I don’t want you to get the wrong idea from this post-I’m spontaneous in many aspects of my little existence. When on any of my backpacking adventures, I loved not knowing what was around the next corner (like getting drunk in Paris & waking up on a train to Barcelona even though I hadn’t ever intended on going to Spain)

However, having said that- I am also a planner. I am also a list maker. As I have said before, I have made lists of the lists that I need to make. There are certain areas of  my life that are allergic to change and I like to be prepared. For anything.

I just got off of the phone with my dentist. My “let’s rip out those little fuckers that have taken up residence in your jaw” wisdom teeth surgery has been bumped to Monday.

THIS Monday.

holyfuckholyfuckholyfuckholyfuck.

I am deathly terrified a wee bit scared of the anesthetic and this accelerated time frame means that I won’t have time to video overly dramatic soliloquies to all of my loved ones in case I don’t make it. Believe me, they would have been the shit and stood a good chance of winning some type of smarmy superstar award. Now I got nuthin’.  If the anesthesiologist is hung over or pissed off and fucks up, I will have no soulful monologue to be played at my luau themed memorial. All because some fucking guy got mono & couldn’t make his surgery date.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

I just watched this little gem on Matt’s site & simply couldn’t resist. It’s 5 minutes of pure awesome.

Dear Asshole,

You, California Supreme Court, are not so fucking supreme.

Seriously? You let it stand?

You should all be embarrassed by your small minded bigotry.

You disgust me.

-Kim

I need a vehicle this large to house my enormous ego.

Dear Asshole,

I see you driving around town on a regular basis. All 120 lbs of blond stick figure hoisting yourself into your Hummer and every time you drive by the pretension and self importance in the air is so thick that I nearly gag. Why the fuck do you need a hummer? Seriously?

Shuttling yourself between Pier One Imports and The Pottery Barn isn’t off-roading, you self indulgent peroxide bimbette.

I’d love to see you attempt to fix your own flat in that thing. Really, I’d almost pay to see that.

-Kim

That crazy little dwarf is at it again.

Kim Jong il just can’t seem to follow the rules and I’m guessing that’s because he makes his own up as he goes. After yet another unsanctioned nuclear test in North Korea, world leaders are all in a tizzy over what to do about the little psycho. In reality, I don’t think they’ll actually do much, except worry & complain and wag their fingers at him. I will admit that this concerns me a fair amount because he is one loopy mother fucker.

Personally, I think he should give up the dictator gig and run a small spa on a tropical island. For some reason, I think he’d be good at it. “Awek Bawin” could be his cabana boy.

In case anyone is interested……

Hello? Is anyone there?

Well, I’m going to go ahead anyway. An uninterested room has never really been something to stop me seeing as I mostly talk just to hear my own damn voice. (See! there I go again!) You can’t see it but Susin & Steve are both probably rolling their eyes violently right now……

11days and I will say goodbye to my car forever. My only mode of transport will be Lola Gold, my smarmy 1960’s vintage Phillips cruiser which you can drool over here. I am fine about this transition but will be weeping uncontrollably once that asshole Jack Frost reappears.

16 days until I am rendered unconscious while four wisdom teeth are being ripped from my mouth and these little fuckers are hanging on for dear life. They’ve burrowed a lovely little suburban area into my jaw, complete with a JC Penny and a couple of drive thru liquor stores. I have already begun petitioning to be supplied with a larger than required drug supply because that’s the kind of girl I am.

34 days until I am on vacation. I shall sit on the beach with my dog, consume triple my body weight in beer & wine and obsesses just a little more about the upcoming move. If it rains I hereby dissolve myself of any responsibility for my homicidal actions.

69 days until we move. I must pace myself in this area. Spending 1/3 of my work day looking at lamps on line really is excessive at this point in the game. I also must slow down on the purchases for the new place because I can ill afford it. Mostly though, it’s because I have no where left to put anything. I have already rendered my kitchen table useless and Steve won’t let me start packing as of yet because apparently boxing up stuff that you use every single day 69 days prior to moving is “obnoxious.”

As most of you know, I am not really a “waiting” type of person so this should be much like swallowing live parasites and watching them fester deep withing your internal organs fun.

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

It’s like my apartment knows I’m moving.

As you may or may not recall, I’ve had about a zillion floods, broken pipes, emptying hot water tanks, inoperable toilets, rivers cutting paths through the ceiling, etc, etc, etc. Back in the day when the constant water problems were still kind of funny and not yet soul crushingly annoying, my landlord would joke about my being an Aquarian. Of course the water flows to me, I’m the water carrier.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit that some of the attractiveness of swapping floors with Bill is to hand him over the flood torch while I move up to dry land. Not only will Steve & I have space and a smarmy guest room and big bright windows, Maggi & Naysa will no longer have those days when it is necessary to tread water in the kitchen. So last night while lounging on the couch with bellies full of red wine and spicy fajitas, the bathroom faucet experienced an epic fail and flooded the cabinet under the sink and the bathroom floor. When Bill came rushing down to fix it I told him that “I just knew I’d have another fucking water issue before moving, it’s like the place knows I’m leaving.”

And Bill replied “Awwww. The apartment’s crying.”

“I’m glad that I had a nugget of ignorance. I’m kind of the Sarah Palin of orchestra.”

-Rufus Wainwright to Elvis Costello on failing out of music school.