Friends and Kitties!
Sheebie here, and I'm in the mood to unload a giant buttload of Snarkastic* Whining.
(Is there such a thing as a petite buttload?)
Lately I've had a niggling suspicion that the Kats' Gmail account (yes, they have their own) wasn't dumping into mine like it's supposed to. I ignored the feeling for a couple of weeks until Saturday when I decided to bite the bullet and investigate. Holy shit. Nine hundred and twenty three unread emails! Granted, most of them were Facebook updates (how do I get RID of those!?!) but I missed two entries to the Cat-O-Lympic counter Surfing event, which I'll put up next week whilst eating much crow (served by the felines), and several personal messages to various Kats, and even myself. What a pain.
Remember the last couple of of posts about me being depressed? Well, I think I'm back on track again but the effing herpes virus that lives just below my left eyelid has not gotten the glad tidings and flared up into two small shingles--which itch worse than fire ant bites on a sunburned hemorrhoid. Don't ask. Why can't I get a big old honkin' cold sore like a normal person? At least people would notice and maybe think I'm getting some damn fine illicit nooky or something. I'd be the envy of all my friends. (Hi Mom!)
Instead, I have a one-half puffed eyelid, like I have some Asian genes just dying to express themselves but not quite getting it--nobody's gonna ask (or be envious) about that.
I know I promised some Park Across the Street pictures but you know, it's just too damn hot outside to lug the camera twenty yards into the desert to show y'all a half built brick restroom and a bunch of brown cement curbs. In the eleven years we've lived here this is the worse Monsoon season I've experienced with temps in the 105-110 range and 40% (and up) humidity. Hello! Mister Weather? This is a DESERT here...you can take this sucky humidity and send it to San Fransisco ('Frisco') or Seattle or wherever they grow webbed toes and drink fancy-shmancy single origin bean coffee and make with the blast furnace! How am I supposed to maintain my dessicated desert rat status in this soup? Srsly.
I went out for dinner on Thursday with my girlfriend Dana, who is, I must inform you, a Bad Influence. She drives me to drink. Why I persist in dining with her...I just don't know. It must be the conviviality that draws me in, because the agony of the aftereffects of one lousy gin and tonic are simply horrific. I was hoisting the sheets a third of the way through my glass, in bed by eight PM, and hung over the next morning! Dana says the only reasonable cure is to drink more, and more often. I repeat: she is a bad, bad girl.
I've been staging a private rebellion in that I've not been commenting on blogs as much. I know, kill me dead. I realized it was a source of anxiety so I'm forcing myself to not be so OCD about checking in with every single person every. damn. day. Plus, I'm in the thick of a reading orgy (I updated my Goodreads book list) and since I have to do that work thingy (dirty bastards) my time is limited.
Speaking of reading, I am all up in arms and stuff over the new branch of the so-called public library by my house. Since it's located in the Senior Center facility, you're supposed to be over 50 to use it! I say this is
crap ageist and I'm not paying these goody two shoes Senior Rules one iota of attention. I'm marching my forty nine and one-half year old rebel self in there, and if I'm accosted by some Senior Scofflaw Enforcer Ima flash 'em my AARP** card--and anything else it's gonna take--to get my booty into that damn library and check out a book.
There. I feel MUCH better.
Anything bugging you?
Happy Sunday and have a great week!
XX Sheebie XX
*Snarkastic = Snarky + Sarcastic. I just made it up. Feel free to plagiarise.
**AARP--Association of American Retired Persons, or some such nonsense. Scott joined when he turned 50.