Dehydration and Cat Barf

I remember when I was a young kid in dancing school. It was not a high point in my lifetime of awesomeness. I learned early on that most little girls fell into one of three categories:

1] the privileged kid who is doted upon and is a total brat.

2] the "pretty" or "attractive" kid who is treated like gold. Is definitely a twat.

3] everyone else

Maybe I would have been into dance if there were jazz-hands like this!

So, I frumped in the door late to jazz class (barf) and was met by a freckled face of category 1 kid. She was prattling on about a random stupid dance weekend in Philly or some such nonsense, asking if I was going, yet not giving a shit, just enjoying her own voice. Fucking narcissistic kids kill me. They grow up to be narcissistic adults, whom I want to kill. Then Bratty Jones went on about how the prior year at the dance-off she collapsed in a fit of dehydration.

Pissing in the water here. Definitely.

I swear, to this day, I still think dehydration is made up by brats like her, and Mariah Carey-types. How about a glass or two of water to help that sitch? Nope? Never crossed your mind?

So, I am sitting here, throwing myself a mediocre pity-party, fully aware of the fact that I have not blogged, or read a blog in months, waiting for my life to pick up for the best, and avoiding my readers [who have since unsubscribed by like half or so] because I didn't want to be a bitch. But being a humorous bitch is one of my plusses in life. 

What the fuck is going on?

Ugh.

I have managed to isolate myself from reality, cyber-reality and fantasy for far too long. 

AND I am thirsty.

I realized that I missed this forum of bullshit just yesterday, when I was sitting in the glass-front cafe window by my work, enjoying a cup of expensive latte. When I looked down, I saw it: Jam.

I kick out the jams, motherfuckers! All over my tits. I not only left the house with Jam-tits [seeded boysenberry jam is so fucking tasty though!] but I was greeted by the coffee bitch with a straight face, spoke to a slew of my bosses colleagues, made nice with some strangers... all with a generous supply of jam on my cleavage.
 It was not the first time I had to share @ my boobs. Link HERE. 

Jam: Delicious on toast. Great on decolette.

So welcome me back, if you read this at all. Even if I am depressed and experiencing setbacks beyond my control, I will still stop back in for a read of your shit and to spew some of mine.

Fletch barfed in and by my bed, not on my shoe... but I stepped in it. Barefooted. 

Photo above is for affectation.

I am off to find the mysterious stink of cat puke. I fucking swear, it better not be in the bookcase... Fucking bitch cat.