I had my first belly dancing class last night, and that shit absolutely ROCKS!

It was held in this absolutely peaky little store front, an un-airconditioned little store front that had a particle board floor that has been varnised a few dozen times and has some dippy places in it. This little place is behind the old Heights fire station that the City of Houston, in it's infinite wisdom and penny pinching stupidity, closed down a few years ago. When I got there I found that the burgular bars over the door where locked and my instructor was whirling around the empty room atwhat seemed like a hundred miles an hour while music blasted from a corner. The instructor loaned me one of her hip scarves, with finge and beads and coins no less on it, and when class started, the fat and the beads just went to flying! Thankfully, the beads and the coins made more noise than the fat did.

I was really hurting by the time I got home, and my right foot looked like something that had been attached by Dr. Von Frankenstein, so I fired up the electric blanket, got a shower, gobbled down some Tylenol and hit the hay. I was so damn tired I couldn't sleep, and I was dreading just a little bit how I would feel this morning. I passed out just about the time Vincent D'onofrio come on the screen. I like Vincent D'onofrio, he does something for me, but not enough for me to stay awake last night.

This morning I woke up feeling great. I had a little residual pain in my right foot, but nothing that I haven't walked off before.

Welcome to Our Lady of the Short Fuse

Welcome to Our Lady of the Short Fuse

This is just not the day to challenge me on much of anything.

I have had three phone calls today, all three from men who wanted to argue with me. The last straw was one that wanted to file charges against his soon to be ex-wife because she told the Houston police officer that came out to the house last night that she had filed a restraining order against the soon to be ex-husband, and once the officer had checked and found no restraining order in the system (and trust me, I know about how hard he checked) he informed the wife that she had committed a crime by lying to him. Now the husband wants me to tell him why she isn't going to jail. Hey jackass, why didn't you ask the cop that was out there last night?

Here's a clue, Einstein, she doesn't want you anymore. If she's going to the trouble of filing a restraining order, she really doesn't want you anymore. She doesn't want your company, your opinion or your laundry layng around in the floor of her house anymore. Pack up your shit and walk off. Trust me, in the long run you'll be much happier.

And two calls where from a man who wanted to argue whether or not our office figurehead was out at his house at 4 am knocking on the door to serve him with a paper.

Let me assure you, dumbass, that he was not. he wouldn't be out there at noon to knock on your door if his life depended on it. He'd send somebody else.

I'm three days into the Dr. Phil Weight Loss Challenge, two days into my own personal campaign to cut back on the Diet Coke, and 5,262 days into my career as an office grunt working for somebody who barely remembers my last name. The fog this morning completely sucked and I was fifteen minutes late to work instead of my customary ten minutes.

I work with a bunch of grown men who want to whine and bitch like a pack of three year olds. I work with a woman who has to go take her bilingual certification test today because this is the last possible day for her to take it or she'll loose her bilingual pay.

Fuck this.

On the upside, I have my first belly-dance class tonight after work and I'm really looking forward to that.