Work weak

Seriously, I have 15 posts. A. has 3. Three! And I'm slacking off? Pu-leeze.

Quick roundup of the past week or so:

1. Today (Monday) - A. kicked me. Twice. She teased my hair until it stood on end. Then asked me if I was going to cry when I complained. Realized there really is no way to stop A. Cried a little inside.
2. Yesterday (Sunday) - Day of rest, thank God! Used a lot of liniment in preparation for the upcoming work week.
3. Saturday - A. at wedding. I heard a rumor she did the "Beat It" dance at the reception.
4. Friday - Poked me. Pinched me. Told me she loved me.
5. Thursday - Scared the shit out of me.
6. Wednesday - Sat on my lap. My knee hasn't been the same since.
7. Tuesday - Sang "It's a Small World." Loudly. For an hour. And a half.

Not sure why I need to post daily when a weekly round-up could do the trick. Besides, nothing A. has done recently has especially stood out.

And, as A. has pointed out to me on numerous occasions, the elderly bruise easily. So it really is amazing I can garner the strength to post at all. What's your excuse, A.?

Now's the time!

Me! has been slacking.  There hasn't been a new post in approximately (or exactly) one week - tsk tsk, Me!, tsk tsk.  On that note, I'll step up and make a post. 

Me! is dragging ass today. She had a gig last night and didn't go to bed till 4am. A nice person would give her the day off of torment.  However, I never said I was nice. In fact, I don't think it was ever even inferred. In A!-land, today is the perfect day to attack. 

 

Army of one

I may or may not have pissed A. off today. I couldn't help it. I was having a bad day and thought of something really funny that featured her as the star, but I won't share what here. She said she hated me a little bit and pouted for a while. Then she punched me and skipped away. I guess we're good now.

This just in...

As Me! suspected, it wasn't too long before I was gone-zo as well.  I wonder if Me! ever truly thought she could get rid of me so easily - if she's going, she's taking me with her! 

Just to clear the air on some vital points: Me! is not the victim she has painted herself to be.  In fact, in many ways, I'd say that I am the victim. Yes, you read that correctly.  I've sat idly by, reading all the fabrications she's posted in the past, and frankly, I've had enough.  

Ok, perhaps I'm exaggerating, and perhaps I'm not really a victim at all, and perhaps I torment Me! just a bit. But, I will say this, Me! brings a lot upon herself.  Furthermore, I will not be such a dormant member/contributor to this blog in the future; Me! won't be able to cast out her accusations unopposed any longer. Are you reading, Me!? Bring the ruckus.

Peace out!

A. and I are on the move. We've decided our new jobs, in a word, suckass. Since we came together, we're leaving together. Actually, I've already put in my notice, but A. suspects she'll be gonzo upon the morn.

I was worried about leaving A. If for nothing else, what would become of this blog? I just paid $8 for the URL. I need to recoup my investment, and given the Internet's prowess for ROI, that could take years. Plus, who else is going to kick me in Kohl's? (I said, "Oh, my God! You just kicked me." A. said, "You're damn right I did.")

So, this blog will now chronicle our transition from big shots back to little shots. I'm so good with the change, it makes me pee a little. And knowing A. is coming with me, well, makes me a pee a lot.

Simple math

A. knows a secret + she's not telling me = not friends

Dripping sarcasm

A. was sick last week. She didn't care. She still came in to work, all loogified and dripping from her various head holes. She had absolutely no concern for how her terrible malady might affect anyone else, meaning me. She hawked and breathed on me, as if to say, "If I'm going down, you're going with me." No, she didn't say it -- but I know she was thinking it.

For three days, she couldn't speak. It was beautiful. Touching, really. Around Wednesday, I started making plans for her demise. It was inevitable, as far as I was concerned. A small send off at Chuckie Cheese, followed by bowling and scattering her ashes on Dane Cook. But by the afternoon, she was actually feeling better - she even called me after work to announce she regained her voice. Again, just flinging my plans all over the place without even considering what was on my agenda.

Now, this week, she's back to the healthy, bouncy, insanity-laced scheme of things. Thanks a lot, A. Now what do I do with all of these kazoos?