Urban Drool

Cats found. All is well. Except that I am sure I grew more than a few gray hairs in the past 30 minutes.

One cat was outside, the other was in the bedroom, howling for the first one while sitting in the window.

Little Bastard #2's howls and a strategically used can of cat food lured Little Bastard #1 inside.



Assholes. Don't they know they cannot do this to us? For all that they drive us insane and are nosy, pesky, ungrateful little beasts, we adore them.

I am going to go home and kiss both of them.

Then I'm going to kill them for making me worry like this.

Thank you times a million to my Boy, whose quick thinking and cool head ensured that our little bastards are once more safe and sound.

If you were to see me these days, you would have to physically restrain yourself from attacking me and using my tasty, firm young flesh for your carnal purposes. I am THAT sexy and desirable.

Exhibit A: My body handles the extreme heat with such ease and grace that I am constantly red, shiny and very, very wet. Sweat is constantly soaking into my clothes, and this morning? I was so sweaty and nasty (even having JUST gotten out of the shower) that my deodorant was not even able to adhere to the skin under my arms, and instead just formed little white balls and rolled away. And no, I am not joking.

Exhibit B: My long, thick black hair that is roughly the texture and smoothness of the tail of your average Kleidsdale is in a constant state of dryness, frizziness and split-ended-ness. Thus, it is constantly in a bun or half-falling apart braid.

Exhibit C: I? Have not shaved my legs in 4 days. I? Am still wearing skirts and capris, because it is just TOO FUCKING HOT to wear anything else.

Exhibit D: The random spurtage and leakage of milk from my boobs has ceased and desisted, yet in it’s place there seems to be a slow and steady drip from my right nipple. This means that my boob is always slightly damp and I am always smelling not-so-vaguely of spoiled milk.

Exhibit E: My pasty-white and giggly legs are covered in half-infected bug bites and the backs of my heels are scraped and scabbed and have the feel of old, cracked leather.

Exhibit F: The red nail polish on my toes is at least 2 months old and is so flaked and random that it looks instead like someone has bled drops of blood all over my toes.

Exhibit G: My eyebrows and upper lip need plucked so badly that I am starting to scare small children. And my dog.

But the MOST ATTRACTIVE part of the wondernous that is me is the “real” period that I have been suffering with for the past 5 days. Yeah. That time a couple months ago when I told you all that I started cycling again? Yeah. Not so much. Just some minor spotting. Lady luck found me for real last Saturday night.

And I? Ended up going through nearly and entire box of SUPER absorption tampons within the first 72 hours. It was that bad. And that painful.

I know…I know…I am just so amazingly sexy and desirable that you almost cannot contain yourselves.

Personally, I don't know how the Boy can even stand to share the same living space with me these days.

Hopefully, when the heat finally breaks I will find the energy and reason to shave, pluck, paint, trim and scrub my way back into the land of feminine decency.

But for now? Gah.

I know I owe you all a vacation re-cap (do you want to hear about how I caught two sharks? Or maybe about how my father got stung by a jelly fish? How about how the Boy and I almost filed for divorce?)

I know I also owe you all a retaliatory post in reponse to the Boy's "Getting Myself in Trouble" entry over at andthentherewaspickle.blogspirit.com.

But...but....

I HAVE A CASE OF THE MONDAYS.


(I cannot believe I just wrote that. A bottle of Rufino Classico Chianti and a plate of my homemade chicken piccata to whomever can identify the movie which illuminated the above phrase.)


Today is my first day back at work (FIE!! I SPIT UPON YOUR GRANDMOTHER'S GRAVE!!! EEERRGGG!!!) and my poor, poor baby is sick. Or, at least, she is overly warm and has really sore gums and is just fucking ready for the weather to get below 70 degrees and for her teeth to cut already.

She was crying and crying and all she wanted was to be held. And what did I do? Did I hold and rock and soothe and comfort her? Did I provide for her every need and make her feel all kinds of better?

I did not.

