Today’s entry is brought to you by the letter “E” for excavation. Put an “F” before that “E” because I’ve said the phrase “fuck me” about a dozen times already. 🙂

I have been trying to get in touch with my inner bitch peace, and it’s been pretty apparent that my life is chaos when my apartment is chaos. My sanctuary is anything but. So, I’ve started hauling non-functioning lamps and other assorted crap out to the trash bins.

It’s cathartic, really. It’s funny to look at things that I just had to have when I saw them in the store — I have sufficiently gotten my value out of them, having admired them for years. But now, they’re collecting dust. And I’m allergic to dust. 🙂

I have a veritable shitload of Garfield memorabilia, and while I love it, I suppose it’s inappropriate in the bedroom of someone about to turn 29+2 next month.

Anyway, I suddenly have an itch to go see a movie or otherwise run the hell away from this avalanche of crap with which I must contend today. The thing is, I buy everything on sale, so I don’t think about feeling guilty about my purchases. That is, until I take inventory and realize just how much shit accumulates over time. That, and I have pretty much every size of clothing ever created (well, no extra-smalls — that’s just wrong! LOL).

Oh, speaking of extra-smalls, I ran out to the mall to do some exchanges. (Because apparently I think I am skinny or something — HAH. People with bulimia and anorexia think they’re fat — not me — I think I will look divine in these micro-minis, which look more like a fucking garter than a skirt — might need to buy a skirt for each leg, in that respect. But, I digress. Tee hee.) Anyway, I saw some emaciated chicks holding up some clothes to themselves, wondering aloud if they should buy them (as they were on sale) and shrink them in the dryer. I swear, I was ready to kick some bony ass — leave the big-girl clothes for the big girls. Go to the children’s section and buy the 6X and some Elmo Underoos, thanks. 🙂 And, for God’s sakes, EAT SOMETHING!!! (Cake. Try cake. Cake definitely works. Mmmm, cake. …)

Anyway, I’m trying to get my surroundings to be a little more Zen — not in the spiritual or the Feng Shui sense of things but, rather, more to the “just so” mentality. Now, I’m not the type to (really) notice if you move something a hair to the left, but the hacienda is to the point right now that you could run a flamethrower or a Zamboni through it and I stand a chance of not even noticing.

So, if you don’t hear from me again from this time tomorrow, please come over and check my closet — I’ve got boxes of old paperwork on the top shelves and I have a funny feeling that “death by paperwork” might not be a metaphor after all. … 😉

The vacuum cleaner? Fucking DIED. Rest in peace, dude. You’ve picked up your last kitty chunk, although admittedly, it was a frog sock that killed you. Even though I dismantled you (because I was NOT done cleaning!), you still wouldn’t get that last suck in even after I thought I’d made you all bettter. *weep*

Dear Cats: Please don’t shit on the rug until I can get a new vacuum cleaner on May 1, mmmmkay? And for that matter, just don’t shit on the rug. Love, Mommy.

On iTunes: Joss Stone, “Killing Time”

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