ANYWAY, after my interesting Friday night, I again put my big girl panties on (around 2 PM) and got ready to head out to a pub crawl they were having over near Wrigley. It was for charity! And I’m all about drinking beer for charity! Or for any reason!

We had an OK time, but the pub crawl was crowded and the bars on Southport aren’t really big enough to support a pub crawl. So we ditched it about three bars in and went to a local neighborhood bar. Where we played pool and got colored in chalk. We left there and hopped to another bar and ate pizza from some stranger’s party and then left. We ended up at the craziest dive bar I’ve been to in my life. And I’ve been to some doozys!

This bar is actually closer to my house on the North side. My friend Melissa had read about it and wanted to try it out. She said it was an Eastern European bar. And I was all “whatever that means.” I will never say that again in my life.

We first walked in and the place is small and pitch black. I don’t think there are any lights in there at all. We take a seat at the bar, which is more like a chin rest because it comes up that high. It was like being a little kid at the bar! Complete with bendy straws in our drinks!

I’m pretty sure we were the only people in there who spoke English as a first language. There was some woman singing (karaoke?) in a different language. And there were people sitting around tables, intently listening to her (or staring at us).

My friends got up to go to the restroom and the bartender handed me a plastic cup filled with water and told me that I can smoke in there, but just to drop the ashes in the cup. I don’t smoke, but my two friends do, and let me tell you, they were over the moon! I kind of was too because they go out to smoke and then I have to sit at the bar alone and Twitter. Now we could all be together! Huzzah for bars who break the law!

When they were in the bathroom, I also noticed a few kids. I was a bit out of it since we had been drinking since about 3 and it was, at that point, after 10. So we commented on the fact that there were kids! IN A BAR! You have a baby! IN A BAR!

And then the little one, who couldn’t have been more than 5, got up to go sing! In a bar! At 11 PM!

Right before we left, some man came up and gave us each a flower, a single carnation each. To remember our night at this bar, I guess. All I know is we’re SO going back!

(Flower squished because it has been sitting under a pile of crap on the counter since Saturday night.)

So tell me, do you have any good dive bar stories? Because I probably have enough for a weekly feature!

I know, right?

See, my last job was located on the South Side of Chicago, not in the best part of the city. The most convenient Dunkin Donuts was not the cleanest facility. It was part of a gas station/Burger King. I always went to this one because it was close to the prison and a lot of the cops and sheriffs would get breakfast there, so I always felt safe-ish. But there were also some shady characters, homeless people, etc. that visited this establishment as well. So much so that the place was just dirty. And I would convince myself that by touching the door handles to get in and out of the building, I was going to get pink eye. I made a POINT to wash my hands as soon as I got to work because I was afraid I would touch my eyes later and totally get pink eye. Why pink eye and not anything else? I have no idea. But I was always CONVINCED.

I never got pink eye. In fact, I haven’t had pink eye since I was a senior in high school. I only remember having pink eye then because I got it right before we were going to Puerto Vallarta for spring break with my dad. And they specifically tell you NOT to go in the sun when you’re on the antibiotic eye drops, so I had to convince the doctor to give me special eye drops so I didn’t spend a week in Mexico SITTING INSIDE.

Well, that was the last time I had pink eye until this past week.

Last Wednesday my eye was really itchy. So if it itches, I scratch it. Most of the time I don’t think about door handles and light switches and a host of other things that I touch with my hands before touching my eyeball. I have no idea why my brain thinks the Dunkin Donuts is dirtier than doors in a parking garage, but there you have it.

So before I went to bed Wednesday night, my eye was really bothering me. I went to take out my contacts and I noticed that the whole right part of my right eye was red. “Hmmm,” I thought. “This can’t be good. Maybe I scratched too hard?”

Of course I Googled pink eye and asked Twitter if pink eye itched. Because if you ever have a question, odds are someone on Twitter will have an answer for you. The consensus was that it could be pink eye and that if I woke up in the morning with an oozy, crusty eye, it was pink eye. So I went to bed.

When I woke up, my eye was a bit crusty and kind of oozy and the red had spread (hey! Thanks rhymes!). I decided in the interest of not spreading it to my co-workers, that I would work from home and keep the plague contained in my house. And then secretly wondered if cats get pink eye. And maybe thought about touching their eyes just to experiment. Thankfully my cats have lived with me long enough to know that they shouldn’t ever let me touch their eyes.

