And if I'm Asleep, Make Sure My Blanket Covers Me

[Warning to Reader: Incredibly Boring Entry Contained]

To say that it's fucking freezing outside is the understatement of the Century.

Like, Holy. Crap.

Honestly, I think that I would take the Texas heat over this any day. Maybe not. Ask me again in summer. All the same, only my love for Sharon could possibly get me out of the house last night to see her burlesque debut. And yes, it was as hot as it sounds. Not just because I know she'll read this, but she was by far the best of all of them. I think it's because she's an actress, and I also happened to notice a few of our bellydancing moves thrown in there as well. Made a difference, it did. And Homegirl deep-throated a banana. That, by the by, they don't teach us in bellydancing.

Other than that, a fairly quiet weekend. It's too cold to frolick in my opinion. I have to call my Texan blood on those who give me shit about not going out. I hung out with Spring Friday night, finally up to testing out the pool table I got them. Through my discussion with Spring, it sort of amazed me at how much she reminds me of my sister Amy. It's like they have had a similiar experience with their lives, but drastically different endpoints. That's not to say either one is better than the other, but I do find it interesting. I'm intrigued to get them in the same room together--which will happen sooner than you would think, seeing as how Amy arrives in our fair city at the end of the month. I'm pretty sure they're either going to absolutely love each other or want to claw each other's eyes out by the end. You can never tell with similiar people if that's either going to be a good or a bad thing when you put them in a room together.

Boys confuse me. I give up. I'd get 8,000 cats, but the three at Chris and Spring's left me without the use of my nostrils for the rest of the weekend. I feel like my plague has come back a bit, but not to a horrifying degree or anything. Just now it's the right nostril plaguing my existence.

But yeah. Stupid boys. I don't get them. Or actually, I feel like I get them, I just don't know why they don't get me. Or want me. Or think I'm anything worth value. So maybe I can't get cats, but I could do something cool with my spinster-hood, like snakes. Like, be the Crazy Snake Lady of 4th Avenue. Except, I don't think I'd be good at feeding mice to my snakes. That would make me sad. Maybe I'll have an army of goldfish. But fish kind of creep me out. So do birds. And too many dogs gets a bit messy. Hamsters stink. And they bite and that scares me.

Shit. I'm just going to have to buy a lot of heroin or something. But there are already plenty of Crazy Drug Ladies of 4th Avenue. I was hoping for something original.

Any ideas? You'll have to excuse me while I try to clear out my nasal cavity of the icky goodness that has become part of my existence lately. We'll add that to the melancholy and rejection, simmer on the stove for 20 minutes, then throw it in the oven with a dash of hopelessness sprinkled with fabulous hair and bake at 350 for 45 minutes.

Serves one. Indefinitely.