No writing prompt today, my head is killing me because I thought it would be all right for me to have a can of caffeinated soda on Saturday.  Guess what?  Not all right.  You’d think that I would learn by now.

But I still have to write something, because I have to write everyday. That means it’s ramblin’ time.

Went bra shopping today because the underwire popped through on my favorite bra.  Until now I have always gotten my bras at Victoria Secret, but I am starting to think that they are all a bunch of crazy people.  The bra I love and bought from them about two years ago was discontinued.  I was looking at some others, but I have a weird size that isn’t usually available.  They didn’t have any in the store.  That’s when the lady suggested I try my “sister size”.

This sister size stuff is nonsense.  She gave me a bra that was a cup size bigger and a band smaller.  That was my sister size.  Well, sister, that shit doesn’t fit.  I barely fill my current cup size [thank you push up bras!], I certainly don’t need some crazy lady telling me to go up a cup.

Then we went grocery shopping, and it was $2.35 for a freakin’ tomato.  It wasn’t even an organic tomato, or a tomato cultivated by tiny elves, which is the sort of thing I would have expected for $2.35.  Prices for everything have been rising at my grocery store–have you noticed similar things at yours?  Maybe my grocery store is just trying to scam me.  We did buy the tomato, afterall.

All I can say is it had better be $2.35-worth of unbridled tomato ecstasy, damnit.

So I’ve been doing my weight loss “regime” for three full months.  I am pleased with some things, and very not pleased with some others.  First off, here are some of the things I’ve been doing:

Dear God,

I need to not be so oblivious.  You know, where guys are concerned.  This is where you come in.  If you could do something to correct this, I’d be really grateful.  And go around feeling a lot less like a dumbass.

Thanks in advance,
Teri

P.S. – Sorry I said ass.

So I’m a month late.  I’m sure you all know what that means…

I’m super hormonal.  (Relax, that’s all it means.)

God bless my roommate.  He’ll be the first one to tell you that he’s not the easiest person to live with.  And if I’m sick, really tired, or if it’s “that time” then he and I run into problems.  But he was super nice last night.  He came home from work and I said, “I stepped on the cat today and it made me cry.”  And as I’m telling him about it, I start crying again.  He assured me she was fine.  But then I couldn’t stop crying, so I was crying for no good reason.  It was pretty pathetic.  And it’s all because of these damn girlie hormones.  I’m used to them coming around a few days before “that time,” but if I’m late, they don’t politely say, “Ah, running late, is it?  Just pop back later, shall I? Cheerio!”  No.  They stand around and wait.  And they have less patience than I do.

But back to the him being nice part… he made sure I ate dinner and then said, “We should curl up in bed in our pajamas and I’ll read to you.”  I gave him a look that made him say, “You’re thinking, ‘Damn Tim–you’ll make someone a good husband someday.’”  It’s true.  I was.  ‘Cause that pretty perfect right there.

And now I’m off to kick these girlie hormones in the ass with some computer-generated 3-D action!  I’m gonna go see Beowulf.  I figure if nothing else it will be fun to look at.  And the Cloverfield trailer is showing.  Bonus.

UPDATED 11/21 at 3pm to add: I’m not late anymore!!!  Whoo-hoo!  All systems normal.

It is not a good idea to live with someone who is as afraid of bugs as you are.  But it is hilarious.

I was at my computer, and Tim was lying on my bed reading when Ashland suddenly grew intent on a portion of my wall.  There was a very large moth (at least I think it was a moth, Tim insists that it was a minion of the devil) fluttering around the lights.  I grabbed a flyswatter but the bug was way out of my reach, even when standing on my bed.  We got a spray bottle of water to try and knock the wee beast down a little to where I could smack it, but of course, this did not work.  (Important Note:  Spray bottles do not shoot directly up.)

I tried lying to the thing.  Coaxing it down with “we won’t hurt you”s and “we just want to play a game”s.  It was a highly intelligent creature and mocked me from it’s place in the rafters, a mere two or three feet out of my reach.

At one point Tim commented, “I need a man around to take care of these things.”  I agreed.

After what had to have been a full thirty minutes we were able to compensate for our lack of bug-killing men with an ingenious plan of attack involving a flashlight, one of my dress shoes, and a mop.  I was able to reach the ceiling to smack the moth with the mop, sending it into a brief whirlwind frenzy before finally resting on the floor long enough for Tim to beat it into submission (read, pieces) with the flyswatter. 

When the battle was finally over, Tim tossed the flyswatter aside and said, “Well, I’m gonna go have a cigarette.” 

The remaining insectile pieces were promptly flushed to avoid any demon-moth revenge from The Beyond.