Ahem. I’m waiting.
Um… thank you.
Yes, indeed. You’re welcome. You don’t even need your Big Book of Whatever the Hell You Were Talking About to see that I was right. That foot of snow outside your front door should be sufficient.
I said thank you. Isn’t that enough?
No.
Well, fine. Thank you that I’m not stuck in stand-still traffic on the freeway in a gross bus. Thank you that I’m not in some gruesome accident. And thank you, that I now get to sit home eating chips and onion dip while my friends are all at that fantastic party and I’ve got no one to play innuendo games with!
You’re welcome.

So v. cold.

Woke up several times last night to find that nose, or arm or other unclothed body part had strayed from warm, down comforter zone and into frigid apartment air. Wanted so v. much to call J and demand a warm bed for the evening. But, as was nearly three in the oh-so-very-cold A.M, refrained from placing such demands. Eyes are v. puffy from lack of sleep. Is not a pretty sight.

Have decided not to go to the BigCity after all, and said decision has silenced Inner Goddess and her nagging (at least on this issue) to satisfaction. Am v. disappointed, but relieved. Wish that there was some Big Book of Answers to Stuff that Nobody Really Knows, in which could look up what would have happened if had indeed gone to BigCity. But, if such book exists, was not available at local bookstores or Amazon.com. Am out of resources.

Am spending this evening doing J’s taxes. As will not be getting heating oil in apartment until morning, plan to wrangle warm bed at his place. Payment for services rendered.

Am in something of a quandary.

Have had plans for some time to venture down to the BigCity for weekend of fun with GalPal and assorted city friends. But as yet, have not bought bus tickets. That, in itself is not so much an issue. Unusual issue at hand happens to be strange, Inner-Goddess-type nagging centered at back of the brain which seems to say, “Don’t do it, woman.”

Now, am not one to listen when given such commands — especially when laden with irritating misogynistic undertones. Have even gone so far as to purchase new, v. adorable dress for BigCity excursion (even more reason to ignore voice). But am also not one to ignore intuition when am unsure of impending consequences. Bother. Am hoping Zen, and Karma, Inner Goddess and other assorted forces of the universe will reconcile this mess so yours truly will know whether or not to purchase stinky bus ticket.

Made dinner last night for J and Concerned Roommate. Am becoming quite the Donna Reid. Though, do suppose that Mrs. Reid would never have left broccoli in the microwave and forgotten about its existence until it was quite cold and somewhat rubbery. Ah, well. Baby steps toward being domestic goddess. At least did not burn anything.

J took self and Concerned Roommate by surprise when jumped to defend his non-girlfriend in a very boyfriendy way. Roommate remarked on lack of grace and coordination possessed by yours truly and how remarkable it is that am indeed, getting on v. well with yoga. J acted as though were an absurd idea.

J: What do you mean? You don’t have any balance?
CR: Do you even know her?!
J: I have never noticed anything like that.

Must not be paying v. close attention. Not unlike yours truly when walking into living room furniture. God damned coffee table.

Did many v. exciting things yesterday evening. Like, changing bed linens and cringing through yet another episode of horrid So-You-Want-to-Marry-a-Guy-Who’s-Not-Really-a-Millionaire reality program. Had to keep leaving the room on invented errands as cannot make self sit still through Ridiculous-Tramp-Number-One “making it easy” for the non-millionaire to get some. And what did that buy the poor fool? Elimination. Take that, Ridiculous-Tramp-Number-One!

As testament to inability to perform basic home maintenance, am once again out of heating oil. Can legitimately blame said lack of warmth on horrid cold spell. Because, really, did not expect to use 150 gallons in sixteen days. At least cold spell has eased and need only resort to wooly socks and sweaters until can afford to refill the tank.

Had email from J first thing, asking to hang out, perhaps just watch some television. Had to inform him that as is Tuesday night, will be required to watch So-You-Want-Simon-to-Make-You-Cry-While-the-World-Watches trashy reality program. Surprisingly, suggested programming was acceptable (though am certain will have to throw in at least two hours of violent/potty humor related entertainment.)

