Confession: I think Britney Spears is just cute as a button.
I spent the morning running from place to place doing errands, and now I’m waiting for the guys to come deliver our kitchen table, and the other guys to come take our old kitchen table away. The delivery guys are supposed to be here between 12 and 3. The take-away guys are supposed to be here between 12 and 4. Whatchoo wanna bet they’ll all show up in the 5 minutes I’m gone to get lunch at Wendy’s?
Oh, maybe I shouldn’t go spend money. We just heard that there’s a big fuckarow and Fred’s company won’t be getting their big check this month, or that it’ll be late, which makes me SO happy, considering I just made a trip to Sam’s (but didn’t buy anything that wasn’t on my list. Okay, that’s a lie – I bought Gladiolus bulbs, but they were SUCH a good price) and spent money that didn’t need to be spent just now.
Holy CRAP does Greta Van Susteren look different! She doesn’t even look like the same person, does she? Maybe she’s NOT the same person. Maybe some bad guys took someone who looked very much like her and gave her plastic surgery and intensive training and kidnapped the real Greta, and put the imposter in her place!
Oh, wait. There’s a book with that plot, isn’t there?
By the way, I am once again behind in my email, and will no doubt let it just pile up for a few more days before I get my ass around to responding. That’s just the kind of sucky slacking emailer I am.
I’M SO DAMN COLD. Where ARE those damn delivery guys, anyway? Bastards. I want to snooze on the couch in front of the fire… Oh. The guys who’re going to take away the old table just called to say they’d be here within the hour.
So, what are the chances that they’d all show up at once? Pretty fucking good, apparently, ’cause that’s just what happened. The delivery guys had stuff spread all over the place, putting the table together, when the pick-up guys showed up, and there was much shuffling about, until they could get the table out the back door.
I reallllllly like this table. It even came with a leaf to make it bigger. And even though this table is bigger than the old one, it still fits there pretty nicely, at least I think it does.
If the bastards holding up the money to Fred’s company don’t get their shit together, we may be burning the table to keep warm. (Kidding – things really aren’t that desperate. Thank god for the high-limit credit card, which we just sent a big payment to…)
Okay, damnit. I’m wearing two shirts, warm pants, warm socks, and slippers, and I’m sitting two inches from a space heater, which is blasting out the heat. I’ve cranked up the thermostat, and I am FREEZING TO FUCKING DEATH. People, what the hell? I know part of it’s got to be the fact that I’ve lost 125 pounds in the last year and a half, but I AM still carrying around 87 pounds of insulation on my ass. How the hell am I going to stand it when it’s cold outside and I weigh 150 pounds?! I’m about ready to try to figure out how to start the damn fireplace, and crawl inside it.
What the hell do you skinny people do?
I had fish for lunch yesterday (cooked on the George Foreman grill, with Chef Prudhomme’s Seafood Magic sprinkled on top. Mmmmm), and the house still reeks of fishiness. I tried lighting a candle I got from those liars at Bed, Bath and Beyond, which was supposed to "neutralize kitchen odors." Now it smells like I’ve been burning a fish candle. Add to that the smell of red beans cooking, and you have quite the smell going on.
Speaking of Bed, Bath and Beyond, I’ve had a coupon for BB&B since before Christmas. It’s a 25% off your ENTIRE PURCHASE coupon, so I’ve been saving it and making a list of everything I need from there. I was in the shower last Thursday thinking about how it was almost February (what? like you think about anything more exciting than that in the shower. I know you think of ME when you’re in the shower, you bad, bad readers), and I remembered the coupon, so after I got out of the shower, I went to see when it was going to expire. Naturally, Thursday was the last day I could use the damn thing, so I had to get dressed quickly, get my list, and head out the door.
One of the things on my list was all new towels and rugs for the master bathroom. We’ve had the dark red – cranberry, I guess you’d call it – motif in the master bathroom for years, and I finally got tired of it. So I bought gray-blue towels and rugs, among other things. When Fred went to bed Thursday night, everything in the bathroom was cranberry, and when he went in there Friday morning, it was all gray-blue. I like the blue a lot better than the cranberry – it’s a much warmer and relaxing color, in my opinion.
I ended up saving a HEFTY amount with my coupon, too. Whee!
Okay, my fingertips are about to fall off, and I see the Spud trundling down the street, so I need to let her in and try to figure out how to warm up. See y’all tomorrow.
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… sit on it.
So, apparently if you’re burning muscle (like I mentioned in yesterday’s entry), you’ll smell that ammonia smell directly after you’ve exerted yourself, rather than hours later. Big thanks to Stub, who alerted me to the truth of the matter!
Apparently the table we bought is RAWTHER popular amongst y’all who read my journal, because three people so far have emailed to tell me that they have the verysame set. One of them is The Bald One, whose friend test I took yesterday and upon which I scored 100. I’m very very bad at taking those tests, and have certainly never gotten anywhere near 100, so it must have been a VERY easy test.
So, I got all pissed off at Fred last week because I had a dream that I died and came back in someone else’s body a year later, and he was already remarried, and when I had convinced him I was me instead of the hot little 19 year-old I looked like (could be worse – I could have come back in Ah-nuld’s body), he DIDN’T LEAVE WIFE #2.
Man. I was pissed off about that for days. And then I watched Castaway and got more pissed off. I mean, Tom Hanks was only gone for 4 years, damnit!
So I laid down the law to Fred – If I come back in someone else’s body, I have DIBS on him, and he is to leave the skank ho he married out of grief over my passing and come back to me. ADDITIONALLY, unless he sees my cold, dead body with his own two eyes, he is NOT to believe that I’m dead, but rather to sit and wait for me to come back.
You’ve been warned, skank hos out there who would swoop down upon my husband in his grief and get him to marry you. I’ll slap your skank-ho face and reclaim what is rightfully mine.
So there.]]> 
