It is Wednesday morning and I am the definition of tired. I told the Bat yesterday that we either needed to go to bed earlier or have less frequent sexy times. I went to bed at 9 and was asleep by 10. I know because that's when the Bat came in and woke my ass up. Now I'm so fucking tired that for date night tonight, I'd like to just go to sleep.
I wrote a bunch of junk yesterday but it sucked so I deleted it (though I still think you should know that there was a woman in the elevator with a very sparkly, blue sequin top on - clearly she works in a funner environment than do I). Yesterday was packed. I was quite productive at work, then I volunteered at the library, and then I met up with Spectero, my new friend, at Salt Grass for girls' night. I got hella lost on my way there and was really embarrassed about that because dude, I used to live in that area. I had no clue that was where it was located. Choosing that restaurant was smart though, because the Bat and Monkey went to the sushi bar again last night and they showed up both Tuesday evenings that Spectero and I were having girls' night there. It isn't that I don't want them around because I'm trash talking them, it just seems weird. Especially since the Bat is the one who pushed me to have friends. Now I feel like I can't meet up there with a friend without my roommates turning up and that's a bummer. But I can't exactly ask them to refrain from patronizing the place since they've been going there for four years.
Spectero arrived before me, carrying a jade plant. The bartenders side eyed her but it was my idea. I told her to bring a plant and I'd wear my gold medal from when I was in the 8th grade. And I wore the shit out of it. I told her at one point that I liked the idea that people might think we were sisters and she was taking me out to celebrate having received a medal. Why not? It's not like anyone looked at it so how would they know it said something about Delaware Creative Competition? And it only says 1995 on the back of it so you'd have to get pretty up close and personal with me to know I won it when I was 14. She even gave me the plant after we'd finished boozing and eating all the food that wouldn't have been so bad for us had it not all been fried and/or wrapped in bacon.
And now here I am, sitting in my death cubicle, hoping I don't fall asleep and that this coffee kicks in so I don't have to take a pill (prescribed to me, not something I bought off a guy in an ally way). I'd much rather be at home snuggling. Since I can't do that, I actually wish for once that I didn't have any projects to work on so that I could just zone out in my cube. But oh no, today one of my managers just sent me and a colleague more work on top of the other projects she gave me. Usually I'd be stoked but I'm having to peel my eyes apart at the moment so I just want to zone out and read things on the internet.
I couldn't find either pair of glasses this morning (one was in my briefcase).
I was the first person at the deli downstairs this morning. I'm always pleased when I get a receipt that says 001, telling me I was first. I don't know why that is.
When I got in the elevator I apparently didn't hit 3 hard enough because it skipped my floor so I had to walk down two flights of stairs to get to my department.
Tonight is date night and unless my ass perks up, it's going to consist of ordering pizza, watching a movie or some shows on Netflix, my passing out on the couch, and the Bat attempting to get some off me while on the couch before Monkey gets home from church.
I need a new car.
I miss living alone.
I'm happy in my relationship and, in general, my household.
My cat is being a dick and shit right in front of her litter box yesterday. I better follow up about that appointment at the vet I tried to make for her.
I don't understand how Scientologists can take that shit seriously when their founder was a writer of Science Fiction. I put that on Facebook yesterday when I was at the library because the shelves I was in the middle of dusting happened to contain a bunch of L. Ron Hubbard. How the fuck can you believe in a religion made up by a dude who writes Science Fiction? Not that Joseph Smith is a credible character either, but Scientology is just the weirdest and funniest.
Dusting shelves in the Science Fiction section makes me want to try out some SF but I can't seem to bring myself to do so.
I think the last movie I saw in a theatre was Argo, with Tits.
This junk isn't much better than yesterday's and I didn't even mention my hundreds of mosquito bites.
I'm going to go read Dear Abby and send a letter to my girl Birdy over in the Westerville office so we can discuss it. Dear Abby online has a comments section now so it's that much more awesome.
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