My Life as a Hotfessional

Y’all are so sweet and kind and I wish I could give you all hugs and kisses for the wonderful comments I got yesterday. Mr. Hot took me for Japanese food. (Lyvvie, I thought of you since I ordered the Kaisheki Bento Box.) Shortman and 24 gave me a gift certificate for a massage. (I think I need to make an appointment for very soon.)

I found out that a Lemon Sake Martini (yes, one!) will go right to your head when you’re eating raw fish.  And that octopus is kinda rubbery, but you can actually stick them to the side of your plate when they’re served with their suckers still attached.  And that I’m much more capable with chopsticks than Mr.  Hot, but since he’s missing his right-middle finger from the top knuckle up, he’s at a disadvantage….the bottom stick kept falling off his hand.  Snirk.

In work related news, our “big initiative” that I wrote bitched about here has some minor “issues”,  but nothing too terribly bad that I can tell.  Some stupid crappe because people weren’t thinking or paying attention, but all in all, (knock wood), I think we’re going to come out relatively unscathed.

Which is a good thing, because, srsly, how am I supposed to get any work done when this is going on right in front of me?

Yea, I know.  “Hotfessional, we thought you were, um, more professional and mature than that.”, you’re saying.   “You’re supposed to be an executive level manager or some shit.”  (Okay, so maybe you wouldn’t say shit, but when I put words in your mouth, you tend to speak like me.)

Well, okay, so there is that whole “kick them out of the office” option. Or, “stop taking pictures.” Or, at the very least, “Oh mah holy hell woman, stop freakin’ captioning them.”  But, oh noes.  That would be no fun at all.

—- Thanks again for the birthday wishes…it may take me a couple of days to get through the emails and stuff, but I will!  Love to you all. You are truly the best. —-

You Act Like You Are 31 Years Old

You are a thirtysomething at heart. You’ve had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!You’re responsible, wise, and have enough experience to understand a lot of the world. You’re at the point in your life where you understand yourself pretty well.You are figuring out what you want… and how to get it!

What Age Do You Act?

Funny, because this:

turned 45 today.

Forty-freakin’-five.

—- Shoot me.  Tell me Happy Birthday.  Just don’t tell me how much younger you are than me.  Snort. —-

Grinding my back teeth,
The anger is testing me,
Will I break or scream?

Do you ever have days when you’re on the verge of having a huge-ass hissy fit all day long? From the time you get up in the morning until the time you go to bed (or, at least, lock yourself away from all other human beings?) - you feel like if one more person says one more word, or walks past, or looks at you, or fuckin’ BREATHES - you’re going to explode?

That’s pretty much how I feel right now.

Everything is pissing me off. From the 27 emails I had waiting for me this morning reminding me that we have a huge initiative happening next week that absolutely, positively, must be flawless (Gee, sorry, I had no idea….dumbshit) to the fact that Shortman just walked out of this room without turning off his Teamspeak headset so I hear a bunch of 16 year old boys screaming at each other to “Shoot him, shoot him. Dammit.”.

I’ve wanted to haul off and punch the crappe out of, oh pretty much the entire world. (Well, except you all…no, seriously, I wouldn’t punch you….you’re the greatest. Stop.Backing.Away!)

Ahem.

So, that’s my mood today. I need to go to the grocery store and run over some perfect strangers with my cart and stock up on the vodka buy some beautifully scented aromatherapy candles and some bubble bath.

—- Meh. That’s all. —-

…but an open bar is.

see more crazy cat pics

I’ve run out of time to write a post - and must go steal an early drink or 7 set up for tonight’s retirement party. I’m not even going to pretend that I’ll be able to write a decent post later on, so I’ll catch y’all tomorrow.

—- I’ll be at O’Horror at 6 a.m., that should provide you fodder. —-

A little over a year ago, I rescued these two from a shelter. They were part of the Brooklyn 15 - two sisters and their 13 kittens - so they’re either brother and sister or cousins or they could be 1/2 brother and sister.

The first month, they wouldn’t come out of the bathroom.

The second month, they wouldn’t step foot in the living room.

Now, though, I wake up in the middle of the night and they’re not only in bed with us, they’re in bed with us and Poopy the Puppy. Pippin (the orange tabby) thinks Poopy is his best friend. Daphne doesn’t hesitate to haul off and slap Poopy’s face, and then run….hoping for a good chase.

When this started today, I figured I could offer you a little cat porn.

If you blush easily, turn away now. Otherwise, I’m thinking of titling this, “Pu$$y Licking Pu$$y”.

—- Oh hush. It could have been so much worse. —-

And a reminder: Don’t forget to get me your favorite recipe sites for the April Hotlight!

Seventy Degrees
The windows are open wide
Daffodils in bloom.

Oh mah holy hell y’all. 74 today. 46 tomorrow. Did I mention that Spring in Michigan can break or make your day?

And for those of you who said something about forgetting the grocery bags when you go to the store?

—- Uh, yes. —-

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. —-