Melpomene & Thalia

I completely forgot about the Dona tossing. That was hilarious.

P.S. Please tell Steve that I like your brother to do me like a woman. Haha.

For obvious reasons: Do not go to a bar with a zip lock full of flour in your bag.

For not so obvious reasons: Do not go to a bar with a zip lock full of flour in your bag. You may find the need to antique an ex-boyfriend too tempting to resist.

For even less obvious reasons: Do not go to a bar with a zip lock full of flour in your bag. You may find the need to antique an ex-boyfriend too much to resist. You will then be escorted outside by your brother’s old baseball coach–”Wow! I thought Dumbquat was lying when he said you were a cop!”–in uniform, and your D.A.R.E. instructor will shake his head at you, somehow manipulating you into feeling uncalled for shame over the fact that you just threw a pitcher of beer on that cheating bastard inside, then dumped said bag of flour all over him.

Whatever.

When Kat says something, listen to her.  She is all knowing, and omnipotent.

Why?  Because of the Gorgon.  And the reality that some, if not all, managers inhabit.  (I think it’s somewhere between the second and third star on the right.)

PS: I think the brush I had with catholicism last week was indeed a “say it Loud and say it Proud” kind of  admonishment, not a “speak not the shitith” kind.

Well I’m back from Alabama, and the potentially alcohol free wedding weekend, and wondering when I had the time to get this sick.

I

Hate

Pollen

(Just so you know)

I tried to come into work on Monday — after waiting at the Dr.’s office for something to make the nasties go away — but no dice. I barely made it back home after 2 hours of staring and drooling at my computer screen, then packing said computer and accompanying files into a bag to take home with me.

I think that the lack of food — because everyone on Alabama eats wheat and gluten at every meal, for practically the whole meal — Stress — the Mother-of-the-GROOM-Zilla — and way too much alcohol — what else are you going to do in a dry town, other than illegally bring alcohol up to the hotel and have a party — and little to no sleep — I’m afraid to find out what I looked like in the wedding pictures — all might have contributed to my current state of “Fuck you, ass bag, and stop talking to me, or I’ll sneeze on you” all around nastiness.

Despite the crazy mother in law, the obvious tension between the families, little twitterings of disapproval from both families about the marriage itself, the normal crazy debauchery that pervades wedding parties, and a very hung over ME, the wedding went off with only a few minor glitches. The bride was absolutely beautiful, and the groom had to stop and clear his throat a few times mid ceremony so that he could answer the minister. Kid Almost got me going on that one. So I stared at the bride’s lacing — which probably seemed like I was staring at her ass the whole time — to keep from blubbering myself.

All in all, I’d say it was another perfect day,

That I brought beer too.

I am at a wedding.

in a dry town.  When we have to drive to the next one to get alcohol.  

With parents of the groom, wondering why we would want to dance at the reception.

and I’m not thrilled, peeps.  Not thrilled at all.

It has come to my attention that I take out my stupid, petty, and very childish anger at not being independently wealthy, on my boss.

She is actually an amazing woman, who elegantly juggles way too much on a daily basis, to have to be shivved by someone whom she should be able to trust.

I’m not saying that I’m not going to bitch and say horrendous things about her ever again.  Only that from now on, they should probably be taken with a grain of salt.

Why the change in tone? 

I was bitching about my job, and my thoughts turned to my boss when my rosary fell off of the bookshelves in my bedroom, and into my lap. 

Only then to be brained on the top of my thick head by ”The City Of God” falling pointed edge down while I stared down stupidly at the tangle of beads and crucifix. 

A girl can’t ask for a bigger hint than that.

Another foray into my wonderful world.

Bank: it sucks when your boyfriend is incredible in bed

G: you know, I wouldn’t consider that to be a problem.

B: I do when he’s over 3000 miles away

G: and he’s still good in bed! damn woman! share the LOVE

B: haha, seriously. I don’t want to ask him how he knows the stuff he does

G: he learned it all from a midget transvestite

B: I’ll go with that

This past weekend, I decided that I deserved a break.

I know, I know. Where would you be without that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that comes with the otherworldly knowledge that someone is staring at your latest blog entry and hitting the refresh button every 15 seconds or so. For some of you, this could simply be the natchos you ate when you a) came home from the bar last night, b) kept you from going to the bar last night because you cried off all your mascara, your snot and tears adding a salty goodness to the runny fake cheese, while you bemoaned your inability to get into your skinny jeans, or c) some ass gave to you on his way home from the bar, instead of the fiver you needed to get that bottle of Mad Dog you desperately needed. Well, let me just tell you that on any other weekend, your sixth sense wouldn’t have been that far off.

But that’s enough about you and your crazy ass delusions of grandeur.  Hobo.

On my way home from work on Friday, I decided that I deserved a present. “For what?”, you might ask. And by all means, go ahead. Why, you ask? Because it was Friday. And I had accomplished a SHIT TON of work the past week, owing to the fact that the my fabulously motivating manager was on PTO the whole damn week.

It’s very hard not to play when the cat’s away, but even with our laughter sessions, and other-office visitations, we all got half the mountain sorted, entered, delegated, and closed. All withought her ORG wide ’status update’ e-mails every 10 minutes. Fabulous week.

On a ’side note,’ someone broke her e-mail about the second she came in this morning.

Its taking a LONG TIME TO FIX IT. No, I didn’t do it, but I will reap the benefits, thank you very much.

So, after stopping at Border’s and buying 4 new books, i went home and I read.

I did some sleeping, and cooking too.

But mostly, I read.  And it was so fabulous, i forgot that you all existed.  In point of fact I forgot about myself too, but then reading too much can do that to a fragile psyche like mine.

I’ve got it really bad for Dave Robicheaux. He has inspired me to try to get into Tulane for Law School — since that whole philosophy thing probably won’t keep me out of the poor house for all that long. That and I don’t think they have down home AA going, ex-marine, decanted homicide detectives, who adopt the child they rescued from a crashed and burning plane…

is it any wonder that I have a ‘thing’ for people in uniforms?

Regardless of how bad your day is going, or how asinine the person, asking an internal client who’s having problems with their lights if “the switch is pointing to the sky or the ground” is probably not a good idea. A worse idea is not hanging up the phone before you say, “Fuckin’ Phuddy-Duddy’s.”