Sour Girl Does Dishes, a new episode of "Urban Legends Debunked"

Yes, I washed my dishes. So many, in fact, that I filled and emptied my dish drainer at least four times. And I didn't even stow away any cookies sheets in the oven for later. There was only one casualty this time: a corningwear dish. I tried HLC's tried and true method of simply freezing the moldy food before emptying and washing. However, this stuff wouldn't budge. I used the (dirty) pie-wedge spoon thing to pry some of that shit loose and only managed to shoot a chunk of it into my eye.

I took a smoke break, called HLC and explained my situation. HLC then gave me permission to toss the corningwear dish. Even after I explained that I'm on my like fifth one. It was OK, she assured me. After all, it's not like I wanted to be around when that nasty shit thawed. Plus, I'd already almost thrown up in the sink once today. And once is enough.

Why My Mom is a Bitch

So, the wedding drama continues. My sister called to ask for HLC's address and mentioned she was also inviting HLC's boyfriend, Jerry Bartz. I gave her the info, hung up, and then thought to myself, hmmm, wonder if I can bring a date. So, called back and got the "yeah, whatever." OK, so then I remember my mother suggesting several days ago that I book my room for the wedding so I don't have to find a ride home 15 miles up into the hills. I decide to book one for HLC, me, and my sister JJ (the non-bridezilla). I call my mom to see if she has any suggestions for which of the two hotels to stay at. When it comes up that I will be booking a separate room for JJ, my mother inquires as to why we couldn't just share. I tell her that I might bring a date. She then says, "Right, like who would you bring as a date," with utter disbelief and sarcasm in her voice. I lamely say, "i don't know, the sherrif maybe." She gives me the "well, whatever" dismissal and then we hang up.

While I'm shampooing my carpet again (yes, still obsessed), I continue to think about our conversation. And, the more I think about it, the angrier I get. Odds are I will not be bringing the Sheriff to the wedding. Odds are I won't have a date. Odds are that, if I did have a boyfriend, I wouldn't subject him to the horrible people that I'm forced to refer to as "my family." However, my mother's reaction was shitty, shitty, shitty. The wedding is in three months. It's possible that I may be so lucky as to trick some guy into dating me long enough to take him to my sister's wedding/my shitty birthday party. What a fucking bitch.

Thirteen days and counting till I'm on the express jet to hell. And I've just started tanning.

Working at the Car[pet] Wash. whoa-oh-oh-oh

I've come into possession of HLC's carpet shampooer (is that even a word?) and I'm a bit obsessed with it. It all began when I had to borrow it to clean Bamboo's rug. Bamboo was gracious enough to take on a house guest (one Duke Huxley Orwell G.) for a couple days and, as of Saturday, all seemed well. However, by day two, things had taken a turn for the worse. After gambling until almost 5 a.m., I awoke at 9 a.m. to the ringing of my phone, signaling a text/pic message. Much to my surprise, I was treated to a picture of Huxley's shit, accompanied by a later text that indicated Hux and done nothing but "shit and piss all over" Bamboo's house all weekend. I was mortified and obviously apologetic but, of course, couldn't do anything about it because I was over 400 miles away.

After I finally managed to round up my passenger and hit the open road, Huxley added the final straw to the camel's back by having some runny poop on the rug and and officially wore out his welcome. He was promptly returned to my apartment Sunday afternoon to await my return. I envisioned my bedroom covered in shit after I found out he was being paroled. But, by the time I got home late Sunday evening, he seemed OK. He had a little bit of runny poop in the bedroom, but he'd used the puppy pad, so all was good. It probably helped that he didn't have any food or water while he was at my place so it allowed him to dry out a bit.

Luckily, before I went to Deadwood I'd already made alternate arrangements for Hux during my Hawaiian trip to hell. Initially, he was supposed to stay with Bamboo, but that clearly isn't an option. Plus, I didn't want the stress of finding him a home for 7 days in case Bamboo had to cancel at the last minute. HLC, you needn't worry about receiving only a few hours' notice of Hux's arrival. Hux will be staying at a nice kennel north of town here. It's pricey but worth the money, from what i hear. It would have been cheaper to pay whomever was brave enough to dog sit, but this way I won't have to worry about Hux ruining anyone's house or transport the shampooer 100 miles.