Since it had been like 15 years since my last bout with pink eye, I was a little fuzzy on the details. I was pretty sure it was SOMETHING and not just regular eye irritation. So to be sure, I decided to touch the infected eye and then touch my good eye to see if it spread. Worst case is that it would spread and I wouldn’t have like 2 weeks of pink eye.

I finally made it to the CVS Minute Clinic (which is actually kind of awesome and so quick!) and as soon as I walked in the doctor was all “oh yeah, you have pink eye. And it spread to the other eye.” Whoops.

I got my eye drops and have been using them ever since. When I remember. Because every 4 hours can slip by, especially when you’re in a movie and wearing 3D glasses over your glasses because you can’t wear contacts because you have the PLAGUE OF THE EYEBALLS! Not that you could wear any contacts anyway because you have no more left! The last pair you had, you threw out because it was INFECTED!

Basically I hate wearing my glasses. So the end of this infection (and my contacts order) cannot come quickly enough.

This is apparently my grumpy old man/I-hate-pink-eye-and-having-to-wear-glasses face. Also, apparently my neck has gone missing. Can anyone help me find it?

A little over a month ago, a week before Christmas, I went to get my eyebrows waxed at my normal salon. I went on a weeknight because I was busy over the weekend, which is when I prefer to go. I go every 4 weeks. My eyebrows don’t take a break in growing. In the summer, they generally grow faster and I have to deal with caterpillars above my eyes. Thank God for bangs!

Anyway, that was not the point of this post. So my appointment was later in the evening, so I figured I would head to Trader Joe’s for something for dinner. I figured since Trader Joe’s is always crowded, this would kill some time. But I forgot that Trader Joe’s is always so crowded it annoys me, so I forced myself to get in and out of there as quickly as possible.

So I had some time to kill before my appointment. I drove over  to the salon and parked on the street. Since I had about 20 minutes, I figured I’d just sit in my car, listen to the radio, check Twitter and play a game of Solitaire. Plus, it was raining, so I didn’t feel like getting out of my nice warm, dry car.

The lady at my salon is usually on time, so with about 10 minutes to go until my appointment time, I figured I’d just head into the salon. It was close to closing time, so I hoped I could get in a bit early. So I stopped checking Twitter, shut off my car and started to open the car door.

Note: As a city driver who has experience parking on city streets, I always look before I open my door. And I did on this particular evening, but as I mentioned it was DARK and RAINING.

So as I open the door, I almost hit a guy on a bicycle. I didn’t see him! I swear!

Since I’m far too nice of a person, I apologized profusely, yelling at him from afar that I was sorry. Oops! My bad!

That was until he stopped, got off his bicycle and started racing towards me that I was like “Oh hell no, Lance Armstrong!”

So Lance Wannabe starts lecturing me. Telling me I need to look before I open the car door. And that he could have been seriously injured. And I apologize again, and DO NOT mention that it is DARK, RAINING and that he is wearing ALL BLACK!

Apparently Lance doesn’t like my tone. He doesn’t feel my apology is sincere. So I’m all “whatevs, Lance. I apologized, you’re still able to walk, MERRY CHRISTMAS!” and I walk into the salon.

As I go to take my coat off, Lance CHASES me into the salon (IN! TO! LIKE COMES ON IN!) and starts lecturing me again! Telling me I need to fix my attitude. And at one point says “do you hear how you’re talking to me?” And because I value my life, I DID NOT say “DO YOU REALIZE YOU JUST CHASED ME INTO A HAIR SALON?” Because really, Lance? Politeness is OFF the table at this point, SIR!

Thankfully I love the lady who owns the salon and she stepped in and was all “OK sir, we’re done here” and the dude was on his merry way. And a guy who was in the salon getting his hair cut was all “if he comes in again, I will kick his ass for you.”

And all I kept thinking was 1) this shit ONLY happens to me and 2) I am so thankful I have a blog to share this on.

Really, Lance Wannabe? WHO DOES THAT?

