Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Ralph the Talking Squirrel

2003-08-20
I was rocking out to Blondie this morning in my car when I checked my face in the mirror. I was having my own little Debbie Harry moment. I had used to different colors of eyeliner. Thank God I am used to my little insane make up moments in the morning and had a Q-Tip to wipe the crap off. Why do I bother with eye makeup in the morning? It all slides off my face before anyone gets here anyway. And I think I have proven that I am too out of it in the morning to handle a sharp object pointing towards my eye.

So, Ann Coulter is a crazy bitch isn’t she? She was on some political talk show yesterday talking about how people who are involved in “Christian marriages” have more orgasms and more joyful sex than those who are in deviant relationships. This confused me; does this mean that Jews can’t have joyful sex? Haven’t they suffered enough? Plus, J and I spent a while trying to decide if we are in a Christian marriage. A Unitarian minister married us but we don’t go to services and J was never even baptized (I was). And to be honest the sex isn’t any more joyful now that we are married—it’s pretty much the same.

Had a surprisingly good talk with Dallas, my boss, yesterday. Maybe I will survive here a little longer after all.

Had a dream last night that I drove my car into this house. The house was owned by this little squirrel that kept asking me what kind of carpet I had in my house. After I had figured out that the squirrel was not hurt and his house wasn’t really damaged I called to have my husband come pick me up. When he got there the squirrel (who was named Ralph) tried to sell us some carpet. We drove away.

I couldn’t figure out what was bothering me with this dream until I was on the bus this morning—my husband in my dream was not my husband but this boy I knew in high school. I felt much better after figuring this out.

You know, because the rest of the dream about a talking squirrel selling carpet was totally normal.

7:11 a.m. :: comment ::
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