Dumbassery Du Jour

This has been one of those days.

I woke up this morning with a pounding headache that morphed into a migraine before I even got my coffee started.  

For breakfast I had two Tylenol, two Advil, and two cups of coffee.  

That's never a good sign.

Since Dan went to work in dirty socks (because I haven't done laundry in like, days) I figured if I didn't get anything else done today, I should at least wash the man's socks.  I dumped a bunch of darks into the washing machine, filled the cap with Tide, sloshed some onto my finger...

and licked it off.

What.  The FUCK.

As my tongue was landing in the blue goo that was dripping down my hand, alarm bells started clanging in my head while my common sense screamed, "ABORT!  ABORT MISSION!  ABORT!"  

Danger, Dani!  Danger!!

I ran to the sink, spit until I was deeply dehydrated, rinsed my mouth 5647948373 times, brushed my teeth, spit a few more times, scrubbed my tongue with a wash cloth, and briefly wondered if I was going to die.

WHO FREAKING DOES THAT?

Dear Dani,

Remember all the years that you made fun of your mother for that one time that she unthinkingly licked the spoon after mixing up wet dog food with dry dog food?  You had at least 35 years of hearty guffaws at her expense regarding that one incident.  Who's laughing now?

Love,

Karma

Eventually, several cups of coffee later, I determined that death was not imminent. I managed to get dressed and get another load going without incident.  That amazing fete was short lived, however, because then?

This happened while I was making the bed.  (Which just proves that what I've always thought about making the bed was true:  It's stupid.  Because you're just going to climb back in it and mess that shit up again.)

I pulled up the sheet and the blankets, then pulled up the bedspread.  Rather than walking around to the other side of the bed to straighten everything out (ittttt's toooooo farrrrrrrrr!), I decided to fling myself ON to the bed and just straighten it out from THAT angle.  I have no idea what went wrong, as it's all kind of a blur, but somehow my execution didn't quite go as planned, because I literally flung myself right off the bed.  

I thought I would catch myself before I went over but seemingly lost my balance from a prone position (???  How??? HOW???) and wound up with my head and shoulders smooshed onto the floor with my feet kicking uselessly above my head.

The dogs were ecstatic.

Long story short, I couldn't pull myself back up on the bed so I had to roll the rest of me off, which caused Javi and Maisy to dance around my head with glee, barking and licking and panting happily in my face.  I laid on the floor for a few minutes, pondering life and the meaning therein, while Maisy dropped her wet and smelly stuffed hedgehog on my cheek, obviously assuming I was down there strictly for her amusement.

My one and only moment of enlightenment occurred when I thought to myself, from my vantage point of the bedroom floor, "Jesus, that's a lot of friggin' dog hair around the baseboards..."

Oh, shut up.  And bite me.

Being the eternal optimist that I've always been, half an hour later I was in the kitchen belting out loudly and off-key, "I will survive!  Oh, as long as I know how to love I know I'll be alive..."

Five seconds later I heard The Awesome One leaving his apartment with several other members of Team Awesome, who were up partying til dawn, singing obnoxiously, "I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give, I will survive... I will survive..."

Fuckers.

(Okay, this may or may not have happened last night:  Dan and I came home late from Dan's niece's birthday party.  As we were tromping into the hallway, Mr. Awesome opened his apartment door and said, "Hey!  It was really great meeting your son!  He's pretty cool!"

Me:  "He's awesome!"

Dan:  *dirty look at me*  "I'm glad you got to meet him.  He's a good kid."

Mr. Awesome:  "Yeah, I invited him in for a few minutes just to talk to him... Man, he's lucky to be stationed out there in San Diego!"

Me:  "Because San Diego is awesome."

Mr. Awesome:  *either not noticing that I was amusing the hell out of myself or deciding to ignore it*  "I was in Cali for a couple of months during some training.  I was at Pendleton and loved it out there."

Me:  "That's because California is awesome."

Dan:  *shoving me up the stairs to get my head out of the doorway and hopefully shut me up*  "How long were you out there?"

Mr. Awesome:  "Only two months, but I went every where I could on the weekends.  I loved it out there."

Me:  "Was it aaa..."

Dan:  *rudely interrupting*  "Cool!  Talk to you later, man!"

On second thought, that qualifies as Douchebaggery, not Dumbassery.  My bad.  Never mind.)

Moving right along...

I'd earned a break, after my morning of face planting, detergent licking, and douchebag roulette, so I filled a glass with ice, poured in some Diet Pepsi, and sat down with the doggies to watch the episode of Snapped! I'd recorded last night.

At the exact moment that I brought the cup to my lips to take a gulp of my soda, the ice, which had apparently frozen together at the bottom of the glass, burst upwards and smacked me in the teeth.  A fizzy, cold burst of diet Pepsi shot up my nose and down my front, making me feel as though I'd stuck my face into Old Faithful at Go Time.

As I sat there holding my cup, coughing and spluttering and wiping soda off my chin, I finally came to this conclusion: