Best Faceversary ever with free not-concussions and chopped off thumb and all
After a weekend of high fever and also a sick husband and sick cat; the new week started on Monday, 5 o’clock in the morning at the sound of what looked like a huge music corps outside our bedroom window.
Later it appeared that it was my Faceversary (8y) and the free video gift I received from FB was not very full of all happy momentos from those eight years, I saw only three of them: image R and me, tarot image, image R took of Richard Gere, well that’s my sum of eight years Facebook. Thanks Facebook. Awesome. I think you missed a few photos.
Uhh, according to Jack, they’re actually not. Oh, swell; that’s a real punch in the face there (no picture available). In between must have been really lousy years I guess, I can’t remember a lot of it because I probably was busy making, you know….those black round things with a wick in the middle of it which you have to light and then it explodes, from which I can’t mention the actual word for it otherwise they are going to ban me from the internet. They do that with normal citizens you know; when you are a terrorist or other kind of criminal everything seems to be allowed for them, but if you’re normal (well they can’t know everything) you are busted. Maybe we’re the easy prey for the social media stalk patrol world, I don’t know. Anyhoo I did not succeed in making them, because you have to have a higher education for making them as far as my judgment goes because I kept blowing up my kitchen even before I got the damn thing to work. Which, for now, means that banks are save.
So given the fact that I have had a shitty life the previous ten years; it certainly could not have been the case that they also sent me a huge music Corps all the way to the Netherlands to celebrate the happy Facebook life I have.
And indeed they apparently did not, because the music I heard was the almost as relaxing sound from a potential brass band from a puking IsabellaCutieCat, which I can assure you, you don’t want to hear after you yourself have had a sick weekend and were glad you didn’t have to vomit yourself.
Also at 5 o’clock I was still stoned from the previous barking (=coughing) nights I always have when I’m sick with help of a bit of fever too. I blew up my brain in such a manner, it now has a tennis court of it’s own. It totally wipes out whatever was living in your brain, which sometimes can mean a good thing but as I was about to experience later that day, not so much.
After cleaning 29 parts of upchuck spread across our bedroom floor and bedroom hall, kind of like participating in a game show for mentally retarded husbands in the-clean-your-cats-puke-challenge; we were instantly wide awake and we were both wondering what our life purpose again was, which probably needed some proper adjustment updates since we were being chronically stalked by banks and sometimes by puke too, leaving me all of a sudden with this crazy idea to, from now on, collect all the puke that would be coming our way and make one of these frozen cakes then filled with upchuck and then send it to some Bleeping (=F****) banks with our most sincere gratitude for making our life the most joyful existence experience one can get. Well..; I like this idea. Although it maybe isn’t such a brilliant concept, because I rather see our beloved Persian pussy in an ultimate health condition so I have to come up with something else real soon.
Anyway at half past six I finally conceived 10 minutes of sleep when suddenly someone stuck his head around the corner of our bedroom to announce another round of puke up thing challenge; so so far our so much needed night sleep.
I really haven’t got a clue how the Universe is always concocting this well deserved synchronicity deal of when your are or have been sick and then after or during you are going to be exposed to the most dangerous, extreme and ridiculous kind of happenings or opportunities as some people like to call them. Well for these kind s of people: I DON’T LIKE BLIEPING HAPPENINGS SLASH OPPORTUNITIES SO BEAT IT!
Because as soon as I had breakfast (I didn’t even choke in it God bless) I tripped somehow over my sleeping bag which lies on the floor in the living room and which during the day is functioning as my hyper modern designed office, and making me bounce with a rotten speed against our living room brick wall where I got pulverized against for the next 20 minutes or so.
That was when I instantaneously realized “this is gonna be an awesome day” and I was thinking that maybe it would be better to hide in the closet for the occasion before I kill people (with people I mean close family members; I hardly meet people in RL: I’m a hermit most of the week) or I break one or two, three, four of my own body part limbs and stuff or poke my eye out (that sometimes happens).
