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.

They like me, they REALLY like me!

I had an interview at a branch of the public library. I was on all 1000watts, I'm telling you I sold it to the friggin cheaps seats, ladies and gentlemen. And you know what, the day after my interview the CALLED AND OFFERED ME THE JOB!

I'm sorry, you didn't catch that? I'm free. No more struggling to assist a woman who has the charisma of a lion but no experience in her position and no desire to learn how to do anything. No more going to work when I'm not getting paid to be there. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I get to pee whenever I dang well need to, because I'm a big kid now!

Anyway, on a serious note, I feel this new position will offer me the chance to expand and grow proffesionally, in a way that my current job is unable to offer. I also feel that the polices upheld by the supervisors at my new position are more in line with my own beliefs as far as what I am willing to offer the public. Also, they'll be paying me GOBS more money, and I can wear jeans on Fridays. Oh, did I mention I don't have to beg for a bathroom break like a victim of the Spanish Inquesition? Why the Spanish Inquesition? Because NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISION! NOBODY!

So, um, yeah. That is all.