Kathleen Turner Quote

"More man than you'll ever be, and more woman than you'll ever get."

The Long and Short of It

Two things.

One: Apparently I have erroneously thought that I was 5'7" tall for like the last 25 years of my life. In fact, I have unknowingly perjured myself to the DPS on my driver's license since I was 18, because I recently discovered that I am 5'8" tall.

Two: I can't see myself in the mirror from the shoulders up if I am wearing heels in the ladies' room of our local Chinese food restaurant.

QueenB said that's what I get for measuring myself at 7-11 because those door jambs vary from location to location.

Dumb as a Doormat

Went to the local hardware/home supply store today to get a new welcome mat for the house. Now, it is not the week o' the month to be trying to have any sort of civil interpersonal dealings with me, so it's not that I want anyone to feel like I am welcoming you into my house. I just wanted a green one to match the shutters.

So.... MyPoolBoy and I are schlepping to the back of the store to procure the aforementioned welcome mat. I whine at him to carry it, and because he values his life and/or manhood parts, he obligingly carries it to the register for me. We get to the front and the dumb@ss inbred mf-ing stupid bi+ch at the check out inanely grins at me and says, "Oh *giggle giggle* there's not a scan code on it" I look at her. I look at MyPoolBoy. And? So I say, "well, they were 9-something" and StupidBi+ch says "Oh, *giggle giggle* I have to have the scan code."

Again... I look at her. I look at MyPoolBoy. And? At this point, really and truly, I figured she would take the hint and call someone in the flooring department to do a price check. Apparently she was getting a mani-pedi on the day they covered THAT part of the training. I mean, truly, it was not going to enter her petite little brain AT ALL.

That's when I decided to "become an advocate for my own customer service."

Let me reiterate a completely relevant point here: It is not the week o' the month to be trying to have any sort of civil interpersonal dealings with me, especially if you are a StupidBi+ch. And in my own defense, I had elected to enter the world of retail during the course of this week without the aid of Midol or vodka. For me, that's like doing stunts without a net. I honestly did not have, nor did I care to have, the patience to tutor this idiot on how to obtain a price-check. Instead, I stormed off to get another rug - one with a scan code so that StupidBi+ch could do her dayum job.

And I did my storming off NotQuietly, getting louder as I went so that my volume was adequately proportionate to the distance that StupidBi+ch was from me. OH SURE I GUESS I'LL JUST TRUDGE ALL THE WAY TO THE BACK OF YOUR STORE (stares from the guys looking at the lighting display) BECAUSE YOU CANNOT SEEM TO MUSTER THE CRANIAL ABILITY TO PICK UP YOUR LITTLE WALKIE TALKIE PHONE DEALIE AND (stares from the poor lady picking out paint samples in the paint department) CALL SOMEONE IN THE FLOORING DEPARTMENT (stares from the 2 guys working in the flooring department - which, incidentally, pissed me off worse to discover that there was more than sufficient staff on duty to have done the price check) TO FIND OUT THE PRICE OF A DAD-GUM FLOOR MAT! AND BY THE WAY IT IS NINE-SOMETHING!

I resisted the urge to pick up all the mats in the stack and haul them up front so that she'd be responsible for having them all hauled back. (Restraint. I do possess it.)

I dropped the everlovin' doormat on her counter on my way out of the door, remarking to MyPoorEmbarrassedDumbfoundedPoolBoy: "pay for it, I'll be in the truck."

I later confided to him that I harbor a deep loathing for stupid people, and this particular week, it meant he needed to keep anyone whose IQ is below mine out of my way.

He said he didn't think that information was a real big secret and besides he can't keep 98.8% of the population away from me.

Then he went and bought me stuff to shut me up. I *heart* him.

The Breakfast Club

Lumps in old school stovetop style Cream of Wheat = good

Lumps in instant Cream of Wheat = sawdust

The Object of My Ridicule O' the Day

She is 40-50 ish, red-brunette hair (can't pinpoint the actual Miss Clairol #, but it is from the box, nonetheless). This chick is WHITE. And wearing shorts and a tank top (God help us - I need my shades) So. Let me just describe for you the tank top and the surrounding body parts to give you an idea about the trainwreck that I am trying to look away from... the seams of her black and white leopard print tank top are being stretched to maximum capacity while she reads what I assume obviously to be the fashion pages of the newspaper. This garment is NOT sufficient to hold in her bra-less size 42 D's, as she keeps tugging at the deep V-neck in a futile attempt to cover up the girls. Completely laughable, but I am containing myself well.

MyPoolBoy nudged me and wanted to know how many cougar bingo spaces I would get. uh... none. Alas, she is not a cougar, just trashy (I am secretly a bit jealous of her brazenly open trashiness). THEN she starts gazing into her tired-looking manfriend/husband's eyes singing along out loud to some 70s folksy sounding song on the radio. He appears to be trying to will her to stop with his indifferent expression.

It's not working.

OK now wait wait wait ... I just got distracted by a woman at the table next to her with a broken arm who just chugged her (I guess) pain pills straight from the prescription bottle before taking a swig of coffee. Oh hayul yes! She just did it AGAIN!!!!!!!!!

