Good Morning Sunshine.

So this morning I woke up. Late. My dog has foul diarrhea. Doggie diarrhea is impossible to pick out of grass with a plastic bag. Especially when the plastic bag has a hole in it. Good morning to you too, warm gooeyness in my hand.

My boyfriend is still in bed. I am going to be late for work. To pass the time I put on my make up. The boyfriend is out of bed now, prancing around in his underwear like I care. He hops in the shower. Begin the hair straightening process. WHAT THE? Flat iron cold? But it's on? WHAT! It's broke. Ask/shout/hysterically hyena scream at boyfriend. Did you break my flat iron? He says no. But I have my suspicions. He tries to be cute. I think back away, or I will cut you. I want to run and get a new flat iron right then and there. But I am already twenty minutes late for work. Instead I cuss. A lot. Look at hair which was totally relying on flat iron to make look pretty. Cuss more.

I think hair care appliances are the only thing that completely just go capoot. They have no warning light to say hey, going dead here. No sputtering/squeaking/screeching to say hey I'm very unreliable right now. They just work and then they don't. Wednesday 8:30 pm - workie. A mere 12 hours later on Thursday morning 8:30 am - no workie.

But back to the fun. I went to put on my shoes. I find this strange bump/bug bite/boil/pustule on the side of my foot. That's right I said pustule. ON. MY. FOOT. Disgusted yet? Me too. I'm afraid to touch it. Afraid to squeeze it. Hell, I am afraid to even make eye contact, or mention it here for fear that it will suddenly sprout a head and start devouring my foot. The boyfriend mentions it's probably a zit. Zit? On my foot? Right, what the hell do you know. Flat iron breaker.

Once I finally get to work, with my frizzy unstraight hair in pony tail. My pustule on foot. I proceed to check my email. And I read this : Blah blah blah flubbity flub the project you haven't heard hide nor hair of for three weeks is due. Today. IN TWO HOURS.

Joy.

Oh and then my pen explodes on me. Ink. Everywhere.

So for those of you keeping score:

Thursday - 742
Tweets - 0

And it's only 9:15 am.

It's okay though, because it looks like I can just sign up for one of these.