The worst thing in the world you could ever do to me would be to wake me up. To wit, both Saturday and Sunday, the loud-ass forces of evil outside my bedroom window conspired to awaken me nice and early, after which point I could not fall back asleep.
On Saturday, it was the loud queen across the way gossiping away at his kitchen window and then the sound of kids playing in a sandbox. Or so that's what I thought. But there isn't a sandbox anywhere outside the vicinity of my window. Only the basement, where the trash recepticles are kept, and the washer and dryer are. Go figure.
Then Sunday, it was the loud queen across the way once again making an appearance at the crack of dawn, and then someone screamed. Either that, or someone was choking a parrot. It was loud, it was piercing, and it was unpleasant.
I would just close the window, but then my room gets all stuffy. Guess I'll just go mad from sleep deprivation.
There was a marathon of "The Rachel Zoe Project" over the weekend. Rachel Zoe is a very pretty and very unhappy woman and very thin person who must be very hungry and must make a lot of money for doing not a whole lot. She dresses famous people. And has two assistants, to boot, one of whom is a cutie gay boy. And another cutie gay boy who does her make-up. And a chubby cheeked husband with ridiculous hair that no grown man should be sporting. How this woman made a career of picking out shoes and clothes for celebrities is a sheer mystery, the likes of which I'd like to solve so as to do the same.
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