Oh, Life...

Whoa, guys. This week has flown by in a blur of coffee-fueled self indulgence and sloth (coffee is in no way necessary for my current lifestyle, except that I like to be alert while I sit on the sofa and watch my 'stories'). I apologize for the lack of posts. I guess the pressure is ON for this one to be entertaining. Ugh. Anxiety. To be honest, the only reason I continue to write for the masses (Ha. Of voices in my head, maybe) despite said Anxiety is because I keep getting feedback from readers that is great for my self esteem ("We love your blog!", "You're so funny!", "You're a really great writer!", "Did we mention we think you're aggressively good looking?!"). Well, that last one was more inferred than explicitly stated, but I'm taking it to the bank anyway. Sue me.

Oh, self esteem. My mother thinks I have too much of you. Which I suppose explains her ongoing crusade to utterly defeat and humiliate you. Keep fighting the good fight. Stiff upper lip, and all that. Speaking of Mother, earlier this week I had a nightmare (Or "daymare"? Or whatever it's called when you nap mid-afternoon like you're still in kindergarten. Look, I have to do something between snack time and recess, get off my back), in which said mother was completely and totally awful to me. I'm serious, she effing hated my guts and I felt like Cinderella and she was the evil stepmother and I had to sleep in a broom closet and there were certainly no adorable, chubby, singing mice named Gus to stop me from flinging myself out of a window in a fit of despair. But there was a Prince Charming, right? No dice, folks. Anyway, when I awoke from my dream, I immediately sent my mom a panicked text message that went something along the lines of "WHENAREYOUCOMINGHOME? I JUST DREAMED THAT YOU HATED ME AND YOU WERE REALLY MEAN AND PLEASE DON'T BE MEAN WHEN YOU GET HOME BECAUSE I'M FEELING VERY FRAGILE AND MIGHT BURST INTO TEARS!"

Yea. Her response went something like "Dude, WTF is wrong with you? I think you need to say some prayers and find Jesus". Because that's a TOTALLY legit solution to any given problem, aaaand you're not crazy at all, lady (Except you think that watching True Blood means we're all going to hell, and that gay marriage is some kind of diabolical conspiracy. And that makes you a little bit Whackadoodle). I'm sorry, Mom. I'm just kidding, kind of. Er, anyway...

Little Brother started law school this week, which makes me feel all kinds of idle and useless. But kudos to him, nonetheless. Personally, I would rather be brutally mauled by a hippopotamus in a tutu (and if you read one thing today other than this blog, let it be the article you find on the other side of that link, please God) than go to law school, but that's just me. FYI, I just did a Google Image Search for "hippo in a tutu" and OH EM GEE, the giggles! So that's where I'm at right now. My brother is diligently studying The Law, whereas I spend my days googling fat animals in funny costumes. Unique decisions, Marisa. Unique decisions all around.

Thankfully, I will have at least a few hours of gainful employment through next week. Our neighbors/long time family friends (and may I add, esteemed parents of the vivacious and bubbly ball of fabulousity that is my 'little sister' Mary Ann) are going out of town, and I will be lording it over their bar (The Copper Monkey on Conti Street in the French Quarter) until they return, trying really hard not to massively eff up their finances. I'll be there in the mornings-early afternoons, so if anyone wants to stop by and have lunch or even partake in some day drinking (I won't judge, because, you know, glass houses and such), please do, it's really a cool bar & grill and some of the daytime patrons are just precious (such as Peanut, an extremely grizzled and excessively dirty old gentleman sailor who arrives each morning around 11 and just hangs out being excellent all day long. I'm trying to work up the courage to ask him for pirate lessons, but that particular obsession of mine is a quirk for another day). But yea, I've got that going for me. Since I really don't spend enough time hanging out in bars. Did I mention that I get to handle large amounts of money? Seriously, I get to lock myself into the office area of the bar and distribute lovely green stacks of bills. And all I can think about as I do so is taking fistfuls of cash and tossing it into the air with wreckless abandon as I giggle maniacally, you know, as people do. I don't know why anyone trusts me to do stuff that's even remotely important. The mind reels.

Anyway, I'm off to see a man about a hippo. In a tutu. Christ. I mean...I just...I can't. I'm sorry.