I love that movie “The Family Stone.” Totally have a girl crush on SJP and Rachel McAdams. Plus Luke Wilson in those sweatpants by the car? Um, YES. By the way, I have a freak flag, too. It’s just that I only fly it in here.
The above paragraph has nothing to do with anything except that I love the quote from that movie and needed an excuse to use it. Kind of like my “Thelma and Louise” quote from the other day.
It has been one hell of a busy week: Rainbow finally came out, I finished my thesis, Blindie learned to count to three with her front left paw, Mr. Tail filed an emancipation suit against me, and I crocheted a really ugly baby cap even though babies in Texas in the summer don’t need really ugly crocheted baby caps. Actually, no baby anywhere needs one.
Okay, so none of the above happened. I did have a stray kitten move in under my front porch. Found $2.17 in change in my couch. And my power went out in the middle of the night. Not good. It was back on again later, so my food was saved, and my dogs could stop freaking out at grandma’s house and go back to doing what they do best: sleeping on their bed all fucking day. Lazy asses.
Some mornings, when I finish getting ready to go to work, I look at myself in the mirror, sigh loudly and say, “Whatever.” Such a morning was this one. When the FUCK did I start having hair like Carol Brady???
Don’t you just hate Snappers? You know, those annoying asses who snap their fingers at other people. I worked with someone like that once, felt my skin crawl every time they did it. Especially when they did it at me.
Well, I must confess…I am a Snapper. But only with my dogs. I’m sure they are annoyed when that shit happens. Still, it’s very effective. Especially with Rainbow when I’m trying to get him to come inside. He is very anti-Snap but that bitch hops to it when I do it. No wonder the Snappers do that shit!
Driving to the store one evening this week, I totally fucking saw a guy on a unicycle using a walking stick to propel him forward. Almost ran my car off the road. Why is it that I always see the weirdest shit when I cannot possibly take a photo of it???
Went out to see an 80s cover band play tonight. While we were having dinner before the show, the non-BF poked me and said, “Look! There’s the waitress who was worried about your alcohol consumption the last time we were here.” I asked him if I should hold up my drink and tell her, “It’s Diet Coke!” (it was, as a matter of fact). He said, “No, she probably wouldn’t recognize you in a vertical position” When I saw her later and apologized, she was all gracious and cool about it. “You were bad but you were good bad.” I still got thrown out of the club. [Clarification: Thrown out the last time we were there, not tonight. People really shouldn’t put couches in nightclubs and serve cocktails. I get sleepy when I have a few! But tonight, I was sober and fully cognizant of all the aging idiots in the audience trying to party like it’s 1999.]
Totally weird conversation I had with Bunny tonight…
Me: Do you want one of my chewable aspirin? They’re orange flavored.
Bunny: Only if they have cocaine in them. (I love her sense of humor. Hugs not drugs, people! Hugs. Not drugs.)
Me: I don’t like the orangey flavor but I had to get the chewable ones in case I have a heart attack.
The non-BF gives me a What The Fuck? look.
Me: I haven’t liked the taste of these things since I overdosed on a bottle of them when I was 16 months old.
Disclaimer to the immediate above – when I started walking, I started climbing. My mom thought they were stored where a child couldn’t get to them, on the top shelf of a wall cabinet. Being the little monkey that I was, somehow I found the bottle and ate its entire contents (about 3/4 full). When there’s a will, there’s a way! I guess I really liked the taste of them then. Explains why I hate orange flavored shit now and why I absolutely HATE taking pills! One of my earliest childhood memories is of me in the ER going to get my stomach pumped but I saved them the trouble and threw up the spinach I ate for dinner. P.S. My mother always had the hardest time getting me to eat anything but vegetables when I was a kid. God bless her. I know she tried. I’ve been “difficult” since I exited her womb.
On the way home from the concert, I stopped off at a drugstore still wearing my club wristbands. Had to pick up some Tums and Ben Gay. I do appreciate the irony of that. However, I doubt the guy behind the counter did.
I spent my childhood and teenage years pretty shy, and the time from age 1 until my late 20s being more of a follower than a leader. I don’t know when exactly all of that changed, but I am glad it did. Now, if you don’t like me, I wonder what the fuck is wrong with you. Now, I don’t wait for someone to step up and take control of a situation, I
volunteer to be in charge take over. Now, I don’t mind being the boss. In fact, I prefer it. Sometimes, I might even be a little too directive. Case in point – my parents’ anniversary luncheon. My mom was suggesting I ASK the other siblings to contribute this or that, and I told her I’d take care of it. Three text messages later, the menu was taken care of and no one had any doubts about their contribution to the whole thing. I have found that most people really want to be told what to do, and are waiting for someone to be the one to tell them just what that is. I kinda like that role, as bitchy as it sounds.
Overheard this week:
- Salt and fat, that’s where it’s at!
- They’re fashionably late for a non-event.
- I am slipping into a Carb Coma…
- So then she tells me that her gynecologist asked her if she was still having hot flashes, and she told him to check back with her in November because it was summertime in Texas and how the fuck did she know if she was. Really, I don’t know why I ever accept lunch invitations from that crazy bitch.
- He promised me this birthday, I’d have a Jaguar. Asshole went out and bought me a BMW. (Me: Oh, I’m so sorry for your inconvenient life! Whore.)
- Dude, clean your car! It smells like a witch’s crotch in here!
- (Deadpanned after seeing a girl dressed like a $20 hooker) I have that same outfit!
- Woman in front of the grumpy old woman in front of me in the 15 Items Or Less Express Lane: You can’t count every single can in my six pack as a single item.
- I really have no idea WHAT THE FUCK is going on in my toilet!!
Finally bought legitimate first aid tape to bind my Probably Broken Toe to the middle piggy to keep it straight. I looked down at it just now and realized my Probably Broken Toe is a LOT longer than my Captain Toe. I’m glad the non-BF isn’t like Jason Alexander in Shallow Hal and gets all icked-out by that shit, because that motherfucker is freakishly long.
I gave up giving up for Lent this year. That was a lot easier than giving up smoking, drinking, online shopping, reading People magazine and mainlining butter.
For twelve years, the non-BF has been telling me all kinds of false shit, knowing I’d believe him, only to wink and laugh when someone else called me on it. Tonight, for example, I made the waiter tell me exactly what cheeses were in the Truffle Mac And Cheese because the non-BF swore there was bleu cheese in it. “But no bleu cheese, right?” The waiter just gave me a look and said, “Um, NO.” The non-BF just laughed and laughed.
Motherfucker, you are SO getting your eyebrows Naired off, and SOON. This is not an empty threat!
By the way, I’ve always been that way. Years ago, a really good friend told me that the word “gullible” wasn’t in the dictionary and I went to look it up and prove her wrong. Busted.
P.P.S. I will so NOT Nair off the non-BF’s eyebrows. His eyebrows are quite cute and plus that would just be mean-spirited of me. Besides, after 12 years, one would think my jackass mind would figure out that he is always fucking with me.
I cannot get the last fucking club wrist band off my right arm. My scissors must be too dull. I considered gnawing it off like a coyote caught in a trap but I like my right hand. It allows me to type stupid shit in here and plus I need it for work. My next thought was to use a paring knife to cut it off but those were all taken away from me and locked up since the time I did two shots of vodka and tried to chop lemongrass for a Thai recipe. Good thing, I suppose. No one but the furbrats around to call 911 when I accidentally sever the end of my arm.
Goodnight.. I give you this: