By the time you are reading this I hope to be suffering a massive hangover from giant shots of tequila. I’ve decided to kick it old school. I am deciding this on Wednesday. God knows how I will feel tomorrow.
The last week or so things have been strange. I got hit on Friday night. This never happens to me. Later, I figured out the guy was gay by the compliment. No straight man would ever (in the history of humanity) tell a girl that he couldn’t help notice the beautiful arch her eyebrows have. That was Friday. Saturday and Sunday were business as usual. Monday, my beast of a dog decides to take half the face off a squirrel. In my dog’s defense, the squirrels torture her because, well she can’t climb trees. We will call the squirrel Mitch.
Almost every morning at around 5:45am the beast whines to go out. I oblige because, let’s face it, after a certain age you resign yourself to the fact that sleep will just never happen. Mitch has been driving my beast crazy for months. He sits on the fence until the last possible moment then either jump into the creepy neighbor’s yard or up a tree. Monday, Mitch’s number was officially up. I don’t like nature that much. I know that may come as a shock to many of you. With that said, I called animal control. I was not going to let the dog finish Mitch off because she would have brought the damn squirrel in the house or would have wanted to kiss me after. Two facts I learned on Monday: the good folks at animal control do not like to be disturbed first thing on a Monday morning and squirrels can’t get rabies. I’m going to let you imagine that phone call. Let me tell you something, I’m no Marlon Perkins. When animal control lady got here I lost count of how many times she rolled her eyes at me. I am pretty sure somewhere in squirrel community they are not surprised. Mitch was a risk taker. In lieu of flowers donations can be made to me. I had to suffer as much as Mitch did. His wife Sadie, (after a brief period of mourning) will be back on the market.
Right now it is Thursday, May 23. I am officially 45 years old. My girl woke up only half the witch she usually is in the morning. I will take that like pennies from Heaven. My house is in order. My hair is good. My meds have kicked in and nothing weird has happened yet. Yet. I will be around all weekend doing God knows what with God knows who or is it whom. I could never get that straight. Right now I don’t really care. I am 45 with a fat ass and an ever shrinking tolerance for bullshit. I win.
If you are in my inner circle, please keep your phones on and have cab fare/bribe the judge money ready.
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