John will attest to the fact that I have been in an especially crabby mood lately. Okay, "crabby" is being kind: I've been a bitch, and in no mood to deal with all these people that have to be in the same places that I want to be and encroaching on my personal space. I know it's unreasonable, but you must realize that in my brain, I'm screaming "OH MY GOD, GO THE FUCK AWAY!", so the barely-audible griping is significantly toned down.

I don't know what it is, exactly, although news of the impacts to the budget of the space program last week did not exactly have me wanting to buy the world a Coke. I could blame it on my worry over job security, or the fact that the Babymaking Thing is not going well (although if I'm barren and unemployed by the end of the year, I won't have to stress about how to pay for all the baby stuff, hahaha LOOK AT ME FINDING THE GOOD.)

The past two nights I've had frantic dreams: last night I was naked and back in high school (in the dream, not for real, although that *would* make for a great story), and the only thing I could find to cover myself was the barely-butt-covering skirt that was part of my drill team full dress uniform. Except that when I put it on, my old director Miss Kathy came out of nowhere and had me get in height line so we could practice high kicks. NAKED HIGH KICKS. The one from the night before I was having to transfer cracked eggs from...something to another, and the whites kept slipping through my fingers and I would have to start over.

I don't recall now why I started this post.

Oh yes, a list!
We went out on Friday night, and my excitement over tasty tacos and hearing good, live music (there is nothing like being ten feet from the stage and just letting the sound overtake you, interrupt your heartbeat, rattle your brain around) quickly gave way to The Pouts because the bar crowd was full of especially obnoxious, we're-so-naughty-for-being-in-a-bar-and-sipping-white-wine-spritzers-with-our-split-sole-dance-shoes-and-sequined-tops-type people. To entertain myself, I made a list of the characters I observed:

• Foreign Guy Whose Only Frame Of Reference For An American Bar Is "Urban Cowboy" (note: I reeeeally tried to get a pic of him, but it was too dark and he was not quite drunk enough to not notice the flash of my camera)
• Vanilla Ice's Less Classy Younger Cousin
• Go-Go Boots Girl (who is a fixture at this place) In A Dress So Short We Were A Sneeze Away From Seeing Vagina
• That One Really Hyper Curly-Haired Girl That Everyone Seemed To Have In Their High School Class Whose Exuberant Dancing Led Her To Elbow Me In The Back Of The Neck Really Hard
• Trying Too Hard White Dude
  
• That One Guy In White Dress Shoes And A Standalone Mustache That Always Tries To Show Off By Doing The Splits
  

Sitting in the corner, drinking my beer, and composing this list as a draft text message kept me out of trouble (read: kept me from kicking that one guy who insisted on standing three inches in front of me and SHAKING HIS ASS in that We Are Two Wild And Crazy Guys way and playing air guitar, although upon further reflection, he maybe deserved it).

Anyway, perhaps I should just keep my head down and mouth shut this week.