2003-08-07 - 8:24 p.m.
Today I did a truly stupid thing. You are not surprised. Yeah, I know. This story is long and doesn't make much sense, but has to be shared. Bear with the weird style I wrote it in. I don't tell stories very well.
Okay. I woke up half-way early this morning to my lovely mother telling me she is leaving to go here and there and the other place, and that she will definitely take Boo (little sis) but maybe not Spuggy (little bro). I'm groggy, I nod. She comes back in 20 minutes later and says something I sort of ignore (I'm sleepy still!) and then she is like, "bye!" So I lay awake for about 10 minutes in bed...enjoying that warm, snuggly, just woke up feeling and all of a sudden, my little quiddle heart skips a beat because I hear the doorbell ring. I. freak. out. Like a squirell on cocaine. No. freaking. joke. I was in the middle of my just-woke-up nirvana period and I shot out of bed like somebody wearing a ski mask and toting a rather large gun walked into my little room. You see, the quiddle brain still assumes Spuggy is under her care. Usually he's quiet in the mornings when I watch him, so he'll watch cartoons or play games on the computer, so I have a little time to wake up. Hearing the door bell makes me think..HE'S OUTSIDE! LOCKED OUT! AHHH!!! See, my mother has imparted a huge amount of safety paranoia upon me, and I freak out about everything. Things being around the stove, kids playing near the road, people running with sharp objects...the whole bit. I zipped down the stairs, fully awake, but totally in bed-time mode. Like, greasy messy half-pony-tailed hair, itty bitty tank top with no bra (yikes!), pj shorts...I was a sight to behold. I run around frantically screaming, "SPUGGY! SPUUGGGYYY!!!" like a kid who lost their mommy in the department store. He wasn't here, he wasn't there. The thought comes to mind that maybe my mom has him, so before I open any doors and expose myself to the world and the neighbor's cat(for all I know he's a perv. like my cat!), I pick up the phone and plop on the couch to call her. Sure enough, he is sitting in the back-seat of the car, happily. I feel dumb, oh well. Now, before I even have a chance to come off of the terror and adrenaline rush that struck me...the doorbell rings again. I think, GUMDROP! NOOOO! I am like...naked...and greasy. He better not be bringing his cute little butt over here at this hour without calling! Then I crawl (so as not to be seen out of several large picture windows in the room) over to a smaller window, peek under the blinds, and realize, to my dismay/relief that it is not the quite sexy and funny gumdrop. The carpet people are here even despite the fact that we rescheduled them for next week. Then I realize that they have been here ringing the doorbell for a while. Then the real lightbulb goes off. It all becomes clear. The guys must have seen me run around the house several times screaming, thus explaining why they sat and did not ring for a space of 8-ish minutes. My greasy, half-naked little 15 year old self had been running by windows with probably more greasy, creepy carpet men on the other side! EEE! I'm so tired and I woke up so weird, I'm thinking, they're gonna break down the door and rape me cuz they know I'm home alone! (a true hallmark of sexual paranoia, no?) So what does one do when one fears kidnap/rape by greasy old men? Run, screaming like a banshee and hide in one's bed. Under the covers. So I did. And I saw the truck drive away out my window, but I waited another solid 20 minutes before the fog cleared and I realized I am a freakbag of the highest order. So I made toast.
Thumbelina found all this too be quite amusing, a very quiddle-like thing to do....she recalled times I've called her from inside my closet, saying that I'm home alone and hear weird noises. We laugh.
I had to flea comb the cat today. I feel itchy. I swear he gave me freaking fleas. It was really gross. Don't ever flea comb a cat if you can avoid it, it's just really nasty.
I have nothing else to say, and therefore the entry is sort of over. Sorry it was lame-ish.
Goodnight diaryland. Keep away from greasy carpet men when half naked, avoid contracting fleas, and always wear boobie protective gear when playing football with boys. (another sotry for yet another day.) bye.
