You know when you’re a mass of walking nerves, sometimes it’s good to lay low. Therapist Miss Sheila says I’m supposed to be doing everything I can to relax. Which is exactly what I did on Friday night, aside from the fact that I was bombarded by my zoo. We cozied up watching our fave TV show Forensic Files (don’t piss us off, we know how to kill you slowly) while the fur balls took turns sitting in my lap.
No cages needed.
Being that I have not had a check card since June 10 (First world problem? Yes. A gigantic pain in my ass not having a check card for two weeks? Yes. Bank’s fault? Yes.) I felt like I’d won the lottery since having to guess how much money to take out of the bank every time I went to see my new best friend teller.
I’m rich! I’m rich! I’m rich!
While I was busy rolling in the dough, the Iowa twins were lolligagging in the Hawkeye State sun on Saturday.
Lounging at its finest.
I mean…that face.
Being that I’ve been under the social radar recently, it takes a lot for me to muster up the energy to get my ample ass up off the couch, get gussied up and go make a positive contribution at a party. Talking myself up all week for a birthday celebration on Saturday, I’d put on my finest sequins, pink lipstick and even washed my hair.
Ray of fucking sunshine.
Halfway to the party, my dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree (which would usually make me ecstatic over my love of all things bright and shiny but I knew this wasn’t gonna be good).
There was also a high pitched, ear piercingly loud beep that accompanied this display of lights (almost identical to the most annoying sound in the world that Jim Carrey makes in Dumb and Dumber). I did what any grown woman would do and called my dad. While shouting over the beep and trying not to melt in the 100 degree heat, I had to throw my car into park in order to get it from rolling forward.
Luckily, I wasn’t on the interstate and was able to get the goddamn car to a service station, where the beep would.not.stop. As soon as I pulled in, I had to have a moment to myself and I screamed “OHMYFUCKINGGODCANICATCHAFUCKINGBREAK?!” in my car so loudly, a service manager came out of the store to see if I was OK.
Then he wanted to know what in the hell was making the beeping sound.
Turns out, it was the brakes.
No good under the hood.
When I came home from the shop, where I was lucky enough to spend $1,000 on my piece of shit rust bucket of a vehicle, I decided to fill the bird feeder as I waited on my Saturday night date.
Do you see what I see?
That’s right, no bird feeder.
Turning everything I touch to shit in 2016.
Being all dressed up with nowhere to go, it was good old Dada to the rescue.
Thankfully, he took a crack at hanging up the fallen feeder seeing that I was about to go bananas on the plastic piece of shit that was the cherry on top of my day.
Having some issues (mostly being that I lack any kind of tool, nail, screw, etc. that could possibly aid the situation) we called in Camo as reinforcement.
Red necks carry tools in their trucks at all times.
I’m happy to report that none of the chicks around my mini manse will be starving anymore. Crisis averted.
Cheers, not tears.
Sunday morning I had 1.4 thousand notifications on Facebook when I checked my phone which made me suddenly wonder if I had a bona fide cyber stalker.
But then, I got a text message from the alleged perpetrator and my day was made by an old friend.
You know, it is the little things that keep you going. I so appreciate all of the good juju, karma, happy thoughts, texts, letters, etc. that remind me that this isn’t a lone battle. It’s just gonna be a long one with some pink, sparkly armour, all of your support and of course, my ever present fur ball side kicks.
One who gives a shit.
And four who just want to be fed.
Love ya, mean it!