I like watching the bunny cam at Brooklyn Bunny throughout my workday. Watching that cute little bun wash him’s widdle face acts as a serotonin reuptake inhibitor. I’m convinced that moral in any workplace would increase a thousand fold if there were bunnies scampering freely about the office. [of course, I’m also convinced that a really really good baked potato with all the trimmings for lunch would do the same thing.]

Why can’t there be more bunnies in our lives?

I have a lot of hair on my head. Like… a LOT. None of it is straight unless I force it to be. Everywhere I go, I leave long blondish or brownish curls behind me. I think it’s an attempt, by my head, to keep the hair to head at a fair ratio. I’d never get away with a major crime, their would be hair fibers all over the place.

Yesterday, I was enjoying a bubble bath, and I was looking at one of those long hairs that had fallen out of my head. I had placed it on the white tub edge, and was examining it’s interesting color combinations. it started out dark, obviously it had escaped the last couple of blonde updates, then went blond, then really blond, before moving into a golden color and then ending almost redish.

Then, I began to look at a second hair, one that confused me. Maybe the heat and steam were getting to me. It was stick straight and very dark, about an inch long, and in the middle had a tiny bit of gold, almost as if it had a stripe. I swear I looked at that hair for five minutes trying to figure out where on earth my hair was straight, short, and striped. Pru sat there with me, in her usual place – on the edge of the tub – with her dark fur and golden stripes.

“Hey… wait a minute… this didn’t come from me! This is you! This is a cat fur!”

“Duh.”

This last weekend was hard for me. It had been a week since my last lovely spa procedure. And I had none scheduled for this weekend. In fact, I did something entirely unpleasant. And unlike me. I cleaned the bathroom. I had to by new towels and a new rug to inspire me, but I got it done.

But I chipped my lovely spa manicure and broke a nail!

Why is life so hard?

Missing: One Day

D.O.B. July 15, 2006

Name: Saturday

Length: 24 hours

Last seen yesterday at 9:20 am.

If you have seen Saturday, please return it to Jodi, as she is quite unnerved by the mysterious loss of half her weekend.

had I been on tonight’s episode of Jeopardy, I would have totally won final Jeopardy, leaving the ignorant losers in my dust. It’s been several years since I’ve seen this show, but aren’t these people supposed to be smart?

What is Pygmalion? Duh!!

This morning, about 6:30 am, I was awoken from my sleep by the doorbell ringing. At least, I thought it might have rung. It was hard to determine whether it was real or part of the dream that I was having. Or both. I don’t wake up well, and I usually incorporate any interruptions into my dream, so as to avoid waking up at all.

So, naturally I ignored it and snuggled down in my covers and went back to sleep.

At about 6:45 it rang again, twice, followed by loud door knocking. This time, I knew it was real. And I knew who it was. Anyway in my family, who needed me in an emergency, would have called me from the driveway if I did not wake up to the doorbell. In fact, they’d probably call first. And they would have kept ringing and ringing and ringing. They know how I am in the morning. This was not family or friend. This was the door bell stylings of someone who has come to serve papers. I was familiar with the pattern.

Just last week I ignored several attempts to serve papers. Just for the fun of it. Several years back, someone stole my stepfather’s identity. They used the same last name, and a first name so close to his, it’s only one letter off. A police report was filed, my s-dad had an attorney, anyone trying to collect a debt is supposed to contact the police, blah blah blah. But they still send stuff in the mail. And they still try calling. And they come to the door. Asking if I am my mother. Who is divorced from my s-dad anyway.

So I ignored this guy. And I was pissed. When he started up at 7:00, I got angry enough to get up, get a robe, and open the door.

“Sorry to have woken you…” he said.

“YOU KNOW WHAT? I DON’T THINK YOU ARE!!!” I yelled.

“I’m persistent”

“YOU are RUDE! Are those papers for [name the fake used]?”

I was ready to tell him that no such person existed, laugh maniacally and slam the door. But it turns out the papers were for me.

“Oh, well, I’ll accept those”

Then I slammed the door.

I suppose I should be grateful. A: I was trying to find out who owned my delinquent debt so I could pay it off, and now I know. Also, I forgot to change my alarm back to my normal wake-up time and would have overslept. But I am not grateful. And he is very lucky I did not suck out his soul, put it in a mason jar and store it in the china hutch I inherited from my grandma, along with all the other souls of those who had dared to interrupt my sleep for no good reason.

I just didn’t have a jar handy.

“Hi, my name is Jodi and I am a spa-aholic. A spa addict… spa junkie… whatever.”

“Hi Jodi!”

“Ok, first, I’d just like to say that I hate support groups”

“We’re not here to judge you, Jodi”

“Look… don’t even THINK about hugging me. Second, while I am willing to take the first step and admit that I am powerless against the goodness that is The Spa, that’s the only step I’m going to take. Even though I just spent a considerable amount of my so-called disposable income on lovely spa treatments, I don’t want to beat my addiction.”

“We think we can help you, Jodi. Every journey starts with the first step.”

“Yeah… well, I’m going to journey on out of here, I’ve got to rest up for my second day of lovely spa treatments. Including the chocolate body treatment! Mmmmm.”

“We look forward to seeing you again, Jodi!”

“Bite me.”

Sign outside my library:

You are free to use your cell phone in our lobby, however, the rest of the library is now a phone free zone.

God… I hope none of you look at my blog in IE. I just looked at it, for the first time since… I don’t know, and the banner is all fucked up. Only in IE, of course.

Bastards.

The sad truth about ants, kids… they only live a couple of weeks. Maybe a few weeks, if you are lucky.

R.I.P little fellas!

Dr. Stevil says he’s gonna get some more ants, tho.