Anyway, I think I need to go to rehab for pick-pick-picking. I will not go into great detail the "episode" that occurred last night where I wanted to claw out my brain I wanted to pick so bad. And I ain't talkin about asscrack neither, so please, no jokes here. Just straight up skin-picking. I know it's nasty. I know it makes me a fool. A fool for the love, mayne! But I cannot help myself. Nor can I help the hair-picking. And hair-picking makes me look psychotic - and if one knew one, than one would think that one was not so necessarily into looking like one is psychotic. One.
So, apparently it is time to get thee to a nunnery and keep my hands to myself - don't give me no _______ and keep yo' hands to yo'self! I mean, the hair-picking looks like I'm trying to create a new stringed instrument. Or like I'm a rodent and I think there is acorn in my hair. Jebus!
So Eliza is saying "au revoir" soon to Burque. So soon. No more drinking and partying with Eliza. Marriage, pug puppies, and babydolls are in store for her. Not that we've been guzzling the booze as much as we used to together - she missed whiskey night!!! But now, now there are no chances of whiskey night unless I visit her brokeass for Christmas, and hellfire and brimstone, that ain't happenin' - my mother would not stand for any visitation rights over Christmas. Much less conjugal visits! (Kidding, kidding Big i & Eliza) The moms would probably cry herself to sleep and hold it against me for a fortnight, or rather, twenty years - and it's just not worth it.
Onto a new subject! Last night the Big i and I (heh) were talking about this one time that Eliza and I were yelling "Colleen for President! Liz for President!" out of my mom's Camry window. He had assumed that we were drunk. Alas, we were not - which is the stunner of this story. We were around 16 or 17, and I remember we were in front of Mills Elementary. Huh. Thank God we don't live there anymore - right Eliza? At least we don't live there! Although, we are just a step or two up...
Good things about today:
* I haven't seen the damned tampon in a week or so now. I'm beginning to wonder if Joe kicked it from in front of those girls' house in order to prevent forest fires. I do see some dirty boxer briefs that are now growing bushes or something through the crotch. I refuse to inspect, so we'll just have to leave that one alone.
* It's walk-o block-o time at lunch - running errands and takin' names!
* I was going into work when I realized that in five months, it will be 2 years since I got on the Credit-repair sheisse. That means only 2 years left!!! Only 2 years until my 5000 bones will be paid off! Thank jebus!
* Back on coffee. Back on coffee in a super-deluxxx kind of way. Back on coffee like back in black. Back on coffee like it's an ex-mistress with such sweet sweet familiarity one cannot discern this moment from utopia what with her coming back for a secret rendez-vous. Back on coffee like an illegal immigrant is back in a sweatshop. Back on coffee like Bush is back on Laura (and no, not you, Laura Muffin, nor you Laura-lie Cherry-pie). Back on coffee like Ludie is back in the states! BACK ON COFFEE LIKE IT'S A MOTHERFUCKIN RIOT BIATCH - FUCK THA PO'LICE! Back on coffee like the last junkie on earth (heroin is so passe)! Back on coffee like your mom is back on.... hmmm.... Back on coffee like stink is back on that guy in receiving! Back on coffee like universities are back on robbing us all for the Spring Semester! Back on coffee like an alcoholic is back on forgotten sex! Back on coffee like Michael J. is back to the future! Back on coffee like Eliza ain't back at Goff Dairy! Back on coffee like the Sundays ain't back to the scene! Back on coffee like ... oh for Christ's sake -
Is "mister" the term for a man-mistress? Is it the opposing mistress term? Could I say that I have a mister? A john? A harvey wallbanger? A vodka on the rocks? Grey Goose, please, I've only had Belvedere.
Sit tight, cupcakes, and we're all assured of squeezed buttcheeks. It smells like stinkass feet back here - and I possess extraordinary attentiveness to hygiene, so it ain't me. I bet it's the deaf girl.