My Life as a Hotfessional

(I promise I won’t subject you to this daily. Just my way of keeping track.)

Well, it’s 3:54 and I’ve only wanted to kill my family seventeen times once. I’ve discovered:

• Poopy the Puppy cannot figure out why Mom is home.
• The cats are shedding. And they like to sit on my desk. And did I mention they’re shedding? I feel like I’ve been lickin, um, a kitten. I’ll be harfing hairballs by the end of the week.
• It’s really great having an entire kitchen to explore for lunch instead of dealing with a cafeteria lady that fights with me over a fucking teaspoon of peanut butter.
• Mr. Hot talks to himself while he scrubs the bathroom. (Yes, he scrubs the bathroom. He is a gawd. I’m going to make him wear an apron after Spring Break is over and Shortman goes back to school.)
• It’s nice to not have the admin who can’t spell my name come in to talk about her daughter, but….oh, who am I kidding, there’s no but. It’s nice!
• Spending 2 hours trying to hook up a printer to your laptop that has no ink in it sucks. donkey. balls.
• The little girl cat can scale the shelves in the closet and go to sleep on the clean piles of sheets - which can scare the shit out of you when you don’t know she’s there but you see eyes glowing above your head.

—- And getting the office ready effectively killed my chances to write my New Commenters for the Month of March AND my March Hotlight posts. They’ll be out later this week. —-

I believe in the soul, the cock,
the pussy, the small of a woman’s
back, the hanging curve ball,
high fiber, good scotch, long
foreplay, show tunes, and that
the novels of Thomas Pynchon are
self-indulgent, overrated crap.

I believe that Lee Harvey Oswald
acted alone, I believe that there
oughtta be a constitutional
amendment outlawing astro-turf
and the designated hitter, I
believe in the “sweet spot”, voting
every election, soft core
pornography, chocolate chip
cookies, opening your presents on
Christmas morning rather than
Christmas eve, and I believe in
long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses
that last for 7 days.

 More Later.

With the play-by-play:

First, the writing of all of the names (I’m flattered, truly. Did y’all read what the prize was? Oh, wait, I said there could be negotiations, right?) on little orange Post-It Notes.

Then we must cut them into little strips.

And then we fold them (and the sticky part of the Post It comes in mighty handy for keeping the strips closed!). **Warning: Dog Porn ahead!**

I call Poopy into the kitchen after I throw all of the pieces onto the floor. He says, “WTF, Mom? I thought you were going to rub mah belly.”

Then he comes around so I can rub his belly, and lays on top of the pieces, effectively kicking some out. Luckily there was three, because if I’d have tried to get him to actually, y’know, PICK 3? We’d still be waiting. Until August.

And the lucky winners are (squint……..turn head sideways…….try to read gawd-awful photography…..and that was the second picture I took!)

Twisting Ivy - her favorite body part is her left eyebrow, because she can do that lift-up-thing that says, “Y’know, you’re an ass and yet, strangely, I only want to raise my eyebrow at you. But try it again, and I’ll slap you from here to kingdom come.” (I’m so jealous. That would really come in handy!) Oh, and her brain. (She picked two.)

Amy M - her favorite body parts are her eyes. Green ones, like mine! She also said that her eyes don’t gain weight or have frizzy days. (Well, Amy, your green eyes must have a great metabolism, because mine gain weight. About 9 pm - every single freakin’ night. Even when I don’t drink the wine.)

Moo - her favorite body parts are her legs. Seventeen years of dancing? I bet they look like Cyd Charisse’s. She doesn’t need a new header, since her gorgeous little boy is on hers, so I’m going to see what else she may want.

And then, because it’s only fair that I participate as well - my favorite body parts are my upper arms and shoulders. They are the first things that tone up when I really put my mind to working out, so they give me hope that the rest of me will figure out what it’s supposed to do. When I remember to draw them back and down, they give me a look of confidence that I don’t always feel. They wrap around Mr. Hot and Shortman in huge, soul-saving hugs. They are the first thing to feel the sun when it finally (finally!) comes out from behind the clouds to signal the true arrival of Spring.

—- Thank you all so much for your comments. Now, Amy, Twisting Ivy, and Moo - go pay it forward! —-

Must write out 34 names, fold them exactly the same size, throw them on the floor, and have Poopy the Puppy nose them out.

And after shopping for home office shit shelves and bins all day, and then cleaning out the room and trying to figure out how to split 36 1/4 inches into three equal sections, I need wine and my couch.

And in other news, I scored this when I cleaned out the deep recesses of one of my office cabinets. No one can tell me whose it was or where it came from. So, I’m giving it a good home. It’s a 2002 model, which means that anyone who was in the department at the time and purchased it isn’t around any longer. I feel a little (itsy bitsy teensy weensy) guilty about bringing it home, but it needs shelter, right? And I can save you all from the piss-poor images I’ve been torturing you with recently.

Thursday’s snow is nearly all melted again. It’s supposed to be near 60 on Monday. Shortman is on Spring Break, and playing Rock Band and Guitar Hero anytime he’s awake.

—- And my glass is empty, so that’s all for now. —-

All of you:

Click here!

No fuckin’ way!

Major Bedhead? Did you know this?

Snow again last night,
The sun is shining today -
Hope comes with blue sky.

After work yesterday - having beer and burgers with my team for the last time. And yes, that’s me, for all of you who have wondered. I knew I had to mark my unveiling with a momentous occasion.

—- They’re a great group, and they’re my friends. —-

Gosh and Golly Gee. Wasn’t that mean? I’m not generally a violence-unto-others type of person (I may rant at stupidity, but I rarely never fantasize about bodily harm), but oh mah holy hell y’all. I had a knot the size of a softball between my shoulder blades when I walked out of here yesterday.  I may have also ground my teeth down to the gums.

I know! Stress much?

Nothing that vodka/limeade, soft food, and a nice shoulder rub from Mr. Hot couldn’t cure, though. (Well, that and the fact that I only have one.more.day. to deal with it. One.More.Day. Ohhhhhhhm.)

Which brings me to today’s subject. Major Bedhead tagged me for The Six-Words Meme. Y’all have seen this right? Originally started by Smith Magazine - the history being:

Legend has it that Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. His response? “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” Last year, SMITH Magazine re-ignited the recountre by asking our readers for their own six-word memoirs. They sent in short life stories in droves, from the bittersweet (“Cursed with cancer, blessed with friends”) and poignant (“I still make coffee for two”) to the inspirational (“Business school? Bah! Pop music? Hurrah”) and hilarious (“I like big butts, can’t lie”).

Here are the rules:

1) Write your own six word memoir;
2) Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like;
3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere;
4) Tag at least five more blogs with links; and
5) Don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play

And my memoir?

Classic Type A attempting to B.

I’m going to tag:

Michael, Meghan, Jennifer @ The Cubicle’s Backporch, Sarah O and Ali.

—- And yes, tomorrow is my last day in this office. After that, I will be working from home with these on my feet and cats in my lap. One step closer to calm and serene. —-