J: I just like spending time with you.
H: (Pinching self) What? Ruby slipper check. Nope. Am in reality. Awwww…

In last few days, have been struck several times by sudden bursts of J sincerity. Have been flattered, amused and baffled. Have even been shocked into silence as result.

J: I really don’t know what in the world I would ever do without you. You have become the closest friend I have ever had.
H: (Shocked silence)

Perhaps J is feeling somewhat panicked that yours truly will follow through with notion (threat?) that if do indeed lose monkey job, will follow aspirations to BigCity. After discussion along those lines, J went into premature withdrawals. Perhaps has not recovered.

J: It makes me sad just thinking that you might leave. I’ll miss the hell out of you if you go.
H: So step it up, you big fuckwit! I hold every possible title in your life except the most important one. Accountant, friend, lover, person who tells you when your clothes don’t go. Does it take leaving to get you to have some big epiphany? I’d miss you, too.

Am having v. difficult time concentrating on anything other than the fact that Slim Fast granola bar that am eating is neither satisfying and delicious (as advertised) nor in any way keeping self from running across busy street to feast on v. satisfying Italian sub. But, as am model of will-power and tower of strength, will continue on with nasty granola bar and ponder concept of the eternal diet. If only could teach self to detach all emotion and affection from food. Ah, if only.

Weekend passed in rather unexciting and uneventful blur of hours spent lounging in front of television or napping with kitten on comfy bed. Had all sorts of plans to accomplish things like cleaning and shopping, but really, some things simply aren’t meant to be. Like Slim Fast granola bars. Ick.

And much like these torturous ten pounds, Valentine’s ski weekend with J is back on. Am actually looking forward to getting away, even though said mini-vacation requires spending long car ride and three solid days with B’s girlfriend who, well, in nicest terms, wishes yours truly dead. Will not matter, am hoping, when chalet fills up and have eight other folks with whom to chat and use as personal hatred-ray deflectors. Have purchased lovely lacey item for possible Valentine’s nookie, the use of which will be contingent on securing one of three private bedrooms at crowded chalet. Early arrival a must. As do not own ski apparel, will probably spend entire vacation indoors participating in such activities as over-eating. And binge drinking. And full-contact Trivial Pursuit.
A girl can hope.

Am something of a renaissance woman, and don’t mind saying so.

In past few days have baked a tasty lasagna, finished taxes, re-worked Js budget (and subsequently confiscated his ATM and credit cards), given a haircut, updated resume and pulled a double yoga session. Oh, and spent a fortune on whole new set of comfy, lounging-around-but-still-looking-hot clothes at the Gap. Must say, am becoming quite the fan of new boy-cut underwear. Not that they will, in any way, take away my love and devotion for the thong, but nice just the same.

Weekend is looking rather dismal. Plans for girls-night-out dancing have fallen through and am facing empty Saturday night. Am also battling disappointment that ski weekend with J is simply not going to happen. Hopefully, as have no solid plans for tonight, and J’s boys-night-out-getting-sloppy-drunk has been cancelled, may be able to finagle some together time. But, then again, maybe not. Is a tricky creature, that J.

Also, headache has lifted, officemate has taken down manilla folder safety barriers, and yours truly has learned the correct spelling of Mr. Vader’s last name. Been a v. productive morning

Day four of sinus headache hell.

Was aware that had become somewhat persnickety as result of never-ending, torturous pain, but clearly had not noticed the extent of my lashings-out until witnessed officemate constructing safety barricade out of manilla folders. Perhaps has reason to fear, as had just finished explaining plan to develop some serious Darth Vader skills and start crushing windpipes from fifty feet.

You should really learn to control your frustration. And take an Advil. Or five.
I did. Not working. And I don’t think you understand, she-who-is-not-real.
That’s a valid point. But really, how wise was it to unleash your wrath on J yesterday?
Like he didn’t have that coming. And more.
He was joking. You nearly tore out his trachea.
So? It was a mean joke. And honestly, how often do I go completely irrational on him? I figure, history considered, he’s been lucky. Same with these office schmucks. I’m sure they’re just blaming it on PMS anyway.
If they saw you scarfing down that lasagna, they’d have no doubts…
Can I put you on hold?
What?
Hold. Don’t speak anymore. I’m going to go get some ice cream. And when I come back, I want you to have gotten frustrated and gone away. Capiche?

