Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

Dear Mr. Sandman, I would like to know why you have waged war on me? I desperatly want to sleep.  I need my sleep.  I love me sleep.  I enjoy dreams, the warmth of the covers, and the loss of five or six hours every night to blissful slumber.  I would even welcome some warm drool on my pillow right about now.   If I could only sleep, I would embrace some tricked out dreams too.  Seriously.  Me, being a good girl and all, requires someone to buy me a few dinners before inviting him into my bed.  But, Mr. Sandman for you I will always make the exception.  I have always been good to you, letting you have your way more nights than not . . . Sigh.  Apparently, you have not enjoyed me as much as I have enjoyed you.   Well, two can play this game.  I will wage my own war on you . . . I do not forgive you for taking me off of your route.  Bully! Sincerely, Sleep Deprived

There are things you can put on your Facebook status, and then there are things that you can not.  This blog is one of those things. I realize that everyone needs to bitch on occasion, and I realize that I do that from time to time.  What I can not understand is the desire that nothing is ever good enough or that everything must be suited to you.  Little pisses me off more.  Perhaps I am finally hitting my mark on these points because of recent events , crap of recent and old , or it is just life and my personality . Yet, I have the following to make note of here. I am fully aware that living up north for eight years has given me a skewed sense of winter.  I also know that living in Fort Wayne, Indiana (or Fort Rain, Windyana--as a friend's Mom noted it) for three years of my teens made me slightly indifferent to mass snow and rain.  I have a slew of other states and weather conditions I could make note of haired weather conditions, but those should su...

In light of the upcoming Naked Baby Angel Day holiday, and my known in-difference and often contempt for it , I bet many thought I would be spilling all kinds of ruckus humor at the latest infusion of candy coated pink and red assault of late. Yea, if I hadn't just gotten the news that I did you can bet your candy coated fingers and diamond studded jewelry that I would be. But . . . as life goes crap happens and February can now officially piss off. Tonight I got to read the news that an old friend and former grad school roommate died. Pisser indeed. You might remember mention of Heather from the Dave Diaz posting.  I met Dave via her, and rifling through my memories connects to two together in some ways and divides them apart in others.  Heather and I met by chance in Las Cruces, back in the fall of 1999. We were living in the grad apartments, and we shared the bathroom. Well, we quickly teamed up and moved off campus. We had a quaint little two bedroom on Foster R...

What can I say . . . a Shitty McVille Week. Sunday I came back from the mountains, just missing the downpours in Roanoke and Salem, and the drive was uneventful. I enjoyed the peace and comfort of the drive, and when I got back I went for a late night run. Then . . . then I got the joy of finding out that Jackass had a conversation with me about moving there and being with him hours before heading to the church and reception hall to get married. In case you need to review have a looky loo . Technically that occurred on Monday morning, which certainly didn't make the week project very well. I blew off some steam on my bike, after filling the tires with air, but the ride proved that my shocks are GONE and my endurance has gone to the wayside. On Tuesday I went to the library to do some work for the literacy council, which isn't so bad. But, since too many people view the library as their personal babysitter a four and five year old decided to make friends with me. T...