Pondering the cause of my weirdness...

I blame my mom.

I think she let me drink the Enoree creek water when I was a kid. There were weird tumor-headed fish in that creek. We called them 'knotty-heads'. At some point you'd think my parents would have gotten a clue and said "Hmmm...yew reckin thar's pollushun in that thar crick...?"

*sigh*

Well, Heck naw! I reckin' them's just rar En'ree catfeesh.

The Inobservant Man

I finally had enough of my long-overdue-of-a-good-trim hairstyle...so I cut it.

Myself.

4 inches, chopped off, first thing this morning after my shower. And it looks good.

My husband is getting ready for work and walks by the doorway just after I've finished. He looks at me and mumbles something about Nate.

I wait.

He looks at me again and mumbles something else...still clueless. At this point, there is a giant pile of hair on the counter in plain view and I'm thinking 'Holy Crap!' It amazes me how long it takes him to notice things. I don't really get mad, I just enjoy messing with him. For example...yesterday, I wore my glasses crooked for 1/2 an hour before I finally had to tell him they were crooked (and I mean really crooked-like the bottom of the frame was blocking my view in one eye-crooked. When I pointed it out, he swore I was making it up to screw with his mind...*sigh*)

So I say with sarcasm and a smirk..."You are the most inobservant man...evarrrrr." Then I smile at him.

Him (annoyed): "What?"...and not in that genuinely curious tone, but that...tsk! I don't know what the hell you're talking about but why are you looking at me like that?' tone... you know the typical man tone.

Me: "Nevermind. (laughing) You'll figure it out eventually..."

This, of course, gets his full attention, because if there is one thing a man cannot stand, it is to know he has been accused of MISSING something.

Him: "WHAAAT?"

Me: "Nope...you'll figure it out eventually." (enjoying the moment with an over-abundance of giddiness)

Him: "FINE, Melissa."

HAR! I'm dying at this point trying not to laugh at him.

Me: *SIGH* "I'll give you a hint, Captain Observant." (and I point to the big pile o' hair two inches from me on the counter, STILL in plain view)

Him: (eyebrow raised) "What made you decide to do that?"

Me: "I got tired of the ends feeling so dry and I've been too sick to go get it cut."

Him: "Hmph..."

(men, right?)

So then...my husband decides to dangle his life like a flailing bunny on a rope in front of a starved alligator...and says...(get ready)... "Ummm, that did come off of your head, right?"

Holy Crap. 4 inches of hair on the sink in front of me. 4 inches!

Let me just say, I might have been sick for a month and be a little overdue for my trim 'down south' ...but I do not/have not/will never have THAT much hair on my...umm...hoo-haa. NEVER.

Me: *simple death stare, left eyebrow raised to emphasize threat...*

Ever wonder why men have a shorter life expectancy than women?

There's no denying it now...

My parrot is behind me in his cage talking and laughing...and then says, in a menacing, creepy whisper... "You're soooo weird."

*sigh*

Perfect. Even my parrot thinks I'm a freak.

If the straightjacket fits...

...you should probably buy the padded room to go with it.

The migraine-plagued sleep deprivation has fried my noodle. Crispy. Burnt. Nothing but a black crust clinging to pure senslessness up there.

How did I come to this conclusion? Some of you are wondering, some of you knew it was inevitable.

*sigh*

I have amazed myself with this gleaming gem of stupidity.

Seriously, I deserve a mammoth-sized headsmack for this one. Maybe it'll shake something loose and make me a fraction of a fraction smarter.

I cannot even believe I am about to share this, but, well...here it is:

Last night, I get Nate to sleep at 8:30, and crash on the sofa for about 12 minutes of tv before I pass out. I emerge from my coma sometime around midnight feeling like crap from sleeping in a position resembling a week-dead squished crab. I debate sleeping there until morning, because getting up and walking ten steps to pee, then ten steps to bed is just way more exausting...then I remember that Orson, my recovering amputee cat, needs his meds and stumble blindly into the kitchen to get a glass of water to cure the horrible thirst I've acquired from sleeping with my mouth hanging open. I am immediately surrounded by savage starving felines and crippled by the deafening "MREEEERMREOOOOOWRRMMMREEERREEEEEEEER" that translates into "we will claw your sunken eyes out while you sleep, bitch, if you don't feed us...now!"

But first things first: Orson's meds. If I don't get that damn pill out before I go to feed them, I'll forget. I fumble with the non-childproof bottle longer than it would take a monkey to do an algebra problem and finally get the damn pill out set it on the counter, and climb over the baby gate to the laundry room to feed the yowling vermin now biting my ankles. While I'm back there, I realize the litterbox is in dire need of scooping. I turn to leave, thinking I'll get it in the morning....then I stop and think of all the horrible places I could be cleaning pee from (and only after the desperate sniff-search for the mysterious pee odor leads too, if ever, the scene of the crime) and decide i will sleep better not having to worry about that kind of stress.

Scooping is done and i head to the sink to wash my hands, grab Orson's pill...ummm, grab Orson's pill...where the hell is that damn pill?

I imagines Angus the Wise (aka- the dumbest cat alive) swatting the pill off of the counter and under the cabinet/fridge/stove/insert inconvenient space here....and curse him under my breath. AGH!

I am NOT looking for a damn pill at midnight, so I fumble with that stupid bottle again an retrieve a second pill, head over to the counter to grab my glass of water so I can just go on to bed from dosing the cat. Now, where's my dang water glass??? What..the hell?

I find it on the counter...empty...empty... yep that's it, empty. I know it was full...

Holy Jesus, I swallowed the pill...the PILL!!! THE CAT'S PILL!! Holy CRAP! What the hell was that pill, anyway? Please be something normal....*I grab the bottle*... 'amoxicillin'...OH THANK YOU GOD! I won't die. I mean...I won't die will I? This is a cat drug...it's from the vet...is it the same as human drugs??? Holy freakin' crap, I took the cat meds!!!

WHAT...is wrong with my brain???

There can't possibly be a brain left up there. I need to call the white coats, and arrange a fitting for my very own jacket, else I will surely kill myself in some stupidly horrific way before the week is over...the cat's pill!!!

So, you see? Brain crust, that's all I have left... The burnt crispy residue of insanity...

I think I'll take my padded room in periwinkle, please.