Hot temper, hot stone

I am: super, super cranky. Snap, crackle, punch.

Last night I: briefly considered staying up until 2:00 AM to watch “Six Feet Under” reruns on Bravo.

Before bed I generally: play Scrabble on my cell phone. It’s become a ritual.

I still think: my upstairs neighbors have cement-filled feet. But thanks to a shotglass full of Scotch, earplugs, and a Valium prescription, I no longer care as much. Okay, I'm just kidding about the earplugs.

Dealing with residual anger: sucks ass.

Going to water aerobics: strengthens the slim thread of sanity from which I dangle.

This weekend I am: going to a cosmetology school with some friends to get a paraffin wax pedicure.

I am also going to: get my very first hot stone massage. But not at the cosmetology school.

My stomach: hurts and I don’t know why.
My body is: protein deficient.

I find myself thinking about: moving back to the desert, as it’s where I grew up.

Without smirking, I can say: “But it’s a dry heat!”

The main thing stopping me from moving back to the desert: is the reality that I will once again be plagued by nosebleeds because of the climate. River City = humidity, no nosebleeds. Desert = no humidity, beaucoup nosebleeds.

I miss: Mack Daddy Smooth