Back to the shampooer: I LOVE IT. I'll be spending the weekend cleaning furniture, the rest of the bedrooms and memorizing pin cites and transcript page numbers for my oral argument at the supremes next week. HLC will see the return of her shampooer shortly after I burst into tears and sprint out of the courtroom at the 5 minute mark into my argument. I've mentally made a note that I want a vacuum steamer for my birthday. However, if things go as they planned, I'll be saying, "I can't believe they forgot my fucking birthday." And then, after the ceremony, I'll skip the reception to sit on a glass table with my crush, Jake, and blow out candles on a birthday cake. Sounds good to me.

Where the fuck is all my stuff?

Now I've lost a bottle of Resolve carpet cleaner. Seriously, how does that shit go missing??? I'm going crazy, perhaps.

Soma Holiday

I'm back on the rock for now. The 10th prescription sleep-aid I've tried in three years seems to make me too tired to function the next day. I'm waiting for it to kick in, while blogging. That is dangerous territory, as some of you may know. If you receive any bizarre e-mails later, blame it on the rock. The rock is a crazy thing. It likes to pick out crazy outfits for work, fashion cocktail dresses to M.O.M., send congratulatory e-cards to the ex-boyfriend that used the true "rock," e-mail other exboyfriends, etc. The latest disaster involved shearing off my bangs. Luckily, it wasn't too bad. Some bar ho's in DW even complimented me on it and later referred to me as the "cute hair girl." That was nice, since, really, that's my thing. Cute. Not pretty, not sexy, not enchanting, just cute. I'm ok with that, although I'm considerably less cute then I was just a few years ago. I think the whole lawyering thing has aged me (as opposed to time and smoking). Well, I guess I don't really look old, I just don't look cute. Perhaps it's the bitterness that's taken away the cuteness. Losing two jobs in seven months will do that to you. So will 2 bar exams, five moves, four cities, and four jobs in 3 years. Add four animals to that mix, include the death of my social life, and it's a recipe for chaos. The only thing I mourn is the passing of my social life. Deadwood was so fun last weekend but I realized something on the ride home. It wasn't entirely different than a typical KU weekend. Too much to drink, packed bars, dancing, waiting in line to get into the bar, etc. Granted, there were no parades or gambling, but there was the occasional dirty trip to the Outhouse. Back to the chaos issue. It's my only constant. My desk, my office, my car, my finances, my apartment. All chaos. Love it or hate it, it's part of what defines me. If I didn't have chaos, I would be my sister. And, though she's thinner, younger, owns a home and lives like a real adult, she's kind of a grumpy bitch. And, she's settling for a douche bag. Don't get me wrong, I've dated my fair share of douche bags. I just never got the opportunity to make the piss poor decision to marry them. My fucking soma holiday has yet to kick in and I'm getting irritated. Seriously, i need sleep!!!!! This insomnia thing was ok for the first seven years. Mostly because I always had a companion of some sort that was up when I was up. However, I've come to tolerate it less over the last four years. It's me and three sleeping animals right now. That scenario isn't likely to change anytime soon. The Sheriff is supposedly coming out here the last week of the month. I'd be willing to start a pool and bet against the fact that he shows up.

Onto another note, L.A. Weightloss is stalking me. I haven't been there since December 26th, when they told me i lost 12 inches. I didn't believe them, since I was up 3 lbs, hadn't worked out, and I just thought it was a trick they used to show you "progress." That's what really sealed the deal with my disdain for them. And, I lost my "food diary." It's probably hiding with my last bottle of ambien and Bamboo's bracelet. I got a postcard in the mail today offering to give me my "lost weeks" for free and $10 off any product. We'll see. I mean, I'm obviously going to be fat in Hawaii. I can deal with it. My mom won't be able to. Actually, I won't be able to deal with it because my mom won't be able to deal with it. Not sure I can take the "looks" that she'll be shooting me all week. I'm actually wishing I wasn't going. Nothing worse than being the fat one on the beach with your family and they're thinking you're the fat one on the beach, too. What I really want is for Summer, Dawn and Collin to come with me so we can be the atypical people (not 16 with uber minis) hanging out together not giving a fuck about what other people look like or think about what we look like. Still no soma holiday. Regardless, I'll end the stream of conciousness here.

