My unsupervised time, or, why it is a good thing I don't live alone

I am eating chocolate cake and strawberries for dinner, because no one is home and I can do whatever the Hay-ell I want.  

Ryan is at his yearly hot wheel convention (yes, there are enough collectors to fill an entire convention center and hotel!) Being the loving wife that I am, and knowing he had to blow his carefully saved  hot wheel money on a speeding ticket and new tires, I slipped a hundred in his wallet before he left. This gift was accompanied by a note that said "Know how I know you're gay? You go to hot wheel conventions and share hotel beds with 5 other hairy men." I was going to stop at "you go to hot wheel conventions" but I have it on good authority that gay men wouldn't be caught dead there.  Thank you 40 year old virgin. 

Some women are afraid to be home alone. I truly enjoy it. I think I used up all my fear as a child, when the Green Goo would attack me in the car, the monsters under the bed would attempt to grab me unless I leaped from the doorway to the bed, and something living in the toilet was going to attack my butt. I have my bevy of critters who stay within a 13.5 inch radius of me at all times. 

I am simultaneously banking, myspacing, facebooking, illegally downloading music, and eating a quesadilla. Who knew Christina Aguilera and Cake makes a pretty cool mash-up? I have hat hair from wearing my Disneyland elf cap earlier to Skylar's game, and the bangs are too short, my bad. Kind of a Scott Baio look.  However,  the back looks cute. My stylist told me the back of the A-line style is called a stack. I said, "So I'm stacked in the front AND back? Sweet!"

My wild single night ended at 10:30 pm (yawn) and I popped out of bed at 7:30 am, knowing that if I went back to sleep, I could kiss goodbye any productivity today. Besides, this means I can nap as early as 10 am! The new Beck cd and a cup of coffee keep me company. Yesterday at Trader's I found some healthy looking creamer boasting creamy vanilla flavor, no trans or hydrogenated fats, no hormones, blah blah. Turns out, it tastes like non fat milk with sugar! Sucker. I should have stuck to the creamer otherwise known as crack. Vanilla coffee mate, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't even drink coffee. This shit should be classified as an addictive controlled substance. Even Ryan, who drank his coffee black with sugar before he met me  and my morning meth, refuses to drink his coffee without it. (Apparently coffee that wasn't black was girly. Seriously, he thought this was a  man card violation. Need I  mention his other violations?) And coffee is not like sex, where even bad sex is better than none. If you've recently had coffee with vanilla crack in it, trust me, you'd rather do without than drink the shit I am forcing down.

My current method of brainstorming consists of this: write down every stupid thing I do, think or say that I think is funny, in no particular order. Edit, edit, edit. Remove cat from desk. Get yogurt. Listen to recorded messages I left myself on cell phone of things that seemed so funny I might forget them if they weren't documented immediately. Erase all but one. Protect yogurt from dairy-obsessed cat. Chew fingers. Go to the bathroom. Become completely distracted by examining pores in mirror. Stay in bathroom long enough to finish Chelsea Handler book.

* Can I just say, I heart Chelsea? She is totally my new role model.* 

Realize I left yogurt defenseless on desk. Return to find cat with head stuck in Trader Joe's Organic Lowfat Strawberry container. Restart Beck cd because somehow it ended already. Pay Pg & E bill. Move plant  to other side of desk shelf so cat does not decimate it jumping from the windowsill. Take yogurt cup to sink as cat tries to trip me in an effort to acquire yogurt cup. End up letting her lick it because she is so chubby and cute. Because who can resist a cat who watches the toilet flush and actually moves her head in a circle? Wow, is that cd over already? Again? 

9:21. Naptime!

After a grueling 3 hour nap, I am awoken by Ryan's call, telling me he is heading home. I spring into action. This action consists of sitting on the couch for the next 2-3 hours watching Chelsea Lately and the Colbert report.  Eventually I realize I am in great danger of pissing the entire day away, and go shower. This is followed by: more examining of pores,  blowdrying my hair upside down just to see what it looks like, (think:upsidedown Scott Baio in the front, party in the back) trying on bras I never wear and checking myself out, and realizing I'm hungry.

God, I love Sundays!