Melpomene & Thalia

When someone refers to you as a member of their ’stable,’ should you be offended? Or better yet, when someone refers to themselves as a part of yours, should you start to re-think your current lifestyle?

During some of his ever more subtle “I think I’m gonna get some” flirting, I mentioned my little problems that started with the really bad storm, and BS#1 countered with:

The quicky booty calls from the stable are very key. I am surprised no calls.

I am honestly flattered. And pissed off as hell, at the same time. Firstly, that he thinks I’m going to keep having causal sex, and with him. Secondly, it seems that I have a very nice stable. All purebreds, and year round studs for having won the Triple Crown. Repeatedly. So, ego boost right there. But how DARE he Continue reading ‘Raw Hide!’

If you speak — or think — in passing of someone you have no intention of putting forth the effort to speak to — or think of — again, “speak of the Devil, and he shall appear” applies to everyone you know that shares that same name.

Welcome back into contact, BS #2.

Even happier than noticing that Heidelberg’s parking lot was nearly empty this morning, so I brought in bagels and croissants into the office, which I might magnanimously share with those who kiss my ass enough.  But enough talk…

Did I mention that my parents have been gone for a month? Well, they have. And while I’ve been watering their plants, feeding their deamon cat, bailing out their basement, taking in their mail, having to be polite to their neighbors–who, incidentally, make me throw up a bit in my mouth every time I remember that they exist–even planting their damn garden, etc., those… those… JERKS! have been climbing Matcu Picchu–only to discover that the only secrets written on the stone walls are merly recipies for piss poor attempts at hot chocolate, and tally notes from the town whore –and playing tag with the wonderful animals of the Galapagos–and I hope one of those snot encrusted iguanas bites them on the toe–with my loving brother, Dumbquat, and his girlfriend, Dell. Just kidding. I’m kinda glad that they’ve been gone for so long. And being the noble and loving child that I am, I really hope they had the time of their lives. Meaning, of course, that they got the travel bug out of their system this time. Then, maybe, I wouldn’t have to deal with their house/responsibilities when they get goned again.

Well, ok, so maybe I’m not that altruistic. It was great not having to buy groceries for several weeks. Though they might complain about not having ANYTHING in the fridge. (I found a great new recipe for tomato soup: Ketchup. Just add water!)

I just overheard something that made me do a double take. All I heard was:

“during the fourth Trimester of the year, “

before I had to laugh. Apparently, laughing at a fake PhD (you know, one of those people who are too lazy to write their dissertation, but are perfectly ok with spending thousands of dollars a credit hour for several years of classes) is not a very nice thing to do. They start to get all professorial on your ass.

Having grown up with a real PhD–and a smart ass’d one at that–this doesn’t scare me any more than pushy telemarketers.

FhD: …fourth trimester of the year…

Gnugs: <snort!>

F: excuse me?

Again, it seems like these people can’t see through the invisibility cloak I inherited along with sloppy files when I took this job. I seem to startle them just by breathing sometimes!

G: oh, I thought that you said 4 trimesters.

Yeah, I’m here, a-hole. And a first hand witness to the fact that you’re a schmooze who likes to throw around your hypothetical potential a bit more than your actuality.

F: yes, I did. Why?

What could you know, you silly female receptionist? Shouldn’t you be getting me coffee, or typing something for me? Like the reasons I am awesome?

G: Well I thought that the prefix ‘tri’ had something to do with things split into threes.

You asshat. Get your own damn coffee. It’d probably be safer, given that A) I don’t like coffee, and B) I always carry lots of eye drops around for anyone who asks me to do something they are perfectly able to do themselves.

F: It does.

I will ignore it now. I have no time to explain this to the likes of you.

G: Oh. It must have something to do with that new math I read about in the Post a while back.

Yeah, the one where kids don’t actually have to know how to count to add large numbers? Aren’t WE progressive?

F: Excuse me?

She knows how to read? But I know how to read. How could she possibly have anything in common with my extraordinary intellect?

G: I’m sorry. I just must need a PhD to understand how a unit, when split three ways, can have 4 equal parts. My appologies.

take that, you… you… jerk!

F: <sputters… then turns and leaves>

G: hehehehehe. blog time!

My Homeopath rocks more than anyone on the planet.

Why, you ask? Because the ‘thunder induced orgasm’ has lasted for over a week now, and wasn’t really thunder induced. It’s all due to her latest ‘remedy’ for me.

I haven’t felt this good in YEARS. FABULOUS!

