feeling frisky

and not necessarily in the good way.
wink wink.

today was "take a skinny friend to the gym" day.
she put one of my boys' belts on.
and it fit.
they are 3, remember.
she sucks, but it was lots of fun.
i now wish i had someone cool to work out with on a regular basis.
but she usually works.
damn jobs.

i had the kookiest dream EVER last night, wherein my husband had a live-in mistress and i was cool with it.
she was hot.
but then she told me that he loved her, and showed me the (tiny) diamond ring he had given her.
and i freaked out.
screaming threats, etc.
one of those dreams where you wake up feeling out of breath and angry.
in other words: he's MINE, back off, bitch.

what's that i hear?
holy shit on a stick, i think it's---could it be?
nooooo.
yes!!
it is.
sweet, blissful silence.
those little tornados of mine are in remission...
are having a moment of repose...
are temporarily retired...
they're taking a fucking nap, okay??
jeez.
i try to sound all cool, and where does it get me?
nowhere.
and damn fast, too.
i take the express train to nowhere, that's what.
next stop, loserville.
of course, getting off is always fun.

okay, okay, enough of that.

i've been working on the railroad.
not really, but there is a defunct track running parallel to my street.
and i always hope a train will come roaring down it one day, whistling it's arrival and shaking my windows.
i'd want to jump on and go see the country side.
i'dtake a stick and tie a pillowcase to the end of it.
i'd fill that pillowcase with non perishable food, a journal, my toothbrush, my mp3 player and--okay this is grossing me out.
i'd need a shower every day.
a hot shower.
with soap and shampoo--and conditioner, do not mess with my conditioner--and a razor and my loofah...
i would also need changes of clothing, especially socks and underwear.
deoderant, toothpaste, hand lotion, a pillow...
so much for the hobo fantasy.
i could never do it.
i'm no 5 star traveller, but without a shower and a half decent place to sleep, i'm done for.

well, speaking of being done for (or getting done, like as in bel biv devoe's "you can do me in the morning you can do me in the night") my husband's home.
as nice surprise, early.
so, i'm done for.
or going to get laid, or fired or tickled.
either way, i'm signing off.
getting off?
whatev.
later dudes.
(and dudettes, for those of you girls who may take offense to being called dudes. although, scratch that, cuz if you take offense to being called dude, you are a dumbass. that's the highest term of endearment i offer.)