Running on Jesus juice fumes

I think Jesus is a fair man.

Yesterday I worked 20 hours STRAIGHT and with his crazy miracle working skills, he enabled me to not only wake up on time for my "regular job" but somehow, I'm still forming sentences.

And for the most part they're all English.

The last 9.5 hours were the most grueling 9.5 hours, like, ever.

I didn't even have time to drink water.

Or pee.

Or breathe.

Last night was inmotherfuckingsane.

And somehow I managed to wake up at 7:30, after 3 hours of sleep, and make it into work by 8am.

I probably would have promised someone my first born child in order to stay in bed and get the sleep that's so much needed right now.

I've got this weird thing though, with my "regular job", which really, should be called my career, but I've convinced myself that I'm not old enough to have a career, because that's like, completely grown up-ish and old, but I've been here like, 7 years, and I still totally love it, and I passed all my big girl tests in a hell bent effort to advance my education and become more of an asset to my company and OH MY GOD, I'M SO TALKING GROWN UP!

Icky.

Anyway, as I was saying, I've got this weird thing with my "regular job" about not letting my bar tending interfere in any sort of way because, this "regular job" I speak of, is my career, and it totally takes priority over a part time bar gig.

So, as dirty as my figurative balls may get from dragging in the dirt, HARDCORE, I can't ever bring myself to call in sick because I have to prove to myself that I can totally handle everything I've so stupidly piled on my plate.

And that, people, brings me to NOW. I'm here. Working. *cough* diligently.

I was even on time and had my hair done.

I threw a glittery headband on the top of my noggin because:

A.) Obnoxious glitter sparkling a-top my head distracts from the blood shot, droopy eyes.

2.) It also distracts from my dry, peeling face. Like I've said, sleep makes people pretty and skinny and I ain't gettin none of it, homies.

C.) Glitter camouflages the beer that's still in my hair from last night.

4.) Glitter looks fun. Fun equals refreshing. Refreshing equals ready to fucking rock and roll.

And ready to fucking rock and roll just permeates professionalism and awesomeness.

I've ingested an entire pot of coffee and I'm limping all over the office, but damn it, I'm here. In a totally fake good mood because I have priorities people!

My lower extremity's feel like they've been bludgeoned.

Like that scene in Misery where Kathy Bates takes a sledge hammer to James Caan's feet.

Ew. I know. It makes you cringe to replay that scene. But sadly, that's exactly how I feel.

I've done some hard core workouts in my day. I've ran many-a-miles and I'm here to tell you that nothing, no, NOTHING, physically beats your ass into a bloody motherfucking pulp worse than bar tending.

Don't roll your eyes at me in doubt! It's TRUE.

I'm not a whiner, and most the time I play like a champion, but I'm one whiney, angry, hurty, crying, stabby bitch after bar tending.

A few things have made this day delightful despite my lack of REM cycles.

1. I got my five new lip glosses in the mail today. I'm sure you're all dying to know, so the flavors are as follows. (In no particular order because I love all my little preciouses just the same)

• Lemon drop.


• Taffy go lucky.


• Twisted citrus.


• Bananas. (This shit is bananas. b-a-n-a-n-a-s. Couldn't resist)


• Slice of heaven.

How can you NOT buy something called a slice of heaven!? Honestly.

HAVE YOU NO SOUL!?

To my suprise I didn't have ANY of these flavors. Out of all 2.7 million lipglosses I own, none were even remotely close to my new little treasures.

Lemon drop reminded me of the most fragrant shots that I make at the bar. They look like sunshine and smell like bunnies. Or fresh lemons.

Whatever.

Taffy go lucky sounded delectable. And sticky.

Twisted citrus reminded me of twisted sister and who doesn't want some twisted sister in, on or around your lips!?

I WANNA ROCK!

Bananas makes me think of Gwen Stefani, gorillas and potassium.

Last, but certainly not least, A slice of heaven. Need I say more?

Good job naming your lipglosses, Victorias Secret.

You black demon, marketing assholes.

The ups man ALSO brought me a white and orange hoodie from Vs that says "Beavers" all down the back. And get this, the lettering is velvet. So, technically.... That would be.... Furry Beavers. Which, lets just be honest here folks, that's fucking comedy.

If you can't understand why that's comedy then you must have lived under a rock for quite some time.

Hopefully ya'll know the movie Misery too... Otherwise, It may just seem like some crazy-coffee-cracked out-sleep-deprived-no-sense-makin-furry-beaver-hoodie-wearin-lipgloss-addict just posted a blog about entirely nothing really.