I should have listened to myself, but then again I am well known for ignoring my own advises, as stated on my about page, because apparently not long after that I almost set fire to the kitchen and let my mung beans lunch burn severly and I had to open all the windows of the house which caused a major trauma for our already sicky pussy cat kitten because of screaming and yelling, shouting and howling obnoxious little Post-Millennial whining worms in the form of already married, guru kindergarten children things; also known as future 7 year old millionaires and world take over twerp arrogants. (We have a school in front of our house)
So Isabella panicked and ran upstairs to hide and because these little dip chits produce these terrible loudness, my baby pussy clanged on some doors on her way while thinking “where the F did I end up in; lunatic family; well I saw she was thinking that.
After I went for a short toilet intermezzo, from the right corner of my eye I saw her, still in panic condition, stand straight against one bedroom door to open it and went in. This took place in a super quick view while I was entering my own bedroom to look if she still was hiding there, ofcourse she was not because she just entered the other room, but that obviously didn’t stop me from entering my bedroom and with an immense bang I hit my head against the door frame because I swept my face from the right to the left, which caused a major earthquake which everybody in this neighborhood could feel. I even saw people phone in the streets to call their love ones if they were ok.
I must have been knocked out for a second and suddenly saw myself flying amongst all these flying furniture, pieces of clothes, cardboard boxes, books, glasses and fly around lip gloss; I was flying around in circles and it sure did look like I was teleported to Hogwarts; but it also could have been that I just had to clean the mess on this particular floor. Probably the last.
The next thing I know was this handsome doctor who checked my eye pupils and let me walk a straight invisible line which I probably could have done perfectly even after a bottle of vodka (if I should drink alcohol, but I don’t so we’ll never really know, but despite that I can assure you: I could do a perfect straight line).
On the moment I asked the cute doctors name, my not-concussion-headquake thing slowly turned into a déja vue episode which reminded me of centuries of business and money discussions which got me almost throw up, but I didn’t because I didn’t want that also on this failed day record.
“What are you doing here?”, I asked surprised: “I was drawn to the screaming repeated words ‘concussion concussion concussion concussion'”, he said which apparently made me sound like a needle stuck in a groove.
Hardly after my half an hour recovering, Jack found it appropriate to shake my brain up for another round of pseudo positivity to make my day. The wonderful announcement that our Bank (well not exactly OUR bank; it’s their bank, but it should be MY bank!) wanted a tête-à-tête about some outstanding debt we got and which they still stalk us for. Now I understood why suddenly this huge bump was growing on the front of my head.
In the meantime we still go through life as derelicts who benefit from 70% off bankruptcy sales from the local garden center which logically we noticed wayyyy too late. Despite that we couldn’t go anyway because we all had the flu. It seemed that in the previous days they even had to shut down the store because of too many people who were feeling like being trapped in a flat fish can (no clue how you call that in English).
Daughter had visited the store yesterday and despite empty shelves she found some awesome Christmas ornaments which I could not afford in December, but now with the major discounts I totally could.
So glad she had been able to app me some pictures of what I maybe wanted to have and after being thrilled and having jumped up and down the divan yelling “yayy I’m going to buy my ornaments after all isn’t that amazing!” I became even happier (NOT!) when she decided to NOT go stand in line for the checkout because there were thousands of people waiting to get their acquisition stuff paid because she too was still a bit sicky so she went home. Well DUHH.
So on Monday with “new day; new chances” in mind, husband propound to still go himself to the Garden Gnome Center despite the fact that he was still ill and could barely look out of his eyes and was walking like a total zombie through the house interspersed with his home office.
It’s a good thing clients didn’t get to see his actual appearance because I think that would have caused some major consequences for us, but mostly for them and even more for the national psychiatric branch.
Under instruction guidance from daughter he insisted to go anyway despite my advice not to go, because it really was of absolute none importance to get Christmas stuff. But heyy, I’m Celesta: nobody ever takes my advice around here, myself included.
