. Really.
I went downstairs to let them evil beasts out, but before I managed to reach the glass doors, I have miraculously stepped into something wet and utterly disgusting. Shame on you, Dog George. You've surpassed yourself, again. Normally, I would return to bed and pretend none of this had ever happened, but this morning I mopped and moped. Hell, I even sulked. Not that it helped, at all.
This is how my morning started and really, no wonder xanga didn't let me publish my previous post because, let me tell you, it was just bitter and hateful. Unlike this here post, of course.
Anyway, while mopping and grunting, I had suddenly remembered that M was leaving today. As y'all know, the man lives a life of fear and distress here and therefore feels he has to hide his travel arrangements from us quirks. When asked, he throws in imaginary figures ("Two, three days at the most,") hence forcing me to degrade myself into eavesdropping to his conversations with agent. Yesterday, after carelessly reminding me he leavs to the airport at noon, he said " A week at the most." Translation: two to three weeks, and counting.
Not that I mind. No, really. I am fine with it. Infact, I am so fine with it, that when I pathetically clang to his ankles this morning, I didn't threaten to burn the Jaguar in the middle of the village, the way I normall do. No. I just pleaded, very calmly, that he'd take me with him. I think I have grown so much, since the last time. Speaking of personal growth but totally unrelated, I've just realized how mischievous M really is, underneath all this dark, gallant charm. Dude, you know what happend last night ? I actually demanded, no, I begged him to take a few extra days and fly to London, without me. Yes, that's right. London. Sans moi. How it came about, I can not recall, but I do recall, however, that when I clang to his ankles the other night, (in case you were wondering, this is how I move about this house. It's quick and saves energy.) it had suddenly dawned on me that whilst he will be conquering London, I will rot here in the country, again. "Oh, won't you take me with you, you goon?" I cried. Y'all know that London is my mecca. I don't know what he said. I was in no condition to understand anything because, really, I couldn't believe how pathetic I've become. Is there a moral here, somewhere? Was there ever a punch to this, er, anecdote? Are you dead bored, yet? No?
Okay. I need to post a personal note here now, so y'all back off a little, please.
Dog George, you pee-pee monster. Stop acting as if you deserve a reward, fool. It is so annoying. Damn dog thinks peeing in the living room proves he is a mean lean sex machine or something and therefore, he eyes the buiscuit jar, as if I am some kind of an idiot. No, no buiscuit for you, dog. You are being punished. No, drool as much as you like. I am not going to break down this time.
It is time you learn a lesson, damnit. I will be stren, I will be a Rock. At least for the next 20 minutes or so, anyway.
I am in such a foul mood, people. I can't emphasize this enough. I had planned to drive up to see my sister and kids today, but I don't think I will. In fact, I should probably find a dark cave and crawl into it until this day is over. Either that, or I should embark on a wild shopping expedition. (It sounds so much better in Yiddish.) I really don't know why I hate myself so much today. Any suggestions? theories? requests? propositions? questions? anyone?
Comments (19)
retail therapy works wonders for me! (a.k.a shopping!!!)
I'm not sure I'm even speakingto you anymore, you. Not only do you boast about your wild adventures in the hay with your very own husband (lord have merci !) but you request questions, on your own blog, forcryinoutloud!, yet you do not reply !
I personally believe in, um, hautecouture therapy, but yes, I agree. It's like no other. The only problemo is, Blonde sex goddess, there are NO decent Shops in this funkin village, damnit.
I thought stepping in poo was the worst possible thing, until I stepped on a slug in bare feet. you the texture of liver? that's how a slug feels. shivvvvver. it sounds to me like time for a new lipstick.
Shutup ! I step on slugs for a living !
(I believe my cats grow slugs for a living. We feed thousands of there them slugs. Thousands ! and that is a wild wild understatement.)
Dudette, you are so confusing. Lipstick for me, lipstick for you ? Or do you not only have natural highlights in your hair, but also come built-in with new lipstick, too?
Explain and demonstrate.
Now, for suggestions on what to do with yourself now as you too, have been degrading yourself in to "sulk-mode" I must admit I have nothing to say more than
Yes, smile! (Not you, me, damnit!) Lets talk SOON, please? I think we both could use a little bit of reality check. (You are mine, I am yours)
Thinking about you as always, lots of love! (How can anyone get pets when they are clearly disgusting, all that tongue stuff in the mornings and then peeing on the floor...yuck!)
Looks like we both visited the hair-people on Tuesday... coincidence? (I usually don't have trouble spelling, but that word looks wrong for some reason).
Thanks for liking my blog. My blog likes you, too.
Why don't you just come over here today? We can sit on the porch and drink iced-tea or something. xoxoxo
Damnit, Janet !
