This morning, as I dragged myself out of bed, I was oh so relieved that I'd set my alarm to go off early so I'd have time to sit in my freezing car and let it defrost without worrying that I'd be late for work. And when I say "dragged myself out of bed," that is exactly what I mean, because this morning was rough. So rough, in fact, that when I looked at myself in the mirror I screamed and ran away because I was SURE a zombie was staring back at me all "brains brains hungry hungry BRAAAAAIIIIIIINS!" and if you want to wake up fast? A zombie lusting for your brains first thing in the morning will do the trick. Trust. Me.
Anyway, as I showered, calmly and without forgetting an important step like conditioning my hair, I thought, "Haha! I will not be running late this morning for I have beaten the system with a clever ruse of SETTING MY ALARM CLOCK for a time which will allow me ample time to get ready! So smart, am I!" The Universe, however, had other plans. I was too cocky. And The Universe loves nothing more than to smack a cocky bitch down. Trust. Me.
After my shower, I had to venture out to the kitchen to make sure my coffeepot hadn't shut itself off again. Yes, it is still doing that. No, I have not gotten a new one because I have it on good authority that I will be getting one from Christmas. If I'm still on Santa's Nice List which, let's face it, is iffy at best. Trust. Me.
So, as I'm walking back from the kitchen (FYI, coffeepot had turned self off), I notice something strange on the ottoman. Cat vomit! At first I thought it was poo, because of how long and skinny it was (sorry) but on closer inspection it was definitely vomit. I'd just like to take this moment to thank Phoebe AND The Universe for making me late this morning because you can't just LEAVE cat vomit on something and clean it up later. So that is why I spent part of my very important, VERY limited, getting-ready-time running around the apartment in my bra and underwear (don't worry, Heidi wasn't home), trying to find the Magical Pet Stain Remover Spray because it's never in the same spot and then soaking up a pleasant mixture of stain remover and cat vomit from the ottoman. There's a shitload of carpet she could have puked on (she's done it before, I know she knows it's there) and yet . . . she picks the ottoman. Thanks a lot, Cat. I wanted nothing more than to start my day with The Cat Vomit Surprise. Just know, though, that I plan on paying you back by torturing you with the vacuum cleaner and a vocal impression of the bagpipes, both of which fill you with ears-back-tail-poofed-running-for-the-hills terror. Oh, it'll be so fun.