October 28
Today's Haikus for Jews:
The sparkling blue sea
beckons me to wait one hour
after my sandwich
I'm not going to talk about the Yankees sweep except to say that Derek Jeter is adorable. Joe Torres needs a hug & hospitalization. Immediately. And the fact that they all were so openly crying touched me to the center of my girly soul and got me crying too. Shit, even Steinbrenner was weeping ["He was probably drunk" interjected Dr. B] and we all know what kind of a butt pirate he is. What I really like about the team is that they play like a team. They pull together as a team. They all seem to be there for eachother. Jesus, I am such a girl. The other thing I've noticed is that they're all very well spoken [I don't want to have to add 'for athletes', you can fill that in yourselves] and share a general disdain for the press, which is always allright by me.
So, yes. I was sniffling when they won. Nick gave a halfhearted "wooo" from under the covers, rolled over and was out.
When I got to work this morning, BS, a METS fan, was all excited and high fiving people. And she told me this story:
"My ex-husband took me to a METS game once, and all of a sudden I felt something go "plup plup" on my hair. I turned to my ex-husband and said 'A bird just shit on me!' and he said 'how the hell do you know a bird just shit on you?' and I said 'I'm telling you, a bird just shit on my head! Look!!' so he looked and said 'BS how the hell would a bird shit on you out of all the people here?' and I said 'because that's the kind of life I have!! that's my luck!'. And don't you think that's true? I mean, all those people. The bird shits on my HEAD. And they say it's good luck? RIGHT. If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all!*"
It was a sweet tale, warming the cockles of my heart, illustrating AGAIN, that living creatures are all set with BS.
(*=#102 hackneyed saying from the Cliché Vaults of BS.)
It's About National Security:
She CHANGED THE PASSWORD ON THE PC!!! She actually fucking CHANGED THE PASSWORD because I knew what it was. That's HILARIOUS! She is so paranoid that I might actually learn a Dr. X lab secret. That I might SHARE the password with Dr. B's lab and that we all might run amuck with her bookmarks.** What a ranting asshole. Jesus. When I ever found out that she CHANGED THE FREAKING PASSWORD I about died laughing. No one knew what I was sniggering about, but that's okay. I'm used to getting the look. After all, every single thing I do and say can be placed into two categories:
1.) Because I'm a New York City girl!
2.) Because I'm SO ITALIAN.
(**=www.weather.com, www.coupons.com, www.avon.com, www.loreal.com)
About My Hair:
So I went for a haircut and said to Wayne:
"Can you color my hair funky?"
"Funky" queried he, "Like what?"
"Purple!! Bright red!! Something funky!"
After establishing several truths of the true depth of the funkiness I lusted after, we settled on what you see above. Not quite as funky as I'd hoped, but the more I look at it, the more I like it. It's a semi-permenant stain, which means it'll fade and leave me with the color you all knew & loved so well. Unless, of course, I decide to keep this.
I sat around with the stuff in my hair for 45 minutes or so reading magazines ("How thin is too thin?" wondered People magazine) and when it was washed off & blown dry Wayne proclaimed:
"You look like a popsicle!! A grape and orange one!"
"A popsicle? Is that good or bad?"
And damned if he isn't right. You don't catch the color in the pic, but it's definitely as described: Popsicle. I like it. What do you think?
I promise. This is the Last Time I'm Going to Bring Them Up:
This is completely giving away my inner girl. They're beautiful and wonderful and I want one. It's sleeping in a laundry basket. I'm wracked with jealousy over the woman who's holding Twinky.
And speaking of locking animals away:Grayson, the evil floorshitter had her last chance not to crap on the floor today while we were at work, a task that proved to be way too much for her. We broke out the crate (which should hold her for about 10 minutes) and set it up to have it ready for tomorrow. I feel horrible about crating her, but have really no fucking idea why she's shitting on the floor every single day. And it's not like the dogs don't go outside for 40 minutes every morning. She holds it in. We come home to a river of piss and mountains of poo. I mean, any animal who's just gone outside and gone to the bathroom would simply not have that much stored up inside. It's not physically possible. Everything has been tried. Keeping the toilet lid down. Picking up their foodbowls at night. Not giving them snacks. It's totally random.
And I suspect she knows what the crate means because she's been tiptoeing away from it, casting baleful looks in its direction. Oh, yes. She knows. I'm serious. She keeps hopping onto my lap, giving me enthusiastic kisses and being cute. That won't prevent me from throwing her into the cage tomorrow and ziptying it closed (I'm totally full of shit: I'm making Nick do it).
Take a looky at this wouldja? I would say that the pie thing was okay, but shit. Look at what s/he's wearing. Holy crap. There's even a webring for it, which only goes to prove what I said about there being a webring for every pie in the face, crossdressing, phonesex loving social retard out there in the entire world.
I am so glad I'm married.
And I totally, completely love my hair.
And, FYI:
Redheaded Woman, Bruce Springsteen:
Well brunettes are fine man
And blondes are fun
But when it comes to getting a dirty job done
I'll take a redheaded woman
A redheaded woman
It takes a redheaded woman
To get a dirty job done
Well listen up stud
Your life's been wasted
'til you've got down on your knees and tasted
A redheaded woman
A redheaded woman
It takes a redheaded woman to get a dirty job doneTight skirt, strawberry hair
Tell me what you've got, baby, waiting under there
Big green eyes that look like, son,
They can see every cheap thing that you ever done
Well, I don't know how many girls you dated, man
By a redheaded woman
But you ain't lived 'til you've had your tires rotated
A redheaded woman
It takes a redheaded woman To get a dirty job done
