How did you spend your extra second today?

Apparently, we all got an extra second today. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leap_second. So, what did you do with your extra second?

This is how I imagine most people spent their leap second:

A) Quick inhale/exhale,

B) Blinked,

C) Took a really tiny nap, OR

D) Quarter farted. (Because you can't do a whole fart without a full 4 extra seconds.)

Or, if you're like me, you wanted to fully utilize your time so you did all four at once, because you're that awesome.

Happy belated Leap Second everyone!

A new rainbow for everyone!

I'm trying to hone my Rainbow Hunter skills, because it of course will make me and everyone else more awesome in the process. So, really it's a win for everyone, because who CAN'T benefit from a rainbow every once in a while.

To prove my point, there was a new fabulous rainbow this week that many of you have probably already seen.  However, in case you were locked in a dungeon until today, here it is:

I think it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It's actually so cool, I would NOT want to eat it. In fact, I might eat less desserts, because I can just go look at this all the time and feel satisfied. Okay. That's a lie, I'll be happy when I'm dunking cookies in milk WHILE I'm staring at this image. Because, now I'm eating dessert AND being reminded that everyday there are a few less bigots than the day before.

Oh, and for those of you who think this rainbow is blasphemous, ungodly, sinful, and you're now boycotting Oreo, well I think you should actually be thanking them. After all, if you're really so pious, then you shouldn't be eating Oreos in the first place. After all, the Bible teaches its sheep to treat your body as a temple of God. Since Oreos are just a bunch of yummy carbs & fats, then I don't see how they are temple worth at all.

So, thank Oreo, for pissing you off by having a belief different from your own and forcing you to pledge that you will never eat another Oreo, because they just helped you be a little less sinful. Well not less sinful really, because you obviously still don't have that "love one another" thing down...at...all.

Plus, we all know you'll just go eat the store brand Oreos instead. So, the whole body as a temple thing...um, yeah, you probably need to keep working on that one too. However, if you REALLY feel like you got it all goin' for you on the God front, then by all means, cast the first Oreo.

P.S. Why are you even reading my blog? You should be boycotting it too, because I fuckin' love Oreos of all colors. Well, not the mint ones...but that's a taste thing, not a color thing.

Permission to die?

So, Lawyer Jim and his paralegal, Mrs. Byrd, left today to go on a week long trip to kick karaoke pirate ass. (It's a very specialized area of the law we practice here.) So, we spent all morning packing up the mother ship with all the appropriate ass-kicking gear.

Then comes the big goodbye, since we're not going to see each other for an entire week. Sexting and sending dirty pics to each other doesn't count, people. Besides, we would NEVER do that, ahem, again. Seriously. Never. Doing. That. Again.

So, in the middle of a fairly long, sloppy passionate goodbye kiss, a little tongue got involved and suddenly I tasted salt.  Like Jim's saliva had turned into saltwater. Disgusted Startled I pulled away and informed him that he wasn't allowed to die on this trip, because I didn't want his sweaty kiss to be the last kiss I ever got from him.

Then I might have indicated, that if he died after that kiss, in my grief stricken state, I would probably end up kissing EVERYONE in sight, in an attempt to get the sea salt kiss out of my mind. Kind of like when you listen to a hundred songs to get the annoying one unstuck from your head?

So, Jim proceeds to calmly eat a couple of Starbursts from the office candy jar & downs a Coke. Then kisses me again. Apparently, Jim's some kind of mad chemist, because magically there was no more sweaty kisses. Woohoo!

However, as I'm thinking back on it though, I realize that since his last kiss was no longer the sea salt variety, he now technically has my permission to die. So, I'm about to be a widow. Poop.

On top of that, Lawyer Jim's ghost is probably going to haunt me, to tell me that technically I no longer have permission to kiss ANYONE after he's dead for the same reason he had permission to die. Double Poop.

Wait! All of this was specifically about kissing. So, I can't kiss anyone if he dies, but EVERYTHING else is fair game, right? So, if he decides to not die, I now get to kiss everyone I want, right? Ha! Take that Mr. Lawyer! In the future, he'll think twice before trying to trick me into giving him permission to do anything.

Sneaky lawyers.

I'm learning to twit...or tweet...or squawk?

Yep, I've finally given in and signed up for a damn twitter account. My handle is @MicInsanity in case anyone wants to follow me.

So far, I feel like I'm 92 learning how to use a cell phone. I also felt like this when I signed up for a Facebook account a few years ago.  That reminds me. Maybe I should make a FB account for this blog? You know...so my whole 2 followers have multiple ways of keeping up with me? I'll get back to y'all on that. (Yes, I say "y'all". Get over it.)

Anyway, I wrote 3 random tweets last night. Today, I have some random follower. How does that happen!?!? I don't know, but having total strangers following me makes me nervous. Not like, hey do you think this guy is stalking me? More like, oh shit! This guy is not one of my friends. He may not be so forgiving, if I don't tweet daily.

So, I succumbed to the pressure and quickly tweeted something about killing a bunch of fleas. Yep. That's me. Performing superbly under my own self-inflicted peer pressure to tweet. Fleas. If it's possible to have negative followers, I probably will by tomorrow.

What social media should I use next to embarrass myself?

Why do all the murders happen when Jim is gone?

So, Lawyer Jim started another marathon of business travel this week. I think our pets sensed I was a little down, so they decided to take care of me.

For instance, the dogs insisted on cuddling right up against me in bed. To the point that they almost pushed me off of our king-size bed. I had to use an extra comforter to build a divider between us so I wouldn't be snuggled to death.

The next morning...I got up and stumbled into the living room, only to see that one of the cats had left me a present to make me feel better. NO. It was NOT a hairball. That I could handle. It was some dark gray rodent bigger than a mouse. In fact, it was more rat-sized, but it could have been a baby possum. I don't know, because I never got close enough to look for a head, tail, feet, birthmark, etc., to identify it.

Because...as I paused and thought, "Oh. Great. The murders begin again just as soon as Jim leaves town," Gabby, our Chocolate Lab/Kelpie (Kelpie, not Kelp. Although that would be grossly awesome. Google, people, do you use it?), immediately races over, picks it up, and takes it outside. Where I presume she rewarded herself by alternately treating it as a chew toy and something to whack into the ground to show it who's boss. I don't ask, I don't look. I'm just always glad she doesn't bring them back in. This is how we bury the bodies in our household, and I'm fine with it, because I've grown weary of scraping up halves of dead squirrels, rabbits, mice, shrews, lizards, birds...and it's ALWAYS the butt end that's left.  Apparently our cats are Kosher.

This process was repeated the next day, only it was some sort of small bird with gray/brown feathers. I don't know exactly what it was because the feathers are all I ever saw of it. I was a little surprised that we had two homicides in a row. Weekly, and sometimes daily, murders were common when we lived in the country. Now, we're back in the city, so the murders have been few and far between.

The next day, no evidence of murder. Yay! I think the cats were just offended that Gabby kept stealing all of their offerings. I would like to think that Gabby was trying to help out since Jim was out of town. Go Girl Power! However, I'm pretty sure each time she just thought, "I'm not letting anyone else get their paws on that fabulous new chew toy!" After all, she's kind of a selfish bitch.

Either way, I'm making Gabby our official paw bearer, because Jim's going to be traveling a lot this month, so we're probably going to have a lot more corpses in need of disposal. Woohoo! Blegh!


P.S. I wonder if the two murders were part of some feral cat mafia initiation? After all, there's a cat across the street that is a long haired version of our solid gray cat, Max. We didn't know the cat's name for a long time, so we just called him Hippy Max. However, it turns out his name is Demon. He's not feral, but I'm pretty sure he's the Don. Maybe, he's modernized and allows house cats in, if they can prove their killers. I guess mine passed the test. Anybody know a good feline gang interventionist?


P.P.S. As I was updating this post about my feral cat mafia theories, a feral cat that hangs out around our office suddenly popped up in front of the glass door of our conference room where I am working. Obviously he's a low level wisecat that Demon sent to scare me, because I've outed him. He stared at me through the glass for a long time. Then I think he left a horse's head on the step. I'm not sure. I'm afraid to look.

Here's a picture of him, in case I suddenly disappear.

Creepy, right?

"Oh, that's going on the blog..."

A more apt title would be: There would be 50 more posts on here, if my memory didn't suck and/or I wasn't opposed to having blog posts temporarily tattooed to my body.

Once again, Lawyer Jim & I were having some discussion that started out perfectly normal and straight forward, only to have it make a severe left turn, followed by a complete 360, double somersault, and triple toe loop, and inevitably, doing the splits instead of sticking the landing. Invariably, one of us will say, that should definitely go on the blog. I make a mental note so I can write about it later--because we are usually in the car or about to pass out for a few hours sleep when this happens--and move on to what's for supper or snoring.

Then by the next day, I get on my computer and realize that once again I am suffering from temporal amnesia. Rarely do I remember what the serious conversation was about. Even when I do, I can no longer remember what happened to make it so hysterically funny that either of us thought it was blog worthy.

It's been happening so often lately, that I started wondering if I was just dreaming this stuff up.

You know when you have some dream about going to take your final exam in a class that was crucial to you graduating, only to find out the professor--who in real life was your 3rd grade teacher--has declared that the exam is only worth 10% of your grade and the rest is based on attendance. Which sucks because you haven't been to class all semester since you already knew how to color inside the lines, do basic addition/subtraction, and read above a first grade level--for those of you who can't follow my dream, this is what the syllabus you got on the first day said would be covered in your world history course--so you never went to class since you knew you would ace the final exam.  Also, you realize you're going to flunk the final exam, because apparently your World History professor covered differential equations, advanced spanish grammar, and geospatial imaging in order to properly teach the course.

Then you wake up in a cold sweat, looking around to see everyone's disapproving stares, only to realize it was just a silly dream, because you didn't sign up for World History this semester. Never mind the kindergarten level syllabus, the 3rd grade teacher that just happens to become your college professor, the random mix of upper level subjects thrown into a World History exam, or the fact that you haven't take a college course in over a decade that should indicate to you this was a dream.  It's the fact that you specifically remember choosing to take Latin American History instead of World History.

What? You only have dreams about unicorns pooping gold?  Well, screw you. Not all of us can have rich, fanciful dreams in this economy.

Anyway, the point is. I thought maybe I was dreaming up these blog worthy conversations and didn't realize they were dreams because the absurd parts of a dream obviously don't register in my brain as possible indicators of dream versus reality. Plus, since the real conversation part is factually correct, my brain wouldn't say: "That was obviously a dream, because you are actually filthy rich, so there's no reason for you to be having a conversation about whether you should A. go to the dentist or B. take one of the three pets, that are well overdue for vaccinations, to the vet this month.  You're swimming in money after all, so go get titanium dental implants and a new stupidly inbred toy poodle and donate your old pets and teeth to the poor."

Instead, my brain says: "Sorry, that dentist versus vet thing was total reality. You're so poor, that you should be glad they don't have debtor's prison anymore. However, I noted your anxiety disorder was kicking into overdrive again when you realized the answer was neither this month, again, since images of toothless Lawyer Jim in court and worm infested dogs and cats were coming in faster than I could delete them. So, for your own good, I created a brain distraction, so you didn't overload, and when you were sleeping I removed the whole conversation from the files. So, that's why you can't remember that conversation, but no it wasn't a dream.  You're welcome. Oh, and before you start thinking about the dentist versus vet thing too much again...a giant metal chicken, a weasel, and a monkey with a leprousy snout knock on Lawyer Jim's door and invite him to buy into their Tardis timeshare, which only costs four new sets of towels a year." (Ok, if you didn't get that joke, you obviously still haven't discovered The Bloggess. Shame on you, because that joke was fucking hilarious!)

However, I don't trust my brain to tell me the truth these days though, so I asked Lawyer Jim about it. He also remembers the words, "that is definitely going in the blog," being uttered. However, he also seems to be suffering from temporal amnesia. Probably, because when you've been married for almost 15 years you develop this wireless link between processors, I mean brains. It's good most of the time, because you often don't have to verbally communicate with each other, however, if one of you gets a malicious brain virus (most humans refer to it as a stress induced panic attack), then the other is in danger of getting it too.