Have spent morning suffering from most astounding headache. Worst part is (except for blinding pain behind eyes), that did nothing fun and/or destructive to have warranted such torture. No excessive drinking. No reading in dim lighting. No ridiculous arguments with J. Nada. Am beginning to think is simply day three of sinus torture and am beginning to understand why one would seek doctorly assistance for such maladies. Good God, kill me now.

Received memo regarding status of hostile takeover — a bulleted memo which, after careful reading, should only have contained ONE sentence. “We still don’t know.” Indeed. Lousy indecision. Is worse than sinus headache hell. But only by small margin.

Went to J’s place last night, freshly showered and, if may be so bold, smelling quite nearly edible. Wasted effort. As evening progressed and v. funny friends and roommates turned living room into smokey haze, came out smelling like fun, leafy green substance. And only thing catching attention was skateboarding video game, and only thing being tasted, wonderful pile of salsa-flavored chips and Mrs. Field’s cookies. Wasted effort, indeed. Suffered through three conversations with Inner Goddess regarding other wasted efforts of shaving legs, extra tush-tightening lunges, and thorough moisturizing. Have subsequently sent away for television-advertised Universal Remote Control. Said remote has v. attractive MUTE button feature, and am hoping, if is ‘universal’ as promised, that indeed applies to Inner Goddesses as well as standard Samsung, Sony and Panasonic models.

And if not, was promised that can return purchase for full refund if not fully satisfied.
Only wish that certain evenings came with aforementioned guarantee.

Due to complete engrossment in her glamorous life as a soon-to-be divorcee, have been spared excessive contact with the UMF. That is, until was enjoying peaceful lunch break from eerily quiet, and still indecisive, workplace. Seems UMF is obsessed with being thin and making certain the world knows of her current size-six status.

UMF: I’m going to wear that black dress I bought in Europe. I wore it to a funeral yesterday. It was a nice funeral and I looked great.
H: And that’s what’s important.
UMF: (clearly not sensing sarcasm) Yes, it is. The dress is really loose on me now.
H: Get it tailored. Am not playing your game.
UMF: Or, I could do it, but it fits nice. It was too tight when I bought it.
H: You just said it’s really loose. (In other words, am sensing you patting yourself on the back. And, in passive-aggressive style learned at your knee, refuse to entertain such behavior.) Really, loose is almost as bad as tight, in the flattering department.
UMF: Yeah, but not too loose. Just not form-fitting. Can’t see my panty line any more!
H: Oh dear GOD, the visual.
UMF: I also bought a nice black wool sweater to wear with it. So I wore those with a pearl choker. I was elegant.
H: mmmmm. Am certain the dead guy appreciated your attention to detail.

Almost feels like am watching small child in her Sunday-Best spin in front of mirror, pleading, “Tell me I’m pretty. Tell me I’m a princess!”
Tell me now that I’m divorced, all the men will want me! Sure, I have visible panty line… but I’m hip! I do yoga! Tell me I’m elegant!

Mmm hmm. Elegant and Mother of the Year. How do you do it?

Feel puffy-eyed, head achey and completely exhausted. Must be a sex-hangover.

Am staring through bleary retinal fog wondering where, oh were weekend has gone and just how have ended up at place of employment once again. Oh, yes, and eating York Peppermint Patties for breakfast. In self defense, was a compromise between the Quaker oats and the Hershey’s miniatures. At least are fat free.

Hmmm…as it turns out, is not previously-presumed sex-hangover. Indeed not. Rather, is beastly sinus headache. Have taken medicine and am hoping that improves at least one of two most prevalent symptoms: horrid feeling surrounding eye sockets and uncharacteristically bitchy mood. Perhaps second symptom is not at all sinus related and is partly due to impending hostile takeover decision to be reached by v. stressed-out board members. Or result of realizing that ski weekend extravaganza next month might be no-go, for varied financial and melodramatic reasons. Will not argue with fate if this is her way of saying that am just not meant to strap wooden planks to feet and and hurtle to certain death on snowy mountainside. But still, would like to spend long weekend shacked up in snowy cabin, spending cold days drinking hot chocolate and cold nights…shacking up. Ahem.