I'm so easily amused...

Eel-ated Fishermen?

This fish story was sent to me by Bi+chslap, who was forwarding it to me from her husband with the message that it sounded like my blog (I'm guessing he was thinking of the Bubba and the Skunk story). It starts out mundanely enough. Once you start reading past the photo, though, you will probably have beverages exit your nostrils.

http://seabreezenews.com/issue/Page_01c.pdf

Dear Middle School Cheerleaders

I have a few points of advice on cheer choice I would like to share with you -

1) The "Defense /clap clap/ Defense /clap clap/" cheer doesn't go over real well if we have the ball. Here's an idea: WATCH THE GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2) Two Bits. Limit it to once per game, please. Unlike you, who has the energy level of an ADHD howler monkey hopped up on Mountain Dew, most of us in the stands are old and we just got off of work. We really don't feel like "standing up and hollering" too many times.

3) R-O-W-D-I-E is actually NOT the way to spelling "rowdy." Your English teacher should be shot for letting such ignorance loose on the unsuspecting masses. By yelling this gross misspelling at the top of your lungs, you are further perpetuating the decline of literacy in our country. At the very least get a dictionary prior to going ahead with any more "cheertastic" ideas for cheers, ok?

The Way to a Man's Heart is Kool-Aid and a Push-Up Bra

"It's dramatic, but less ghetto..."

More Pop Video

First of all the poor S.O.B. has THREE BEERS in front of him to allow these girls to do this to him.

The retching and screaming OH MY GOD! and describing the smell that the girls do in the background only adds to the disgustingness of it all.

Princess of the World

Ok. So there is this contest on the site for that 2012/end of the world movie to give you the chance to become the honorary leader of the leftover world if, in fact, the world ends in 2012. Just so you know, I am entered. To celebrate, I drank a bottle of wine and ran around the house screaming at MyPoolBoy and Lurch and Chunk that I was the Princess of the Leftover World and they had to do what I say. Decided to have a "White House" only paint it pink when I came into power. Made plans to go to Sherwin Williams to find the perfect lovely shade of ballet pink to accomplish this task. Announced that the national bird will be a flamingo. Told them all to start addressing me as "Your Highness" to be in practice for when the big day comes. Sang 1/2 of "Jessie's Girl" at the top of my lungs before proclaiming it my national anthem. MyPoolBoy said he is going to study where the asteroid is going to hit because he wants to be at Ground Zero to avoid living in a world with me in charge.

Told them all matter-of-factly "Y'all are no fun, and I'm gonna make you stand in the corner of the Oval Office." Then I passed out.

Y'all should totally vote for me if you survive the apocalypse....

The Sure-to-Be-Infamous TMI Post (Seriously - TMI, People - You Have Been Warned)

Woke up this morning and had to shi+ like 3 times. Told MyPoolBoy that if I, in fact, did shi+ myself to death my dying wish was for him to flush it, pull my britches up, and drag my body into the bedroom and make it look like a heart attack or something.

WTP Gift Idea

Somebody that truly loves me should seriously buy me this. I've also seen ones that you plug into the USB of your computer...

Pole Dance Doll

Da Bomb

Today they posted in my classroom an FBI bomb threat checklist presumably to use as a reference in the event that a "bomb threatener" calls me while I am in the midst of molding the young minds of America. No shi+.

It includes a list of questions to ask the caller, numbered in the order to ask them, and in their "raw" state...by raw state I mean they contain typos and grammatical errors. None of the questions address the issue of getting fair warning for comfortable shoes rather than the spike heels I suffered with during our last bomb threat. Duckit and I want to know if we don't make it through all the questions will we get in trouble? (Please, sir, I really need you to calm down and answer each of my questions - we may be being monitored for quality assurance.)

The second part lists voice characteristics to check off....I like to think of these as "character traits" (h3ll, I can turn anything into a TAKS lesson!), lisps and stuttering and accents -- then later on down you are supposed to evaluate the voice's tone such as loud, angry, and incoherent. I'm just guessing that if the bomb threatener had a lisp AND stuttered AND had an accent we could check the incoherent box!!!!!!!!!! (Perhaps there should be a separate form for the lisping, stuttering, incoherent threatener with an accent to be referred for Speech and/or ESL assistance.)

Then we noticed we are supposed to record time -- Wait! Mr. Bomb Threatener!!! I need to go get my fluency timer. Can you repeat that at an acceptable rate with expression and accuracy so I can record it???? I'm thinking 118 words correct per minute -- it's what 3rd graders have to read... I can evaluate that pretty accurately.

Also -- while we are timing this and asking the guy 20 questions and marking off his voice qualities, we are also supposed to listen for and record background noises. Crockery. wtf????? Pottery? Excuse me sir, is that crockery I hear smashing in the background of your threat or is it merely ceramicware?????

WAIT!!!!!!!! Is it BINGO???? We see how many of the boxes we can check off if a bomb threatener calls us. Will we win a prize???? Will it be a lovely set of crockery ??????

I keep telling the Lucilles that strippers have a much less stressful work environment. Duckit finally agrees. She said she bets no strippers are having to keep bomb threat phone log documentation.