I think my cat Fim should get his own Twitter account. He's been doing some a-hole things lately, like for attention, and maybe it would do him some good to get his name out there. You know, test the waters for his fifteen minutes. He'll say things like "I'm gonna stare at you for about four hours, lick myself in your general vicinity and then nap for like another twenty. Wake me when the food bowl's full. Or better yet, I'll wake you by staring."
I wish I could spend all day singing New Medicine songs. They rock so hard and yet, it's not completely appropriate to walk around saying "we're bad mother f*#$ers loo-loo-lookin' for you..." I whisper it under my breath, when the child bites me. It transports me to a place where there's no biting (unless it's warranted), and Mommy isn't Mommy, but the girl she once was at all those rock shows.
Washing my hair is about as painful as chewing glass. Not that I ever have. Chewed glass that is. Of course I've washed my hair. I still think it's a terrible curse to have to cleanse it. I wish I were kidding but...I effing hate it. It takes forever to dry and even longer to keep clean. Hence no pictures of my head.
I sweep the kitchen floor eighty times a day. Yeah, I count (not). I sweep *not* because I think "oh yay, more filth!" But because it accumulates and accentuates every little hair, dirt ball, fuzz and shoe print. My Swiffer thinks we're dating.
Right now my hand is cramping like a mofo but I have this compulsion to keep typing because there's not enough info in this post. I have issues. Serious issues.
Okay, okay, so this post blows. Forgive me. I'm still recovering from Empty Contest Blues. Tomorrow, come back to feel me up like old times. I'll wear my PURPLE body spray. We'll call it a date. But don't tell my Swiffer...
Until then, tell me something completely random. I dare you.
P.S. Because I'm still waiting on 3 people to claim prizes, I'll email. If I don't hear back this afternoon, tomorrow 3 new winners will be posted.