Editor's Note: This post is meant to be funny. However, at times, it may be unintentionally sad or even down-right depressing. The Sarcasm Goddess' cat is dying. Some of you may be saying, "Didn't that already happen?" The answer is yes, yes it did. Now her other cat is dying. And she's not really sure how one is supposed to deal with the death of two of her childhood cats within an eight-ish day period. It's entirely possible there may be a kitty miracle but...
Okay, The Sarcasm Goddess has to stop talking about this now.
Editor's Note P.S. This blog has no editor. Clearly. If it did, posts like this would never happen. I hope you all brought your helmets. Also, I think, according to proper grammatical procedures it should be, "This blog does not have an editor."
Editor's Note P.P.S. If this blog has no editor it means The Sarcasm Goddess was referring to herself in the third person in the first paragraph (and is apparently still doing it). That probably means something significant. Like when your heart is filled with grief you become detached from reality. That, or you really really really should never hit Publish without an editor's approval.
Or maybe you shouldn't blog when you're dead.
That will make more sense later.
I just got home from the longest eight hour trip. It wasn't long in the way eight hours is long, and not even the way twenty-seven hours is long, but rather the way eight-hours-seems-like-twenty-seven-hours is long. And no, I can't explain what that means or how that works. I'm not a mathematician, people.
I should probably also explain that I was on a car trip, not some other kind of trip involving illegal drugs. The only tripping I engage in is the walking up stairs variety and 27 hour car trips. However, if someone could give me a drug, legal or otherwise, that would reverse the death and impending death of my cats, I would take it.
However, I think someone did that once and it was called Pet Sematary, except maybe without the drugs, and it did not end well. I can't say for certain, though, because someone is hawking up a loogie in the pool and I'm distracted. Also? Vomiting.
Which is alarming, and also possibly miraculous, considering I'm dead. Or maybe vomiting is a typical day-in-the-life of a dead person.
I don't know. I've never been dead before.
By now, you are probably seven shades of confused. But don't worry, none of the stuff I've said so far really matters. I think this is called working through your grief and you should probably just skip everything up to this point. However, if you reached this point it means you probably did read the above, in which case, I'm sorry.
Okay, the real post is going to start now and the amount of sense it will make will likely be equal to or less than the amount of sense this post has made thus far.
(Oh, and in case anyone is wondering: I'm dead because when I got home from aforementioned car trip, I made coffee, momentarily thought we were out of creamer, had a nervous breakdown and died.)
Do you ever have one of those days you wish someone would come save you from your own stupidity?
Today wasn't one of those days. Obviously, everything went according to plan seeing as how I ended up dead and am now constructing the most brilliant blog post in the history of ever.
My I'm-too-dumb-to-function day happened a few days ago. After several comedic episodes, which were less "comedic" and more "good job, dumbass", I started making notes in my notebook because Hello! Awesome blog post!
Some of the notes I can read, some are illegible and the others? I have no idea what they mean. Like: scarf, Target, choke. I'm guessing that means I almost choked myself trying on scarves at Target. Which sounds pretty accurate since it's happened before. Except "Target" was my house and I did it while the husband was sleeping upstairs. I tried to scream for help but it's pretty hard to do when you can't breathe.
I'll spare you the details of the other idiotic stuff I did and skip to the part where I sat on my patio and lathered myself in Olive Oil, officially confirming to my neighbors that I am The Crazy they always suspected.
Why did I do this?
I think the better question is, why wouldn't I do this? Either way, though, the answer is my skin hates me and has decided to get really dry and Olive Oil is good for dry skin.
You know what's not good for Olive Oil coated skin? Lying out by the pool. Which is what I did approximately ten minutes after I basted myself because I have the memory of a person with a very bad memory and had forgotten I coated myself in an active frying ingredient. As the hot rays beat down on my skin I was all, "Mmmm, something's cooking." And then I was all, "It's you, dumbass."
I think that was the end of my dumbass shenanigans, unless ouch, wall hmngmhb means I later walked into a wall. Which is, of course, completely within the realm of possibility.
You know what else is within the realm of possibility? Inadvertently getting involved in an obscene phone call.
I would explain it to you but this post is already way too long to be a post about absolutely nothing. And also? Sadness. And also x 2? "O" day is almost over. So I'm just going to hit Publish and wish you all the very best of luck reading this. Don't forget your helmets and also probably a flotation device. You know, just in cases.