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Diet.
Ugh. I am NOT playing this with you.
Oh, come on. Humor me. It’ll be fun.
Fine. Diet who?
Mmm hmm. That’s precisely what I was wondering. What diet calls for chocolate chip cookies at 7 AM?
I put the blame entirely on you. And incidentally, which part of this was supposed to be fun?
Me?! I’m your Inner Goddess, not your Inner Glutton.
Who can tell the difference? It’s a very fine line. Besides, it wasn’t gluttonous. Two (or three if you were actually paying attention) cookies have the same amount of calories as my standard bowl of oatmeal AND I did two hours of power yoga yesterday. So, cut me some slack.
Cut your jeans some slack.
That’s it!
I tremble in fear. Listen, can’t we come to some kind of arrangement? It’s not like I enjoy being bitchy. Let’s say you stop over-eating, get us back to, well, at least 10 pounds within our ideal weight range, do something about that hair and I’ll stop harassing you.
Fine.
Deal?
Deal.
Oh, and clean your room.
Don’t push it.

Am aware that should learn to focus within when am feeling stressed, but is much more fun to reach out and touch someone. Spent afternoon engaged in Innuendo Therapy with B, while sending silent hexes to J, though accepting plans with him on Saturday night. Am a glutton for punishment. Am well aware.

B: Tease.
H: Right. I’M a tease.
B: You are!
H: I am not! I’m just playing by the rules.
B: Rules?
H: Yes. Life comes with rules.
B: What rules are you referring to?
H: The rule that states, “You may participate in sexual innuendo, but not the actual act, with members of the opposite sex who A) live with someone you’ve already participated in said activity with and/or B) have girlfriends.” It’s like #7 in the book, I think.
B: Oh… that must be in the Pink Rule Book. The Blue Rule Book just has a bunch of blank pages.
H: (Fit of laughter) How convenient!

Did newly-acquired yoga workout this morning and am feeling quite twisty as well as a bit wobbly. Am determined to whittle down to pre-holiday size, as will be required to wear bikini in hot tub activities during ski weekend extravaganza next month. If do not reach bikini-acceptable weight, will fake sudden allergic reaction to hot water. One thing is fairly certain. Am not exposing current squishy, skim-milk colored flesh at any amount of masculine coaxing.
Unless, of course, can find feather boa which covers problematic thigh area.

Today happens to be glorious Two Year Anniversary at place of employment. Bravo! If fifty-year celebrations are Gold anniversaries, and twenty-five year celebrations are Silver, then am supposing two years to be the Ironic Anniversary. Lovely how such puns can be ever so pathetic, yet somehow still satisfying to the weary mind.

And so horribly frustrating, yet not at all surprising, was J’s this-is-working-too-well 180 degree turn of the day. While discussing some of his not-so-easy-to-take personality quirks and behavioral patterns, J, in true fuck-wit style announces his intentions to straighten out such quirks in his next relationship.

Begging your pardon?

J: Don’t you hate the feeling that you may never find someone who will make you happy? Every girlfriend I have had, has had SOMETHING that made me feel we weren’t compatible. Am I being to judgmental and stubborn? I’m starting to think it’s me.
H: Actually no. I worry more about getting you out of my system, but my bad… we’re talking about you. But, you seem too harder to please than most people.
J: I know I will do things differently with the next person I date.
H: You been tested for Multiple Personality Disorder recently?
J: Hello? You there?

Fuckwit Hall of Fame. And this is no Honorable Mention.

Perhaps incorrectly filled out cosmic survey in which was asked whether would like to participate in study about human stress levels. Or, perhaps simply did not use correct number two pencil. In either case, am fairly certain that would like to retake said survey and be more clear when selecting “None of the above” for areas of life in which would like to be tested.

