That in Which the Hapless Heroine Ventures From the Domicile

Avid followers will know that I have, as of the last, oh, eight months, become more and more of hermit, preferring to stay within the concrete moat and four walls of my residence. I do consider it an adventuresome day when I've made it past the dog food on the west side, or past the duck food on the east side. It's nearly unheard of for me to undertake the trek to the mailbox. The neighbor girls today said, "Wow, you guys get a lot of mail." Given the choice, I am alarmingly content to not leave the house. Work doesn't count because that is an obligation, but even there, I prefer to leave my room only for the bathroom. I even asked the principal if we could buy me a copier because then I wouldn't ever have to leave the classroom, ever. (He said, no.)

I don't like leaving the house because there's no where to go that's going to be fun. Plus, whenever I get home, it's like freaking puppy porn over here with all of the humping that has to happen before we can get in the house. Clark on Randi. Earl on Randi. Clark on Earl. Randi on Earl. The other day Earl was going at Randi so hard I thought he might have a heart attack and I had to sit in the truck for five minutes before I could stop laughing. It's just seems better to avoid the hump-o-rama in the first place by staying put.

Today, however I had to make several treks that took me away from my domestic shelter. The first was to Urgent Care, since I didn't sleep last night, spending the time trying to get Randi and Earl to snuggle closer so I would stop shivering and throwing off the covers so my sweat could evaporate before I got cold again. At Urgent Care the guy tried to tell me I weighed 20lbs more than I weighed last week. I said, Chunky girl knows she chunky, but I ain't that chunky. He reluctantly examined the calibration which was way off. (I tried to get him to put that I weighed 175, but he wouldn't.) Then I had to go to Target to get my prescriptions. Where, I saw, a girl who had a hairdryer tattooed behind her ear. That, is fucking stupid. The rest of my time at Target was spent trying to find someplace to sit, since my leg went asleep and I didn't think sitting down on the floor in the middle of the aisle would be tolerated at such a fine establishment as Tarjhay. Which is another reason I don't ever leave the house because my leg is always going numb.

Then, I had to pick up the Snickerdoodle. I always start Snickerdoodle Slumber Party the same way: by reminding Emmah Snickerdoodle that her momma left her and doesn't love her. Emmah responds by looking down at everything around her. I always get the distinct impression that she feels that she is 'slumming' here at the Saratoga Animal Shelter and that nothing meets her precious designer dog standards. She's always like, "My mom, would not approve of this. My mom, would do this. My mom..." Well, this ain't your momma's house, bitch. And this time, my mom's got her hair cut short, so I can't even trim up her mullet.