Exact Twenty minutes took husbands quick shopping adventure to the garden center and rejoiced me, while I was standing in the kitchen cutting raw chicory, with the notice that the garden center was closed. That’s when I cut my thumb off and daughter yelled “eeewww I don’t want chicory with blood and thumb” and “oh I forgot to tell you guys that when I was in the garden center yesterday they had broadcast that it was the last day they were open. <BIG SILENCE HERE (only sound of my blood rushing out of my body)>
So by now you probably understand I’m totally gonna make her eat chicory WITH blood AND thumb! She didn’t even took the effort to swing on her brain when she knew her dad was going to the center; what is up with those newly built brains anyway?
There I was, sitting on the couch with this glued on thumb shrouded in this terrible stubborn and adhesive band aid which did stick to my thumb too fast and totally the wrong way and which I could not take off anymore, thinking about how totally joyful my day already had been so far.
‘Hllo ho mninuppo onyp no’ (Hallo how am i suppose to type now?????): this is how it looks like to type with a stupid band aid around your needable thumb. Like I’m from a foreign country, Mars or something like that, at least somewhere where they don’t come with thumbs. I wonder how they tweet over there; maybe they don’t tweet at all on Mars, maybe they immediately poke your eyes out with there immense long fingers. At least that is what I understand from all the drawings and secret videos.
But about the thumb: I totally need him (or maybe her) because I have to tweet James (@jameskennedyuk) you know the follow-unfollow-guy from Kyshera. I had to tweet james because of our follow/unfollow issue; well actual HIS follow/unfollow behaviour. And now I am all wounded and practically disabled and how is James supposed to know now that he has to take care of me now I maybe never can provide any blogs or Tweet updates ever again.
To cap it all: while I was bumping slightly panicked back and forth to the kitchen to try to multitask with only one thumb available because I have to prepare dinner, I have to figure out a way to type, try to think how to message James, trying to fight this band aid because I can’t get it off anymore; my daughter starts to ventilate these obnoxious warnings in my directions like “watch out!”, “don’t fall”, “be careful” “watch out for the lamp”, “don’t fall of the staircase and “don’t swallow your iPhone” (well duhh who does she think I am), because according to her, this household today is in total uncertainty about how the rest of my day (and as such also their day) will progress further and more important: whether or not and how it will end.
So now I’m a totally hysterical and claustrophobial non-typer under surveillance of daughter who (me, the non-typer that is) has a lot of priorities going on right now, I decide to get rid of the stupid band aid since I’m not bleeding to death anymore anyway, but I can’t get the bloody thing come off. It has an incredible amazing adhesiveness over it with the same effect as concrete and while I’m wrenching the patch off with all power possible I suddenly see @JamesKennedyUk appearing on my screen again and has started following me again.
So running through the house with my other hand’s finger stuck on a little part of band aid that got off my thumb and the iPhone some where stuck in the middle screaming “James started following me again!”. And if you don’t know what the Blieb I’m talking about, I suggest reading my other blog ‘Blue Check Mark followed me‘.
Continuing the Band aid fight (no not a ‘Do they know it’s Christmas’-fight) and I finally got the paste off. So with this I am arrived as this new chapter of trying to type again because I really can’t let James wait.
Well James had to wait a little longer again because, first my thumb keeps getting stuck on my iphone screen because of leftover glue still on it and second: my whole iPhone is now totally covered with adhesive tape and with no possibility I can get it off my phone and thumb. Great! It had been more convenient for me just poking the guy’s eye out; so he’s in luck.
Well all in all it was a nice day, don’t you agree? How come that if good things happen (IF they happen) to you there is almost never such a sequence of good things happening to you just like it does when f things happen??!! I think the Universe must be drunk most of the time and gets things mixed up. Either that or it is husbands fault.
As soon as I get my phone cleaned and running I start on a new blog regarding the RE-follow adventure of James.
Man! I think this blog has gotten insane long; are you ok?
Read also: Blue Check Mark followed me
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