Brass Monkey, That Funky…Pictostorythingy?

My hands hurt. Like a motherfucker. I hope Cinderella didn’t have arthritis; otherwise, scrubbing the floors had to be extra hard work.

So. Me no typey much today. Me piccy. Here, me show you. (Me no know why me talk like Cookie Monster now. But me likey.)

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This bitch is done. P.S. Look at that uglyass TV covering the beautiful windows. I should sell it, but I haven’t played enough video games on it yet. So me keep it.
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My dead birdie friend. Finally figured out how they were getting in, when ANOTHER one flew in. Coming down the damn stove vent. One of the cats instantly caught him in his mouth, but I yelled his name, and he dropped the bird. Got superlucky. The frantic thing fell hit the window (not too hard) and fell down plunk into a trashcan. I covered the can, carried it outside, uncovered it…and he flew away. Happy day. This one, though? Dead as a fucking doornail. And he’s no Jon Snow, so he’s gonna stay dead. LIKE THE HIGH SPARROW. Fuckyeah, my geek is en pointe today.
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Some things I can’t seem to part with, like this olive wood necklace from Israel. Almost all the rest of the crap in the jewelry box was chucked straight into the bin. Anyway. I’ll keep the necklace, even though it now reminds me of a bitchass bitch. OHMYGOSH, this may actually be from my mamaw’s pilgrimage and not my bitchwhore aunt’s trip. I feel better.
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I had to keep these, too. Back when I was teaching, some of my students shared their Mardi Gras beads with me. Oh. But the red and green ones are from Cinco. I should Cinco de Trasho those. Anyway. Also featuring IV bruise. It’s almost gone now. Me sad.
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Contemplating a move to New Zealand. Wanna come with?
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Or Australia. Because kangas. People. People. PEOPLE. AUSTRALIA HAS TREE KANGAROOS. Those are NOT Jim Henson muppets! They’re TREE KANGAS. That is all.
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Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Totoro! And turtle butt.
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Garry and friends, snuggled up in a bundle of scarves.
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Dudes. I cried when I threw this out. I cried. And one of the poor cats still hasn’t forgiven me for tossing it. He’s been going into the bedroom and standing in front of the spot where it used to sit and just staring. I’m a horrible human being.
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Random sunflower popped up in my yard! This kinda shit makes life worth living.
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Random sunflower’s random younger brother. I call him The Usurper.
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And and and! Mushrooms after the rain! Happy dance!
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Azalea joy.
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Happy Little Azaleas. I hope the eventual new owners love these and don’t murder them. I’m gonna miss ’em.
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Another photo.

And now. For the real purpose of this post.

Happy 4th of Monkeys!

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I don’t want to end my streak…

…so I’m here. With nothing to say. Shall we see if I end up saying something anyway, like yesterday. Why not. [(Fuck question marks. Question marks are squiggly little pricks that make it sound like I lack confidence in what I’m saying.) (See, this is the kind of bullshit that escapes when I don’t have a plan! Who the hell has problems with question marks. I do, apparently. Who knew.)]

Uhm.

Uh.

How ’bout them Yankees. No. Shitty topic, seeing as how I don’t give a fuck about them Yankees.

Uhm.

How about cookies. Archie brought cookies in today, some elaborate recipe with oatmeal (who knew), raisins, coconut, some other shit, some additional other shit. She said her Mr. Archie complained they were too dry, so she brought them to work. They were too dry. I ate two anyway. For breakfast, because I’m a gangsta. Also because I’m out of oatmeal so I ate dry oatmeal cookies. Fair trade.

Well that got old fast. What now.

There’s a video going around of goats jumping on a trampoline. It’s pretty awesome, and reminds me that I want a trampoline. I need one to have a bouncing army of Garry Goats. Shit, that means I need goats, too. Good thing I want goats. And chickens. And my own personal library. One of these things is not the same, but I still want them all.

This is really fucking boring. Do I sound sufficiently blasé. Uhm. Uhhhh. How can I liven this post up.

Explosions. That works in Hollywood. But what do they know. They worship volcano aliens. Ohmygod, maybe that’s how the aliens get here. All those fucking explosions are really eruptions, shooting evil alien overlords over the masses. Only they travel via airwaves, so they’re distributed among the masses at summertime popcorn explody movies. Yeah.

Topics are good. I should probably make a list of them or some shit. For days like today, when the lack of said list results in a rambling post about grammar, oatmeal and Scientology. Fucking weirdo.

My shoulder is hurting like a motherfucker. Pain shooting down my arm like needles, fingers going numb. Pinched nerve, I bet. Just what I need. My shoulder is a dick. (Ohmygod I just said I have a dick. I don’t. Unless you count my shoulder, in which case I do have a dick. And my foot that hasn’t healed in nearly a year. That’s also a dick. So’s my head. It hurts like a motherfucker. (Ohholyhell that means I’m a Motherfucking Dickhead. Wow. (I wonder what happens if all those dicks get erect at once.)))

Damn, I’m nasty. That’s okay. Y’all already knew that. And if you’re new here, Welcome to the Gutter. (Please sing that to the tune of “Welcome to the Jungle.” It has the same number of syllables, so it totally works. Trust.)

Going to the orthopedist today to have another x-ray of my foot. I don’t see the point, as I can tell him for a fact it isn’t healed. I’ll give you a hint as to how I know: PAIN. Yeah. Damnit. Gonna ask him if he can either check my shoulder as well or make an appointment to do so very soon. I’ve been putting up with it for a few weeks now, but instead of getting better (as I’d hoped), it’s monumentally worse.¬† Yay.

That’s okay. I’m gonna beat these assholes somehow, someway. How else will I go hiking once I hit the PNW. Exactly. So these assholes have to heal, so I can hike. I will it so. Damnit.

House. Almost ready to list. I realize I keep saying that, but it’s superclose now. Repairs made and just needs a hard scrub. (My shoulder’s gonna loooooove that.)

Jobs applied to with the company I currently work for – in the PNW. Fuckin’ aye. I’ve got an in with a local VIP who has an in with a PNW VIP. So, while there are no guarantees and it may take a while, it would enable me to keep my current insurance and bennies. Fingers crossed.

Speaking of PNW, considering taking on a roomie when I move. Could save me shittons of money or get me slaughtered in my sleep, my guts churned into a breakfast smoothie. Worth the risk? I dunno. I value my privacy too much, probably. And my guts. Sometimes.

Mental Health. I’ve taken myself off of all psych meds, and my brain feels better. I still wake up wishing I hadn’t, but none of the drugs I was on ever took that away. So. Fuck it. Why pump my body full of drugs just to feel the same way in the end. So fuck that psychiatrist. Gonna get my GP to prescribe the sleepytime med and stop pouring money down that pill-pushing hodonkey.

Uhm. Those are the shortest updates I’ve ever given. Heh.

Uhm.

Okay. That is all. Good day.

And don’t forget: McGruff the Crime Dog says to Say No to Drugs. I say take a bite out of McGruff.

McGruff
I changed my mind. He’s now my McHomie. As soon as he gets out of prison, anyway.