Hello, Internet.
It's been too long, I know. It's just that after my beloved MacBook Pro forsook me last week, I've been going through a lot – a bit of a grieving process, if you will. A lot of coming to terms with things and what not.
But I am back. Back in black. And ready to rock you like a hurricane, Internet.
First order of business – the Wilsons came for a long over due visit this weekend. And it was wonderful, aside from an unfortunate incident at Gringos Mexican Grill. (But, alas, that shall be an entire post in itself. Tomorrow, perhaps.) It was wonderful seeing my mom, dad, sisters and brother-in-laws, and meeting my niece – Peyton, a chunk of fuzzy Shih Tsu.
Secondly, I have contracted the Black Death of the Nose, Throat and Lungs. I'm not sure if it's allergies or hay fever or a summer cold. (Yes, it is May, but I'm living in Houston and its 97 degrees out so I can call it summer.) I slept propped upright on the couch last night so I wouldn't drown in my own mucus. And I was so loud and restless that at about 1 o'clock in the morning Ripken jumped down from the couch in disgust, gave a very disgruntled sigh and went to sleep in the other room with Sonny The Pug – who so loud when he sleeps you'd think he was the love child of Darth Vadar and a potbellied pig.
Last item on the agenda: My broke ass car. I just got the Trailblazer out of the shop – the AC had gone out. And now, not a week later, part of the bumper has broken loose and is dragging the ground FOR NO REASON AT ALL. There wasn't a curb incident or accident or off-roading. None of my usual antics! Yet, there I was, snotty and sneezy and weezy climbing under my car in the faculty/staff parking lot trying to determine what had happened to create such a noise.
This led to a phone call to Hubs, in which he asks me things like: "Does it appear to be attached to the axel? Where there any vibrations? Is it a clean break? Is it part of the under carriage or bumper? Is part of the fancy-expensive-part-that-you-won't-
remember-the-name-of-later- when-writing-on-your-stupid-blog?" The conversation ended with my screaming: "I don't know! I'm not a fucking mechanic!" Followed by: "Hubs, did this happen when you took my car to Beaumont yesterday on business?"
FYI: Not the right thing to ask your husband when he's all the way across town and you're trying make him diagnose the problem, quote you a magical estimate AND then call the dealership for you – all because I'm OCD and sick and not in the mood for the car to die AGAIN. No. Not one of my finer moments.
In conclusion, I leave you with this – my new title for my yet-to-be-penned memoirs. I heard on the radio this morning about a club/bar that was raided and more than 100 people arrested. It was the name of the club and the fact that it was raided that I took for inspiration:
"Raid On The Pink Monkey: The Story Of Momma Pug."
I think there is a ring to it.
P.S. Can you tell from the rambling that someone's been in the meds?
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