Congratulations, you're not blind!

Summary haiku:
My sunburn may as
well be a celebrity.
Quit staring at it!


Yesterday, I went to lunch with a friend. We ate outside. I ended up with a raging sunburn on one of my shoulders, where my scoop neck shirt didn't quite cover.

It hurts. Really, really bad (especially when my seatbelt rubs against it). But not as bad as people who think they're so clever as to comment on the obvious. "Hey! Do you know you've got a sunburn?"

Hey! Fuck you!

People lecture you on the obvious. "The sun's not good for your skin." "Wow, that's gonna be painful for a couple of days." "Geez, one shoulder? You look all lopsided."

Like I meant for it to happen. Now everyone is pointing and staring as though I have a fucking lilac bush growing out of my shoulder.

Even a little old man at the gym! He said, "Is that a sunburn? I almost didn't want to ask you because it's such an intense red, I thought it might be a birthmark." Sheesh!

Gotta go get some aloe.

This is why I don't go camping

Summary haiku:

Ticks: evil little
beasts reside in nature. I
don't need hangers-on.


Anyone who knows me is aware that I'm not an outdoorsy person. Sure, I enjoy mountain biking and hiking and boating and whitewater rafting. But when the activity is done, I want to be back in my house, showering and sleeping in my bed like a civilized person.

I've been camping twice, and they both rank as two of my five most miserable experiences in life. (Others include waiting for my mom to wake up from a coma, getting my wisdom teeth pulled and something else of a more personal nature.)

So imagine my horror when I discovered a tick implanted in my scalp last night. What the hell? I haven't even been outside like that -- where did I pick up this blood-sucking passenger?

Then I realized: It was at the dog park, where there are tons of trees and tall, bushy grasses. The dogs are protected with their Frontline, but me? I was a sitting target, especially when I decided to go frolic with them instead of sitting on the bench, on the big cement patch.

I was totally grossed out and panicking inside, but I think I seemed quite calm. Anyway, we removed the tick, and I'm sure all will be fine. But the top of my head is sore and I'm still totally creeped out by that little motherfucker. *Shudder*

So, here's hoping I don't have Lyme disease or Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever! And guess what I bought today? A new ballcap, which I will wear every time I go to the dog park... along with a body condom and 10 layers of Off!

Sorry Mother Nature, but all creatures are not created equal.

(P.S. I don't have a will yet, so if I die, Wendy and Elana can split my shoe collection. Joli, Michelle and Javacia can divvy up my jewelry. I want "Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta" by the Geto Boys played at my funeral, and to be buried with my Tim Gunn bobblehead.)

People who paint over wallpaper are fucking assholes.

So yesterday, we embarked on what should be a fairly simple task: We finally got around to repainting our bathroom on the main floor -- a task that should have taken roughly five hours, with primering and the actual painting. I got three walls done and felt pretty proud.

But when went to remove the toilet, it wouldn't come unscrewed from the floor. So we had to use a hack saw to screw through the bolts, which took ... a while. Then we discovered that some fucking assclown had painted over wallpaper -- a discovery we made because the wallpaper was all bubbled and peeling behind the toilet. So we started pulling it up.

Which is like pulling an errant thread on a sweater.

And after the paper is pulled up, all the glue underneath must be scraped off.

This is what our bathroom looks like now:







The Pepto Bismol pink is the old color. The sage green is the new color. And anything that isn't one of those two hues needs to be scraped, spackled and/or sanded before we primer and paint it. We spent most of today doing the part behind the toilet so we could reattach it. (We've had the water in our house turned off all day so that agua wouldn't leak from the detached hose.)

But that doesn't take the sting out of the fact that it's going to be a couple of weeks before this mess finished.

Kyle's expression said it best.




P.S. I've been getting drunk, so I'll be sad tomorrow when I have to go to work.

I am Selma and Patty Bouvier

Three days and eight Derby parties later, my tonsils feel as big as kiwi fruits. My voice, scratchy and raw, and I can't breathe because I've got some sinus thing going on too. The verdict: A real bad case of tonsillitis, which I haven't had since I was, like, 12 maybe?

I probably caught the germs from some drunken, non-handwashing ass at one of those parties. Woe is me. Luckily, I've discovered how morbidly fascinating Showtime series, "Dexter" to help pass the time.

I'm watching it On Demand on a loop. I wish Dexter would come kill me right now.