In Which KiKi Is Crazy Cat Lady, Without Cats, Insert Dogs.

So Scoot texted me the other night, needing a huge favor. I was delerious from a night of not-sleep followed by a 3:30 a.m. surrender to insomnia wherein I decided it was going to be a bitch of a day at work whether I went into the office at 8:00 a.m. or at 4:00 am. so I resigned to the heinousness and went in at 4:00. Actually got a lot done. It may be evidence that I chat too much at the cube farm and don't transpond enough.

I came home at 11-ish thinking I'd sleep (I know!) (But you know what, shut up. It made sense in the delerium). I actually did lounge in my bed with Modus for awhile. But then I, for whatever reason, seized awake realizing I had not heard back from the locksmith I've had to call eleven (11) times [and I state the current tally, each time I call in to them asking Where, For F*#^'$ Sake Is The Dumb Bastage To Fix The Lock You Charged Me $150 To NOT Rekey After My Cheating Husband Left Me, Bitches?]. And I'm not exaggerating when I say eleven (11). 

And then I fulfilled the favor I agreed to do for Scoot, which was have her dogs Lucy and Abbie come over for an overnight playdate with Mogleydog and Indyboy. Yeah, unsupervised in the dog run. Oh, and enough. They're all over 18 in dog years, they've all had their reproductive organs totally removed, and we've got the cone pictures to prove it, so quit. And if anyone calls it dogcest because Scoot and I are sisters, a.) You're more obnoxious about the dog/human divide than I AM, and b.) Indy is officially Boog's dog, so he's not a cousin. 

I got some Tight End time in (that means soup at Paradise and unbloggable words of endearment from Reboyfriend - the only thing that felt as sweet as sleep), and he left me with a bunch of fricking cute swag clothes he snagged me from his moto friends. Rather than sleep, I chose to do this:

...and drive around the park. I looked completely ridiculous. It wasn't like the times I roll down the windows and let Indy flop his mug out while I tool around Sugarhouse, where a girl's Malamute can get her more attention than a boob job in the eyes of the bearded, back country granola cuties in 4Runners around here. This was like Molly Shannon in Year of the Dogs sputtering around town with forty animals climbing over each other, and making me look grossly irresponsible and lacking in judgment. That's when I decided to go home, take a Unisom, and make some Z's. It was glorious. I took Mo home to his pop first, then went home, let Scoot's girls up into bed with me, and passed out with a pitbull licking the bottom of my big toe.

*The insomnia I suffered, by the way, was due to sudden panic about sucking at my job, being left by my starter husband, gaining back the weight I lost being devastated by it, needing Botox already because the stress has caused my forehead to slip, and becoming exactly like that neighbor lady of Reboyfriend's in 15 years. 

That hag owes me an Ambien (which I wished I had instead of stupid STUPID over the counter Unisom, STUPID) and two paid sick leave hours.