Without breaking any confidentiality laws, am able to say that place of employment is suffering from sudden malady of hostile takeover and barring any unforeseen charitable act of God, yours truly may likely be out of work in the v. near future. Seems in response to news, have developed (in addition to regular stress responses such as nausea) strange tic in left shoulder. Can see strange pulsing through Gap turtleneck. How v. repulsive.

New stress? Ooooh… thought you said new shoes. Silly me. Would much rather have new pair of shoes than new tic. Wonder if somehow could work that out with the universe for next cosmic survey. Will have plenty of time for surveys, cosmic or otherwise, when lose silly monkey job.

Am going to simply have to borrow sharp, number two pencil as, really, am much more of an ink gal.

Seemingly nonchalant conversation at theater concession counter:

J: I have all these fantasies about what would happen if the band got somewhere. It’s hard not to entertain them, but I try not to.
H: Why?
J: I don’t know. I just don’t want to get my hopes up. You don’t think it’s stupid?
H: God, no! It’s good to keep your hopes up. Gives you something to get out of bed in the morning. If people didn’t have dreams like that, there wouldn’t be much of a reason to try anything. Right?
J: Yeah, that’s true.
H: You have to entertain those fantasies. If you didn’t… I mean, what would be your reason for living?
J: You.

If less is indeed more, then should feel like have had quite sufficient amount of sleep. But as have never agreed with said ideology (except where it pertains to own breast size), am v. conscience of the fact that slept less than 10 hours over last three days.

Friday night, was escorted on legitimate open-my-doors-buy-my-movie-ticket date by J. Shocker. Saw v. strange yet appealing flick and then went back to get silly on green leafy substance with roommate, B to watch yet another movie. For whatever reason (and am going under delightful assumption that J understood yours truly had to get up in wee hours of morning to catch ride to BigCity), was delivered home to sleep in own comfy bed.

BigCity excursion (to celebrate GalPal’s birthday) was whirlwind of fun, as usual. Miraculously, did not drink too much nor participate in any shameful physical contact with undesirable bicycles. Was, as usual dancing fool — and in stilettos such activity is quite a feat. Was also raging flirt (again, shocker). Am certain that danced too close for too long with cute fireman, but am such a sucker for a man in a tight white t-shirt. Had v. hilarious and lovely time with gregarious Wise and Lovely E-pal, as well.

Jaw fell agape when, on drive home from city, received call from J. Wanted to hang out, watch a movie. Happy to oblige. Was, however, angry at cruel, cruel world for having to work this holiday morning, as when became wee hours of morning, was again delivered home to own bed. Is terrible thing to have to leave warm, cozy, entwined situation on couch (after watching frightening flick) with J to face bitter cold with thought that will NOT be participating in Big-Spoon-Little-Spoon activities.

What a waste of newly shaved legs.

Am convinced email was created for sole purpose of giving yours truly something naughty to do at work. Lately, if am having conversation with B, and an item of food is involved, is a pretty sure bet that said food item is merely a sexual metaphor.

Cereal: Sex. Or, more specifically, morning sex. Though, like cereal, can really be had at any time of day.
Coffee: Also morning sex. The best part of wakin’ up… or, Good to the last drop.
Soup: Sex. Of the Campbell’s variety, it’s Mmmm Mmmm Good. Or Progresso, It’s in there. (personal favorite)
Pizza: Really great sex. Hot, steamy, with all the toppings.

Current Inappropriate-for-Work email centered around cereal:

B: Want some? I think I know where to find it.
H: The cereal aisle at Stop n Shop?
B: Nope. Your house. Direct, ain’t I?
H: (laughing) Yes, you are!
B: Well?

Indeed. Current taunting email from J:

J: Sorry, sweetie. It was a joke.
H: Ok, I get it now. I’m a little slow today. Don’t tell anyone about my retardedness. Please.
J: No need, honey. They all know….
H: As my dad would say, ‘You’re cruisin for a bruisin.’
J: My mom says that, too.
H: That and “You’re going to get it.” I always hoped “it” was something good.
J: Yeah. If “it” was a new video game or ice cream, I would have acted up more….if that’s possible.
H: I bet you were a handful. Ok, so I declare, from now on, “it” will mean something good.
J: Ooohhh. You’re going to get it!!!
H: Sweet!
J: Okay, going to a meeting for the rest of the day. See ya tonight.

