Martha f’ing Stewart

TGIF and whatnot.

Spent all week at work grumbling about the fact that while I slaved away over my keyboard for three days, everyone else was off gallivanting around the US on various “business trips” and such. Coworker Sean got the grand opportunity to attend a conference in Austin this week and didn’t even have the decency to lie to me and tell me how horrible it really was. Instead, he regaled me with tales of fishing trips and mass tequila consumption, the only bright spot being that part of his tequila consumption involved Cuervo. Oh what fools these mortals be. Never settle for Cuervo. Ever. Cuervo is for Two-Dollar Margarita night at the local texmex. It’s not for sipping or shooting. That stuff will shrink your testicles and grown hair on your asscrack. You have to at least start with Patrón Silver or Herradura. Trust me on this one.

Then, to make matters worse, when coworker Sean does return from his boondoggle yesterday, he ends up winning the pair of Giants vs. A’s tickets that I’d spent all week building up raffle tickets for. Both him AND former-boss J won pairs. Former-boss J was in Dallas on his own work-related boondoggle. (Our company has an obsession with Texas. I swear. It’s unhealthy.) They both received exactly one raffle ticket yesterday. And when their names were drawn, it was all I could do not to shriek with indignation.

So today I sit here, fuming and drinking a Red Bull and sewing tiny little voodoo dolls, trying to pretend that they won’t be having a fantastic time at the ballgame tonight. The dolls are for when they do.

For the record…I’m not a Red Bull fan. I’m not one of those folks who thinks that these energy drinks really does something for me. ‘Cause honestly, I could get a bigger energy jolt from taking a daily multivitamin, folks.

I’m sipping this thing because it’s not half-bad (I’m a fan of sweet-tartness sometimes) and the psychosomatic effects are worth the buck ninety-nine. Especially on a dreary and dull Friday. A girl can only consume so much coffee before 9am.

How sad is it that I can’t wait for the weekend so I can…clean my house?

It’s true. I’m turning into an old woman right before your very eyes. Walking into my kitchen this morning, I glanced down at the floor and noted that it could really use a good hands-and-knees scrubbing. I scanned the room briefly and made mental notes of other things I’d like to get done…and god help me I got excited. I actually got those butterflies of excitement in my stomach. The hell?

Matters were made worse when I remembered that I had a brand-new unopened container of Clorox Wipes in my cupboard. I actually became giddy at that point. Oh the possibilities of Clorox Wipes and my dirty, dirty house!

Spring Cleaning never made me this happy before. Usually I look forward to it about as much as I look forward to the icy-cold speculum of a pelvic exam. This year it’s just another sign that I’m turning into my mother. Mind you, I love my mum dearly and I wouldn’t mind turning into her ’cause she rocks…but I’d be happy leaving behind certain things like a love of housecleaning and folding laundry. I’m just not ready for that yet. I’m still adjusting to the gray hairs!