I'm also realizing this whole posts is not going to make sense to anyone but me and possibly Lawyer Jim. If you do understand it, then be afraid. Be very afraid. Also, have you're brain scanned for malicious viruses, stress, anxiety, faulty wiring, old age, etc.

Oh, yeah. The temporary tattoo thing. As the Insanity Wrangler, I have a strict policy against ME having tattoos, especially ones that have more than one word. First, because it'd hurt like hell, and I'm a wimp when it comes to pain. Secondly, temporary or permanent tattoos of a blog nature would freak me out all the time, because I would forget that I had them. Then invariably I would get all self-conscious and freak out when people stared for extended lengths of time at specific parts of my body up close like they were examining some hideous mole with a long hair coming out of it, all because I forgot that I had to write in very fine print to fit the entire post on my left b...um, bicep.

I'm pretty sure Lawyer Jim is NOT going to let me forget this day for a long time.

I was anticipating today to be a pretty awesome day. After all, even though Lawyer Jim had all four wisdom teeth yanked out yesterday, he seemed to be recovering very well. So, I was anticipating being able to  go to the office for awhile to get some work done, and then going with my friend Lady Bird (more on her some other time) to the book signing for The Bloggess.

(What? Why did you just ask "What's a bloggess?" OMG, OMG, OMG! It's not a bloggess! It's THE BLOGGESS. There's only one. Stop, stop, stop! Go read here, then come back. I know it may seem like a random blog entry, but trust me, it's not. This is the place to start reading her blog. If you don't immediately think, "Wow, she is the most awesome person ever!", then you just don't get it and you never will.


You won't get me either, for that matter. I swear, The Bloggess and I are kindred spirits. I just have to figure out a way to let her know, without appearing like a total stalker. To sum it up, The Bloggess is awesome. I wish I was a tenth as awesome as her. Today was my chance to bask in her awesomeness.)

So, back to me.

Instead of the day going smoothly like I planned...God, Zeus, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or insert your own deity here, laughed so hard he pissed his pants. And, the day went like this. I unknowingly fed Jim poisoned yogurt as soon as he woke up, which made him wretch & vomit for the next SIX hours. During that time, I tried everything I could think of to be helpful and comforting. However, by the end of it we were both exhausted, and I was convinced that my breathing the same air as him was what was causing him to worship the trash can all day. So, between almost killing Jim and dealing with my ever increasing anxiety over finally getting to meet The Bloggess (or not, as it seemed at this point), I went into full melt down.

Yep. Jim can't keep anything down, including anti-nausea medication, and I'm bawling about being the worst wife ever, the worst friend ever (Lady Bird was having to make alternate plans for going to the book signing), and generally the worst human ever.

So, suddenly Jim tells me he's done vomiting, to get ready to go, and he's going to escort me to the book signing. In my defense, he really likes The Bloggess too, so he's not doing it completely for me. Okay, he so is, because he knows it's a big deal for me to meet her, even though I'm totally embarrassed at the same time that I actually idolize someone semi-famous.

That's right folks. Not only is Lawyer Jim the most awesome Pirate Karaoke Hunter ever, he's now Super Jim. Whose super power is the ability to stop vomiting at will. I hear snickering, but you'll change your mind one day when you have Norovirus, and are begging anyone within ear shot to put you out of your misery before you vomit for the 100th time.

So, we went to the book signing. Jenny was awesome! (We're not really on a first name basis, but I like to pretend we are.) I wanted to say awesome things to her, so she would realize we were kindred spirits, and she would invite me to travel with her on the rest of her tour. In actuality, I just mumbled a bunch of crap about almost killing Jim today with bad yogurt. Not surprisingly, I didn't get an immediate invite to travel with her. She's probably worried I'll try to poison her too.

We did get our books signed. And, even though, she'll probably never remember us, I know I'll never forget the day I got to meet her. I also know that Lawyer Jim will never, never let me forget either. Oh well, it's worth it...I think.