Don't you tempt me because you know, you know I am enough of a quirk to git on there that satanic device, that, that Lucifer in there them skies, oh-haaaall the way to NC, to git me that iced tea. Damn. Although, uhem, in my current state I would probably give you a good fright.
Marianne ! Are you here to stay, or on your way to some other summer house? I kept going to your place, but damn damn damn, you were always some other place ! So, you're willing to speak to me now, ha. (will contact you zee usual way. hugs und lots of sticky kisses that you so love.)
yardenxanthe: I was stunt when I saw your post about the haircut and amused because you also discovered that spectacular fact :Hair, you wrote, grows. Indeed, coincidence, if such things exist. Personally, though, I like to toy with the concept that there are no coincidences and it all happens for a reason. (Read: them gods are trying to drive me insane.) Thank you so much for the lovely comment and for the compliment. I am a happier quirk tonight. 'Coincidence' is one of those words that always made me suspicious. Maybe, just may--be that's why I've decided to rule the possibility of coincidences all together. (Although, if you'd use it as much as I tend to, you'd know it by heart.) Over and, well, out.
i have a doggy alarm clock, too. she wakes me up at 4:45 every morning to go outside to pee. then, once i've done my business, i come back inside and pet her.
i hope your mood gets better. think pleasant thoughts (if you want to, of course).
lippie for YOU, darling...they haven't made my princess borghese "brick" since '88 or so. go get a lancome something or other...now there's a dear. shall I send you a nice banana slug? it's a veritable SLUG RANCH here.
What IS the usual way???? It could help if I knew so that I can be there!
My mood is better, actually. I've spent quality time with Dog Geoge. In fact, what started out as a fling, turned into a semi-proper haircut. Poor George had tangles in his beautiful curly fur. I began cutting the worse ties, then one thing led to another and before I could tell what was going on, he was a free dog. He is delighted now. These type of curls are so difficult to brush and it's terrible in the summer, when he goes out into the wood. All better now, though. But..excuse me, 4:45? What kind of a dog wakes up at 4:45? Oy vey. And I thought I had a rough life.
satory, you are evil. I don't know how I could have missed that before. Slug ranch is pennies and dimes, compared to the slug community here, missy. So, tell me, more importantly, you think I'm doing badly here, don'tcha. First streaks, then lipstic. I wonder, what's next ? a brest implant ? For some reason, I think that would bring the color back to M's cheeks.
Marianne: your place.
Tomorrow (well, today, now) has got to be better.
Thanks for the comments and the link. I had a profile for while, and may have one again, but for now, I figure that whatever my latest entry is will do.
It sounds as though Dog George got confused--pee, then wake up Mom!! Oh, that's why I'm a cat person, I suppose. Girl, haven't you heard of internet shopping?? You can even order the kitchen sink, and someone will bring it right to your door! Living in a village is no longer a barrier to retail therapy. I'm living proof on that one!
I have two lives. One when husband is home, and another when he is away on business. I plan for his trips--but don't you dare tell him! I mean it!!!
You still haven't convinced me that the French coiffeurs don't want to make me look even more hideous. I don't know what it will take. Maybe a dozen gin and tonics?
It's tomorrow already, Orange Slippers, so I suppose I'll know any minute now. Thank you for the comment . I hope you enjoyed the link.
Chele: My cats are mad, too. They all take after me, for some reason.
Retail therapy on the interenet lacks the most immediate gratification. In the two weeks it takes to recieve the package, I go through a life time.
As for zee French coiffeurs, Chele, a few glasses of bubbly and the whole word Loves ya. Although, you'd better not let the coiffeur himself drink any, or else panic may be in order.
I'm humming the song, "Anticipation" by Carly Simon. I shop on the internet till my butt gets tired. Then, I get to watch for the mailman every day to see if he's brought me a present! And when he does, I say, "Pour moi????" and blink my eyes and flush a little. Oh, it's great. Also, I've already forgotten that I paid for it when it gets here. It's almost like Christmas without the wrapping paper aftermath!
You're right. I'll wrap myself around a bottle of champagne before approaching a coiffeur. Even if it turns ugly, I won't give a patooty! (Or is that patoutoi??)
why YES, I AM evil...how glad I am that someone FINALLY noticed!
Most of the shops I love to spend my money in don't deliver to this war zone. It's quite annoying. Sides, buying clothes without trying them on, first ? Shoes? Lady, c'est pas possible !
You know how zee french-haircut adventure will end, don't you. You would fall madly in love (platonically) avec zee coiffeur and when/if madame ever returns to zee states, you'd avoid local hairdressers. Once or twice a year you'd ship yourself back to France, for the sole purpose of getting a proper haircut. (And a bottle of bubbly, too.)
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