Am now using all mental faculties concentrating on what exactly “it” means and if am going to be on receiving end this evening. Do hope so.

Have accomplished nothing more than several not-appropriate-for-work email conversations. Which, for this gal, makes the day a raging success.

H: (Quoting Crank Yankers call) We could take our clothes off and just write.
J: Okay!
H: (laughing) Or, we could skip the writing!
J: Yeah, good thinking.
H: Probably no reading either, huh?
J: Unless its reading the curves of your back, no.
H: (feeling tad bit dizzy) Rarrr. Don’t need Hooked-on-Phonics for that kind of reading.
J: Nope, just hooked on sex.
H: I bet there’s a 12-step program for that.
J: I can think of more than 12 steps to take….

Mmm hmmm. Big tease.

Over filet mignon and chardonnay, J got v. strange look on freshly-shaved face.

J: I have a hard time being serious around you.
H: Probably because we rarely are.

Thought about it for a while and realized that while over email can talk about v. serious and important issues, do not spend in-person time doing so. Pass most together time laughing and playing, which is perhaps why tend to feel J is so invaluable. With J, there is no need for ridiculous small talk or silly formalities. Realized, over two-hour dinner, that in comparison with many friendships/relationships that have had, current situation, though tricky and perhaps not entirely healthy, is v. real.

What was not real, however, was comfort level of knee-high, pointy-toed stiletto boots that was wearing. Kept losing feeling in big toe and thinking to self that had better be worth it. Was indeed.

J: Nice dress. And I like those (tapping toe of boot with remote control).
H: Thanks.
J: (Squeezing pointy toe) Aren’t they uncomfortable, though?
H: (Lie) Not really. Just hard to walk in when I’m tipsy. It took a lot of concentration to get down those sloped wood floors in the restaurant.

In truth, felt like was going to take nasty spill and expose control-top panty hose to entire restaurant. Luckily, was temporarily blessed with small amount of grace and took no such spill. Also, from leers of old men (sporting bad hair pieces and much younger wives) at v. nice restaurant, was fairly certain that the dress was wearing showcased curves v. nicely.

On not-so-light note: After two full weeks of responsible eating and maniacal yogaing, am not one single pound closer to ass-fabulous-pants wearing goal. Am horribly disappointed. Will not, however, drown sorrows in bag of M&Ms. No indeed. Am in heated battle with detestable bathroom scale and am determined to come out the victor. If grow v. weary of salad, so be it. 8 pounds to go.

Have had most unbearably busy day at place of employment. Am, in fact, still at work, pleading with powers-that-be to be released. Only want to go home, sit in hot bath, and then off to sleep in v. soft, warm bed. Eyes feeling heavy just thinking about it. Perhaps will save self from expending any more energy and take a cab home. Indeed. Will do exactly that.

And will catch the world up on J dinner date later.

Even though am dressed something quite like Sporty Spice (complete with zip-up fleece vest — wonderfully inappropriate workplace attire), am neither warm nor as comfortable as one would assume a Sporty Spice look-a-like ought to be. Ordinarily, would simply assume was supposed to scrap monkey job, go home and crawl into v. comfy bed and read latest make-me-feel-bad-about-being-ordinary fashion mag. But, as apartment is still heatless, will suffer in relative silence at icky place of employment. Have already put in requisition for Madonna-inspired fingerless gloves. How can a gal be expected to be productive when in advanced stages of frostbite? Simply isn’t humane.

Am noticing that 5 AM yoga sessions inspire not only tight tush, but smart mouth. Am hoping will not get fired for extra misplaced energy.

On Friday, received, “Yeah, that’s true. I still want to get together and talk with you. Just to hug and make up. Want to have dinner next week? And hug?” Told J that weekend was full, but was available on a weekday, as long as did not have yoga. Funny how playing a bit hard to get drives him absolutely buggers. Finally settled on Tuesday.

