Look Out, Martini's On A Rampage.
Duck And Cover!

I'm just really cranky today, and so I'm just hiding in my cubic-hell ... away from the rest of society. My head hurts from clenching my jaw (I subconsciously do this when I'm either stressed or angry), and I'm so stressed again I'm not eating. I'm just not hungry. I don't want to talk about all of the reasons why, but here's just a few things that have crossed my mind today.

1. I've decided that I must be the most shallow and bitter bitch on the face of this planet. OK, maybe not THE most ... that dubious distinction is reserved for the idiocy that is Paris Hilton. See, I realized yesterday that I don't date people for the sociologically accepted reasons. I regard the entire process not as a search to find a mate, but instead to have people around that are marginally interesting (or good in bed) just merely to occupy my time.

Yeah, I go through phases where I question myself, and wonder why I don't have that "urge" to settle down with anyone I date. I thought I did a few weeks ago. But I realized that to do so, I'd have to take a chance on exposing my innermost self again. And we ALL know how that worked out last time ... if not, go back and read from February till about mid-June. Luckily, I realized before I did so that it wouldn't be the most prudent decision to allow that particular person "in". LawnBoy made the argument that I just need a good "modest" man. His description was priceless, but I'll just liken it to the male equivalent of "a lady on the street, but a freak in the bed". I will again maintain that all the good ones are either married or gay.

2. The mystery of the day: Why do the cleaning people insist upon putting orange creamsicle smelling stuff in the bathroom air fresheners? A bathroom shouldn't smell like that. It smells so good that it's truly disturbing. Although it's not nearly as disturbing as the mashed potato scented candle that Bath And Body Works offers now.

3. Nope.

4. My ankle's on FIRE. It hurts like a son of a whore. The ligaments are burning, and I snapped the strap on my brace. Called the doctor, and they wanted to charge me $120 for a new one. Plus an office call. Ummm, no ... I don't think so. I found the same one online for $42.95, shipped directly to Casa De Martini. Rock on.

5. If loving Britney is wrong, I don't want to be right. I'm currently rockin out to "In The Zone". Love track #3: "I don't really wanna be a tease ... but would you undo my zipper please ... please don't talk ... just ... listen ..."

11:13 PM EDIT: Just spent two hours chatting with Mark. You know, he's a really nice guy. Maybe my knee-jerk judgment of him in the past was a bit too hasty. Headed to bed with an ice-bag for my ankle, I'm really exhausted. I didn't sleep well last night (stress is a bitch), and I pulled an 18-hour day yesterday. Off to have my standard daily Valpredo worship (damn he is FINE), and off to bed.

A Princess-ism for you: "MOMMY! HEY! MOMMY! It's my purrrrse right there. See it? Isss a Kay-Spade."

heh heh ... that's momma's girl. Raise her right ... today, Kate Spade. Tomorrow ... Prada. Can you say PRADA? How about ... Judith Lieber? *tingle*