That's odd.....

Gnight.

Sometimes the universe is one bi-polar bitch.

Come.
As you are.
As you were.
As I waaaant you to be.
As a friend.
As a friend.
As an oooold enemy.

*****************************

No, the party don't start til I walk in.
Don't stop.
Make it pop.
Dj blow my speakers up.
Tonight, I'ma fight.
Til we see the sunlight.
Tik toc on the clock.
But the party won't stop.

*****************************

I feel like makin love.
Duh nuh. Duh nuh. Duh nuh.
I feel like makin love.
Duh nuh. Duh nuh. Dun nuh.
I feel like maaaakin looove toooo yoooou.

*****************************

A long December
And it's easy to believe.
Maybe this year will be better than the last.

*****************************

Walkin down this rocky road.
Wonderin where my life is leading.
Rollin onnnnn, to the bitter end.
Finding out along the way.
What it takes to keep love living.
You should know
How it feels my friend.
Oooooh, I want you to staaaay.
Oooooh, I want you today.
Cuz I'm ready for love.
Oh baby I'm ready for love.

******************************

I CAN'T SLEEP PEOPLE.

CAN'T.

I'M SOOOOO SLEEPY, YET FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON, MY SUBCONSCIOUS HATES ME AND WON'T LET MY BRAIN STOOOOOP-PUH ALREADY.

Sleep makes people pretty and skinny. It's a proven fact, and I ain't gettin NONE of it.

Why?!

This week's been kinda crazy.

It's been filled with sunday afternoon minor breakdowns, cramtastic studying, test taking, Salt lake driving, Thai food, running, lifting, tequila, good friends, celebrating, beer, wings, more running, more lifting, sqeaky loud co-workers that can't use their big girl words so they just make lots of uber annoying high pitched squeels all the time, beer, panties, beer, birthdays, Mexican food, furry slippers, coffee, picture taking, beer, crazy minded creepos coming into my office and threatening to sue, coffee, nutella and a pretty navy blue nail polish.

Notice how sleep didn't make an appearance at all during my week?


Instead I have my own personal dance club running all nighters in my head.


Playing hits from the 70's, 80's, 90's and nowzies.


I feel cranky and stabby.


More so than usual.

What if I'm developing a sleeping disorder that's leading to an anger problem that's intertwined with some sick twisted overeating issue that results in making me feel fat and worthless, hence making me depressed and just wanting beer and more comfort food!?

Do you SEE the vicious cycle?!

Last night I was pretty blunt and very forward/aggressive with my sisterinlaw by saying "You're uppity bitch friend is here and if she so much as blinks at me wrong I'm going to fucking punch her in her throat"

She wrote me back saying "You make me laugh"

She gets me. Sometimes. Hopefully.

In a desperate attempt to self medicate myself with retail therapy I bought like, 5 new lip glosses yesterday, and some knee high socks that have a picture of a frothy ice cold mug of beer covering the calf and they say "cheers" on the feet.

Lip gloss and beer socks.

Oh and some little booty sleeping shorts that are all furry weird, with rainbow leopard and zebra print all over them. It's like the 80's fucked the zoo. They're the balls.

Oh and a bracelet that says "I heart boobies"

I was gonna buy a Venus fly trap, but it was brought to my attention that in the description of the product it was only a 2 inch high, baby terrarium.

What the hell am I supposed to do with 2 inches?

(That's what she said)

Seriously though. How am I supposed to grow a beef eating monster plant with only a 2 inch clearance?

Total bullshit.

I don't want a plant that would get full off one fruit fly.

I want a plant that I could feed fucking gerbils to and threaten my dogs with if they even so much as place one grimey paw on my couch.

Ok universe, I'll trade you one roid-raging-mamal-eating plant for good uninterrupted solid sound sleep.

Complete with all the fancey REM cycles and shit.

Do we have a deal?

A celebration is in order.

Today I PASSED THE 1717 - AGENT'S ESCROW EXAM - PART II

This is the part where I'd probably try to be funny and witty and all sorts of what not, but to tell you the truth my brain hurts.

I think I've forgotten how to use my normal big girl words.

Instead I'm just going to let you know that today was off the chain. I avoided parking fines in Salt Lake City, I passed my final test, I met up with my brother for lunch, (he suggested a Thai restaurant and I've been dying to try Thai food so I was totally stoked about that) and being the generous, loving, kind hearted brother he is, he even bought my lunch.

Stay tuned to my blog. I know how much of a slacker I've been lately. I promise to improve.

Until then, salud.