:::

In other news, I forgot to tell you guys I’m writing over at Draft Day Suit. I’ve written two posts so far, and will be writing plenty more, so please go check it out, add it to your readers, comment, tell your friends!

For instance, I just noticed that I was given an extra $700 in my most recent paycheck. And while I wanted to keep my mouth shut and say nothing (HELLO, FREE LAPTOP) I just couldn’t. There was no way I could not tell someone. Maybe I wouldn’t have said something right away, but after the worry ate a hole in my stomach, I’d let them know. It wasn’t as if I would ever spend that money. I can talk a big game, but it wasn’t mine, and I knew it.

Anyway, so last night I went to see Mamma Mia with my friend Schwerer. The show was excellent. Surprisingly, with all the Broadway shows I’ve seen, I’ve never seen Mamma Mia before. I didn’t even see the movie. The musical was EXCELLENT. The second act is a snooze fest until the end, but the end more than makes up for it. Especially when the cast comes out to perform an encore and encourages the audience to sing and dance along! Good times!

We saw the show out in the suburbs near my work. We met for dinner and headed over to the theater in enough time to get our seats before the show started. We both drove separately, so we followed the signs for the parking lot with the rest of the theater-goers. The problem is that it wasn’t until you were in the parking line, the ONE WAY, line, that they said it was CASH ONLY. So I panicked. Because I had only $5 with me. And the parking? WAS TWENTY DOLLARS!

So I pulled off to the side and called Schwerer, praying she had $20 on her I could borrow. Turns out, she ONLY had $20, which was enough to park her car. And since I was in a line of cars and there was no exit, I freaked out and pulled up to the booth hoping the lady would cut me some slack. Or at least tell me how to exit.

They wouldn’t take just $5, sadly. But they did take checks and she was surprised I didn’t have my checkbook on me. I honestly don’t even know the last time I WROTE a check. So no, I don’t have my checkbook with me, parking lot lady. IT IS TWENTY TEN! (Nope, still doesn’t sound right.)

Thankfully she did show me how to exit and told me I could park next door in the hotel’s parking garage, as they took cards. And, bonus! The hotel parking garage was cheaper! But I had to walk up a snowy hill to get to the theater, so it was a wash.

Like I said, the show was great, until the end when some chubby man in spandex and platform boots lectured me about donating money for Haiti. I understand the tragedy and have donated money, but this was not the place. Talk about buzzkill after seeing such an uplifting, energetic, happy show!

Anyway, the show ended and I walked back down the snowy hill to the parking garage. The garage said to take my ticket with me, so I did. I assumed there would be pay machines somewhere. I didn’t see them anywhere, so I figured at the very least, there would be a pay machine near the exit for those of us idiots who forgot to pay. Because this is how it is in EVERY parking garage in the city of Chicago.

Apparently the suburbs are different. There was no pay box. And the machine that took your ticket didn’t look like it took credit cards either. So I panicked.

There was a car in front of me, and after hemming and hawing, I decided at the last possible minute to GUN IT and follow the car out of the garage. I thought the gate arm-thingy was going to snap off and I was going to get arrested. It did hit my car, but bounced right back up.

I drove the rest of the way home just waiting to get pulled over by the cops for skipping out on my parking fee. I was a nervous wreck driving home. And I literally couldn’t fall asleep because I felt so GUILTY that I skipped out on paying at a HOTEL parking garage. Like they aren’t making money hand over fucking fist anyway. Like my $5 was really going to break their bank.

But it didn’t matter. It was the principle! I broke the law! I STOLE PARKING! I almost busted through the gate! I SHOULD BE THROWN IN JAIL!

I’m still half expecting that I’ll get some sort of bill in the mail because they have cameras or something and they will trace my license plate. And I’m sure there will be a photo of my scared face, ducking in my car to get out of the way of the gate arm thingy that was coming down…on the roof of my car, NOT my head.

And somehow, in my mind, this is way worse than having a fake ID. A fake ID I got from the actual DMV.

So tell me, what is the worst thing you’ve done? The biggest law you’ve broken?

But don’t tell me anything too bad, I don’t want to have to feel guilty that one of you once stole money off an old lady or something. I have enough stomach problems as it is.

