Today was my buddy Cupcake’s first day of school. I can’t wait to hear her tales. Especially since I’ve been seriously considering getting a teaching certificate after this transition is over and I get my ass unemployed I hang up my Hotfessional hat. If I can piss off an entire classroom of teenagers the way I can piss off Shortman in our kitchen?!? How cool would that be? Besides, there ought to be some reward for minoring in math.

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I forgot how much I love Fresca. Remember Fresca? It comes in flavors now, too. The Black Cherry Citrus is my favorite. Unfortunately, no Fresca in the vending machine, only Diet Squirt. Diet Squirt, however, tastes like butt. Well? It does. Fizzy butt. Ugh.

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When you’re drinking Diet Squirt, because, you know, no Fresca? And taking Spironolactone because your gynecologist gave you a prescription after you complained about Oh.My.God.The.Perimenopausal.Bloating. Which is a constant….My pants never fit except when I’m ON my period….how much fun is that? Oh, wait. That’s every 14 days, by the way. Yea, Mr. Hot loves it too. Aaaaaaanywaaayyyy. Spironolactone? = PEE. Lots. I’m wearing a path from my office to the bathroom. Other people are beginning to talk, I know.

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By the way, I hate the toilets that flush themselves. Because? They don’t. At least not in our building.

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Susie Sunshine has not posted in far too long. Although her Anna Ikea post lifted my spirits a bit, I miss her. I want to hear about her new job. (hint, hint those of you that know Susie!) She’s actually one of the reasons I have a blog. Some gardener site I was reading pointed to one of her posts, and I sat, transfixed and laughing like a fiend. I followed her links over to Jennsylvania, and Miss Doxie, and then, because I have delusions of grandeur, I decided to join the crowd. I was never a popular girl. I need a lot of validation. Why do I have these delusions then, you may ask? Because I also lie to myself often. (snort - and I laugh at my own jokes!)

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My 18-month old plasma television broke while I was in Chicago. Yes, it was 42″, and beautiful and a special treat for the Hotfessional family because we bought it instead of going on a vacation to someplace warm and luxurious. We figured the television would last longer than the memories of a week in the Bahamas. Um. Again. Wrong. So fucking wrong. It had been behaving a bit funny for about a month, but I never imagined that I would get a phone call from Shortman saying “The TV looks like someone shot a red paintball through it and it splattered on the screen.”
Yea, something like that apparently. Behold. I pull out the receipt with the additional THREE YEAR EXTENDED WARRANTY. Vengeance is mine! And they’re actually honoring it. Some guys came over the other day and picked it up to take it to their shop. They said they’d call with the diagnosis on Friday. Okay, so they didn’t call until Monday, but they called. And said it would take a couple more days to get the digital board that it needs. Then they’ll bring it back. (They will, won’t they? And I won’t have to write a big check?)

But you know the sweetest thing? Every morning, Mr. Hot brings me a carafe of coffee and I sit in the bedroom and drink it down and watch Infomercials the news. (Yes, I need the entire carafe before I can face myself in the mirror). This morning, I got out of the shower, poured my first cup, glanced at the dresser where the bedroom TV usually sits (it’s now down where the broken [sob] one was). Shrug. Okay, so I miss my Bun & Thigh Roller fix for the day, no biggie. I read instead.

When Mr. Hot heard the undie drawer slide open, he came in and gasped. (No, it was not my nekkid ass that made him gasp, thank you very much!). “You didn’t have the tv this morning!” I assured him that it had been fine. I drank my coffee and read and I could focus well enough to not shove the mascara wand into my eye.

That wonderful man, (who obviously wants something…..possibly sex), offered to carry the television upstairs the next two mornings and then back down after I leave for work so that it’s there in the evenings. Fourteen stairs, y’all. Uphill. Can you believe it? I honestly sometimes don’t know what I did to deserve him. (Yea, he definitely wants sex. And maybe will get it.)

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The race that we were going to on Saturday got rescheduled for September 22nd. If you’re a gambler? Bet rain. I’m just thinkin’ here.

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I realized that August 24th would have been my 22nd anniversary if I’d have stayed married to Practice that was husband #1. I was a baby. There would have been no Mr. Hot, and no Shortman. I’m so glad I grew up.

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I also think that Helen of I Forgot Where I Was Going With This is super special sweet. And so is Mouse. And I have to apologize to Mouse because I had a typo in her URL before I updated my links this weekend. Mouse, I sorry. And Mom On The Rise told me she loved my blog!

Because that delusions of grandeur thing? Comes with low self esteem. I am a walking anomaly.

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And, simply to bring this full circle. Because Cupcake asked:

Which of the Seven Deadly Sins are you? Lust Click Here to Take This Quiz

Quizzes and Personality Tests

—- Hmmmmm. Apparently Mr. Hot rigged the test. —-

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