Education-ale

Oh, if only all tests were as easy as field sobriety tests!

Ever Get a Song Stuck in Your Head?

Ok.  So you all know that MyPoolBoy and Felix claim that I am the dumbest smart person they know.  Sometimes I unwittingly oblige their theory by doing something really dumb.  Today’s something really dumb involved cheap-a$$-5-for-a-dollar-knock-off-Superglue and pineapple Smirnoff Ice. 

I know.  That’s a blog waiting to happen. 

I was nonchalantly minding my own business cleaning the pool, doing laundry, checking Facebook, and exfoliating so that I could go tan before the tanning place closed.  I decided that in order to accomplish all my tasks for the day I needed a musical soundtrack provided by my mp3 player.  Which is really not originally my mp3 player but one that I more or less inherited after MyPoolBoy got a new phone that held/played music and I tried to “fix” my old mp3 player after it got stuck on the startup screen when I dropped it on the driveway when I was exiting the Beemer one afternoon and then when I tried to reset it with a pen and the end of the pen was too big and it cracked the case the whole dayum thing got stuck on like volume level 27 which was great in the Beemer with the top down but mass-murder on the ears with earphones.

So.  I got wired up with a good playlist and began to clean the pool.  Then I got wired up some more by cracking open a bottle of pineapple Smirnoff Ice leftover from the 4th of July.  Then I continued merrily along on my to-do list by throwing the sheets in the washer. Halfway into the bottle I get the inkling to give myself a little mini-facial with some Mary Kay mask, so I squeezed a fistful of green goop out of the tube and proceeded to slather it all over my face.  I washed my hands off and was bee-bopping on through the house because 3/4 of the way through the bottle I was freakin’ Stevie Nicks at the Edge of Seventeen with green crap on my face.  Suddenly and without warning, freakin’ Stevie Nicks at the Edge of Seventeen with green crap on my face felt an urgent need to check Facebook.  So I went to the Pink Room and sat down with my mp3 player in my back pocket and the earphone wire stretched across my back and shoulders to log on.  And I about gave myself whiplash because the earphone wire wouldn’t stretch like that and it snapped my neck backwards like I was in a head-on collision at Daytona.  

At this point it was necessary to do 2 things: 1) wash the green crap off of my face and 2) find out why my earphone wire was being so uncooperative.  As soon as my face was freshly cleansed, I used the bright lights of the bathroom to investigate the earphone wire issue.  Tangled.  Like a labyrinthal mass that even Hansel and Gretel couldn’t bread-crumb their way out of.  So I began the tedious task of unknotting the wires.  

I pulled.  I plucked.  I twisted.  I yanked.  

I shouldn’t have yanked.  

I had the wires untangled but I had managed to pull the cap-thingy off of one of the earbuds in the process.  It came off pretty cleanly,  I must say.  And BONUS!  The wires were all still attached.  This will be easy to fix!  

I took my newly untangled earphones to the craft room and sat down with a tube of cheap-a$$-5-for-a-dollar-knock-off-Superglue and the bottom of the bottle of Smirnoff Ice to begin engineering what was foreseeably going to be my greatest repair job of the summer.  After twisting the glue-encrusted top off of the little blue tube with a pair of pliers, I gained access to the magical concoction inside that held promise for me that my summer listening experience was not going to be cut short because of a mere inebriated moment of wire-yanking.  Glue applied deftly to rim of earbud, care taken not to get it on the wires that were soon to be enclosed tightly inside, I congratulated myself for being so clever and for only getting a little drop or two on my fingers.  I held the plastic pieces in place, noting how long it was taking the glue on my fingers to dry before releasing the clamp-down that I had on the earbud.  Dry!  Fixed!  Success! 

I then decided to test and make sure the wires were functioning as they should, so I put the newly repaired earbud into my left ear and heard Captain and Tenille lilting through!  Yea, me!  

However…. when I attempted to REMOVE the newly repaired earbud from my left ear it was GLUED TO MY EAR.  Apparently the instantaneous-stick-yourself-to-a-construction-beam-with-a-drop-of-glue-on-a-hardhat is only instantaneous if you are using REAL SUPERGLUE, not cheap-a$$-5-for-a-dollar-knock-off-Superglue.  Just so you know - cheap-a$$-5-for-a-dollar-knock-off-Superglue may SEEM to be dry on your fingertips, but it is, in fact, not entirely dry if you insert it into your ear canal.  

