Congratulate me. I’ve achieved an entirely new level of cranky pants. I blame winter and Natalie Portman. Oh hell, why not blame Rod Stewart, too? I haven’t yelled at that fucker in a while.
I saw Black Swan last night. *turns frantically at the sound of rustling fabric, screams maniacally and grabs handset from fax machine to use as a weapon* I’m still not ok.
Somehow seven hours of webfoot-filled nightmares did not leave me feeling relaxed and refreshed this morning. And the only thing worse than waking up to a cat’s rectum rubbing your left nostril? Why, it’s waking up with a cat’s rectum rubbing your left nostril, opening your eyes, and seeing an ass ton of snow outside your window after the shoe repair guy said he couldn’t possibly have your broken snow boots back to you until Friday at the earliest.
Fine, there are many things far worse than my morning but I’m sleepy and melodramatic and incredibly lucky that my husband’s handsaw is in a locked box at the moment. He’s lucky, too. Obviously.
*lifts handset menacingly* Did you hear that? Was that nail clippers? Oh dear God SHE’S HERE.
Never mind, it was just Rocco. The smell of encased meat should have been a clue. Ballerinas never smell like encased meat. Probably. But then again, I’ve never taken the time to really stop and smell the ballerinas.
*stream of drool hits back of left hand*
Right. I don’t seem to have anything coherent to say today so instead I’ll leave you with my new favorite cartoon. Thanks to Sister Merry Hellish for sending it to me!