Denzel's mad at me.

As a result of not sleeping well the past few nights, I've been having some weird dreams. I never really remember much about them, just glimpses.

Except last night, I had a dream that I was in some fancy schmancy restaurant, and I noticed that Denzel Washington and his wife were dining there as well.

Everything was quite normal at first, until the restaurant turned into a huge party, and I felt myself getting lost in the crowd. I was trying to find my way out of the restaurant, when I snaked through a group of people, and caught the eye of Mrs. Denzel. I smiled at her, reached out and squeezed her arm in passing and said, "Love ya!". (Which cracks me up. Love ya?)

She said thank you, and just as the "you" was still hanging in the air, Denzel whipped around and said, "WAIT A SECOND. You love MY WIFE? What about ME?"

At first I thought he was joking, so I laughed and mumbled something about how he's obviously great, just trying to get out of the restaurant, didn't want to cause a fuss."

He grabbed my arm and yelled, "I AM DENZEL ARTHUR WASHINGTON!" (note: I don't think his middle name is Arthur, nice of me to make one up for him).

"Yes, I know."

"Well, next time show me some PROPER RESPECT."

"Okay?"

"And don't be kissing up to my wife!"

"Alrighty."

"Oh, and GO GET MY CAR" and then he handed me his valet ticket!

And then I woke up. Because I was not about to go get Denzel's car.



"Oh you'll GET my car, woman. What the hell am I, anyway? Chopped liver?"

You can find my last celebrity dream here.

Closed doors.

I have a stranger in my master bedroom/bathroom. He's in there with the door closed. He's in there re-tiling the floor of my shower, but he's totally freaking me out with the door closed.

He said it would be best if he closed the bedroom door because the fumes are pretty wicked (I don't have a door on the bathroom, except the separate Toilet Room), and I'm really trying not to be a Paranoid Patty.

Is he laying on my bed watching All My Children?

Is he going through my drawers?

Is he standing in my walk-in closet under the soft glow of the light, going through my clothes?

Is he tweazing his eyebrows?

Did he take a sip of the leftover wine in the glass on my nightstand?

Where did he get those big diamonds in his ears? The last job he did?

Okay, no, he just came out and there is indeed new tile on the shower floor. And he's super nice, which made me feel stupid for thinking he'd be doing Lord knows what in my bedroom.

I'm still checking my shit, though.

Summah Lovin'.

I seem to post on Tuesdays. I wonder why that is? I think my normal pattern goes something like this:

FRIDAY (after reviewing all of the shit I didn't get done during the week): I am going to KICK SOME SERIOUS ASS next week! Let me get on the horn here and book up my week all solid and impossible!

MONDAY (looking at my calendar): What the hell was I thinking! Must do everything under the sun! Today!

TUESDAY (tired): Fuck that noise. This week is down the tubes. Distractions, party of one, your table's ready!

Mystery hiney pain has subsided. But it was still bothering up through Sunday night! That's one broken-down ass, if you ask me. I'm still wondering what caused it.

I really don't have anything to say. I never do, do I? I just don't have the energy to write out my happenings, and even when I think I might, I just YAWN because unless you're in on the ride with me, it's quite uninteresting.

However, I'm on this new kick and I'm calling it SUMMER.

Remember when you were a kid and summer vacation seemed like AN ETERNITY? A month seemed like a year? Well, now as an adult I can say that the word SUMMER is a big 'ole fat mystery to me. It's no longer a 'season' or a THING, it's just like the rest of the year: a big blur of weeks that just rapidly get away from me but now it's also 108 outside.

So, in an effort to recapture my youth, I'm actually planning to do SUMMER like things. Sip lemonade. Drive with the sunroof open. Visit the sun. Have some fun that doesn't involve work. Read a Nancy Drew mystery. Run through the sprinklers. Make a Snoopy snowcone. The options are ENDLESS.

Mystery Hiney Pain

My left ass cheek hurts something fierce.

I wish I could tell you it's a result injury from some crazy wild adventure, but to be honest I have no idea what caused it. Other than, sitting? Did I forget how to sit? Is my left ass cheek just DONE with sitting now?

The funny thing is, I don't know what the hell to do with an ass injury. It's definitely the muscle, but it only hurts when it first touches a seat and then again when I get up to walk. It's kind of cracking me up though. I'm over here wincing like hell in my office. God forbid I need to get up and get anything. I've actually procrastinated getting some paper clips out of a cabinet to finish collating some documents because that would involve getting up. So now I just have loose papers everywhere.

My life, it is a glamourous one.

Happy Flag Day. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything.