Today's Post Is Brought To You By The Letter "E" (as in Eeeeeew)

Today is Monday. It's undeniably Monday.

So far I've managed to fall into a large drizzle bordering on puddle of unrine (most likely NOT my own) during a code one hovering manuever in the bathroom. Paul, funny enough, didn't know about the art of hovering until I filled him in.

Note to guys: "hovering" is a term used to describe the multitasking feat of defying physics, maintaining kung fu-esque balance while posed in muscle cramping/leg shaking squat form by ladies when urinating. Coined because we "hover" over the bowl and do not make skin to porcelin contact with the lid (or with anything else for that matter). And depending on how much water you drink, can be quite the workout.

Sometimes I don't think you guys know how lucky you are. Just for one day I'd like to know what it was like to stand, point and pee. Or write my name in the snow. You do that, right? Just like we girls have pillow fights in our underwear at sleepovers.

Honk if You're Horny or Self-Marketing

More often than not I find myself putting a link to my blog in an email message to a friend/ former pro-wrestler/ Z-list actor/ neighborhood meat-cutter with the phrase "read the blog" instead of writing out the whole sordid story again.

Usually this works better if: a) I've actually blogged about said sordid story, and, b) I don't make fun of my friend/ former pro-wrestler/ Z-list actor/ neighborhood meat-cutter in my blog.

Call me lazy but...

Ouch. That hurts right here. *makes pointing motion to heart*

But wait a minute. Wait just a freakin' minute. I think I'm on to something here (as opposed to just being on something). Picture it: you're inching down the freeway and instead of applying your second coat of mascara, you decide to check out the bumper stickers on the cars in front of you. Some have "Honk if you're horny" or "Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere." But what if there was a bumper sticker that read "Read the Blog - redheadnextdoor.blogspot.com".
Wouldn't you be intrigued and compelled to find the nearest PC to see what all the bru-ha-ha was about? I think you'd be lying if you said "no." Liar!

Then my blog would be flooded with readers...like Oprah and Uma and Obama (and other equally fun names to say). I could quit my day job (after all, more readers means a book deal right?), move to Paul's city and write full time.

Perhaps there is room for another semi-fiction chick-lit memoir writer. And somewhere someone applies a second coat of mascara on the freeway.

After Taste

I've been sipping the same cup of coffee since 8:30 am this morning (it's now 10:38 am) and said cup of coffee (from sounds like Jim Nortons) has been reheated three times and now has the undeniable taste of ass (or at least what I think ass might taste like if it was made into a liquidy brown drink with caffine) so I guess that means my breath smells like shit and my mouth is a quasi asshole.