This is only my first week back in control of my braincells, and I had to go and lose control over practically my entire body. Specifically? Its womanly parts. (And yes, I include my female brain in that as well).

Some girls get raucously horny after a few drinks, diamond commercials, vaccuming (as my odd ex-roommate like to tell me all the time), or maybe just a really good song. Ok, I’m two for four there, but what really gets me going is thunder and lightning. And apparently lots and lots of rain, because I practically drowned myself when a bout of the following had me staring up into the sky for at least 5 minutes.

While cleaning up brush, and bailing out around my house last night, I would suddenly stop moving, and stare into the distance for a few minutes. I can’t imagine what I looked like. (Ok, maybe I don’t want to think about the the look on my face during those quiet quiet moments of introspection.) Anyways, it took me approximately 3 times the amount of time it should have to clean up the brush that fell from the trees during the first wave of last night’s storm, set up sump pumps, and drag and place trashcans underneath the worst of the offenders posing as gutters, all because every time lightning snuck across the sky, or thunder roared, I would stop and end up staring into nothing for prolonged periods of time.

No, I was not going catatonic… or, maybe I was? I was thinking dirty dirty dirty thoughts about total strangers coming up behind me, and taking me against the wall of the garage while our combined heat vaporised the rain as it fell onto our skin (undoubtably pledging his eternal love, and swiss bank accounts, to me mere minutes afterwards), or some other stranger and I coming up with some pretty good scenes for harlequin-bondage novels with the swing set… if not another couple of chapters to My Uncle Oswald. Wind-up contraptions included.

Dear lord. I got NO sleep last night.

Well. That was a fun and wonderful ride. I have been poked, scanned, stretched, heated and massaged to within an inch of my life (the last of which was quite enjoyable, if I do say so myself!) I woke up two weeks ago with a really stiff neck. That got worse in a hot shower. Even worse when I tried to stretch it out in said hot and steamy shower. Then completely froze on me with a horrifying, crunching snap.

Needless to say I started quietly leaking salt water–since screaming would have hurt too much– and tried lying down for a little bit. Agony is too tame a word for what I felt, and obscenities a blushing innocent compared to what flew out of my mouth. After waking up my poor roommate, not to mention the one upstairs one, and inciting both their dogs to riot, my roommate had to help me to the hospital. I hate hospitals. They have doctors there. Unless I’m linked to one through hearts, minds, and his bank account, they better keep their satanic selves away from me.

So they rayed me. And I sat in my little room waiting for the really big advil to do what I expected it would: NOTHING. The doctor came back in, and instead of saying something comforting like “our X-Ray tech was too busy trying to take a good shadow of your rack to get a good look at your spine,” or something as simple as “we’d like to get a better look at the spine itself,” she comes in biting her lip and saying “We don’t like what we see on the Xrays.” So, it took two of them to figure out that not only was their something wrong, but that IT SHOWED UP IN A DAMN X-RAY!

So, after the Valium and the Percocet kicked in, and I apologized for loosing it like that, I was Scanned. Unlike the X-Ray, I had to lay down to be scanned. And that worked about as well as it did after the disastrous shower. After I stopped convulsing — and no I am not making up any of this crap — they scanned my cat. (Eat your heart out.)

Then about an hour after that lovely experience, my 5′3″ Doctor skipped into my cubicle, in her purple clogs a la Clueless, and said that she thought I was alright, and that if someone picked me up, I was allowed to leave.  After promising to see a neurologist, and an orthopedic surgeon, or a neurological orthopedic–whatever, I called my mommy to come pick up her broken daughter.  Who naturally, the mommy, not the broken daughter, pawned me off onto my father.

My father is not a nice man.  Oh, he pretends to be, calling me to make sure I have everything, maybe making me a coffee table, even occasionally buying me books.  But under it all, is the heart of a bully.  He enjoys bringing his doped up, un-showered, and broken daughter into public, and laugh at all the crazy stuff she does.  Wonderful.  Thanks, Dad.

So, as the title says, I am now back in action, after a disastrous 2 week love/hate affair with narcotic painkillers and muscle relaxers.  I am now better, meaning I can think again, as well as move, well, more than I could before.  And as I am back at work, I have to get off here, but not before I leave you with these words of wisdom:

If any of you have the ability to injure yourself to the point of self induced paralysis, remember: Percocet gives you nightmares.  And makes signing up for Match.com, E-Harmony, and Chemistry.com seem like a fabulous thing to do. At 3am, no less.

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.

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?