Let me know what you think of my Valentine's Day cards, once you receive them. If you didn't get one, let me know. I may have had a bad address for some of you. All were mailed today or yesterday.

Good night all, wishing you a restful slumber.

Black Wednesday

Happy V-D everyone! I hope your day was eventful or, at the very least, not disappointing. I slept in this a.m., as I've come down with something I can only describe as Deadwooditis. I think my bronchitis is making a comeback and I'm exhausted. Anyway, managed to drag myself into the office for a few hours, sue someone, buy groceries, buy cigarettes, and tan for my upcoming trip to hell.

The rest of the evening was spent shampooing my carpets. That's right, folks. I spent Valentine's Day in my pajamas and flip-flops shampooing my living room and hallway. HLC was kind enough to lend me the steam vac to clean up Huxley's messes at Bamboo's house, so I then decided I'd get a head start on getting my security deposit back. It's fabulous, except it doesn't remove stains left by a dumped over ashtray. Hmmmm.

I've topped off the evening by throwing my suits into the dryer ala Dryell. After that, it's off to bed with a three-legged cat and a balls-licking dog. His "zipper" seems to be healing fine after the neutering, despite his frequent licking. I put him in the elizabethan cone for about a day and he was so pathetic i took it off.

Night all. If anything exciting happened for you on V-D, let me know.

Deadwood

Made me Dead Tired. The annual Mardi Gras bash was held where Wild Bill Hickock gasped his last breath. About 21 of us headed on over for the two-day soiree. I have to say it was pretty fabulous, in part because of the above-freezing weather. It was probably about 20 degrees at night which, for us, meant no-jacket weather. Woo-hoo! By the way, I realize Fat Tuesday isn't for another 1.5 weeks, and I'm not entirely sure why it was this weekend.

Deb got a kiss from Captain Morgan, or his older brother, anyway. I got a kiss from a **ugh** soldier. Then, I got propositioned for sex while playing 3-card poker in my pajamas after far too much gin and not enough juice (or food). I not-so-politely declined the offer from the 23 year old man boy. I have no idea how much money I lost playing 3-card poker that night, nor did I have any idea how to play. I sat down at the table because I thought it was blackjack. Nope. Some nice guy from, of course, Kansas helped me out. He was a shitty card player. Needless to say, I won no money. I then managed to piss away some more money playing blackjack and slots.

Our hotel rooms were awesome. Like, third-world awesome. The two-bed rooms were equipeed with a single bed and a full-size bed (labeled as a "queen"). Deb and I could peek into HLC's bathroom, and vice versa, through a vent. We could also hear the dinging from slot machines on the floor below. I apparently slept through a sex session at about 8 a.m. from another room (HLC and her boyfriend, Jerry Bartz, swear it wasn't them). The boys stayed in a hotel across the street and, for an extra $20, they had chocolates on their pillows, turndown service, slippers and robes, and plasma tvs. I hate them.

And, finally, to make it a true sour girl weekend, I fell. Todd and I were dancing and, according to him, I tripped over a bar stool at the edge of the floor. According to me, he flung me into the band's sound board. As my mom would say, "it's a horse apiece." Actually, I have no idea if that's what she'd say because I don't know when it's appropriate to apply. It's like, "begging the question." I'm never sure when that applies. In any event, I was "awesome." Deb was awesome, too.

Overall, I'd give Deadwood 14 out of 15 paws. Next year, when I'm enjoying my turn-down service, I'll likely give it 15 out of 15 paws.