06 December 2010

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I've been sitting here for five minutes (at least) trying to think of a title for this post, but I've got nothing. Perhaps I should take this as a sing that I've got nothing to say. Fuck that.

So, I think I may have mentioned I have another cold. Friday was bad because I slept just a few hours on Thursday night. After a short work day and a nap, I felt much better Friday night. On Saturday, I felt even better. However, I did get pretty sneezy and snotty on Saturday night at The Boy I Currently Like's place. He said I sounded just fine when I got there, but over the course of the night, I ended up sounding like I'd been crying, because I was so congested. Sexy! (Also sexy, not being able to breathe while making out because the non-congested side of your nose is pressed up against his nose. Or, the "non-congested" side is only partially so, and you get the snotty-inhale sound while making out. That shit is HOT, y'all.)

Even better than sounding like I'd been crying was how I sounded Sunday morning. Perhaps it was just because it was fresh in The Boy's mind, because we'd watched The Soup the night before, or possibly simply because it was absolutely fucking true, but I was still a little shocked when we were laying in bed, talking about who knows what when The Boy said, "You sound like Ma."

I was a little sad and hurt at first, but then I said "He's a douchebag," and I was delighted. Unfortunately, it only works right away in the morning, or I'd be talking like her all day. Or, I would if I knew more than two people who watched The Soup and might get what I was talking about.

Another fun thing I've got going right now is my mom is on my ass about meals for Christmas and writing a paragraph about myself for her Christmas letter. For the food thing, I don't know why I bother suggesting shit, because it all gets shot down. Why do you fucking ask if you're going to say no? Why do you ask me for ideas when there are people who won't eat 75 percent of the shit I suggest? Why ask me for new ideas when "Your dad won't eat that."? Jesus.

The Christmas letter paragraph is vexing me, too. Do you think I should add the tidbit about sounding like Ma? I honestly have no idea what to say. I don't fucking care. Then again, I care just enough to want to write something ridiculous or sarcastic or clever or just plain fucking stupid. But after working and being sick, I just can't think of anything good. Not even booze is helping. I only have until Wednesday, too. FUCK.

And in the continuing (not) awesome vein, I came home today to a flooded under-sink cabinet. Thanks, upstairs neighbor's dishwasher! I assume it's a dishwasher because of the volume of water and the force with which it fills my sink. The times I've seen it, I was worried it might spill out of the sink onto the floor. Turns out that pressure was too much for the pipes under my sink. Fun!

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