I'm Slowly Being Swallowed Alive

For those of you that have shown concern for Crazyman's face, thank you and please know that just like a lizard, his bottom lip grew back overnight. I mean, his lip didn't grow back like a lizard, it grew back like a lizard's tail. No, wait, it grew back like a lip... oh who cares, I'm lying anyway.

Last night I found out that there are a couple things I should refrain from doing, especially on a Sunday night after I've had 12 days away from the office.

First, I should not drink caffeine with dinner when I did not get up until 9:00 in the morning. Secondly, I should not eat peanut butter cups in bed while trying to fall asleep. Mostly? I should not watch a weird combinations of shows that include Bret Michaels, Scott Baio and shows that include forensic evidence proving some dude killed his wife.

Because what that culminates to is me freaking out because 30 minutes into the new season of Rock of Love (which is on a tour bus, seriously) I realized the show was on and had to change over from 48 Hours Hard Evidence. And because I came in late and seriously? The girls are freakier and skankier this season (who knew THAT was freaking possible) I had to wait until it re-aired an hour later, because come on, like I was going to be able to sleep if I didn't know. So I laid there awake through Scott Baio's new show "Confessions Of A Teenage Heartthrob" or some crap and numerous commercials about a show called "Tool Academy" or something like that that features shirtless guys acting like every slimebag that hangs out in dance clubs and during all this I totally hated myself, but I just stayed awake, watching.

When I fell into a fitful sleep it was ravaged with completely frightening dreams about a serial killer team that was comprised of my husband and Scott Baio, whom had already killed one of my baby sitters and was now after me. And in my dream, I awoke from the dream to find out that I had been so scared that I smeared peanut butter all over my bedside table (freaking PB cups at night) and I kept telling my husband how scared I was and then I REALLY woke up and I was really, really scared because my alarm (that I never use) went off and it was blaring "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag" and you know that is jacked up.

When I walked out to grab this morning's Diet Coke only to realize that we were still down to one bathroom and that my toilet was still sitting in the dining room, I was extremely relieved to be going to work. Which is where I'm sitting right now being swallowed alive by the pile of complete crap that is sitting on my desk and the list of totally weird shit that I'm working my way through. And I think it's the stress of thinking about that pile and that list that made all of that happen in my mind last night, ALL NIGHT. Because I assure you, I have no fear of my husband and Scott Baio tracking me through a cemetery and into a church going collectively by the killer name of "Mr. Marshall" (WTF?) to hack me into little pieces.

Come on, that's just crazy talk....

Right?

Right???