Happiness is...

Happiness is a warm ice cream cone cupcake on a blustery day. Srsly. Trust me on this one.

I tried to eat my lunch outside today, as I usually do. I was extra excited about it, because blustery fall days are my FAVORITE days to be outside. Sadly, it was SO blustery I had to go inside. My monkey lunchbox almost blew away.

(oh, the huge manatee!)

I felt much like Piglet on that glorious Windsday.

Hey blue van guy

Dear blue van guy,

Thank you for driving for 3 miles with your right turn signal on, then abruptly turning left. I'm sure it was amusing for all of us who were spending our morning trying to figure out where the heck you were going. It truly was an inspired concept art piece, a thought-provocing diatribe to the exestentialism of life and the meaninglessness of the non-verbal cues we all send out into the atmosphere. Or, wait, maybe it's just bad driving. Hrm.

Randomness from the Welcome Desk

"Peaches, come here. You know, you're being really hurtful to me"

You know what's really hurtful to me, lady whom I don't know? That you're calling your rather large (roughly 11 year old from what I can see) son peaches. That, lady, is pain.

You know what else is painful? Manpris. You know, guys who wear pants and roll them to the length of capris, their their tufts of crinkly leg hair jauntily poking out under the cuff. Please, stop the madness guys. Manpris are wrong!

Huh?!?

So, Sis accused me of being on drugs yesterday. She claims that she has "never seen me so animated" before. Whoa. Where the heck has she been? I'm practically inked and painted, I'm so friggin animated. But, whatever. And she may have a point.

Hubs and I met for lunch yesterday, on account of the fact that I work late and he's been putting in 8 hours of overtime this week. So, we're sitting and talking and I SWEAR I was trying to pay attention to Hubs, but there was this guy at a table that was just to the left of my line of sight. This guy had letters tattooed down his left arm. Big letters, that (as I managed to puzzle out) spelled "Andrew". So, it made me think: Who is Andrew? Is that the big tattooed-guy's name? Does he have a condition? Maybe it's his son's name, now isn't that sweet? Wait a second, he's got ANOTHER name down his other arm! It says "Carnegie"...no..wait, it's Carleigh! Oh great, he's got two kids and two names. What happens if he and the missus have a little too much pinot grigio one night, things heat up, and then HE HAS NO OTHER ARM TO PUT THE NEW BABY'S NAME ON. Oh geez, you've really tattooed yourself into a corner there pal.

All the while, Hubs continues to talk, completely ignoring my despair for Mr. Tattoo's nameless, no room at the inn (er, on the arm) youngest progeny and so I refocus on the conversation until OHMYGOSH does the guy behind me have tuberculosis or WHAT?!? Here I am, trying to enjoy a delicious 2 piece leg and thigh meal (with seasoned fries for my "fixin") and Doc Holiday over there is forcing a lung up within 2 feet of my medium Cherry. No, not Cherry soda, the drink is just called "cherry". Anyway, I'm pondering whether or not I'm going to become the next Satine in La Bojangles Rouge, and that's kind of worrisome because while I do enjoy bursting into song and honest zitar players, I would look HORRIBLE in a sequined body suit.

Wait, what was I talking about again?

I was a library jezebel

Yep, a library Jezebel. Me, with my jiggly plus-size body and my full-bodied Katherine Hepburn pitched laugh. A supervisor has actually warned a gentlemen about "fraternization" with me, because "you are both married, and well...."

I'm not exactly sure why it is inappropriate for two coworkers to have a laff while going about their "look, I'm doing my job" type business, but hey, I feel rather risque and dangerous being a Jezebel. Because, quite honestly, I've always been the comedic relief in the story that is my life. At least from my point of view. I'm not hideous, but I certainly don't embody that which is vixenkitty-esque. I am much more likely to be laughing over a fart joke than casting a come-hither look while batting my eyelashes.

Mental Health

I have brain shivers.

No, really! Endearing Doc and I decided I was finally ready to get off Effexor, and so I did a two week taper off. Two days after my last pill, and I feel like someone has frayed all my nerves and is scraping a penny across them. It just happens; a sudden head twist, a dart of the eyes and ZAP! Everything is all sharp and bright. It only lasts a nanosecond, but STILL!

I feel like Tweak from South Park. The problem is that it's not only the physical brain flinch, but the emotional effect. The shivers make me on edge, like a rabbit surrounded by wolves. And that, my friends, is EXHAUSTING. I hope it goes away soon.

Et tu, Beef Jerk-ay?

So, hubs has been sneaking the furry one some midnight snacks (Yes, he is the midnight snacker what snacks at midnight)

How did I figure this out? Well, I was on the couch, expecting some snuggling with the furry one. Why? Well, I am the one who found the furry one and adopted him; I walk him, feed him, play with him and lavish him with attention. Normally, mine is the lap he comes running for. This time, though, he goes hurtling by me and settles into hubs lap. Hrm. Whatever. Then, the night night, same thing. Being the sensitive goddess I am, I feel rather hurt by this, but stoically soldier on, cold lapped and ignored though I am. I must have been radiating miserableness because hubs sheepishly looks over and says "Um, I guess it's the beef jerky I have at night"

Can you feel my eyebrow quirking here? Mr. "We are not going to spoil this dog" has been feeding the furry one BEEF JERKY?!? Secretly, while I get my goddess-y z's so that I can get up and the friggin crack of dawn to walk oh furry one and still get to work on time? Yeah. Hrm.