Wolf Wears Wool

Lunched/had tea with my copilot, Carlea today.  Amongst many other topics of conversation, Carlea mentioned that Simon is hilarious in how utterly, awfully uncomfortable he is with very nearly everything.  R. and Ursula tend to exacerbate this, I noted.  I think the whole point of R. and Ursula BEING BORN is to make Simon uncomfortable.  Observe;

Actually, this happened. Not with Simon, Ursula and R. obviously, but I was at the grocery store with my then flatmate and her boyfriend. She was gossiping to me about him and . . . well, read the comic

Anyhoo, it was very, very raining, today. I think I’ve got a bit of delayed rain-brain and can not be counted upon to make any sort of human-type sense. I feel as though someone has shoved a fistful of cotton wool into my head . . . I feel as though a cat is lying in a coma betwixt my ears. I . . . Oh Lord, Carlea, you HAVE to see what’s coming next . . .

“I can feel bits of my brain falling away like a wet cake.”

Thank you.

Gah, BUT. One of my cases of Vita Coco came in, oh FRABJOUS DAY. And with it, I received my copy of Wilde on DVD.   Perhaps it is high time I admitted that I have a huge, embarrassing man-crush on Stephen Fry.

Right.  I have a huge, embarrassing man-crush on Stephen Fry.

NO, K., I AM NOT IGNORING YOUR EFFORTS TO TEACH ME ESPERANTO . . .!

Must go, noo! ::scarpers::

. . . I actually have nothing to say, today.

EVERYONE: “Hip hip, HOORAH!”

. . . Oh, except that today, Boss Number Three gave me tea again, but I’d had brekkie beforehand and thus did NOT barf in my car again

EVERYONE: “Ah, bully for you.”

Yes.  Bully for me.

EVERYONE: ::runs away::

Trying something different, today.  Not sure how well it worked out, but it’ll do.  That’s basically the whole reason for this project being born, after all.

. . .  Bla bla bla symbolism you don’t give a flying fiscus about bla bla bla I like not to bore the bollocks off of any kind soul who has deigned to read my drivel-dee-dreck bla.

Crikey O’Reilly, though . . . I am going to be a sorry sack of toerag tomorrow.  I am out of Vita Coco.  I drank my last box of it today and went to the market pretty much solely for more Vita Coco.  The market no longer appears to carry it . . . And I checked five different places round here . . . No Vita Coco.

I . . . have come to depend on that stuff like some people depend upon caffeine.  I’m already twitching at the mere musing of a prospect of a thought of the notion of having to sluice my arse through the foetid and soul-sucking expanse of swampmuck which calls itself an eight-hour workday . . . with no Vita Coco.   I CAN NOT SCOOP CAT POO WITHOUT IT.

. . . So I came home and ordered three cases from Amazon dot com.  I’ll have to wait five days for it, but . . . ::shuddertwitch::  At least there is light at the end of the tunnel.  In the meantime, I shall be twitching and muttering to myself whilst my eyes twirl in their sockets like the Cookie Monster’s own.

Oh, but in more amusing news (and yes, according to Carlea, K. and countless others, my strife is, apparently, hilarious), when I was walking out of the market and back to my car, a Land Rover drove past with an enormous Akita looming out of the shotgunside window . . . wearing sunglasses.  The dog was wearing wraparound sunglasses that strapped on with elastic.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.