Jeh-nay? Is that you?

I have really had a hard time sleeping...as in, I go to bed at 3 am and wake up a little after 11:00am, drink some horrible instant coffee and try to be some sort of productive. I tell you, somehow unemployment does WONDERS for your beauty sleep. Because I look fucking fabulous.

Well, the other night, after around 7 beers, a bombtastic dinner and hosting three baths of the canine type, I was in bed. After watching a ton of reruns, it was close to 4:00am and I was in that special sleepy place... you know, the one where if you hear any sound or feel any movement your heart says 'WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT' and your body goes into shock. Yeah. THAT one. Anywho.. I was in that happy place when all of the sudden I feel this horrid vibration in the bed. My eyes shoot open, I catch my breath and realize... ok, it was just a cat jumping onto the foot of the bed.

But still.

Kitty (my adorable GIANT FAT ASS cat) decided to jump in bed with me.

It was dark. And cold. Perfect for my sleepingness material. I halfway re-open my eyes and there she is, staring at me.

Without even thinking, I immediately looked her chunky ass in the eye and said, with all the Georgia redneck I could never imagine I ever possessed...

"Seat's taken."

Yeah. Seriously. That is what I said. Half asleep. TO MY CAT. AT 3AM.

She sat there and kind of stared at me, like she was saying with her cat eyes, "Scuse me betch, but dis bed be mine too. Now, move the eff ova and let me getsta sleepins too."

Master Wog was asleep, snoring his precious little bearded head off. I just lay there. Stunned. I couldn't believe that, of ALL the things MY subconcious could EVER conjour, I got fucking Forrest Gump.

W.
T.
F.

Seriously? Forrest Gump? THAT part of Forrest Gump? I could have atleast thought of the 'life is like a box of chocolate' part. Or even the 'Dear God, please make me a bird and let me fly far, far away from here.' Damn.

Apparently, my unemployed subconcious is getting the best of me.

Either that, or I have watched Forrest Gump entirely too much in the last two months.

Oops, I did it again

Talk about a rough day...

Today was the first day of my new job. (Insert loud angry BUZZER here) Boy, was I wrong. I was so excited. I thought it was going to work out amazingly....NOT.

Turns out, they offer absolutely NO insurance. Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem. But seeing as how I am FALLING THE FUCK APART at 24...I need insurance. My insulin alone is upwards of $200.00 alone per month. The thing that pisses me off is that I waited until AFTER I got hired to ask them about it. Duh. I am an idiot for assuming that the offered insurance. Oh well.

So, now the plan is to continue to sit on my ass and clean house and kill fruit flies until I find something that is perfect.

Maybe I will get into the pesticide business.

Back With a Vengence

And eradication of Fruit Flies all over the fucking world.

I. HATE. THEM.

They are evil. And this whole time I thought roaches were demon spawn...NOOOOO. Fruit Flies are.

They have taken over Redbird's cage. So much so that when I went to feed him a few minutes ago, I heard a collective hummmmmmm of their little evil wings. I told Master Wog that I think Red is planning world domination and using the flies as his army.

Whew, ok, had to get that off my chest.

So, I am still unemployed. Had a couple good interviews but no call back. And, may I just thank the Georgia Department of Labor AND my former employer for hookin' it up with my unemployment checks. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but my unemployment equals only about $250.00 less a month than my normal salary.

Woo to the mutha fuckin hoo.

A friend of mine offered me a job making a tid bit over minimum wage...I had to thank her kindly and move on. I left out the part about how I make (A SHITTON) more than that sitting on my ass and fighting fruit flies.

In other news, I have started making more and more jewelry. As it turns out, I don't like Soap Operas or The View, so there really isn't much more to do before 5:00 other than drink and watch TLC re-runs...but that didn't work out well. So I just started focusing on making jewelry and watching Discovery Channel re-runs. It has kept me occupied, which (according to Master Wog...and ONLY Master Wog) is better than sleeping til 3:00. Damnit.

In better news, I found out that not having a job makes it a lot easier to keep the house clean. Dude, seriously, my house is SPOTLESS. With the exception of that whole Demon fly army Redbird is hatching. I figured I would wait to see what type of strategy he and the demons are using before I kilt them dead.

