Hells to the yeah, Interwebz! Just in case you didn’t hear already, my scans were cleaner than Lindsay Lohan’s crotch. Which…makes it sound like they were filthy so that might not seem like the best analogy. But let’s face it, I’m really not THAT clean myself. Still, I’m pretty confident Lindsay’s crotch is cancer-free. So I’m going to stand by that analogy. And Lindsay’s crotch.
….and this post has already taken a turn for the terrifying.
So Deb sent me this graphic a while ago and I think it’s a pretty accurate depiction of how I feel today.
But then I personalized it. Well I stuck my head on it. (Is there a “that’s what he said” joke in there?) Because I’m positively drunk with all the time and possibilities I have now. You know, seeing as how I’m not expecting to drop from the face of the planet in the near future (pending any sudden impact with semi’s of course). Anyway, here’s my head. (TWHS.)
Yes, I’m positively drunk with possibility. In fact, after a glass of champagne last night, I decreed that I would only drink from champagne flutes all day today.
Which backfired quickly because I couldn’t actually drink the hot chocolate in a champagne flute. It looked an awful lot like a chocotini…and it’s still too soon to think about chocotinis. WAY too soon. I’m not really looking to swallow vomit from a champagne flute. Though I’m sure there is a market for that.
And lunch? It took quite some time, but I managed to eat everything from a champagne flute as well.
Can I share a little helpful hint with you, Interwebz? Don’t microwave a champagne flute. Also? Maybe don’t put turkey soup in a champagne flute. Especially if it has corn in it. ‘Cause it’s just not pretty. You’re welcome.
I’m a little nervous about the pizza I’m planning to order for dinner, but I’ll try and cram it in there anyway. (Now there DEFINITELY was a “that’s what she said” joke in there!)
In other news, I think I pulled a hammy doing all these David Lee Roth kicks around the apartment and my arms are getting weary from all this fist pumping. But all this happiness is tempered slightly with the loss of my dear cousin, Miss Patty Mouse. She died yesterday morning.
So not to get all Disney circle of life on your asses, but I’ll be simultaneously toasting Miss Mouse and myself each and every time I raise my flute today. And I’ll be toasting you. But mostly I’ll wait on the Interwebz toasts until later this evening when I’m filling this flue with something bubbly.
Seriously though, I’m one lucky gal. I’m healthy. I have Rocco. I’m part of a crazy beautiful family that never ceases to amaze me with their grace and ability to find joy in times of sadness. AND I’ve got you, Interwebz – you bunch of crazy, taco-loving, vagina-joke-laughing, supportive-tweet-sending, clean-scan-dancing, pony-humping-freakazoids that make me smile each and every day. Thanks, bitches. I love you like Charlie Sheen loves coke.
Indulge me while Patty Mouse (wearing red as fiery as her personality, accompanied by Mom and Aunt Ga Ga) sing us out…