How to Lose 8,000 Calories in 4 Hours

Be THE biggest Depeche Mode fan and go to one of the best shows since... well, since the last DM concert. Between six hours up and down a ladder (working on the dining room) and four hours of dancing my ass off at the show - I had to have lost another 10 lbs. At least, I'm feeling like I lost something, but maybe that's just my sanity. Roomie says that there should be no such thing as bad dancing, after all, if you're dancing, you're having a good time. But, if that's the case, why has he yet to stop laughing at my sorry ass. The imitations are enough to make you spit milk through your nose.

Holy Sheeeetttt - I haven't hurt this badly in a very long time. Oh, and just to ensure my butt is completely worn out, I had to have a fight with the ladder and the screen door. Fell off the 8 foot ladder and landed on the only piece of furniture left in the dining room, then ran smack dab into the screen door when I was hauling paint up from the truck. You go, Girl!

Anyway, the show was unbelievable! I cannot believe that Martin Gore can still move like that (I can't believe I can still move like that). They played for almost four straight hours to me and 7,000 of my closest friends. And they played lots and lots of old stuff, which took me back to my high school salad days. This venue, though, was damn near Tennessee so we had to get a hotel last night, but my word, was it worth the money and the trip! Something tells me this might be the last show they do, and that will be sad.

Considering I cannot barely move (bruises and sored muscles), I'm due at a friend's house in an hour to participate in what can only be referred to as "serious intervention". This friend is a horder - a cat horder to be exact. He had to go out of town due to a death in the family and he asked if I would watch his cats. When I asked how many cats he had - and he told me 6-0 - that's sixty, fucking cats - I blew it. Anyway, another cat friend said, "enough is enough" and she wants me to meet her at Cat-man's house to take all the cats to shelters around Atlanta. Cat-Man is going to have a stroke, but if we don't do this, my sane cat friend will call animal control. Ironically, we both were huge proponents of making animal cruelty a felony in Georgia. Now look. However, just the thought of lifting a cat carrier is excruciating. I'm seriously trying to figure out a way to just sit on the couch under my heating pad and watch football or a movie. Something tells me that will not be the case, though.

I also have an appointment to get another tattoo at 3:30. I can't imagine it could hurt anymore than what I'm feeling now, but trying to drive might be problematic. Roomie thinks shoulders, but I'd have an easier time hiding them from the anal fam if I get them on my hip. Of course, blogging about the goddamn thing kills the notion of secrecy. You go, Girl.

It is a beautiful autumn day in the big City and even the pigs across the street are being relatively quiet. One day, I'm just going to pull a gun on them and then maybe they'll move on. Speaking of pigs, three guys got busted in Norcross on Thursday. They had been using their Katrina money to buy and sell coke and weed. According to the police, they were bragging about it saying it was their right to abuse the FEMA money because they were due the hand out. Please, anyone who thinks they are due a fucking handout because their fucking ancestors were brought over and sold as slaves 150 years ago, needs to get a brain and a fucking job. Besides, how stupid can you be to brag to total redneck police officers that your stupid black ass deserves a handout?

Time for another Goody powder and maybe some raw tuna for the protein boost. I should just drink blood as much as my body needs. I'm also going to burn the ladder and the screen door.