Party of one

Tonight’s post is sponsored by a Jordan 2004 Alexander Valley Cab that is, shall we say, Dy-No-MITE!!!

Or orgasmic. Whichever.

It was a gift from one of my beloved boys when I left D.C. It’s freaking amazing. I wanted to save it for a special occasion, and being roommate-free is probably the biggest thing worth celebrating in my life right now.

Day 5 of my freedom has come and gone. Work has been a beast this week. I have to take off tonight from even so much as reading e-mails. I’ve had two glasses of wine (just poured No. 3), ate some chi-chi cheese from Whole Foods and smoked an Al Capone bourbon-dipped cigarillo.

Took G-Dawg into the office today. Everyone wanted me to go let him take a smelly poop upstairs, but I was profeshunal and stuck him on a chair next to me. I love me some terrier right now — they don’t jump off! Of course, he managed to jump out of the car on his own, to my utter surprise. Does that say something about my driving or the fact that the car is a rattling death trap?

We went to PetSmart for treats. It was a big day for him! And yes, a beloved male admirer noted tonight how I talk like either a dog owner or a parent about him now. My big boy!

*mmmm wine. Slurp*

So I have to put that dipshit asshole at my house on my car insurance policy. Which MORE than doubles now that I own her car. Grrr. I told her she has to call around and get her own damn quotes. Would it kill her to pay her own car insurance, for fuck’s sake? Of course it would. She pushed it back on me, I pushed back, she pushed back … etc. I’m like, fine. No insurance for your lazy ass. Don’t drive my car. Love, moi.

My friends have commented how calm I am now that I don’t live there. (For this week, anyway.) I actually had to stop one of my boys on the phone last night from talking about her. It’s like, no, do not break The Zen.

UEOEH texted me first with a photo of my cat looking miserable in a headband, and then with a note that it would have been my grandmother’s 83rd. birthday on Saturday. You know what else Saturday represents? The day she moved in three years ago. My grandfather died on Thanksgiving 2006. She spent the insurance money on living on her own till September 2007.

I wanted to text her that, really? It’s also the three-year anniversary of the WORST DAY OF MY LIFE that your lazy, dependent ass moved in. Fuck you and stuff yourself into a handbasket bound for guess where. Love, moi.

I can’t believe it’s only been three years that she’s been torturing me. I also can’t believe that a person can go three years with no purpose in life. Er, 53 … but who’s counting?

I also can’t believe how much FREE TIME I have that’s not spent hating her this week.

Fucking whore.

I was planning to walk to Ben & Jerry’s. But the last time I shoved a $20 in my pocket to walk the dog, I lost it on the street. Never did find it. I can only hope the wind carried it over to Boo Boo. In any case, I’d rather lose it on the A1A to some random person than keep funding the mooch in my apartment.

Ah, G-Dawg. Time to curl up with treats and watch some TV. …

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