Am torn between allowing J satisfaction of warm making-up, or playing cool and aloof as have been for last week. The Cool-and-Aloof game is rather fun. Even more so than Chutes and Ladders. And with more satisfying rewards for the winner. Whatever the game, however, am determined to look even more mouth-watering than v. expensive restaurant menu.

On brighter note: Happy Day! Fishblog as turned 20K this weekend. Quite a six-month marker! In celebration, as always, will make list of some sort.

1. Email from J this morning saying, “Hey, I miss you!!! It’s been 13 days since I last saw you. That’s too long.” Uh, whose fault would that be, Don Juan?
2. Unsolicited calls received from J this weekend. (To which was able to say, “Sorry, already have plans.”)
3. Hours that spent on couch napping on Sunday to recover from Saturday Night Dancing Fever.
4. Phone calls from UMF, deftly avoided.
5. New Gal Pals met and fell v. deeply (and platonically) in love with on crowded dance floor. Have made future weekend clubbing plans.
6. Alcoholic beverages consumed within too short of time, resulting in lovely pounding in cranium and greasy-food-craving.
7. Pounds left to go before am allowed to have M&Ms again. Oh, the agony.
8. Degrees below zero currently in apartment as am out of heating oil. Gauge says have 1/4 tank. Filthy liar.
9. Instances had to remove unwanted hands from ass on above mentioned dance floor. No touchy.
10. Times today have stopped self from lunging for M&Ms at convenience store counter.

Has been v. busy and incredibly productive Saturday. Woke early to Reluctant Kitten demanding to be let in previously-tranquil bedroom in order that might take spot at favorite window to watch neighborhood squirrels do squirrely things on powerlines. Insistent kitten and feed-me-please feeling in v. empty stomach were enough to drag self out of bed by nine thirty. Had unreasonably horrendous pile of dishes done before 11. An hour of yoga in before 12. Lunched and then found enough energy to dismantle v. crispy Christmas tree and drag it (minus at least seventy thousand pine needles) to street for pickup. Swept up seventy thousand pine needles, cleaned remainder of house, ironed and hung finally clean laundry.

Took lovely smelling bath and even shaved legs. Though, don’t know why, as am seeing no action this evening. At any rate, is only 7 pm and am sitting in v. clean bedroom readying to go get trashed with galpals. Have just now glanced down at hands and wondered why did not force self to find time for v. much needed manicure. Ah, well. Bar will be attending is generally populated by eternal-frat-daddy types who have no appreciation for such detail anyway. Only need to show cleavage. Will suffice.

Will not deny that have a great (perhaps too great) love for clothes. Shopping in general, really… but most often manifested in form of blue and white Gap bags or shoe boxes. Was, however, horrified when finally got ’round to doing laundry yesterday evening and found that even after filling FOUR triple-loaders, was still not done.

Random Laundromat Woman: That’s a lot of laundry.
H: Yeah, can’t bring myself to do laundry more than once every couple of months.
RLW: You must have a lot of clothes!
H: Yeah, I kind of have a shopping problem.

With piles of warm laundry wrinkling on dingy laundromat counter, had to think about when exactly had last laundry encounter. And shock, horror of horrors… was day before leaving for infamous rob-me-blind NYC excursion. On Halloween. Yes. And the world will be glad to know that yours truly owns enough underwear to go from October 31st to January 9th without doing her wash. Quite amazing. Or disgusting. Really depends on your outlook.

Will go with amazing. Is a better color for this gal.

Side note: If were making a mix CD today, instead of doing silly monkey job, would probably add following songs to play list:

You’re So Vain – Carly Simon
Respect – Aretha Franklin
Poem to a Horse – Shakira
Take Another Little Piece of My Heart – Janis Joplin
Bye Bye – Jo Dee Messina
Time and Time Again – Papa Roach

But instead, have put in soundtrack to Zoolander. Because, really, who needs all that negativity?

Last email received from J this afternoon:

J: I have been super busy over here. Let me call you tonight.
H: Okay.

Is after 11 pm, and need it even be said that J hasn’t called?