Something Wicked this Way Comes

This morning THE BLESSED SUN had absolutely nothing to do with my awakening.

It was all thanks to THE EVIL LAWNMOWER.

WHY people (specifically the owners of my duplex) INSIST upon leaf blowing, hedge trimmming and grass mowing at all hours of the very-early-morning I HAVE NO IDEA. I mean, it's not like it's summertime. It's 60 degrees outside. NEWSFLASH: You're not going to die of heatstroke in 60 degree weather.

Come June or July, I'll be much more inclined to keep my wrath down to a moderate volume. Afterall, who am I to begrudge someone the only mildly bearable hours of the day when I get a perfectly trimmed lawn out of the deal? Not to mention the fact that when they DO mow I do not have to tread so carefully while taking out the trash. When it's been serveral weeks since the last trim there seems to be great instance of me stepping on my neighbor's "presents" because the Brazilian jungle that masquerades as my front lawn has conveniently swallowed them whole. Only to push the curly mounds of poo up to the surface when it's midnight and I'm overcome with the need to take the trash out RIGHT THEN.

So anyway. I'm up and, for all intensive purposes, should be thinking about showering before long. I do have to go to work afterall. Can't be 'that girl' who rolls into work with wet hair and who hogs the shiny part on the inside of the elevator to put on her mascara. Dear Lord. How sad. I hope my sarcasm isn't lost in print because Lord Knows it's lost in everday speech.

But moving along to happier things-- this weekend is going to be WICKED GOOD. I do not know when 'wicked' became inserted into my vocab but it's been happening more and more frequently these past few weeks. Try it sometime. There's nothing funnier than standing in the checkout line and pulling out an US WEEKLY and flipping through the half-naked pictures of Britney and exclaiming "WICKED!" at various intervals. This weekend. Sorry. It's going to be wicked. See, I had gotten quite used to the fact that my brother/roommate usually left for various and asundry parts of the state come Friday afternoon. So by the time I got off work at 8pm the apartment was MINE. ALL MINE. But here the past few weeks, brother-o-mine seemed inclined to stay home and invariably threw my weekend schedule into a oblivion. But this weekend -- because it is his birthday and my parents laid a giant trek of a guiltrip on him-- there will be NO weird instances of frying up a 10lb package of bacon at 11pm only to leave the grease filled smelly pan sitting on the stove until the grease actually hardens into a strange, petrified substance later in the week. (I'm fastidiously neat and am trying new program where I do not touch, clean, or move one ounce of his dirty things in hope of making him realize the error of his nasty ways. So far, no progress.) There will be no impromptu parties beginning at 2am on a Friday night where I have to play the bitch sister and physically remove drunken fuckups from my apartment or kick 200lb football players out of my bed because they thought I'd welcome a 'lil lurrve" <--- said with drunken slur.

So. I can laze around on Saturday until about 10ish, get dressed, meet up with Brittany, shop a little (not actual shopping as have no money, but psuedo shopping) and get hair cut into new and festive style as have let it grow down my back until it's become a sort of rescue mission for migrating birds. Then will analyze hair cut for 30 minutes in front of mirror while pulling pieces of hair out and going "I'm not sure about this" and Brittany going "It'll be better once you wash it. They just used a little too much hairspray." And then I'll watch a movie or two and fall asleep with un-washed beautified hair and wake up the next morning to find that hair has attacked pillow and excessive amounts of hairspray have bonded to strands to form what resembles a satelite receiver dish from the mid-80's. So I'll wash it and play with it and decide I can live with the new 'do and then I'll clean the house from tippy top to bottom drop and order some food from US Pizza and maybe even walk to pick it up if I'm feeling festive. I'll eat and then decide I'm bored and probably decide to write a little. I'll watch a little Celebrity Fit Club and gag at the previews where they show Robbie swimming half-naked through a pool and his fat actually billowing and waving around his skeleton. Then my brother will come home and I'll wish him happy birthday. And then I'll go to sleep and start my week ALL OVER AGAIN. Counting down my days until Saturday when I can be awakened by THE EVIL LAWNMOWER or THE BLESSED SUN or even THE MONGREL CATS and be pleasant and sunshiney because it's Saturday and I can take a nap later if I want to.

As A Sidenote: DEAR LORD. I have no idea what happened but there are ACTUAL PEOPLE WHO READ THIS???? WHAT?? Thank you, everyone, for the fabulous and lovely comments. Not to mention the man who referred to me as a GEM-- a GEM!!! I read his blog at work at unabashadly turned my head up to bask in the sacharine glow of the flourescent lights that bathe my cubicle in cease-less and constant light. I did get a tap on the shoulder from my supervisor asking if I was okay and telling me that even though we were all skipping lunch to work on our, well, work, it didn't mean I couldn't step outside into the fresh air if I needed a minute... ha ha ha ha ha ha. I suppose it was quite odd to see my face stretched into a burstingly happy smile with my chin pointed towards the ceiling. And now it is 10 minutes before I have to leave for work and I'm still furiously typing away. DAMMIT. But I have to get dressed or at least attempt to put on something other than my pajama's.

WICKED.