So if you managed to wallow through Sunday's post, I thank you. You just saved me $100 at the shrink.
Saturday I was surfing on my laptop while the guys were popping in and out of the house and ran across an email from someone I hadn't heard from in a long time. Remember Ben, the guy I met at the wing place that was going to Kuwait? Um, yeah. Him. Apparently he wants me to write him back and send pictures too since he's so bored and lonely over there. I wonder what kind of pictures he wants me to send, hmmm? I hit delete so fast that my keyboard is still smoking. Sorry, Ben, I'm happy that you're serving our country but honestly I don't really want to provide you with any pictures that you'll be using for unsavory acts. With camels.
Tonight I go see Bobby, my Fabulous Gay Hairdresser Slash Therapist. I'm not sure what needs more therapy, my head or my hair. I'm starting to vaguely resemble Donald Trump's combover at this point since I'm like a week off of my usual 5- week rotation. You're fired!
And now, for your entertainment, a typical conversation between me and Cat Door:
CD: Well, I need to run home and walk the dog. You know, you really should walk Rufus more often.
Me: Why? He does just fine the way he is.
CD: His legs look like they're getting shorter, when really it's that he's getting fatter.
Me: He gets plenty of exercise. You're just jealous because that little twitching bundle of nerves that you have has to be walked or he runs away. Maybe if you weren't so hateful he wouldn't run off all the time.
CD: Good point. I am kind of bitter about the walking part. Maybe he picks up on that.
Me: I'm not even your dog and I know how bitter you are. Not to mention he's probably a little bitter because you named him after a food.
CD: Liz, his name is Puccini, not Fettucini. Get it straight you senile old bat!
Me: Puccini, fettucini, whatever. I'd run away too.
And there you have it. We are stupid.
It isn't even 9 AM and the girls and I are already making lunch plans. We are officially pathetic. And for me, this involves major planning and sweating over what I can eat and not run over my points for the day. Weigh-in is 7:30 AM tomorrow...did y'all notice that I changed the day so that I can weigh in before breakfast? Tryin' to cheat the man, y'all. Hey, at least I'm not like some people that I see in there that are practically stripping down to their underwear for weigh-in. I just take my shoes off and don't wear any bling on Wednesdays. And leave my underwear at home.
Have a great day, y'all. And if you see a nervous-looking little miniature pinscher running around, beware. He's bitter.