The first week of January, I went to Atlanta. And then last Friday, I was feeling under the weather so I called in sick. For some reason (JULIE & JULIA) I feel the need to say this on my blog like I’m covering my tracks or something. Like I was really home cooking Beef Bourguignon because I fell asleep on the couch and burnt the dish in the oven. The only thing that is true in that sentence is I FELL ASLEEP ON THE COUCH.

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Have you seen Julie & Julia? Spoiler alert: It was horrible. Julie Powell is a whiney, pretentious asshole. And I guess the movie makes her out to be nicer than she really is in real life. And poor Amy Adams! She’s so cute, but that hair is BAD. And why should the princess from Enchanted have to play such a horrible human being? Which I guess makes her a good actress because Amy Adams? I HATED you as Julie Powell. Well done.

If you feel you must see this movie, please do see it for Meryl “T-Bone” Streep’s performance as Julia Child. She was excellent and made me want to know and read more about Julia Child. And also wish she was still alive so I could be her friend and we could sit around and eat butter and drink wine and talk about that horrid Julie Powell.

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This post is going to be all over the place.

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So this weekend, I did a whole lot of nothing. See above: falling asleep on the couch. In fact, I may not have showered for more than 2 days. And then when I did shower, I had Depeche Mode’s “Clean” in my head for hours.

“Clean. The cleanest I’ve beeeen…”

BUT! I did get my eyebrows waxed. (Just eyebrows. Not bikini, or then I would have showered. I’m not that disgusting.) And I got gas in my car! And I loaded AND then unloaded the dishwasher simply because I was out of cutlery. And I re-filled my prescription at a drug store that is close to my new house and not my old one. Which should make me more likely to pick it up. (And NO, AETNA, I will not be doing mail order prescriptions because EVERY time I’ve done that? I’ve lost my job. Sorry it costs you more. And me MUCH more.)

I also did six loads of laundry. “SIX!” you exclaim! “How can one person have that much laundry? Did you take in boarders? Were the cats especially pukey this weekend?”

Well, yes, they were exceptionally pukey and no, I have not taken in any new houseguests. I just have a compact washer and dryer. This is not complaining. This is just serving as an explanation as to why I have more loads, since I have a tiny washer and dryer. And I don’t really care, since I can do my laundry naked while sitting on the couch and not have to step foot outside.

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I found this flyer under my door when I got home today.

It’s good to know if I’m ever faced with a flyer threatening my life, I’m totally safe.

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So, this morning we had freezing fog in Chicago. I laughed when I heard about it and saw the funny graphic on The Weather Channel app on my phone. I mean, what the hell is freezing fog? How is it different than freezing rain or sleet? I mean, HOW is that even possible?

It’s possible. Let me tell you. And when you experience freezing fog, it’s like you GET it. You’re like “THIS? This is freezing fog!” It’s kind of like a frozen mist. It is definitely the weirdest weather thing I have ever experienced in my life. It’s like if you were outside in Arizona in the middle of the summer, sitting on the patio with those misters, and then all of a sudden the temperature dropped 80 degrees and all of a sudden that water coming out of the misters was frozen, like snow-ish. So bizarre.

But hey, it wasn’t snow, so I am not complaining.

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So since I’m trying to get back to posting all the time, I am in need of some ideas for posts. Is there anything you want me to write about? Death Is Not An Option themes? Do you have questions for me? Do you have questions for BACON? Help me with my writer’s block! Or one of the cats gets it.

I thought this year would be different. I shopped early. I was ahead of the game. I was PREPARED. But then like it always happens, a lot of stuff came up. And now I’m sitting here with a tummy ache (official medical term) either from stress and worry or because I ate too much string cheese today. Could really go either way.

I love the holidays. It’s filled with parties and wine and cookies and treats and more wine and food. It is the most wonderful time of the year! Also the time to be stretched thin and worry about your pants not fitting.

This year is particularly stressful. This week I have 1,000 things to do. I’m traveling for work, which is really throwing me off. I’m only gone for like 36 hours, so not even a long time, but those 2 days away from home are FUCKING STRESSING ME OUT! I have gifts to wrap, food to make, cookies to bake and all I keep thinking is WHEN WILL I GET IT ALL DONE? WHEN?

