Hot dog, hot dog …

If you can finish this title, then I am sure you will appreciate this.  If not, thank your lucky stars. 

I can measure the distance to any frequently visited location by the number of times we can listen to “Hot Dog, Hot Dog, Hot Diggity Dog“* (from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse).  This can also be measured in levels of homicidal/suicidal feelings:

Level 1: to Target = 3 times.  Fairly tolerable.  Entertaining for the first 30 seconds when child is singing along.

Level 2:  to Liv’s school = 6 times.  Intolerable.  Cause for a very agitated start to the day.

Level 3: to Mimi’s house = 14 times.  Watch out.

*WARNING:  If you click the link, you may have a very catchy tune stuck in your head for the remainder of the day.  Hell, you may have it stuck there just from reading the words.

No bueno.

You how when you go pee and sometimes a little poot slips out?  It makes me giggle.  I not only giggle when I do it, but also when others do it.  I don’t think my co-workers appreciate it.

Things overheard on Saturday with bitches….

1.  Vagina weed (you don’t want to know)

2.  Winkle Picker

3.  She lives in Sensible Shoe Cove

4.  Do you have ear cancer?

5.  I know! I saw that in the theatre, and as soon as he came on the screen, I was all…”Please don’t go girrrrlllll!”

I love my bitches.

Bright light, bright light!

I am sloeiswly beginning to see a little daylight from the depths of my cave.  The weekend was rough.  Saturday, I cried.  A lot.  I cried while watching Grey’s Anatomy, I cried at a commercial, I cried when I read an article about this 83 year old man who saved a three year old from near death on an escalator, I cried because my kid would not go to bed, and I cried for no damned reason at all.  Sunday, however, mania kicked in.  I was a mad woman.  I decided that I just could not deal with any more clutter so I de-cluttered.  The only problem was that when I would move something from one of our 7 junk drawers to the room in which it belonged, I would realize that something in that room was also in need of attention.  The result — 5 rooms, all partially cleaned. 

I am feeling better this week.  I actually worked out last night.  Oh, did I tell you that I need to lose 40 lbs. by June 1st?  That’s do-able, right? 

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, where’s my cave.

Sometimes I wish I had a cave in which to hide.  One where no one could find me…and I mean NO ONE.  I am having some medication issues that have caused me to become, for lack of a better word, apathetic.  I don’t want to do anything, talk to anyone, go anywhere, be around anyone.  I am not interested in what anyone has to say.  Blah, blah, blah is all I hear.  Things should work themselves out soon.  You see, I am mildly bipolar.  Not the Britney-bat-shit-crazy kind of bipolar — I won’t be shaving my head anytime soon.  Anyway, I am weening off the antidepressants and only taking the mood stabilizers.  I was taking both, which was counter-productive.

The result is unpleasant.  If you are my friend, family, or husband, I apologize.

That being said, allow me to bitch about my husband for a moment.  He has played poker and/or golfed three times thus far this week, and will be “occupied” tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday.  My parents are out of town.  This leaves me alone to care for my child.  On one of the two nights he was home this week, I wanted to take an alone trip to the Super Bullseye.  He had the fucking nerve to say, “Can’t you take [the child] with you?”  “I had rather not,” I replied (which in my head went more like “Are you fucking crazy?”).  He then had even more nerve to say, “Well, don’t browse, just get what you need and get out.”  My reaction?  I went up and down every G-D aisle in that store.

And that folks is why I should find myself a cave.

Movies

If you haven’t seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall, stop reading this right now and GO.  I was truly expecting it to suck despite the great reviews it has received.  It did not suck.  It was as good as, if not better than Knocked Up. 

Now, who plans to go see SATC?  I was very much against it because I thought they blew it on timing.  However, the trailer looks kind of good.  I am retarded?

This one’s for you Molly

For no particular reason, other than I think it’s funny

Diagnosis = Liquid Gold

Surely that was liquid gold projecting from my dog’s ass last week.  How else could one explain that it cost me $459.02 for a diagnosis of Hemorrhagic gastroenteritis.  Wow, that sounds serious, you say.  Well, it is, but what makes it most serious is the definition: bloody diarrhea with a foul odor from an uncertain cause.  First, I know there was bloody diarrhea.  I was cleaning it up from my living room floor at 2:00 a.m.  Second, I know it was foul because I threw up while cleaning it up.  Third,  an uncertain cause?  What the fuck?  It could be life-threatening or it could go away?  Thanks doc.

So after 5 hours at the vet last Friday night, we hospitalized Audrey.  She made it through the night with no diarrhea, no bowel movement at all, in fact.  But guess what. As soon as we got home, there was that liquid gold again.  She has such good manners — didn’t want to mess up the nice clean emergency clinic. 

One last kicker.  My husband was out of town.  How convenient.

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the threes approach-eth

I am going to be 33 on Tuesday.

 Here’s a list, in order, of things I would like for my birthday.

#1.  Cara’s chocolate cake (Shut up thighs!  You don’t know what’s good!)

#2.  My child to stop waking up in the middle of the night and screaming bloody murder (I checked, there are no clowns in her room, so no need for screaming.)

#3.  A visit to the hair cuttin’ place. (That’s really my gift to all of you who have to look at my toe-up self right now.  Mama needs a cut.)

#4.  I would like meddlers….not to meddle. 

#5.  First season of ‘Weeds’ on dvd.  (Been watching it on Netflix.  It’s the shit.)