Out to dinner; more gyros and baklava at the place that looks like J.A.D. Ingres’ wet dream (nekkid harem women sold seperately). I was with the Frannie, Mr. Husband, and the raddest person I will never have sex with, my sister.

While we were eating, this skater dude left his cel phone on a seat, and had skated halfway down the street by the time I had run out of the restaurant. I am a good citizen when I don’t have PMS, so I turned it in at the front counter. He came back about fifteen minutes later, and was hunting around the table.

Me: “Looking for your cel phone? I turned it in at the front.”

Him: “Stupid ADD! Thank you!”

Poor sucker. At least he has a sense of humor.

Betrayal! Of the four little chicks I picked up this spring, two are roosters! And here I thought chicken sexing was 90% accurate. I want to be a chicken sexer; obviously it just involves pretending to work and making arbitrary decisions, something I excel at. Perhaps there is even on-the-job drinking.

Glen/Glenda and the neutrally-monikered Snowy started crowing as soon as school break started, and I was sleeping later and didn’t realize it. Mr. Husband told me last week that he thought they were crowing in the morning, but I thought he was tripping. He also said that they were having face-offs in which they were apparently fronting on each other and bumping chests. Sometimes I get so busy I don’t even know what’s going on around here.

So now I have two choices: I can eat them or I can give them away. I am more inclined to do the latter. Anybody want a couple of healthy roosters?

Stupid decisions abound during school break. It’s like I turn my brain off all together. After convocation on Friday night, I stayed at the pub so long I missed the last bus to my house. No problem, right? I would just walk home from the University District, to Crown Hill. (Mistake #1)

I got a gyros sandwich on the way and some baklava for later, which I stuck in my purse. (Mistake #2)

After I had walked about two miles, I decided it was time for baklava. I was so lit I also decided that it was time to run, which I had been doing for about a half a mile in flat, non-supportive shoes. I took the baklava out and started to eat it, and kept running and eating baklava until I got a stomachache.

But man, it was good baklava. I took the left over, honey-encrusted wrapper and put it in my purse, because I did not want to be a litterbug. The next morning everything in my purse was totally covered with honey dots.

After about four miles of walking, running, and eating, I gave up and flagged a cab, and enjoyed the cheepness of a six-dollar cab ride. Woo hoo! The real price, however, was having blisters in really odd places.

The later it got, the madder I got, because I realized that almost every house in Seattle looks the same: cute. Even the rundown ones. I am tired of cute.

More Dumb

Now I have recovered from Friday night, so I decided to start drinking again.

Last night I picked up some of those repellant Mint n Creme Oreos, ostensibly to “cure” my PMS. I was also drinking some pretty decent red wine with dinner which added to my problem.

Mr. Husband scooted downstairs to put the girlie in bed and I was left alone with the whole box of Oreos and a very loud Roy Orbison concert on PBS.

I got totally sick of them after about six, and decided all I wanted was the chalky black disks. I started peeling all the creme off and making it into a ball inside the package.

After denuding the entire package and making a large stack of the disks, I couldn’t resist: I picked up the entire creme ball and blended the green and white creme colors together. Urgh, it felt so good, squishing it through my hands, I can’t even tell you. And then I had a better idea….

When Mr. Husband came back upstairs I was wearing a mermaid bra of mint creme goo and singing “Blue Bayou” very loudly along with the TV. Let’s see Lil Kim top that!

“My God, I can’t even leave you alone for five minutes,” Mr. Husband said. After seven years of marriage, he no longer finds my “antics” amusing.

Epilogue

Don’t EVER do this to yourself. I still smell vaguely of vegetable oil and worse things, after two showers.

I was just finishing this up and Mr. Husband was picking up in the living room: “Here’s your minty nipple, honey.”

Oh, good, I was wondering where that went.