New Year's Eve and it's hard to believe
another zodiac has gone around.

While you drank yourself high on hoping
and watched the ceiling spin from the ground.

Counting down from ten it's time
to make your annual prayer.

Secret santa in the sky
when will I get my share?

Then you tell yourself
what you want to hear.

Cause you have to believe.

This will be my year.

This will be my year...Semisonic


Go Ahead Punk: E-Mail Little Squaw @ squawpunch@hotmail.com

AIM: gimletgurl7 (Remember when she used to be here?)

Monday, December 29, 2003

Back in the saddle again. Big ups to the master system administrator who spent his whole day at work slaving away on this here machine. How to avoid such drama in the future? He tried to make it so I had no administrator rights! I told him he needed to change that or I was going straight to the internet and buying myself a souped up laptop post haste. Needless to say he made things right. The whole day must have tuckered him out because he's currently dozing in the leather chair in front of the TV with Discovery Wings on.

I, however, spent the day naping in said chair. Sad? Yes? Nescessary? Even more so. It's been a long couple of weeks. I am dreading the return to work. More work more work more work. No thanks more stress no thanks.

Speaking of stress, our little get together went well yesterday. With the normal family stress (of course on my side)...high point included saying to my brother after he reprimanded me for not moving fast enough to say goodbye to my mother, "Don't take that tone with me. It's my house and you have no right to reprimand me like a child." I can't win.

Gert was a dream. Passing out hors d'oeuvres like a pro. G-Love (her husband, Gert can also be known as Special Sauce)...well he was a dream with the baby. Who on all accounts was an angel. But of course, I am his Fairy God Mother am I not?

A random observation...people are very modest. Our 1/2 bath has a window and the bottom of the sill is usually level with the top of your head if you're sitting down (if you get my drift) and I always keep the shade up. Well every time someone comes over they put the shade down. So the window is about six feet off the ground at least...who's going to peek in on you? Hmmmm? It makes me laugh. I guess I don't give a flying fig.

Regarding peeking...when I graduated from college we went to Antigua for a week. And we had a room which faced the beach. Well one night we're getting ready for dinner and we hear people out there in the water. A couple running around naked or something. The girl was one who kept taking her top off all week (even though it was prohibited) but anyway, Gilly said she had acorn boobs whatever that means...so these people are out there. Now our room faced the beach and small path ran past it. There were bushes obscuring the window. So I get out of the shower and Gil gets in. And I am standing infront of the mirror in the room checking out my "tan lines" for real I had the faintest tan lines which was miraculous because I was wearing SPF 45 and didn't even have a burn. So there I am topless checking out my "tan lines" and I look out the window and there's the naked cavorter boyfriend of the acorn lady standing on the path staring into the room! I ran into the bathroom and told Gilly what had happened and he almost passed out laughing. Then he told me that I liked it. We heard the couple grunting away later that evening through the wall. I'd like to think the "tan lines" lit the flame a bit.

Not to make anyone think I am a prude, because Gil and I went to a nude beach that week. Which was hysterical because all the island "chair men" were circling my chair. So much infact that Gilly wouldn't leave me alone for fear that they would try to pick the fruit. If you know what I mean. Full nude was not for me. Topless, yes, full nude no. Full nude if we had our own beach yes, but not with odd people circling me.

Plus, that's the time we saw the nudist family running around. Though admittedly the mom was just topless and the dad was wearing a THONG. That's when I said to Michael, "What's worse. Seeing your dad in a thong or naked?" We both agreed that a thong is much worse.

Speaking of boobs. The damn dress still fits weird and I still don't fill out the darts. I may and I shudder to think...I may need to STUFF my bra! I called Gert today to ask her if she had any fake boobs but she didn't. There's no way to look good in that dress. I don't even care. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. And everyone who's seen it (it was quite the attraction yesterday) agrees that it's horrific. UGH ICK BLAH.

I am going to eat a leftover cheese tart.
posted by JustKeepMum on 9:46 PM