I put her down in her swing and walked to the door and left.

OK, to be honest, I sat with her and tried to flip through the phone book to get the pediatrician's number, while yelling at the Boy that he was to drive all three of us there so she could get checked out and then he could take me to work but ONLY if she wasn't too sick and he said no, that she would be OK for the day and she didn't really need to go to the doctor, and I had to go to work and I put her down in her swing and walked into the kitchen and cried and told the Boy that I couldn't leave her and I could NOT go to work if she wasn't feeling well and he flatly told me I had to and for 3 seconds I hated him with the fury of a thousands white-hot suns for telling me I had to leave my baby while she wasn't feeling well and THEN I walked to the door and left.

And as I was driving to work (crying the whole way! GREAT!) a caterpilar crawled onto my neck and BIT me and I freaked out and tried to brush it off me and instead of brushing it of me I brushed it into my bra and GEE WASN'T THAT FUN!!

And the coffee sucks this morning.

And the pile of work that was sitting on my desk this morning was so high that I was positive there were giants living at the top.

But? Most of all? My baby needs me today and I am not there. And it hurts so bad that I cannot even hear.

So, yeah.

There's no guest post of mine over at the Boy's place today.

It has just been too crazy round these parts.

I had an absolute marathon weekend, in which I did the following:

1) took exclusive care of Lucy so the Boy could finish his big project for his MBA
2) spent 13 hours helping my mother clean out her basement, which was flooded
3) spent another 3 hours helping my mother do outside/gardening work
4) helped the Boy by typing the last dozen or so pages of his dissertation (he HATES typing)
5) baked a from-scratch cake for my father's "one week late Father's Day dinner because he has been in northern Quebec for the past 2 weeks"
6) put on a forced grin for 2+ hours when some unexpected guests showed up for said dinner.
7) dealt with the news that my sister and brother in law (they are FINE) were plowed into by a drunk driver who was in a high-speed car chase with no fewer than 5 highway patrol cars (THEY ARE FINE).

And now I have to get through the following events, to take place over the next 11 hours:

1) telling my boss that I am leaving work 1 hour early so that I can...
2) pick up the baby and go downtown to attend the Boy's defense of his thesis
3) then go with baby and Boy to a "reunion party" of all the couples from our Lamaze class. Where I will try and find a way to avoid the inevitable sharing of birth stories. And try to remain calm and smiling and happy when I hear the inevitable 7 different stories of easy-peasy births with zero complications.
4) go to dinner with baby and Boy to celebrate his almost-done-with-Graduate-School-ness

...and I'm going to try and do all this on the 2.5 hours of sleep I got last night.

So, yeah. No brilliant and witty guest post today. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week sometime. Or when Lucy goes away to college.

Plus? The coffee this morning tastes really bad.

Erg.

And also: Bah.

1. There will be no season 4 of Deadwood after the conclusion of season 3 (3 more days!!!!!!!!!!). Just some 4-hour-long-series-finale goat dung that's supposed to make us feel all better that they are taking the most fantastic HBO series off the air. Some shit about it costing $50 million to make one episdoe. Suck it up HBO!! ....fucking Hoopleheads.

2. I really want to get drunk again. It has now been over one full year since I have had anything more than a half glass of red wine. People, are you really expecting me to get through a horrid-ass humid as shit Cleveland summer without even one ice-cold vodka tonic? Or Tequila Sunrise? eerrgggg...

3. The Pickle rolled over onto her belly in her sleep last night. And woke me up by shrieking to wake the dead around 3:15 am to tell me all about it. However, she? Is totally forgiven becuase as I opened my weary eyes she was holding her head up, bracing herself on her hands and grinning at me through the bars of her crib.

4. I make the most fanstastic chicken piccata in the Cleveland metropolitan area.

5. The Boy shall not be crucified, because he found his phone (and the damn thing still works) and the greatness that is Apple gave him a brand new iPod for free in exchange for his left-out-in-the-pouring-rain one. Awesome.