So I stripped the earbud and the upper epidermal layer from my left ear as I was being lulled with “Love Will Keep Us Together.”  

No, Toni Tenille, my dear.  I beg to differ - cheap-a$$-5-for-a-dollar-knock-off-Superglue will keep us together.

This Post is in Need of Emily Post

What is the etiquette or hygiene guideline for taking a drink into the bathroom with you?   You can't leave it on a table or someone will slip a date-rape drug into it and then you have to do the whole "but you drugged me and brought me home and now you're saying that I'm annoying and you've changed your mind" routine, and that never turns out well.  Or, worse still, you can leave it on the bar and the bartender will think you are finished (ha! Me leave a drink unfinished?) and clear your glass from the bar before you return.

I surmise that since the beverage in question is an alcoholic beverage, the alcohol would theoretically kill the germs that might come into contact with it in the restroom. Hmmmm..... GHB or CDC? Decisions, decisions.  So, where does one SET your drink once you have entered the facilities?  I ended up setting my Long Island Iced Tea on the little soap dish dippy area on the sink while I peed like a racehorse several times this evening (vodka = lack of bladder control + diminished sense of personal well-being).

You know, you learn all these flippin’ rules about hygiene when you are little.  Rules like: cover your mouth and nose when you sneeze, don’t eat the yellow snow, wipe from front to back, etc. etc.  No one in a Baptist family ever talks about “drink in the bathroom” rules, nor was this topic covered in my high school health class (they were all so worried about us getting knocked up during some drunken moment of misguided teen angst and lust that we didn't get any PRACTICAL health advice that pertains to imbibing!).

Here’s a great idea.  I’m gonna invent something with a drink-holder that attaches to you somehow… specifically designed to hold your drink while you make a potty run.

Oh wait.  I’m too late.  That invention has already been created.  It is called a BOYFRIEND.  There is a slightly less reliable and more expensive version of this invention called a HUSBAND.  The latter of which I have.

But I think mine is an older model that doesn’t come with the drink-holder attachment.

Check It Out

MonsterInLaw sent me some birthday money in the form of a check.  I hadn't gotten around to spending it until just this week, but I was thinking that I SHOULD have messed with her in the process of enjoying my little spending spree. (BTW, I got some new clothes and an old-timey laundry/washer/plunger thing for the laundry room - so, thank you again MIL!). 

Because she lives in TheMiddleOfNowhere, which is a suburb of BFE (Bum F*ck Egypt) in the county of Podunk, she banks at a local bank where EVERYONE knows yo' bidness.  I have decided that NEXT year, if she sends me a check I will write in the memo line to express my gratitude AND create a stir.  It will be something that will cause her to get razzed by every teller at her bank (all 2 of them), and perhaps get a few strange looks in the grocery store.  Like:

For  Services Rendered 
For   Sex Change Operation  
For   Bail Money  
For   New Tattoo  
For   Exorcism  
For   Lip Piercing   
For    Blackmail Payment 
For   STD Antibiotics   
For   Pole Dancing Lessons 


Her only real chance of escaping me was 24 years ago when the preacher said "If there is anyone here who can show just cause...."

School Is a Social Disease

So.  Last week I got really wiped out on Thursday and ended up not feeling well enough to go to school on Friday.  Then Duckit got sick today and ended up getting having to stay home with strep for TWO days.  I told her strep just stood for Sick & Tired of Redundant Education Policies and that she wasn’t really sick but she should stay home anyway cuz at least STREP would look good as an excuse.

So then Bi+chslap and I started coming up with some REALLY good acronyms for excuses which can cause me to call in sick to my job.  Excuses related to venereal-type ailments.  Afflictions that no one would question if you called in and claimed them.

STD – Sick & Tired, Dammit

CLAP – Completely Losing All Patience

CRABS – Children Really Acting Bad & Stupid

WARTS – Worrying About RTI Totally Sucks

HERPES – Had Enough of Ridiculous Public Education Sh1t

AIDS – Attitude In Downward Spiral

CHLAMYDIA – Children Having a Lack of Appropriate Meds Yielding Distress In Adults

SYPHILLIS – Stupid Yelling Parents Hysterically Insisting Little Lucifer Is a Saint

GONORRHEA – Getting Overwhelmed by Nonsensical Orders, Redundant Requests, & Hot-air from Educational Administrators

I decided the only cure is a dose of vitamin B.
Plus an accompanying dose of vitamin E.
Then an additional dose of vitamin E. 
And top it off with a small dose of vitamin R.

