Dear Kimmie - stop crying I've missed you too

We have a lot to talk about today. I don't want to lie to you even though you would lie to me - and don't pretend that I don't know that you would since I saw you on the tv lying about having cancer at Chilis. Anyway, not the point. I had a bit of a relapse recently with the smoking due to the fact that, it is possible one of our dog's might have eaten our little Clowee and one of my bff's was at home when her house was robbed by some motherfucker with a fucking hammer in his fucking hand. So, between freaking out about death and participating in a email sting operation to bring that bastard to justice I have been super busy and stressed - so I smoked a few cigarettes. And by a few I mean many - but you know Kimmie as well as anyone who has never met me before that I have a weakness for single malt scotch and when I get to scotching I need to smoke. Last week I needed the soothing refreshment of the scotch so it was inevitable. The good news is that was last week and I am totally off it again - which makes me wonder if I really am addicted to nicotine or if I just loves to smoke. Also neither here nor there but I was smoking in my car and I feel so josie grossie about it because it is sicko.

Anyway, this week is better because I have been channeling my desire to smoke into creating "torture fantasies" of what Leslie and I will do to this "Diego" once we find him. Diego is the name we gave that motherfucker who scared Leslie with his armed robbery stunt - because Leslie's mother said she needed to name him and imagine herself kicking his ass in order to de-victimize herself. Well Leslie's mom, if there was anything more up my alley than fantasizing about bringing assholes who scare my friends to justice it would be to do so while eating a Cuban Pork Sandwich from Masterpiece Deli. So this anger channeling has been fun. Needless to say, there have been many discussions regarding how many buckets of water are needed to properly waterboard, although my vision is that we have this cuntface leaning over a toilet with his hands tied behind his back and then tied to a door knob in hopes that we could break his arms by slamming the door shut repeatedly while simultaneously drowning him a little. I used to work with this girl who was covered in tattoos who told me that getting tattoos was like eating potato chips "once you start you can't stop" - granted her tattoos were all Looney tunes characters like Marvin the Martian and Foghorn Leghorn so I could NOT relate at all because I do NOT understand how a person could love looney tunes so much he/she would request they be tattooed all over his/her body. But this girl was fun because every time someone from the office would pass by her desk en route to the bathroom she would ask if that person needed to go number 2. I will always respect her a little for thinking of that. Anyway, I am to torture fantasies as she is to tattoos. Once I started thinking of all the fun and glorious things we could do to this fuckface I just couldn't stop. Like a faucet, methods of torture have been pouring out of me. In fact, I find it hard to think about work, or whatever else I am doing because I find myself daydreaming of the little things like what does Diego sound like when he cries? Does he whimper or does he sob. Would he tell me to fuck off or would he beg me to stop. I also have been thinking about what kind of music would best fit these torture scenarios. For example, I think this would be a nice accompaniment or this. Basically, I want to fuck this guy up while listening to ELO. I like the juxtaposition of his cries against the backdrop of the joy and big band sound of Electric Light Orchestra. I want to ask him questions - why did he break into Leslie's house at 6:30pm on a Friday and what he was planning to do with the hammer he was carrying? Was it just a prop so that, should someone surprise him, this hammer might give him an extra second to get out of the situation. Or was he planning to use this hammer on a person, namely on my sweet and innocent friend who never did nothin to nobody. I am always ready to get attacked because I am mostly confident that I will enjoy fighting to the death should an attack go that direction. Sure, we can all say that is what we will do however I am not a fan of getting raped so I imagine there will be a moment if that situation occurs where a potential rapist and I have to have the conversation about how I want to NOT get raped probably more than he wants TO rape and therefore I have a stronger incentive to kill him than he me - but since I am always at the ready it isn't very likely that I will find myself in that situation. Howfuckingever, Leslie is not mean and isn't ready to fight to her death in order to avoid rape because like most people she probably follows the motto that if a situation like that occurs it is more important that you get out alive than not raped or whatever that Olivia Benson says on Law and Order SVU.

