Everything I Like Causes Cancer

I'm still in constant pain, albeit a lower level of constant pain than Sunday (yay!), and find that the only place I am comfortable is laying flat on the floor.

I drug H out of her sickbed on Sunday and took her to see the Sugar and Art Guild's Sugared, Spiced and Everything Iced show at the Botannical Gardens.  I'm pretty sure she hates me now and is scheming a payback.  You see, the "show" consisted of six large folding tables set up in a square to display about 30 cakes and a handful of cookies we couldn't even eat.

Because we're so young and spry we had enough energy left to go shopping after THE BIG SHOW and headed down to Gringo Jones where it seems they're having a sale of sorts.

There was more shopping that I won't bore you with but do you remember when I wished for a comfortable, full-body blanket and y'all told me to get a Snuggie?  Well, there's a reason it ends in "ugg(L)ie", if you know what I mean.  It is certainly functional and I love that you cared enough to offer assistance, but once one of you funny bastards likened it to a wizard cape I knew I could do better.  Judge for yourself:

The Vapors

Now this?  This keeps me warm, makes me feel all elegant and shit, and won't show Pizza Roll stains or Dorito crumbs.  I can't wait to stand in my front yard in it, shaking an upraised fist in rage, yelling at kids to stay off my lawn.

I got this coat today at a vintage shop for $40.  You heard me.  Four. Tee. Dollars.  I know what you're thinking . . . yeah, that's nice.  Good find.  Way to go, bragger.

But look at it on:

I just shut down the virtual network (work) and am rocking out in my office chair to this:

Just a couple thought bubbles from yesterday:

1. HOLY CRAP!!!!! WE GOT IT RIGHT! WE DID IT! (Maybe now Katrocket and Poobomber will stop threatening us.)

2. On top of getting to choose the next leader of the free world yesterday, I got to choose between a paper and electronic ballot. I went old school. You should have seen me bent over my paper studiously coloring those circles. I was so careful; I think I even had the tip of my tongue sticking out while I was coloring!

3. In Missouri we were asked to vote on whether or not English should be the official language of Missouri. I voted no; it seems like a prelude to the Final Solution to me. It passed by almost 90%. Stupid haters.

4. Every year after I vote I say I’m going to volunteer for the next election. Remind me of this in 2011.

5. When I was done voting I wasn’t offered an “I VOTED!” sticker so I went back and pestered the polling alley staff. I told them that it was the best part of voting. They laughed at me.

6. I inadvertently created a new phrase this week - “polling alley” - and I’m sticking with it because I think it’s funny. Feel free to help me get this one off the ground by peppering it into your watercooler conversations today.

7. When I voted in the primary this spring I went after work. I arrived at the polling alley with only 10 minutes to spare. I really had to pee when I got there but I was afraid to go before I got in line because I just knew they'd close and I'd miss my chance to vote and I'd be stuck in the bathroom all night. It was rough and I danced the "I gotta pee shuffle" through the whole process. This story is known throughout my office. Yesterday a coworker sent me an email from her husband - one of his coworkers shit his pants in line at the polling alley because he didn't want to lose his place. He wins.

8. And since I can’t bitch about this enough to suit Suze of Suzel’s Sass, I swear to God and all that is supposedly holy that Daylight Saving Time has turned me into a 94 year old woman. Despite my best efforts I fall asleep at 8 pm and am wide awake at 5 am, every day. I was able to keep my eyes open until 10:30 last night because it was a delight to hear all the talking heads eviscerating the Republican campaign, but it was a struggle and I still woke up at 5 am today. I don’t care what the rest of you I-love-winter freakazoids say, Daylight Saving Time is harmful to my street cred and is stooopid.

On my way home tonight, less than two miles from my office, a belt in the engine of my car decided to stop being a belt and morphed into tiny shreds of rubber and some other papery material that I couldn't identify.  It came as quite a surprise because, really, we'd been together for a long time.  I thought we'd bonded and gotten past these petty little games.  I guess that's not how it works with cars.