I am a loser. A big, boring, pumpkin smelling loser.
Friday night was slammin at work. Not good slammin, slammin as in I'm-really-far-behind-because-our-production-manager-didn't-order-enough-loaf-pa I have not sweated so much since August. My pants were falling down my hips, my shirt was soaked and everyone was commenting on my tattoo on my left shoulder, and the fact I was by far the dampest person they had recently encountered. Then I tried to wipe a river of sweat out of my eyes with my oven mitt and had an eye full of semolina bits. Cooked semolina is akin in sharpness to diamonds, I think. Came home and promptly passed out. Woke up Saturday evening and was greatly distressed at the lack of scary movies on TV.
M and I were to go to the Halloween parade tonight. I of course have no costume, but was planning on tarting myself up with some glittery eyeshadow so I could score a free 40 oz.
But unfortunately I am running a fever, and my weight bearing joints are quite swollen and achy, which is a bit of an issue as I have lots of weight to bear. Stupid cold and my stupid lack of an immune system and stupid Halloween and stupid fever.
Today's other mission was to purchase a baby gate so Boy Pug could be confined in the kitchen. my dogwalkers are moving Tuesday, no one wants to come to El Barrio in the middle of the night and walk the puglets, even if I could afford it, and since supergluing his wee wee shut or "wrapping a rubberband around it" as my father suggested are not very humane, El Eediot Pug will have to be confined until he stops gleefully weeing everywhere. Stupid bladder stone surgery and stupid wee wee pads and stupid Nature's Miracle and stupid housebreaking regression.