“You have really outdone yourself this time, Chevy,” is what I thought (or possibly said aloud) when my fat, furry child awoke me this morning with that adorable purr-meow that sounds like a question mark after it turned into yowling so annoying that my eyes began bleeding rage.
I kicked her butt to the curb.
Not literally. I shoved her and her spotted sister, Astrid, into the back yard and closed the door so that the loud one could not awake me again.
Now I will never know what would have happened in dream land, where Patricia was turning pages of my report and reading to me from files at her desk while I ate cake. It was actually a pleasant interaction, which made it so obviously a dream.
I returned to slumber to dream again about tornadoes.
I used asterisks to separate thoughts just like my publisher does in his columns. I’m so young and impressionable.
I’m mostly just impressionable, I guess.
A guy on “America’s Got Talent” last night (yeah, I watched it, I’m already dumber) said his name was Udi Abagnale, and then he gave an alternate pronunciation of his last name.
Why would you give people an optional pronunciation for your own last name? Don’t you kind of reserve the right to dictate how it’s pronounced?
And if you’re going to give people an option, you should definitely mess with them.
I’m Leona West — or it’s sometimes pronounced Leona Shotgun.
Today is annoying me. I’ve been annoyed all week. All two days of it.
I guess turnabout is fair play, considering how much time I spend annoying other people — spraying Patricia on the back of her neck with canned air while she is on the phone; making the “hook ‘em horns” sign at Matt; saying anything at all that contradicts JessiCat; showing Lane any kind of affection while in public; saying rude things about Jimbo when he is just within hearing (which is like, two feet, because he is old and deaf and walked with a walker for a while).
Speaking of frustration and annoyance, nothing riles up Patricia more than not knowing something about Matty. She is such a stalker. And the only person who reads my blog. But it doesn’t matter how much I insult you, Patty, you will continue to come back every day, fervently hoping that I have something new about eating 12 oz. of peas.