wicked wednesday.

In case my posting about wanting to wait until after Mother Nature passes her angry fury (in order to paint), it's a good thing.  I may have been a wee bit o' pain-in-the-ass tonight.


The heater pad helped.  As did the vodka.  And the pizza.


Now the question on my mind.  Will this [the pizza] help my run tomorrow?  Or not?


I'm not in the mood for life.  I'm in the mood for sleep.  Because the reruns on tonight were crap.  But at least the State of the Onion didn't interrupt Jeopardy.  I needed that [Jeopardy].  Although I sucked tonight.


I hear Sweet Pea licking her food dish across the floor.  Poor girl doesn't know she inhales her food.  It doesn't just disappear, there Sister.


Silly dog.


Maybe tomorrow will be better [for me].


And not to say Mr. Wookie can read energies...but he totally called it that I'd be UberBitch5000 this week.  Apparently, it started Sunday when he came home from work (silly Navy, they don't know what weekends are) - apparently I was a bit overdramatic about life, the dog, upcoming schedules, life again.  Well I told him to buy a lotto ticket with that luck.  Because then he could buy a billion Midols, 6-packs of microbrews, and a 5,000 squarefoot mansion to not her me bitch about being female.


That and to hire himself a lawyer after I beat his ass.  He said Aunt Flow is payment for living longer than males.  That's the biggest crock of shit I've heard lately.


I'd have killed him already.  If he didn't make me the best vodka tonics tonight.  AND he walked the dog.  AND made dinner.  And by "made dinner," he walked to Vons, bought a pizza, jazzed it up with shrooms and mango, and cut it into man pieces - delivered with a side of Ranch dressing.


No really...mango.  Quite delish.  See, he meant to buy pineapple.  A pizza standard.  But apparently mango and pineapple were RIGHTNEXTTOEACHOTHER.  So he grabbed the wrong container.  Who cares?  Freakin' tasty, I'm telling you.  Try it.  You'll like it.  I promise.


I love him.  Even with my condition.