This weekend I was supposed to be busy. We had our work holiday party on Friday night, I had a ton of errands to run Saturday, a birthday party Saturday night and then football watching in a bar on Sunday. Out of all that, I ended up going to the work holiday party. Because my body decided to stress itself out and make me not feel so well, so to be sure, I just stayed inside most of the weekend. Which makes a shit ton of sense because hi! My coping mechanism is to hibernate and just shut it, shut it down.

So, tummy ache is still here, but I did get some things done this weekend that I wouldn’t have gotten done otherwise. So staying in was ultimately a good decision. I ran my errands and did as much as I could over the weekend to make the week as stress-free as possible. And my events/plans coming up aren’t all that stressful, really. It’s just knowing that I have A LOT going on between now and Christmas is just a tad overwhelming.

Remind me of this in January and February when I have NOTHING going on. WHY MUST IT BE ALL PACKED INTO A FEW WEEKS? WHY?

Or maybe my tummy knew the only way to get me to catch up on Jersey Shore was to spend the weekend indoors and not shower. If so tummy ,I  THANK YOU. Best. Reality Show. EVER. Who needs The Real World when you have the Guidos and Guidettes of Jersey Shore? Bada bing, bada boom!

So internet, since I’ve been hibernating and off the computer, what’s new with you? How was your weekend?

People, I am tired. I really didn’t mean to keep that Neti post up there for so long, especially since I was like “I have the best story and I can’t tell you!” And Ali is all “NICE PLOY TO GET TRAFFIC AND COMMENTS, KRISTIN!” It really wasn’t. It’s just that the story was SO good! RIGHT? So funny! If you know me in person, it’s even funnier because I’m an asshole with no filter and a brain that doesn’t work!

Anyway, I’m tired because man oh man I had an exhausting weekend. One of these days I will remember that I am indeed 32 and that 32 year olds, who still have a lingering cold, need rest. And rest does not mean 1,700 gallons of alcohol.

Like I said, ONE of these days I’ll remember that!

So this weekend, Rhi was in town with her lovely fiancée Bill. It was the first time I got to meet Bill and let me just say, he’s a winner, winner, chicken dinner! He’s nice and funny and smart and will sit around for an entire evening while two bloggers sit around and talk about the internet and Twitter and stuff I’m pretty sure most people who don’t blog, don’t care one lick about.

But we do! And I love, love, love getting together with bloggers. One, because you can Twitter while you are with them and they do not get offended, and two, they GET it. I mean, I understand a lot of my non-blogger friends understand that I have a blog, but they don’t really care about the intricacies and the people. Other bloggers, they care. And it is nice to talk about those things in PERSON, rather than over email or an IM chat box.

I mean, it’s the same with any hobby. Say you’re a knitter. I understand the general concept, but I’ve never knitted anything in my life. So while I would understand your passion for knitting, a fellow knitter would GET it and talk about needle size and knits and pearls or whatever.

Anyway, we three had an awesome dinner and then went to a wine bar (a wine bar that I’ve taken EVERY blogger who has come to visit me to), where we decided to drink 17 flights of wine. Right after having a whole conversation about how we’re OLD now and we can’t/shouldn’t drink like we used to. WE ARE ALL TALK!

Saturday morning we both woke up with horrible hangovers. But Rhi had an appointment to go look at wedding dresses, so I donned my best t-shirt and met her downtown so we could commiserate about being hungover together.

I’ve never been wedding dress shopping. It was fun and Rhi more than likely found her dress and it was beautiful and fit her like a glove and she will make a lovely bride, no matter which dress she chooses! I’m so glad I could be there to help take photos and everything so she didn’t have to do it alone.

On Sunday, I had plans to go to the Bears game. I usually try to go to one a year, generally against a team where I know people. And since my friend Cindy works for the Cardinals, I had an “in” with getting tickets. Be-Tee-Dub, an “in” means that you can buy them for face value and sit two rows from the top of the stadium.

Anyway, there was a group of 8 of us, which included my sister, her boyfriend, my friend Jess, my stepmom, her boyfriend (not my dad), his brother and his son. It was a good group. We met at a bar near Soldier Field to get our drink on that morning. I rode down to the stadium with a cup of half coffee, half Bailey’s. Which turned out to be good because we were at the bar a WHOLE HALF HOUR before they started serving booze. That was a long 30 minutes, let me tell you.

