Possibilities

The sun is shining and I've been up EARLY (for me, Reader, early for me - not crazy-early like people who get up at 6 a.m. even on the weekends, but normal-people early, 9 a.m.!), I've enjoyed toast and coffee and some kittens and looking around the Internets at a bunch of nonsense. 

The day is sprawled in front of me! Here are the possible things I may do:

1/ Take an afternoon nap (because I was up early, Reader). 

2/ Organize my new office area, which has been in a shambles for a couple of months with it just half-assedly put together.

3/ Match some socks. 

4/ Finally put away my suitcase from my trip (last month, hangs head in shame).

5/ Bake something.

6/ Call people I miss.

7/ Meet an actual people I miss for a drink or shenanigans later today as I'm footloose and fancy-free this evening. 

8/ Squander the entire day watching episodes of Hoarders, My Strange Addiction, HGTV's Living Abroad show, or Say Yes to the Dress. Because I've been known to squander hour upon hour with each of the shows listed above. They're educational.  I've learned the following from watching them:

a/ My house is actually quite clean and organized. 

b/ Eating rubber tires won't kill you right away.

c/ Eating Comet cleanser WILL rot your teeth out of your head and give you abscesses in your mouth.

d/ Most people who eat non-food have really poor complexions. 

e/ I don't think I could move to Switzerland after all, they really have very little regard for women/women's opinions, and that sort of offends me. The offense even outweighs my love of chocolate and melty fondues and the thought of taking on a Swiss lover in a fancy chalet. 

f/ I feel like I have a little secret for brides who put all that emphasis on a dress. 

So there you have it. We'll see how the day shakes out. 

I'm Not Sure Why

Apparently I'm being paid homage: 

Me Me Me Me Me

I'm not sure why. 

Is it because I have been known to...er... "fuck" - sorry if that's not delicate for you, Reader (but I do have quite a history of fucking). Because then that's a suitable use and makes some sense and isn't all sweary if you're out in public. 

Or is it because whatever it is is so Awesome? Like me? So we proclaim 'What the Me!!'?

And I know it's me, Reader, because of that telling "e". There's only one me. Well, four of us actually, with the same spelling first and last names. Almighty Google tells me so. So I'm not that unique, but really, only 4 of us running around makes me pretty darn close, right? Awesomely unique. 

I don't know why it's "What the Me", Reader, but I do know this. Reading my name and saying it over and over in my head made me realize how fantastical my name sounds. 

I sound pretty, oh so pretty.  So go ahead, Reader. "What the Me," as you see fit - perhaps this will be the latest catchphrase.  I think I'd better trademark it so I can get rich every time I'm used. 

Hear We Go.

We're back in business, Reader. And that business I'm referring to is the business of hearing.

It was hard being disabled, Reader. Yes, I did just compare my plugged-up waxy ear to a disability. Because I was deaf, and even though it was only temporary, it still counts. I applied for a handicapped sticker during my time of infirmary. They told me to incorporate better hygiene practices. I call discrimination and plan on marching on Washington on behalf of all of the waxy-earred's who go unheard. 

So anyway, I'm back to hearing all the noises of the world. Let me tell you what I learned while I was disabled. 

I slept like a motherfucker when I couldn't hear. 

It was bliss. 

I heard nothing, with my "good" ear smashed in the pillow. I think that's the first time I really got into some serious REM sleep. I did wake up every couple of hours, after my REM cycle ended, and felt refreshed and ready to take on the day, even at 2 a.m. And then because I wasn't assaulted by the noises of life, I dropped right back off to sleep, for another few hours of delicious REM. 

It's made me realize how poorly I sleep on a regular basis. 

But once that wax plug plopped out due to extensive flushing, the world came to life. I could hear the future - crickets in the yard rubbing their little violin-string legs together. And it's winter, Reader. I could hear 'em all the way from August. 

So now I'm on an olive-oil in my ears regimen. That's what you're supposed to do, put a couple drops in the ears each week to keep 'em clean. 

I promise not to share any details if any of my other orifices get gummed up with anything. Pinky swears. 

Dirty Girl

I've been sidelined by a cold, Reader. Some sort of sniffling/stuffy-headed disease. Not the flu. 

It came on quite suddenly. One minute I was fine, and about an hour later I was so stuffed up I could barely breath.  

So I bought some OTC (it sounds exotic when I use initials like that, huh?) meds (again, with my hipster shorthand, I am so kul, yo), and started the battle. 

Now, bear with me for this sidebar. But lately - I'm talking in the past six months or so - I've been focused on the amount of OTC meds I take, and have been trying to whittle down luxury usage because I want to be kind to my liver. 

I don't know why I've suddenly taken an interest in my liver. I think it has a pretty hard and unglamerous job, just filtering out toxins and stuff, and even repairing itself when we fuck it all up and don't treat it nicely. Now, I haven't been out-and-out abusive to Liver, but you know, when shit hurts I usually don't hesitate to take an Aleve and let's just admit it, I have a semi-dependency on nighttime pain relievers and I just really love the coma-like sleep they induce. It's resplendent. 

