Go Random. Go To The Un Mom. Right Now. Well, Read This First. Then click this. She's hawt.

Please don’t kill my dog.  I love my dog.  Seriously.  There’s a reason I don’t put those cleaners in my toilet (someone did though).  Apparently he runs out of water and sometimes I don’t notice until I hear the echo of him drinking from the toilet.  First of all, I always want that bathroom door shut.  Secondly, I fucking love my dog so don’t poison him.  Okay, 2000 Flushes?  Don’t kill my dog?

I hate my new meds for sleep.  They not only take two hours to work, they wake me up every few hours because I have the most vivid dreams, I actually woke up laughing at one point.  Being an insomniac, it takes a lot to get me to fall back to sleep so I really have to concentrate on what I was dreaming about.  Here’s a taste of my dreams last night.  You think my life is random?  Check out what goes on behind the scenes.  I’m flashing between dreams and real life so try to keep up.

Okay, so I had a lot of babies that needed to find good homes.  I was with my friend from high school and we were working as hard as possible to get babies there.  Running wildly throughout my home town, I had tons of babies IN MY ARMS that needed good homes.  I ran to the church and dropped one off, ran to Amy’s house and got her to take one.  I found as many good people as I could.  I felt like I was back in Elementary School selling those “World’s Greatest Chocolate” candy bars.  Remember those?  They really were fucking awesome.

I managed to put 26 babies in good homes in one day.  All of which I managed to carry at once.

Wake up.  Shake head.  Very pissed I woke up.  My usual shit is supposed to put me in a coma for 6 hours.  Fucking stupid trippy pills.  It takes five steps just to get them out.  They look like contacts only filled in with white cement and they have to dissolve under my tongue and taste horrific and make everything in my mouth number yet everything touching my skin freak me out.  If I mix-n-match with other pills I sleep great but I guess my doc doesn’t like that because he said “DO NOT FUCK WITH THIS SHIT”.  What the fuck ever.  Give me pills that make me sleep then I won’t have to fuck with everything.

Go back to sleep.  The only way I can seem to pass out is by getting my head back into the old dream so some of the characters from the previous dream seep into the next one.  I’m looking out a window at there are two planes.  A smaller regional jet that holds about 46 people and a larger A340 I called it.  It was multi-colored and on it’s way to Paris.  I was a hooker (I’m wearing a daring outfit Friday that may have put that dream in my head) and for some reason the guy I was working (?) was really into planes. He was all bonerific about checking the A340 out and we went and helped load the plane.

Again, eight years in the Airlines.  Not a flight attendant.  I marshaled aircraft, loaded baggage, worked the gate, lost baggage area and ticket counter over the years.  I can stack a bag.  Bag carts hate me.  I flipped one once.  Everyone called me “Crash” for like three months until a dude from Delta accidentally set off the emergency slide, causing that airline like a million bucks and a canceled flight.  Felt bad he got canned but at least I lost the name.

The perv that I was supposed to go to Paris with went along without me so I decided I’d take my time going through all the bags he left behind in all his excitement with a friend of mine. We pretty much acted like it was Christmas and pulled as much money out of the envelopes as we could.  Next thing I know, I was dressing up like a hooker (I’m nervous about the outfit I’m wearing Friday.  May have a shoe change to tone it down).  I took my time getting ready (odd since my date was over as he jumped on the plane without me or his baggage) and that’s cool because I have some good eye makeup ideas I’m going to roll with now.

Wait until you see pics I’m putting up.  Tuesday bar night is casual and I’m hoping the pic comes out the way I want (It will, Elaina will probably have to take it five times but it will) and I’m making it my Wordless Wednesday and most likely my Facebook profile pic.  I should probably see how tight the shirt is.  Fuck it.  Too late now.  Once the outfit is planned, we don’t back down.

So I’m now in my mom’s back yard and I realized I forgot something very important and I watched my friend Chris run line wicked super fast back to Lakeland park to get something I left there.  Turned out it was my favorite bear from when I was a kid (my five year old inherited it but I keep an eye on him.  That’s Theodore Edward Bear – Ted E. Bear for short).

At one point I actually woke myself up laughing but I have no idea why so I’m pretty pissed off.

Six AM rolls around and I’m FURIOUS. I’m awake.  I don’t wake up at six AM.  NEVER.  Not unless I’m forced to.  Going to bed at six is one thing but waking up?  NOOOO….

I was actually wide awake and refreshed and so pissed I decided to pop a few Klonopin to see if I can relax a bit.  No I don’t like 6AM.  I don’t care if I’m refreshed, I wanted to be up at 8:30.  Fuck. I woke up at 9:30.  Now I feel rushed, totally out of it, miserably not funny and I have a massive day ahead of me that I pray gives me at least two hours of pool time so I can hotten up for this evening.

Tuesdays and Fridays are my days.  I don’t drink (unless it’s bought for me on Tuesday and I stop at 1:00AM and don’t leave until 2:30Am and I usually max out at four beers and a shot or two TOPS).  Friday I look retardedly hot and stick to water, lest some freak try to get through my chain link panties (they’re  invisible so they don’t kill my panty line but no fucker is getting near me.  EVER.).

Wow.  I hope some of this made you giggle.  I’ll proof it but I have a massive day of seriousness where I have to pay attention.  I’ll be hosting a Wii Mommies special and I hope I don’t sound like Phyllis Diller.  I don’t smoke but I feel throaty.  Must be the sleep-whoring.  You can listen life from 2-3Pm EST today or just do me a flavor flav and listen to the archived version.  You can turn it on and mute it for all I can but I would like to see some serious numbers on this one.  This is NOT my Thursday night drinking game.  Fuck I have to set that up.

Sidebar: Secret Diary of a Call Girl on Showtime fucking rocks.  I’m assuming that’s where my getting dressed as a whore dream came from because I dress for class on Fridays, not ass.  I mean, I want my ass to look good but I like to look classy hot not “Bone me” hot because I don’t flirt.  I’m friends with 2/3 of the bar and the rest of those fuckers better learn the three foot rule that goes along with the “Touch my ass and Rodney will break your wrist.”

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