The game was fun. The Bears are horrible. We sat behind the Cardinals head coach’s wife. I think we scared her. It’s probably a good thing the Cardinals won.

My sister’s boyfriend nearly got us kicked out when the beer vendor told him to slide the beer down to the person who BOUGHT it and he has apparently never been to a sporting event and thought that meant to SLIDE IT DOWN HIS THROAT. FOR FREE. That was, um, not cool.

Thankfully the vendor had enough beer for the people who wanted it in the FIRST place.

After the game we went back to the same bar. Since there is like nothing around Soldier Field except a convention center and museums. And a whole shit ton of water. This bar was clearly the best part of the night, as you’ve heard.

The best part of going to a bar that is filled mostly with people who went to the game is that said people have been drinking since early morning. So said people are all wasted and jovial and fun to be around. Seriously, I would like to make it a point to go down on the South Side to watch Bears games in a bar more often when the Bears are at home.

(I’m pretty sure my sober sister didn’t enjoy it, though. Especially when I was constantly saying “is he cute? Do I have beer goggles on? IS HE CUTE?” Which is just weird because our taste in guys is pretty different.)

Anyway, it was at this bar that I met a nice fellow. He’s a cop. And I’m smitten. What is it about cops? I mean, just the fact he was a cop, made him 1,000 times hotter. And let me tell you, he was already very good looking. He’s very atypical South Side Chicagoan and SWOON.

We exchanged digits. He kept telling me that he was going to be in my neighborhood on Tuesday. And being drunk, stupid and completely oblivious (there is a reason I’m still single), I was like “why are you going to be in my neighborhood? It’s so far north! What are you going to be doing up there? That’s so weird!” Until finally he just gave me this adorable look and I was like “Oooooh! OK! We’ll hang out!”

Well, last night was Tuesday. And he didn’t call. Which, is fine. I mean he had been drinking too. Maybe he didn’t remember saying that. Or maybe I didn’t actually hear him say that. Except my friend Jess, who was with me all night, sent me a text this morning and was all “DID HE CALL LAST NIGHT?” So at least I didn’t dream it. And Jess was pretty much sober. And she told me I didn’t imagine him being into me either.

So, yeah. I have his phone number. When I didn’t hear from him last night, I figured maybe I would call or text him. Because I didn’t want to have any regrets and always wonder “what if”. So I decided (with the help of Twitter and like 17 people on gchat) to send witty text! Witty texts! I can do witty texts! And if he doesn’t respond, then I don’t have to leave an awkward NON-WITTY voicemail.

So this is what I sent:

“Crime in my neighborhood seems to be on the rise. I guess you didn’t make it to my neighborhood last night”

Hat tip to Dotty for the suggestion!

I shall keep you all posted. Or probably not blog about it. WHATEVER.

(If I’m in a good mood tomorrow, I might tell you the story over email, so be sure to leave a comment! My mom, Metalia, Ali and Nic can vouch for how good it is.)

(How much do you hate me that I just did that and can’t tell you the whole story?) (Sorry, I like having a job too much.)

Anyway, enough of that. I’m here to talk about something completely different!

As I mentioned earlier this week, I’m sick. It’s just a cold, typical sore throat and sinus congestion. Nothing too bad, nothing to make me stay home even if I had sick time left, but just mostly annoying.

Every time I’ve had a cold in the last few years, everyone keeps talking about the Neti Pot. “Oh, Kristin, get the Neti Pot! You’ll be better in a second! Don’t worry that you’re POURING WATER INTO YOUR NOSE! You’ll be fine!”

Look, people, you can attest to this if you’ve been reading me for any length of time, I am an IDIOT. Purposefully pouring water IN MY NOSE? Not a smart idea! I don’t care how much better it makes me feel!

After clearing my throat for the 1,347th time at work on Wednesday, I decided “fuck it! I’m getting a Neti Pot! WHO CARES IF I DROWN?!” And thankfully Whoorl was like “get this thing instead. TRUST ME.” And I did. Because have you seen her hair?

And so I did. BOW DOWN TO THE NETI!

