Yesterday (Start Humming, Bitches)

Yesterday was a very fine day. I got to stay home for the delivery of the couch (the blessed miracle of furniture) and then went downtown for an awards luncheon. Because I am once again, an award-winning editor. Honorable Mention this time, as opposed to Second Place last year, but at least I wasn’t beaten by that damn Canadian newspaper again. (Newspaper! In a newsletter journalism contest! Boo! I still have not let it go. Perhaps I should.)

The luncheon was fine, except for the luncheon part. This goddamn Atkins shit has got to END, people. If I’m showing up at a gorgeous hotel to receive an award, I want some honest-to-god food. Instead, we got one ladle of bean soup, one scoop of chicken salad, one scoop of tuna salad, one-half tomato and a pile of cucumbers. And no bread or crackers for the salads, which were both so gross and so indeterminable that my whole table sounded like a chorus of Jessica Simpsons. I’m still not sure which one was which.

I did enjoy the mug of crème brulee, however. I was in sugar shock all day. Buzz buzz!

And! Then! I got to the office late in the afternoon and promptly learned that we will be closed on Friday! Closed! It’s like a snow day, only warm outside AND I get to make plans. Just one of the not-too-many perks you get from working for a super-conservative company run by a man who named his child Reagan, and not after the kid from the Exorcist, which was my first thought when the name was announced. Huh.

And then I went home and luxuriated on my new couch. We flipped out the sleeper part to test the mattress, and I must say that overnight guests to Casa de Amalah will be CHILLIN’, y’all. It’s comfy. And the top part of the mattress (like where your head goes) folds up a little bit so you can sit up in bed and read or watch TV. And while that sentence made not one blessed lick of sense, you must trust me on this…it’s like a Craftmatic Adjustable Bed only not so…hospital-bed like.

We honestly contemplated leaving the mattress out all the time because it’s so fun to lie on and watch TV. But then we realized that might be a tad too ghetto.

(By the way, my Goddamn Rock Solid Ghetto Shiznit Name is Ass Machine Teapot, Yo. Which is awesome.)

Oh! And we took a stroll down to Starbucks and I had my very first Strawberry Crème Frappuccino. Holy fuck, people. You must try it. After I was done? I opened the lid and used my finger to lick up whatever was stuck to the side of the cup. This is like, a Gingerbread Latte-caliber drink.

(Plus 10 cents from every SC Frap goes to the Komen Foundation, which means spending $3.95 or whatever on them multiple times a week is really totally justified and karmic.)

Oh my god. I wish I was drinking one right now.

Which brings us to right now. Today. Not so fine as yesterday.

I overslept.

I tripped and hurt my foot on the Old n’ Busted couch which is directly in my path to the coffee maker.

I sliced my leg up in two places while shaving.

A cicada (CICADA!!!) flew and splattered on the driver’s side window on the way to work, thus scaring the crap out of me and causing me to shriek a little bit.

Work work work work work. And where’s my Vegas expense check, bitches? Am bloody broke.

I realized that my cell phone has been in silent mode since the Harry Potter movie on Saturday night. Which means I have several dozen voice mails from people who are all pretty damn mad at me right now. "Call me back, bitch! I know where you live!" Sorry Mom.

And it’s 90 degrees outside and I’m wearing effing panty hose.

But it’s not all bad. I went out for lunch with my friend Sprocketeer and we never actually got around to ordering actual food. We just ate a lot of free salsa and chips and a lot of queso. How I loave queso. We sat outside and I totally peeled off my panty hose and shoved them in my purse until we got back to the office.

AND 21 comments (wait! 22!) on the couch post. A post about a COUCH (wait, 23!).

Heh. I’m totally writing about my new broom tomorrow. Bonus points if I can figure out a way to incorporate cat photos.