Damn girl, whats yo’ name?

Brilliant quote overheard at office:

“You don’t know what you’re missing until you know you’re missing it.”


Last night, I dreamt I was mugged by two black women who actually turned out to be cross-dressing men. Every time I ran for help, another person would try to mug me. These attacks were planned by someone who knows me, and recruited all these people to follow me, pretend to help me, and then try to take my shit. Everytime, they would go for my bank card, and I would wrestle it back from them. Over and over and over, in slow motion. Finally I ran away and I went into a house that had the door open because they were handing out candy for Halloween. I asked if I could call 911 and the lady said “sure”, but then her son came into the room and hung up the phone and said it was his turn. I think he was going to rape me, but then he realized he knew me and felt bad and let me go. It was all good then, except he hurt my dog and she had an open wound on her belly that was oozing this gross orange liquid.

I woke up feeling like I’d had no rest because I spent the entire night fighting off attackers, and I was sad for my dog. I despise my Sunday nightmares.


Off topic note: I am forever destined to be married to someone who says “I can drive the truck in the lawn. It won’t leave ruts. Even though it has been raining for two weeks. And the truck is full of mulch.” Oh wait. The last two sentences are actually something I added, and he did not say. Which is why I may likely come home to find ruts in the front yard and Mr. saying “I don’t understand. The ground should be hard enough.”

What is it with boys having the need to drive heavy things in grass?


Yesterday, Mr. spent ALL DAY on a ladder installing gutter guards. This activity was made difficult by the fact that there are little braces on the gutters every several inches, thus requiring that he cut little notches in every single guard. And then we were one (ONE!) shy. Oy. So I wore a pretty little dress last night to give him something else to think about. He promptly decided that “NO! We are NOT going to sit at home and grill steaks. You look too pretty and I must show you off to our friends and acquaintances at our still-kind-of-like-to-go-there-even-though-we-don’t-like-to-admit-it bar!” He even put on his shiny watch that he never wears so I know he was feeling especially proud. And we went and ordered yummy quesadillas for dinner. And the boys all did look and even some of the girls. I received comments/compliments and remember hearing words like pretty, girly, and feminine. I was even told that I was sexy. That is nice to hear from someone who is being sincere and not all pervert-y. I suppose that could make me sound like I look pretty dumpy the rest of the time, but I promise I do not. (Well sometimes at work, but who cares at work. Nobody sees me.) It’s just that it is summer time and with summer time comes motorcycles and jeans and boots and tied-back hair, so it is hard to look girly when you are riding a motorcycle.

Especially if you are riding your own motorcycle. You know, if your husband buys you one as an early 30th birthday present because your birthday is not until fall and he wants you to be able to ride it this summer?

Yeah. But I hear that is pretty sexy too.


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