Hermitting (Yes, That Is A Word)

Darla's breath smells so bad that I am fairly certain her saliva could be a new and undiscovered kind of acid. When she licks my face I fear that my skin will break out in horrible sores.

The doggie breath mints do nothing. What happened to truth in advertising? She refuses to fucking gargle with too. SELFISH DAMN DOG.

We are a sex-segregated house right now. Darla and Rooster are up here watching NFL Network with me and Buster is down in the cellar with J doing whatever the hell it is that they do. This arrangement works for me. Mainly because the only witnesses to my carbohydrate laden with no nutritional value dinner can be bought with Doritos.

Cheerfully bought I might add.

Though that may explain her breath.

I don't much feel like leaving the house lately. It isn't just football, though what a handy excuse and diversion, but I just feel hermitty. I don't really want to put in the effort to deal with people. I also don't want to wash my hair. Modern society is a little difficult to live in. I mean, sure our ancestors had to deal with inhumane working conditions, savage disease, inadequate housing and no indoor plumbing--but did anyone expect them to have good hair every day?

This could have something to do with our 29,000 or whatever days in a row of rain (which GOD BLESS the sportscasters of this great nation for repeating that over and over because I hate it when they show our climate in a positive light on television, I swear every time they show a sunny day in February 212 people from Michigan move here and we are FULL people). I do love the rain, it makes the city smell so clean, but it doesn't encourage the outdoorsiness so much. Well. Maybe it does to those sort of people. Hikers and such. But for lazy asses like myself it is like a big sign from the universe to sit at home and eat macaroni and cheese out of a plastic bin.

I am also unreasonably thirsty. Not that this has anything to do with my anti-social behavior (or does it? shall I consult Dr. Google? No, undoubtedly I will find something to say that some study found serial killers are VERY THIRSTY right before they snap and kill 84 people). But I can just chug bottle after bottle of water and I still want more.

So really, rain and football and the need to be near liquids and a bathroom have all added up to me curling up on my couch and being a slug.

You know where to find me.