Garlic Cavemen
Hey all,
I'm just sitting here staring into space and I thought, well, hell, I could go update. Since I have no life and am sick. Anyway, the short and short of it is, here I am. Entertaining you. Kinda.
Mom and I still aren't getting along (what else is new), so we have to keep turning on the TV. We went a week with no service, which was terrifying. See, Mom and I turn the TV on a lot if we're fighting. That way we can both find something to laugh at so that by the time an episode of Friends or The Gilmore Girls is over, we're not in the mood to yell. I wonder what people did in the days before television. Went out and fed or milked the cows? Visited houses of ill repute? What?
I'm supposed to make dinner tonight. For those of you who don't know me, be afraid. Be very afraid. Why? Because I have a tendency to set things on fire or add bizarre things that shouldn't be added. If it comes in a box, I can make it. Otherwise, forget it. I can use the grill, but it is winter. So that leaves us - you guessed it - instant oatmeal! Oh man! Are you as excited as I am?!
Not that my mother really cares all that much. She's the only woman I know who will actually eat cold spaghetti. It tastes like intestines (and has about the same consistency). Guess what she had for breakfast today? Toast. Toast isn't weird, right?
Wrong. This is garlic bread toast. And not just normal fucking garlic bread. Bread with actual chunks of garlic in it. I'm serious. This looks like someone just yanked the garlic out of the ground and threw it in the batter. Perhaps a caveman. You know, the ones without the use of simple stone tools. I guess it could have been worse. The caveman could have chewed it and then spit it into the batter. You know cavemen, they tend to do that. Never were that trustworthy. Damn you and your bread making skills, you homo erectus! (Go ahead, take a few minutes and giggle at the term. What are you, in the tenth grade?)
Now normally I couldn't care less. But when I get up, I tend to be nauseated, and that toast looked like a pretty good reason to calmly open the back door, walk outside, and vomit. But I didn't.
My left arm keeps getting worse, so now my chiropractor is doing stim on me. (Attaching electrodes to my bad shoulder and running electrical pulses through the muscles to try to make them relax and un-knot.) This isn't too bad when he starts it, but five minutes later, it makes me want to whimper like a two year old. I don't even get a sucker afterwards. Bastards.
Mom is yelling downstairs to inquire about my medication and other annoying things.
"Have you fed the dog?"
"The dog is with you."
"I thought she might have gone down there."
"Well, she didn't."
(Momentary pause.)
"Could you come get the dog and feed her? And then take her outside?"
Aside to a non-existant camera: "She's your dog, Charlie Brown. I fuckin' hate
dogs."
Luckily for me, she didn't hear me, and so she cannot throw anything at my head. Huzzah. Am going to feed the dog. And take her outside.
Much love,
Kitty
I'm just sitting here staring into space and I thought, well, hell, I could go update. Since I have no life and am sick. Anyway, the short and short of it is, here I am. Entertaining you. Kinda.
Mom and I still aren't getting along (what else is new), so we have to keep turning on the TV. We went a week with no service, which was terrifying. See, Mom and I turn the TV on a lot if we're fighting. That way we can both find something to laugh at so that by the time an episode of Friends or The Gilmore Girls is over, we're not in the mood to yell. I wonder what people did in the days before television. Went out and fed or milked the cows? Visited houses of ill repute? What?
I'm supposed to make dinner tonight. For those of you who don't know me, be afraid. Be very afraid. Why? Because I have a tendency to set things on fire or add bizarre things that shouldn't be added. If it comes in a box, I can make it. Otherwise, forget it. I can use the grill, but it is winter. So that leaves us - you guessed it - instant oatmeal! Oh man! Are you as excited as I am?!
Not that my mother really cares all that much. She's the only woman I know who will actually eat cold spaghetti. It tastes like intestines (and has about the same consistency). Guess what she had for breakfast today? Toast. Toast isn't weird, right?
Wrong. This is garlic bread toast. And not just normal fucking garlic bread. Bread with actual chunks of garlic in it. I'm serious. This looks like someone just yanked the garlic out of the ground and threw it in the batter. Perhaps a caveman. You know, the ones without the use of simple stone tools. I guess it could have been worse. The caveman could have chewed it and then spit it into the batter. You know cavemen, they tend to do that. Never were that trustworthy. Damn you and your bread making skills, you homo erectus! (Go ahead, take a few minutes and giggle at the term. What are you, in the tenth grade?)
Now normally I couldn't care less. But when I get up, I tend to be nauseated, and that toast looked like a pretty good reason to calmly open the back door, walk outside, and vomit. But I didn't.
My left arm keeps getting worse, so now my chiropractor is doing stim on me. (Attaching electrodes to my bad shoulder and running electrical pulses through the muscles to try to make them relax and un-knot.) This isn't too bad when he starts it, but five minutes later, it makes me want to whimper like a two year old. I don't even get a sucker afterwards. Bastards.
Mom is yelling downstairs to inquire about my medication and other annoying things.
"Have you fed the dog?"
"The dog is with you."
"I thought she might have gone down there."
"Well, she didn't."
(Momentary pause.)
"Could you come get the dog and feed her? And then take her outside?"
Aside to a non-existant camera: "She's your dog, Charlie Brown. I fuckin' hate
dogs."
Luckily for me, she didn't hear me, and so she cannot throw anything at my head. Huzzah. Am going to feed the dog. And take her outside.
Much love,
Kitty