Pout

My crankypants are pulled up HIGH today.

Not only did I achieve very few hours of sleep last night, but now I'm waiting for my boss to have a meeting that was scheduled for two hours ago. And I can't do anything at all until we've met.

The two main signs that I need to just start today all over again? I snapped, verbally, at three of my coworkers. Now, those of you who actually know me personally will probably understand the ramifications of this. I don't snap at people. I certainly don't say to people, "You are being really freaking rude." And why, you ask, did I feel the need to share my bad-humored state with the world? Oh, wait for it. They criticized my lunch. Yup. They told me my lunch was gross. And I got mad.

sigh. I need more important things to worry about!

And then I nearly kicked a child's ass at the restaurant, while picking up said lunch. I walked through the door, and this little girl (perhaps seven years old?) glares at me and says, "There's a line, and you better not cut in front of me!!!"

WHAT. THE. CRAP????????????????????????????

Whose mother allows them to talk that way to strangers? And yes, her mother was standing right next to her. I literally had to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Intellectually, I know that this is lack of sleep talking. I know that I will wake up in the morning (provided the *%$#ing cats leave me alone) in a different world, a world of unicorns and rainbows and bluebirds. Right now, though, I just feel like whining as I wallow in my self-pity.

Good work, me!

Hell, thy name is cats

It's 6:30 a.m. and I've been awake for an hour. At 5:20 my cats decided that it was high time I got up, and they began to be complete assholes. Seriously, every single annoying thing they could have done, they did. When I locked them out of my room, Puck ran at the door and threw his body against it, and Pierre sang opera at top volume. When I opened the door, Pierre welcomed himself inside and began to bang on the closet door for admission. When I opened the closet door? He found the one roll of paper inside and began to poke it with his paw, creating an amazing amount of noise. When I kicked Pierre out and tried to go back to sleep with Puck, he began to chase his tail on top of me. Finally, I gave up. So. Here I am. Awake and showered at 6:40 a.m., drinking tea and listening to my second Nick Drake album of the morning. And grumpy as all hell!

Yes, I know. There are worse things. But I'm already exhausted from the past several months of being crazy busy, and... blah. Whining about it will do no good, I realize. I need to figure out how to entertain my cats. Clearly they are bored, but I have very little space and few resources to solve that problem. Any suggestions?

Like a feather pillow

That's how stuffed I am. Wündergirl and I ate tonight at The Last Supper Club at 23rd and Valencia. And sweet lord, was it delicious! I had a cocktail, an awesome glass of wine, crostini with tomatoes and basil, risotto balls stuffed with mozzerella, pork tenderloin with balsamic vinegar sauce, and tiramisu. I feel like it's Thanksgiving. I feel like I could enter a coma at any moment. I feel like hell. And yet, it was soooooooooo worth it.

Mushroom Man has officially disappeared. The weirdest part about this is that I'm not terribly sad. I'm mad, and my feelings are hurt, but sad? Not exactly. I feel deflated, to a certain extent. I have a hard time with the fact that someone I've considered a friend for so long has managed to discount my feelings so completely. But this is not the end of the world. And I'm not feeling damaged. Realistically, the past four months with him have been mostly fun, mostly a great time. So I'd consider the overall situation to have been successful. This is a first for me: walking away from something that's not "bad" simply because it isn't what I want. It feels good to raise my standards, to feel okay with that decision.

According to my friend, Bittersweet Bob, I'm "soft." I'm "sappy." I'm equal parts wonderful and weak, sweet and saccharine. Now, first of all, I have a really hard time with someone criticizing a fundamental aspect of my personality. I find it infuriating when someone who can't handle criticism tells me what's on their list of "what's wrong with Abbersnail." Secondly, when is it ever acceptable to say that to someone??? There's something about me that seems to scream, "Hey, you can say anything to me! Come on! Hit me with the inappropriate comments! Say the disgusting thing to me! Tell me about your revolting medical condition, the time you cheated on your current girlfriend, or the biggest zit you've ever had. I'd LUH-HOOOVE to hear all about it." Come on, world! Give me a break!!!

Another monumentally bad post, but whatever. Goodnight, all!

Effing $%#&!!!

My damn cat. I love my cats. And, admittedly, I especially love Pierre. I love that he snuggles up to me for days upon end. I love that he sleeps every night curled up against my stomach. I love that he purrs at the slightest touch, at eye contact. I love that he lets me hold him like a baby, pushing his front paws against my right cheek while I rub his belly.

I do not, however, love that he just butted his head against my hand as I was about to take a sip of wine, spilling the entire glass over my favorite t-shirt (and default bra), as well as my sofa and throw pillow.

Does anyone know if that Oxyclean shit actually works? I have my clothing soaking in the bathroom sink, but it doesn't look like much is happening.

Add to that the fact that I was stood up tonight, and ended up making my beautiful risotto for myself alone, and you have the makings of a great hangover tomorrow.

grrrrrrrrrr