How does a girl spend her 37th birthday? Glad you asked!

I woke up bleary eyed and stumbling, as per usual, and received my birthday hug from my Andy along with a beautiful card full of words of love and shmoopiness.

Who has 2 thumbs and is blessed to have a great man? [thumbs pointing at myself] This girl!

I then went to the mirror to yawn and admire my beauty before I showered and that's when I noticed— Have any of you experienced that eerie feeling of dread when you're brushing your teeth and you're afraid of looking in the mirror because it may not be your face looking back at you but that of a sinister being with shiny red eyes and sharp teeth? Well that's what happened to me on my birthday!

(why couldn't this have happened on Halloween?? I would have had a ton of fun scaring the little people!)

It seems I'm allergic to the new eyeliner I bought and neglected to remove before going to bed last night. I remember my thought was "meh. I'm all cozy in bed, what harm can it do?" well, it can make your eyes blood red and give the appearance of pink eye, that's what!

I had to go the whole day of my birthday responding to the "Oh, you have pink eye!" comment everybody was making.

"No, I do not have pink eye you sick bitches! I'm allergic to my new eyeliner" and then they would look at me out of the corner of their eye as they made
their way out of my *pink eye infested* space.

It is a serious insult to ask someone if they have pink eye. I'd rather people ask me if I know how to speak Mexican (you'd be surprised how many times I have
to respond with "do you know how to speak Unitedstatesofamerican?").

Terrifying eyes aside, I did enjoy the day. After I removed the sheet of ice from my car.

 

Which brings me to another question, how did Alex from Madagascar get in my car?

I haven't chauffeured a munchkin in years!

Thank you to all who wished me a happy birthday on the blogus, facebook, email, text message, phone call, via card and in person. You guys rock! Almost as much as I do.

 

Stay tuned on Friday for my interview with Robert Kroese, Author of Mercury Falls, dude behind Mattress Police and Humor Blogs.

I will ask hard hitting questions like, "If you were a chair, what kind of chair would you be... and why?" serious stuff right there!

Ahhhh 37! I liked you better when you were 10 years younger!

♪♫ Today is my birthday! thun thun thun thun thun!!

I still have to go to work! Bhun nunanunun!!

I had to buy my own cake to bring to the asylum! Ledadidadee!!

Everybody, including Andy, thought my birthday was on the wrong day!  Peepampeepapoo!!

I suck at rhyming! Fafeefufafoo!!

I'm dehydrated from all of the booze! Baneeneenanonoo!!
... ... ... ♪♫

I'm at a loss on how to end the song.

Anyway.

I know it's my birthday but I, being the giver that I am, have a gift for you. An embarrassing picture of me at age 7/8/9ish?

I know you have a lot of questions. "Where did you buy your cool guy shirt?" "Were those glasses as big as your head?" Why OH WHY did someone take a picture of you in the BATHROOM?"

I can answer your questions or I can dance instead!

Vogue with me people!! 

My mind? Gone!

Clarification, Pontification, Stupefaction. I think.

Just to clarify, my birthday isn't until Wednesday November 11th. Oh joy of joys. 37. 3 more and I get a set of spatulas. I'm registered at Tiffany's.

The picture I posted yesterday was of a bee (get it? because I'm Bee?] hanging from a noose. The Asylum was getting to me until I realized I could either work or play. Guess which one I chose. Also, Andy thought it was a potato.

Andy [from his dungeon]: Is that a potato? 

Me: What? Is what a potato?? [as I'm trying to make fajitas for 8 without setting fire to my cabinets. You know, again]

Andy: The picture on your blog, is it a potato?

Me: Nooooo. It's a bee.

Andy: I don't get it.

Me: It's a bee hanging from a noose. Because I was stressed at work?

Andy: Oh, I hadn't seen the noose.

Me: ... [hot oil splashing on my face]

Andy: I still think it looks like a potato.

Because he loves to torture me.

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Regarding OZ being an asswipe. Instead of feeling sympathy for the error in my bank account, he interrogated me because I asked for a copy of my cashed paycheck and treated me like a sneaky criminal who was capable of funneling money from his account to my account via my paycheck. Oh wait. That's not criminal at all, right? I mean, if I perform a service for, let's say, a person who hires me, shouldn't I expect payment? It's not like I can cash the same check twice and to make matters more complicated, the second time I cash the check it will be via a photocopy. I know I'm a genius but even I have my limitations.

For some reason he didn't believe the bank teller had deposited my check into the wrong account. He also found it hard to believe that Andy knew our account number by heart and then he suggested I no longer do a manual deposit slip, did I know that the bank could generate some with our account number already on them? I asked him if he treated accident patients the same way. "When a guy on a motorcycle gets hit by a car, do you berate them for not knowing the car was going to hit them?" It wasn't our fault the cashier decided to guess as to what number was on the deposit slip and didn't bother to check the name on the account with the name on the deposit slip.

I said to Andy, 'you know, I grow tired of calling him an *asshole* because it does not express the magnitude of my disgust for him but I am so limited with my swears (because I am a God fearing short woman). Wait! You are the master of profanity, give me a new one for him!" His response was so vile I am putting it at the end of this post.* Who knew I had the delicate sensibilities of a fragile little hummingbird?

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Do you guys remember the dude I translated for who had an ankle fracture and his main concern was having "relations" with his woman? He came in last week to drop off some insurance paperwork. I had been talking to him for a few minutes when I realized something.

Me: Hey, who drove you here? [as I pointed at his cast and crutches]

Him: I drove myself. My woman doesn't drive. [hmmmm]

Me: Uh, I don't think you should be driving considering your cast is all the way up to your knee.

Him: Oh, I'm okay. Look, I can put weight on my leg now. [stands on leg with the fracture]

Me to him: Don't do that! [to myself "Oh sure, you don't ask permission to drive but you ask for a green light to have sex with your woman!]

 

My head hurts from all the shaking of it.

 

 

 

 

*"You mean like Taint Weasel?" (eep!)

 

 

 

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My happy place