I knew that midnight trip to IHOP was likely to signal the onslaught of amoebic dysentery. *bangs head against wall*
I just turned one of my popup blockers off to spell check and I have no idea how to get it back on. There it is! Got it back on. That's probably the one good thing that will happen all day.
OK, I'm gonna rant and bitch and feel sorry for myself. Why? Because Spring Break is over. You may be thinking, "Hey! Andi, look at the bright side, you've got today! You've got today to stay in your pj's and eat fatty food and lust after celebrities! It's ok! Most people don't get a spring break...you ungrateful, rabid bitch!"
But it is over today. I hate Sundays. Sundays are like death. They may technically symbolize a beginning...the beginning of the week...yadda yadda. But I hate Sundays. I always get ultra-bitchy on Sundays and usually end up arguing with someone.
Apparently, before we left school for Spring Break, I became a crack addict and didn't know, because I said I would teach one of my prof's classes all this next week. Beginning tomorrow. At noon. Adolescent lit. Now, on the one level, I'm REALLY grateful for the opportunity! She'll be in there..watching..interacting. She'll help me improve. Yeah! Right on! But on the other hand, she'll be there. Watching. Critiquing. Observing. Oh God. There's the dysentery again. *grumble*
I don't know what I was thinking. I can't be held responsible if it was momentary hysteria and mental instability, right? It's been a long time since I taught lit, and I don't think I did very well the first time around. *stabs self in nasal cavity with pitchfork*
Funny story before I go curl up in the fetal position.
Yesterday it rained. Actually, it's still raining. A torrential flood for Texas after that long draught. We're thinking of fashioning an ark from coffee stirrers and the above-ground pool.
So, it's been raining. Torrentially.
Smidgen is a bit picky about her potty conditions. She's 15 pounds of 16-year-old dog, she hates the rain, noise and too much physical contact scares her. It would've been traumatic to put her out in the back yard on the stepping stones to do her biz because the rain/noise/etc. would've scared the 16-year-old fur right off her. So my mother asked me to take her, on her leash, out on the front porch to do a tinkle. I was dressed (sort of...Snoopy tee and workout pants) and mom was in her jammies. So I said yes, harnessed the pup up and out we went onto the porch, which, I should mention, is privatified by waist-high box hedges. So we go, she finds the flower bed, under the hedges, and squats. *thumbs up to mom in the door watching* She then proceeds to crawl on through the tiniest opening in the hedges, out into the rain, on her leash, with me holding onto the other side in a compromising position. I couldn't let go of the leash and scamper around to the other side because she's a runner and would be gone in a flash before I even got around the hedges (longgg porch...longggg hedges). I couldn't jump over because fluffy girls don't even think of doing shit like that and I wanted to live to see my life after Spring Break (even though now I see it might've been better to impale myself on a hedge). Mom's still in her jammies, so she runs for a housecoat. Smidgen is getting drenched, looking none too happy about it. I'm hunched over trying to bribe her back through the hedges. Scooby and Dash are watching, laughing, and pointing with their droll doggy eyebrows. Finally, mom returns with housecoat in place, takes the leash, and I run, in my comfortables out into the rain, pick up the soaking wet dog-smelling dog, and run back to the safety of the porch.
Last night, before bed. We put her out on the stepping stones in the rain, and she was FINE. We're fuckin' stupid humans.
In my head: Blah blah wah wah yadda pfffffft!