Some Days

Some days are smooth like Grey Goose™

Some days are like cheap Russian vodka

Today was totally a cheap Russian vodka day. Tomorrow will totally be an analgesic cocktail and antacid day. I want my mommy!

The sweet thing about being ‘technically’ an only child is that when you declare that you want your mommy, she actually responds. Today I sent a text message to my mom that said, ‘I WANT MY MOMMY!!!!’.  She responded: Okay, I will come up there tonight. So I said, ‘What time?’.  Later she called saying she was at the dentist and they were running behind. Since it would make her leave T-town late she was going to wait until tomorrow morning to come to J-town.

Really, that was okay with me, due to my plans to get sloppy drunk tonight. What I am saying is that I had a bad day at work.  Because I don’t want you to flat line I won’t bore you with details. But suffice it to say… I have decided to invent the site to site transporter so my job will become obsolete. But then I won’t care that my job is obsolete because, hey, I just invented the site to site transporter. I’m working on the schematics as we speak. No wait. First I have to master molecular science. Give me a minute here.

Oh who am I kidding?  I can’t feel my extremities.  I can still say extremities, just can’t feel them.

On the way home from work I made iWof stop at the Big Evil Giant’s wholesale club that makes you pay for a membership in order to shop. Actually, I don’t even pay for it. My mom pays for my membership. But I pay her cell phone bill. And she supported me for 18 years… so I call it a wash. And … I’m … rambling.

So, at the BEGWCTMYPFAMIOTS I bought a bottle of the afore mentioned Grey Goose™.  I also bought a twelver of Orange Crush™.  iWof pointed out that I could buy the Orange flavored Grey Goose™ and get the same effect. But then I told him to shut up and pay the lady. Then I gave him the right eyebrow high, lips pursed, glare. He chuckled at me behind my back, but he ponied up the debit card. I know what he is thinking. He thinks I’m going to get sloppy drunk and he is going to get lucky.  (Oh, God. I’m going to regret this post tomorrow.) But in that case he is going to have to time it just right because I’m about two sheets away from flat on my back with my tongue hanging out, one foot on the floor to stop the room from spinning.

Oh who am I kidding?  I can’t feel my extremities.  I can still say extremities, but it sounds kinda slurred.  Even to me.