Look, I’m not going to lie. It is WEIRD. I mean, your brain and all your reflexes are all “YOU ARE PUTTING WATER UP YOUR NOSE! ABORT! ABORT! WE KNOW THIS IS NOT GOOD!”

But once you get past that, and you remember to BREATHE OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, YOU IDIOT, it’s not so bad. And you know what? That fucking thing works! It comes with these nice pre-measured packets, so I don’t over salt my sinuses. And ever since I started using it, I have hardly any congestion. And I have hardly any post-nasal drip, which I suffer from ALL THE TIME, even when I’m not sick.

(I’ve actually been singing “Neti pot, Neti pot, oh Neti, Neti pot. Neti pot!” to the tune of “Lollipop” all week.)

So people, run out and get yourself a sinus flusher thingy. You will NOT be disappointed.

So back during BlogHer, I entered to win anything and everything they were giving away. I entered for clothes, iPods, computers, anything. I even entered for a label maker. To which I said to Metalia “watch, I won’t win a washer and dryer, I’ll win a label maker.” And then we giggled. Because I never win anything, not even label makers.

Turns out I was wrong. I won the label maker.

No. Really. See?

Simba wasn’t really pleased, but he’s a fucking pushover, so he played along.

To a certain point.

Kitty Kitty on the other hand, was not a fan. She let me know how she felt about all of these labels.

Good thing I have another willing, inanimate participant.

Oh, think of all the things I could label!

So, internet, WHAT SHOULD I LABEL NEXT??

It drives me crazy every morning when I wake up and it takes me usually a few hours to remind myself that no, it was indeed a dream and that I can go to my hair appointment just fine and that the frustration in the dream was just that, frustration in a dream.

I remember this from the last time I took anti-depressants. My therapist at the time told me that it was the brain healing or something and then she proceeded to analyze all my dreams. Like the one time I had this BIZARRE dream where I was working in the press box for the Niners and I got upset because this one girl in the press box showed up in jeans (HOW DARE SHE!) so I left the press box and watched the game from the end zone. Not in the seats, mind you. I took a pillow and LAID DOWN IN THE END ZONE. DURING A GAME. Which, hi! That’s a fucking bizarre dream. So I asked her what she thought it meant.

She told me it was about my dad and how he never listened to me. Which was true, but also, how the hell did she get that from that bizarro dream?

Recently, I’ve been having a lot of dreams where I’m back working for the Niners. The two dreams I’ve had have been very anxiety-ridden. Because in both dreams, I’m not actually officially working there. In both dreams, I’ve come back on some sort of trial basis. And both times, it’s because the person that they hired to replace me (I think they are on their 3rd person in 5 years) sucks and no one can hold a candle to me. But I have a big mouth and there was a reason I was laid off (my big mouth and my refusal to cooperate with the assholes in management) so no one was really too keen on letting me come back. And even in the dream, I wasn’t too sure if it was the right thing.

I don’t know what that means. I’m sure some of you could dive into that. You were good the last time I talked about my dreams.

My other dream as of late was a good one. I didn’t want to wake up. It made me want to sleep for the rest of my life. It was that good.

The dream? It was that I was dating Jeff from this season of Big Brother. And I was so happy with this dream, I’ve been telling everyone. Because it’s as close as I’ll ever get to dating Jeff.

If you watch the show, you know what I’m talking about. He’s just so pretty. And he’s from Chicago and has this thick Chicago accent. And he’s super sweet and funny and curses like a sailor. WE ARE MEANT TO BE!

See how purty?

Mmmmmmm. What a good dream.

I don’t remember how it started. All I remember is that we were in the townhouse I lived in when I was younger and my mom also had a crush on Jeff and was hoping he was into the cougars. Because look at him! She’s only human!

And then we were dating, he was a good kisser and I found out he was working for the Arizona Cardinals as the team dentist. He spent a majority of his time making mouthguards.

I need to find a good therapist just so I can find out what the fuck that’s supposed to represent. Besides the fact that I have an inappropriate crush on him and watched Big Brother before going to bed.

Actually, I probably don’t want to know. I just want to remember that I was dating that Sexy McHottiepants and that it was good.

And hey, at least I’m not dreaming about infomercials and the Jonas Brothers like a certain someone.