I hope all of you out there in Blogdom are doing well. I am glad to be back, and will make a valiant effort to stay back...and not disappear into Kanye West's ego.

Will Work For Beer

Well hello again world. Here I am! As most of you read over at Jess’ place, I got laid off last Friday. Completely unexpected, almost 4 years I worked there. So many relationships and so much professional growth, POOF! And may I just say…IT FUCKING SUCKS.

I really enjoyed my job. But, life goes on.

I have already gotten my resume done (thanks to Jess for her wonderful wonderfulness) and have thrown it to a few places. Ya’ll keep your fingers crossed for me. If I don’t find something soon, we may have to sell Master Wog’s beard to pay the mortgage.

Other than not having a job and steady paycheck, all is well in the world of me. I am now able to go on a mini vacation with Jess & Co. this coming weekend to New Orleans (WOOOHOOO!!!). Initially I wasn’t able to go because I would have had to take time off of work. Now, not so much an issue.

In other good news, Burney is still healed. The scar is slowly but surely fading. It is now like a dark fuchsia pink rather than a dark doo doo purple. I don’t have to go to Wound Care anymore, which is a huge relief.

So, I am here. Somewhere. Still breathing and kickin’ ass in karaoke. I’m just in a bit of a funky funk right now.

I will be back soon though, my little bloggy love muffins, keep on smilin’ while I’m away.

Ever seen a roach so scared it shit itself?

I have.





And now you have.


You may remember this post that Jess did over at This Life Is Mine several months ago. And if you have EVER read her blog, you know that we enjoy poop talk. We are alos fascinated by animal poop, like she said here. Every morning during our first smoke break of the day, we discuss our morning poop. Sometimes the color is funky, sometimes it was quite loud, and sometimes it was just a good ole poop.

But when I went to the bathroom this morning, as I do every morning at the office, I saw this little (HUGEFUCKINGCOCKROACHMOTHERFUCKER) guy laying on the floor, twitching at me. After taking a closer look, I realized there were tiny little roach turds laying right next to his almost dead body.

I thought to myself, damn, what a way to go. I figure he was either scared shitless, literally, or was in the middle of taking a monstrous milti-turd roach poop when he caught a whiff of the bug spray. Either way, he is almost dead, and almost dead is better than attacking me any day.


Editors Note: I am a lover of all things furry, fluffed and feather. But I HATE cockroaches. They are the epitome of pure evil, and they can all go to hell, where they belong.

Just sayin'.

I want one. NOW.

A baby goat.

Named Goat.

Master Wog and I went out to a local stable for my sister's birthday party this past weekend (she rides horses). Where I met Goat, I almost stole her from the farm.







Master Wog got on a horse. Doesn't he look regal up there?




There was a miniature horse, named Lexi.



But, more importantly, THERE WAS A BABY GOAT. Named Goat. Who likes pizza.

Woodrow Willow Woodpeckerson, IV

But first, a quick shout out to my sister who is 16 today!!! Happy Birthday Sara!!! And, NO you cannot drive my car!!

A while ago, I wrote about Woodrow Willow Woodpeckerson, III.

Since the Starling RUDELY took over Woody's house, I have not seen him or his family. I still blame the European Starling. Bastard.

BUT, today, Jess and I caught a glimpse of what I believe to be Woody’s son. I know it isn't Woody because of the difference in size and coloring between he and his son. I can only assume he got his mother's thighs and eyes.

Meet Woodrow Willow Woodpeckerson, IV.



I shall call him Quarter. (Being that he is Woodrow Willow Woodpeckerson, IV...get it? the fourth, quarter of one cup...I am just so damn clever sometimes.) (NOT.) I am happy to announce that Quarter and family have now taken up shop their ancestral home in the tree next to our work smoking area. This is a great pleasure for me, as Woody and I were very close. He would holler at his girl (me) from across the street when I walked into work. I can only hope his son has the same affinity for red high heels.


For old times sake, I want to give a quick shout out to my boy Woody, where ever he may be. If he isn't still flying around hollering at girls with red heels on, hopefully he is chillin' with mom, MJ and Syber Kitty (among others)



Yay for new Red Bellied Woodpeckers!