Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

I had these tights . . . not just any tights, but spectacular tights.  They were sweater tights, without the bulk.  They were grey plaid, with blue and yellow.  They were cool, hip, happening tights.  They were 25 bucks from Mod Cloth. They ripped, on the second wearing.  How did they rip? I snagged them on the foil wrapper from a yoghurt container.  In my house.  Shit.  Of course the larger question is why in the hell did I spend 25 bucks on a pair of tights? Okay, they are cool . . .But, my poor, cheap self really was lost in a Lupus haze of hell literally sitting on the floor, in the corner, with a hand on each wall praying for the room to stop spinning.  When the room did stop spinning, after a round or two of upchucking, I crawled into bed.  As the dizzy subsided I laid there fearing to get up, so I watched movies online and window shopped.  Yea . . . I blame the dizzy.  I also blame the sheer and utter exhau...

Word on the street is that there is an unusually high smog alert over New York City. Yea, I apologize.  It is my fault. I’ve got the plaquenil farts again.  When the carbon monoxide detector goes off in the neighboring buildings I will not apologize.  I will deny any doing or knowledge.  As of late, compliments of finally getting my health insurance reinstated (though, the dental and vision are still being hijacked by bureaucracy), my days have been filling up with doctor’s appointments and the gremlin bottles have been multiplying on my dresser.  I haven’t even spilled any water, as of late.  Though, give that five minutes as I’ve got a bottle of seltzer calling my name.  Those bitches always bathe my carpet, bed, and me before settling down.  You would think there would be a better way to open them . . .I wonder if getting a boyfriend to open them would make things less wet? Oh wait, would need a boyfriend first.  Though, I have dude...