(after I figure out how many "s"s go in "discusion"...)
Is posting drunk or posting on a coffee high better?
and...
what if you're on a coffee high when your friend's ex husband calls to see if she's at your house, but you don't know she's coming, so you call her at her other friend's house, and get THAT friend's ex-husband, who also thinks the two girls are at your house and holy shit, are you still with me, cuz I don't even know if I am still with me...and then, while you're talking to the second girl's exhusnad fuck that's spelled wrong, but as you'll note, I'm drunk, so it doesn't count on the big books of "how many spelling and/or grammatical errors Lisa has committed in her lifetime"....fuck. where was I? oh yeah, while on the phone with 2nd dude, the girls call me to tell me they're on the way. jesus H. (that "h" should be said with a truck load and a half of disdain--don't ask why)
so.
then there was wine
and rum stuff.
and.
er.
I fixed Becky's computer.
cuz I'm a genius.
and/or married to one.
I really wish I could use that in a sentence like, "Would you be so kind as to close the window and door?"
that was funnier the last time I said it.
probably becuase it was far more contextually relevant.
being drunk, my inhibitions are lower--
inhibitions are inversely proportional to inebriation levels.
don't look at me like that--ask any fucking mathemetician.
or algebra teacher.
except my sister--she's asleep.
probably.
fu ck, I need to remember to buy my plaine ticket.
why did I a) put a space in the word "fuck"
and b) put the letter "i" in the word "plane"?
AND.
if I'm as tipsy as I feel, then how is it that I noticed those things?
I'm going to have to vote for posting drunkishly.
no, wait.
posting on a coffee high.
fuck.
maybe they're just equal.
but I'll have you know I have drafted a post wherein I claerly, concisely throw in the proverbial towel.
on on this blog.
when not intoxicated in manner or another,
I am quite through with this whole thing.
because the muse(s) are as silent as the god damn lambs.
they've trotted off to pasture and become addicted to the fields of clover,
forgetting that they were pledged to be mine until the dawn of time or the end of eternity--
probably the latter, as the former means the beginning, and how to you manage to be pledged TO someone until the beginning of time???
that's fucking terrible communication skills, that is.
ok, so who votes that I must always be drunk or coffee high when I post from now on?
yeah, me too.
I think I'm vastly more depressed than I would ever admit if I were sober.
or you.
or a sober you.
there are two reasons I won't admit this, and have you noticed I am sooooo into making lists of two items today???
1) because my Pops is a depression-aholic, and I refuse to be the same.
2) because I have no earthly reason to not be filled with more joy each moment that ticks by.
eh.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I am not a creature designed for sublimity.
fuck, there's gotta be a better word for that.
sublimeness.
sublime-living.
jesus.
I just remembered that my husband's boss read my post from earlier today--
wait, not his boss anymore.
his former boss.
and remarked, "Lisa's not allowed to bitch about your travel if I'm not allowed to bitch about my network."
he's awesome.
looks exactly like my best friend's husband, incidentally.
but what the hell was my point?
oh!
I didn't have one that time...
and it's true--the old company doesn't run so great from an IT standpoint since my blonde haired blue eyed one absconded.
it's funny...
I learned some of my favorite $2 words from her mom, as my 8th grade english teacher,
and some of my favorite 4 letter words from her...
"king shit on turd island."
"I look like ass of dog"
yes.
for some reason jon stewart reminds me of her, and I smile.
she doesn't look like him.
it's just something in the body language, the style of humor, I think.
I'm all over the place like a mosquito in a butcher's shop.
ten bucks to the first person who gets me to walk a straight line.
oh...
you guys aren't here.
shit.
that poses a problem.
well.
did I mention that I like wed rine?
haaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!
I wrote it exactly as I thunked it!
fuck yes, that was great.
maybe I'm not meant to be "normal"!!!!!!
huh?
did you ever think of THAT, oh mr. wizard behind the curtain in the emerald city of OZ???
you fucking jackass prick son of a whore!
I don't have to be a soccer mom.
I don't have to cook dinner every night
I don't have to love housewifery (which, despite phonetic similarities, is not related in any way to "animal husbandry"...ok, scratch phonetic similarities...more like general word similarities. it sounded uppity-er the first way, though.)
I do still want to fly.
I'm glad i can be bothered to use italics even when I'm floating in a sort of dizzy haze of happy fermented grapes smooshed up and processed in whatever-the-fuck way they are processed to turn into wine......
I want to be smooshed up and poured into a bottle...
would you drink me?
with a delicate pasta, and some insanely difficult to pronounce and/or prepare sauce?
I used to dream of culinary arts institutionalization...
or degree-ification.
chef-dom?
whatever.
but, as with all my dreams, I soon woke up--
which I don't mean in the vernacular of "came to my senses."
no.
I mean, literally, REM faded, eyes stopped twitching, snoring abated, bladder cleared its throat impatiently--
awakening.
of the every-morning variety.
I want Julie.
the other one.
I want to hitchhike to Montana and show up on her doorstep.
I want to drink coffee and be deep and serious--
for 5 minutes, at least.
then, I want to laugh so loud
so hysterically
so guffaw-ically
sooooooooooooooo..........
satisfactorily.
and hear her latest tales of love--
for they really are.
tales of love.
every 6 monthes or so, she falls in love again.
but she really does--
fully, and wildly and madly.
I love her faith in new beginnings.
she's the sister I met when I was 6.
more like me than my real sister of the same name.
I wish...
that I didn't forget to cry when I need to.
I will not be a meteor.
I will not be afraid of failure
or success
or my own ever-widening shadow
I announced tonight that my 30th year will be the year of giving up--
as a way of new beginnings.
I will give up on ever looking like a 19 year old again
er.
I guess the rest of the stuff I listed is either not pertinent or not for public knowledge.
it's 11:11...make a wish...
did you guys know that if you bite into a Life Savers brand Wint-O-Green mint, in the dark, there is actually a visible spark?
it's true.
it was my best pickup line of the 90s.
I mostly used it on mormon missionaries (19-21 and CUTE--it was a pre-req, I swear)
but it was hot.
I was a true good girl back then...
my wild side was more like a stripe--
a pin stripe--
at that point.
ah well.
I should probably stop typing now.
mostly because I'm still drunkish and I need to be getting to sleep soon.
have I told you lately, that I love you?
probably not.
cuz i'm all sorts of basket-case-ish lately.
but I do.
I feel (perhaps erroneously) that my readers are a reflection of me...
so, since you guys are all fantastic in about 26 different ways, each--
thath makmes mee feel good.
and what in hte name of CHRIST did I just do with the keyboard????
...it wasn't typing that's for damn sure.
well.
have a great night.
don't forget to floss.
it prevents bad breath, ya know.
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