Except that lately I worry and don't take anything and instead lie in bed with my artheritis pound-pound-pounding with every heartbeat, and that sucks so I get out of bed and then have to weigh the consquences of taking something too late to be able to get up for work, and so I break them into some sort of little nub to get a little relief, but not a coma-sleep. Your welcome, Liver. 

I can't remember why this train veered off track. What was I talking about??  Ah, my cold. So anyway. 

This stupid cold wasn't getting any better, and in fact each day I was getting just a tich worse. To the point that I could hear my chest/nose whistling and rattling while I was trying to sleep, and even a full dose of nighttime bliss pills couldn't help me sleep through it. 

It was tough nights around Chez Bang Bang.  And then my ear started hurting. 

So yesterday I caved, took a sick day and went to the minute clinic at the local drugstore. I hate an earache almost as much as I hate a sore throat. Maybe more. 

I had a once-over by the nurse practitioner, and it was really quite an easy experience.  She checked out my obviously-infected ear and proclaimed, "You've got a lot - a LOT - of dried waxy buildup in there, which is why it hurts." The pressure from the sinus infection thing was pound-pound-pounding on the ear, and it couldn't get out because of my filthy, dried, waxy buildup. 

I clean my ears, Reader!!  Every day, as a matter of fact. I cottonswab those motherfuckers as soon as I get out of the shower.  I know, I know - we all know - don't put a cottonswab in your ear. But that's what their sole intent is - to be put in an ear!! So obviously, I've just been packing that wax down instead of cleaning it out and now it is a hotmess.

I was told to use Debrox for 5 to 7 days and then if it doesn't dislodge I have to go in and have it yanked out. 

WTF, Reader. I just get more and more disgusting in all sorts of little hidden nooks and crannies. 

Upon picking up my supplies from the drugstore - which included a prescription antibiotic (I apologize, Liver), some Ibuprofin (again, Liver, it's doctor's orders, not mine!), some Mucinix (but not the stuff that dries you out, apparently that's bad and you need the stuff that thins, not dries - and that's just another gross part of me), and my earwax dissolver kit - I relayed my diagnosis to My Mister. 

As I was putting all my supplies up on the counter to purchase, I had an empty plastic bottle from some Sobe water I had enjoyed while waiting for my appointment. I paid for it, and then pondered keeping the now-empty bottle for, "Later." 

My Mister's responded, "Who are you becoming, a nasty wax-filled-ears hoarder who hangs onto empty plastic bottles??" 

Yes, apparently yes. I've become a nasty-wax-earred hoarder who collects empty plastic bottles.  Would you like my autograph now, or after I turn up on a t.v. show?

When Too Much Sex is Too Much Sex

Well, I think I've finally gone and done it. I've read too many 50-Shades-of-Twilight-type sex books and  I'm bored by all the throbbing members, undulating bosoms, writhing and moaning and never-ending sexcapades that, for reals, could never happen that often while holding down a job where you own not only your own mega-rich corporation, but apartment buildings and gyms and basically Gothem City, all before the age of 30. 

Unless maybe you are Batman. 

The downfall came when I downloaded Bared To You by Sylvia Day. 

I'm just. Bored. Yep, bored by all the sex with no storyline. 

The characters are maybe a tinch less annoying than 50 Shades of Grey, not by much. They fuck and then fight and then fuck and then fight and there's just so much nonsense fighting because that's the only way the author apparently can paint a scenario to lead to more fucking. 

I guess I am an old-fashioned gal. I need a little story with my sex. 

Punctuation Explanation.

We passed by a Jesus Board in front of a church tonight with a message that caused us pause.

"Never put a question mark where God has put a period."

Me: "So I guess what that's saying is, don't put a question mark in your vagina."

Him: "True, yes, that could be what they're saying."

Then we drove in silence for a while, both lost in our own thoughts. Me, pondering why God would think I'd want a question mark in my vagina, although there have been a few questionable things in there during the years, I'm not sure what form a question mark would take, unless it was wooden or something, like those big initial letters people sometimes hang on their walls and then post pictures of to Pinterest, to demonstrate their craftiness. 

Him: "Maybe what the message is saying is, "When things end, don't question why, just accept it." 

Me: "Hm. That could be it, I see how you could get that."

Him: "Or, don't put a question mark in your vagina. That might hurt. Or get stuck."

Same Ship, Different Day

I was here.

And now we're home.  

Time flies when you're having fun. For reals. 

It actually felt like we were gone a looooong time, but it only took a few hours back home and opening up my work laptop and doing work, to make it all come crashing back. 

It was a very nice & relaxing time. I read two books which gave me restless sleep. Damn you, Gillian Flynn and your fucked up brain transferred to paper.

The cats went haywire while we were gone. The baby beat up everyone while we were gone. But he's so damn cute! I just don't really want to raise a bully so we're going to have to take some sort of spraying him with a squirt bottle action when he goes after the others. As My Mister put it, 'He pounced them like a lion attacks a gazelle!"  We think he was showboating a bit for us.