Before you know it, you're the crazy cat lady in the scary house

Thursday HAS To Be Better

September 01, 2004 ... 11:59 a.m.

[while watching Murray doing a spot-on of Madonna during someone‘s karaoke rendition of “Like A Prayer”]

Madeline: “If he starts making out with a black Jesus, I’m walking home.”

Wednesday already. I am such as slacker. Oy.

Robin called Saturday evening, wanting me to go out with her, Murray, Madeline and Sandy. It was Murray’s birthday, which I didn’t know, but she called kind of late and, at first, I tried to beg off. Neither Murray nor Robin would take no for an answer and they picked me up at about 9:45 pm.

We met Sandy and Madeline at the bar. I can’t remember the name of this bar as I had never been there. There were only about 20 people there, but everyone was nice and acted like they knew me. That was a little weird. We went there because it had karaoke and that’s what the birthday boy wanted to do.

The waitress tried to talk me into doing a shot that tastes like chocolate cake. A long time ago, I had some of these. It’s a hazelnut liqueur/vodka mix. First, you suck a lemon wedge and, still holding the juice, take the shot. It tastes amazingly like a piece of rich chocolate cake.

Alas, I abstained. My liver still has some residual damage, but we’re trying to work things out. The last thing I need is for the testy bitch to move out and file a restraining order against me because of one lousy shot.

Anyway. Karaoke. Some lady got up and did “Return To Sender”. Horribly. Oh, she was ... horrible. It was an atrocity. Bad. Bad. Bad.

Then, for about 45 minutes, the choices alternated between Meredith Brooks’ “Bitch” and Puddle of Mudd’s “She Hates Me”, with the entire bar joining in on the chorus. Good times.

Then some guy got up and sang “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”.

The heck?

Because the deaths of 29 men is, most assuredly, light-hearted party fare. Take note, people. “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” is a surefire crowd pleaser.

I don’t remember how the order went, but Murray sang “Ol’ Red”, “Anymore”, “Baby Got Back”, “Taking Care of Business”, “Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue” and a couple of others, too. Robin and Madeline sang “Does He Love You” (which had a strange vibe, as Madeline is Robin’s sister-in-law) and were joined by Sandy for the “Shoop Shoop Song”.

I sang nothing. I briefly entertained the idea of singing Weezer’s “Photograph”. But I realized that I would be intentionally placing myself near the karaoke dj. And, Lord save me, I did NOT want to give this guy ideas. He kept coming up behind me and grabbing me to dance and making comments about my boobs. If we hadn’t been celebrating Murray’s birthday, I would have made a scene.

We left at about 2:30 am. I swear I wasn’t drunk, but you know me--I fell off the curb and now I have this nasty cement rash/burn on my right hip. It’s going to take forever to heal, because everything rubs against it and irritates it. Ugh.

On to Sunday. I ... uh ... oh, yes! Church! Church and ....

On to Monday. I got nothing. What did I do yesterday? Think, Eibisch, think! I cleaned out the catbox and did laundry and cleaned the bathrooms. And I read in my book du jour.

Tuesday. Tuesday, I went to court. I had been sued by a gym for not paying my fees. We were in disagreement on when the contract had been cancelled. They said I owed $600+ and I didn’t agree. I was served with papers a month ago. Went to Small Claims Court. I know a lot of you don’t really believe how many times I’ve gotten out of speeding tickets.

Hi. I’m cute. And I can cry on command. It’s a winning combo.

Anyway, as the defendant, I was sued for $902.63 plus any and all court costs.

Do you want to know how much I was ordered to pay?

$0. That’s right. Nothing. Not even a filing fee. In fact, the gym was scolded for pursuing this claim.

Ha! That’s right, stupid gym! Quit picking on little ol’ Eibisch!

And, dudes, I didn’t even cry!

And now my Wednesday. It does not bode well for the rest of September, I tell you what.

I crawl into bed at 3 am. I can’t sleep. I don’t know why, but it ticks me off. Which, of course, makes me less sleepy. Which pisses me off more. It’s a vicious cycle.

I finally doze off around a quarter after four. And at 4:30 Bootsie gets ready for work.

I’m up. Yay.

I read for a while until Mom left and decided to clean the laundry room. What else is there to do at 6:30 am? I entered said room and found liquid detergent all over the floor. Yay. So, I clean it up. But at first, I only succeed in making a bigger mess. In fact, the whole damn floor became a slimy blue mess. And then--THEN--I turned to get something and down I went. Smacking into a chair. With my concrete-burned hip. That? Was not pleasant. Wet floors, chairs and I do not get along.

I decided to do laundry. The dryer went insane. I finally kicked it into submission, but cripes. All of this before 10 am.

I’m going swimming. It’s 52°. Maybe a nap.

/P>

Currently Reading: The Last Juror by John Grisham

Listening To: =w= Blue -- Deluxe
...when I met you I was all alone, cold and hungry, crying on the phone...

Have a happy day!

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