Harley shat on the floor this morning. Completely shat. Like, an entire shat. Not just, "Oh. Wait a minute. Forgot one." An actual, entire, let-me-just-squat-here-and-shat shat. And also not, like, outside the litterbox. More like, outside the bathroom, across the apartment, and directly in front of the apartment door.
Did I raise her? Because I forget. Perhaps next time I go, I'll just shat in her bed.
And then The Fiance tells me I forgot to close the patio door before I left for work this morning, and told me someone broke in, in which my entire heart quit beating momentarily. I actually heard my blood stop flowing. But before he told me he was kidding, and before I temporarily wanted to shave off his eyebrows for giving me such a heart attack, I thought, "Perhaps that is who shat on our floor."
Speaking of nothing, I'm heading to Milwaukee tomorrow to frolic with eBFF Erin. and I'm bringing my bike. Because if we stop braiding hair and pillow-fighting long enough, maybe we'll go outside. I'm rather excited about this venture. It's been in the making for quite some time. We decided to re-sign our friendship contract after our first meeting, and take it to the next level - hanging out. I know. Huge. But I draw the line at sharing chapstick.
And contracts? Did you hear Isaiah Washington got canned from Grey's Anatomy? It's not really a surprise, seeing as though he's a homophobic prick, but still. I'm concerned for my show. I feel it's petering out a little. I love you, Grey's Anatomy. Love you...
And remember the wedding invite mishap? It will all be puppies and rainbows come Monday, when I can pick up the corrected cards, and paste them onto my invites, which have all been stamped and addressed, by the way. They will be in the mail by mid-week. And that, people, is the most exciting thing to date. Because then all I have to worry about is everything else.