Back to Diego, aside from stealing a little of Leslie's soul he stole her laptop on his way out the door. He also stole her roommate's laptop. Coincidentally, two days later, someone was trying to sell two laptops with very similar specs as the laptops stolen at chez Leslie on craigslist. So Leslie and her roommie and some detective and myself wrote emails to this un-gentleman requesting to buy these wonderful laptops for sale. I don't know if it was the years I devoted to watching Murder She Wrote or if it was because I got all Daniel Day about my character, what does she like, what does she hate, on a scale of one to ten, how flaky is she but the guy wanted to sell his laptop to me. Let me just say, at the very least the email exchanges between myself and this fellow were invigorating. Aside from getting punched in the face it was the most alive I have felt in a very long time and having tasted such energy I now know what a runner's high must feel like, since I hate running I must only assume. Long story short, Leslie and the cops met this guy (who turned out NOT to be Diego but a tiny little mustached 19 year old) at Red Lobster and scared the shit out of him - and since he wasn't Diego and the laptop was such a deal one of the cops who escorted Leslie to the bust bought the laptop so everybody wins....except Leslie and justice. I will find justice even if I have to take it out on someone else....Diego.

So Kimmie, that is why I have not been able to write to you. Oh, plus I have been doing a lot of dining out this past week - in between the death and the torture and the sleuthing because it is 5280 week and you know how much I love fine dining. Don't worry, I will fill you in on all the deliciousness - ps - there is a place that serves donuts covered in prosciutto and you know how I feel about prosiutto - the most pure and delicious of all the cured meats.

Dear Kimmie, you are my diary, am I yours?

So the good news Kimmer is that I am totally off the juice, the nicotine juice that is - which is super good right? unfortunately I am about two seconds away from overdosing on vitamins and probiotics and maybe dayquil. Now, you know I love me some Nyquil and the second that I feel a cough / cold / headache / foot-ache / injury / period coming I am all up in it because 1) it is delicious and 2) it is the only night-time, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching stuffy head, fever SO YOU CAN REST meds that has truly been able to keep me resting, especially because my plucky 3 year old dachshund whose name I won't mention (Mallory Justine Keaton) has a tendency to wake up in the middle of the night and lick my toes which is super gross and makes me so mad. Thanks to my lover nyquil, I wake up bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and pruney-toed, but I don't care because it is awesome. Anyway, what was I talking about - oh yeah, Nyquil/Dayquil. I never knew how glorious the touch of Dayquil, aside from feeling like my desk chair is a roller-coaster - which I hate by the way - roller-coasters - they are to me the inanimate object version of Steven Spielberg, trying to tell me how to feel - thank you no, I don't need your help to feel through this moment of my life and I think that a baby could write a better script than stupid Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of fucking the eye socket in your Crystal Skull or whatever - anyway - I keep losing my train of thought, thank you very much Dayquil. Where was I, oh yes. So I think that some sicko who works in my 1970s deppresso building is like those people in the 80s who had AIDS and were like - fuck it - if I am going to die than so will you, so they fucked everyone they could - spreading AIDS at every opportunity. If you don't know what I am talking about - look it up or watch an episode of Law and Order SVU, I guarantee every other episode uses that plot-line. Anyway, I think someone here is walking around with the sickness and spitting/snotting on everything he/she (probably a she because the women out number the creepy old men 10 to 1 and most of them smoke at least a pack a day - how do I know BECAUSE THEY DO IT OUTSIDE OF MY GODDAMN WINDOW!!!) touche so I have decided to get all (person must remain nameless but Lisa and Scot know who I am talking about) on their asses and say fuck it germs, not only do I double wrap but I am not going to touch a single doorknob / faucet / whatever I have to touch without a paper-towel in hand. And let me tell you I love it. People think I am a freak but I can stare at them and say - maybe you are the diseasist who is trying to kill me so I don't care what your judgment eyes say. By the way, could you please stop spending 7.5 of the 8 hours you are working standing outside of my office window smoking - the air seems to come right through the vent and I think I am getting more smoke inhalation from you bitches than I did the entire time I smoked. By the way I bet your house stinks and I hate you. THE END!