Paper, rock, scissors....BOOT!

What a weird few days.  I've had so many thoughts spinning through my brain that I literally can't contain or remember them all.  I've written and re-written several posts in my head but typically when I am driving or working so I can't capture those thoughts.  In other words, the good stuff is gone but you are welcome to stay and read what's left.

First of all, I think you should know that despite the fact my body will make me pay dearly for it later, I'm brewing coffee right now.  I just can't take it anymore.  I'm going to drink it and I promise, I will like it.  A lot.

My mood today has been all over the place and with great intensity.  I am old enough to know that this can only mean one thing.  Hormone fluctuations.  Sweet mother of god.  That is never good and explains why I almost removed Molly's liver with my bare hands last night after catching her chewing up my favorite pair of boots.  Did I leave them by the door? Yes.  Is it my fault? Yes. Do I acknowledge, Andy, that there are no bad dogs, only bad dog owners?  No. No I don't.  I saw the knowledge in her eyes after she tasted the fruit of the forbidden shoe tree! Bad dog! Bad dog!

Really? 'cuz you LOOKED guilty.  You knew what you were doing! Bad dog! Bad dog! 

Even if it was entirely Molly's fault that she sent my boot to heaven, I couldn't beat her or forcibly remove her liver.  Not because "I am nice" but because I just invested a mortgage payment into keeping her bowels in tip-top shape.  I'm so very excited to see what the addition of the boot zipper she added to the contents of her belly will do to her in the coming hours and days.  The dog is lucky to be alive for more than one reason.  We'll see if her luck continues to hold as well as her bowels have.

Bad dog!

One of the worst things about my mood swings and added stress this week?  My constant desire to crawl back in bed with the Marlboro Man.  It is not a lie when I say that I HATE smoking.  The taste, the smell, the addiction.  I hate it.  I hate being owned by addiction.  None the less, my mind keeps wandering over to his memory.  The things I say to him are dark as French Roast. "Hello, Lov-ah.  You smell real nice today.  Purr for mama. You know how old cat ladies like it."

Why can't I quit you?

It's pretty much the same as driving by an old boyfriend's house after dark to see if anyone else is there or wondering what might happen if you knocked at the door.  (Don't worry.  I haven't had any truly addictive boyfriends since the mid-nineties, so all you recent guys can just relax.  You know who you are. I'm waaaay to lazy for stalking these days.  It's just too much work for so little inspiration.)

I am too old to have the passion required for stalking.  Frankly, I'd rather watch T.V. and order pizza. 

Oh, but that Marlboro Man!  He whispers things in my ears that you would-not-believe. I know it's all a lie but when you add his bad behavior to hormone trickery and dearly departed boots, it really IS a wonder the dog wasn't buried in the yard last night.  I did briefly consider the joy of digging her grave with the intact boot that still remains.

Don't worry Moo Moo, I will. Trust me.

I know that my level of intensity isn't for everyone.  It's just part of how I am put together. I blame it on the fact that I have a moon in Scorpio and a penchant for drama.  As long as it's funny, who cares?  To quote Mel Brooks,

"Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when I walk into an open sewer and die."

Mel certainly was right about that. 

Moving on...the coffee?  I am in heaven!  Even more so because while I was busy blogging I had a phone call from my neighbor telling me that their baby, Alexander, was born at 3 am.  Welcome to earth, Alexander!!! I had three online chats with two of my favorite Googlers and one with my BFF, Stacie.  Oh, you guys.  Now I'm HAPPY again and all thoughts of Molly and how to eliminate her are safely stored away until I get back into that box of Franzia later this afternoon.

Don't be so stuck up.  It's a house wine favorite!  Americans are Philistines anyway.  Get over yourselves. 

And now? That Thoroughly Modern Millie is video chatting me.  I bet she wants new boots and a Girls-Night-Out to the American Girl doll store.  Do you have any idea how many Shirley Temples that child can knock back?  I miss her so much.  She can have anything she wants.  Video chat? Fine.  New boots?  Sure.  American Girl dolls?  Anything you want. No, no.  Molly doesn't need medication to poop anymore.  Let's just zip her up and go shopping. 

Good girl. 

Your ever lovin',

Miss Pierce