Last Post of 2010

First of all I would like to remind everyone that after tonight, we are all merely one year away from me claiming my rightful place as the Princess of the Leftover World.

Anyway, here is my Alpha and Omega - the first post in a long time and the last post of 2010: BannedCamp had a discussion thread concerning Facebook posts that cajole you into putting that you love Jesus in your status or you will be forever known as one of the 99.9999 percent of heathens on this planet who have access to a computer with Internet capability who won't put it in your status.  Because our omission or perhaps outright refusal to do so means that we DON'T love Jesus.

Is this a chain letter?  Am I going to have bad luck and get hit by a Greyhound - either a bus or a dog - if I don't?

Seriously people, it's like a virtual form of those "Honk if you love Jesus" bumper stickers - which I have always considered to be like Christian drive-bys, anyway.  People 3 lanes over don't know why you're honking, and oncoming traffic is clueless as well.  So people are recklessly Jesus-honking and only them and the car in front of them are in on it.  Besides, I'm not risking someone getting all road-ragey when I honk at you because A) you forgot that the sticker is back there and are just getting off of a long, frustrating day of work at the U.S. Postal Service or B) they have just stolen this car at gunpoint and they have no idea that the sticker is back there. 

So even though I walked out of church on Easter Sunday, and I converted a $10 auction pulpit into a bar in my backyard, here is what I will admit to: "I love Jesus, but I drink a little "



So then I decided to go and "friend" Jesus on Facebook or join the Jesus Facebook group or get the Jesus Facebook app so that it will show in my updates so that even though I have not put Jesus in my status, I am willing to allow Him to appear in my "feed." 


First, I typed Jesus in the search box on Facebook and the only two that I had a mutual friend with were Jesuses with Hispanic last names (the kind that are not GEE-SUS, but more like HEY-SEUSS) so I'm thinking that everyione who is posting this stuff about proving their Jesus-ness either knows a different Jesus than I do or they are lying about it.

There is a Facebook group called "Jesus Jesus Jesus" and I think I might know THIS one cuz I sang a song about him in vacation bible school from the time I was 4 (Sweetest name I know), so yeah,  it HAS to be him.  BUT it shows him with creepy Charles Manson looking eyes in the profile pic and  there are no mutual friends, there either.

I also know that it is NOT Charles Manson because Charles Manson has a Facebook page... which conveniently has a link at the bottom of the page where you can click to "Report This Person."

And I bet Charles Manson and I might actually have some mutual friends. 

The Absolutely and Quite Possibly Completely Incoherent Ramblings of the White Trash Princess on a Random Wednesday Evening

Admonition, my pretties: There is no structure, reason, nor sequence to any of the following.  It is extremely probable that there will be multiple typos, misspellings, and grammatical errors, but Deep Eddy is my friend this evening, and so I'm in eff-it mode.

Just so you know.

Ok.  Now - Some news.  My Beemer sticky things came in today!  Basically these are pieces of vinyl pinstriping that aren't stripes, but triangular wedge-shaped (quarter circles) that go over the blue parts of the BMW logo and make it a different color.  And that color would be ...... PINK!!!!!!

Cute right?????

It's not the sparkly crystal ones, but it will do for now.  I got a set that covers the front emblem, the trunk emblem, and all four wheels.  It is adorable!!!!!!!!!!

I am well on my way to having this car be completely undrive-able by MyPoolBoy.  He can hide the pink trim on the black seat covers by sitting just right.  The pink sparkly "Princess" sticker on the front windshield isn't too obvious.  And I think he almost tolerates the Yield To The Princess bumper sticker that Striptease gave me.  Which incidentally is not only ON the bumper now, but is holding a crack on the bumper together, so it is off-center on the bumper but is for purely functional reasons. 

AND I got this precious little photo clutch that is black and white toile with a pink monogrammed initial on it to store my insurance and the extra vinyl wedges in -  THEN I got (at the liquor store - and you KNOW I cannot make that shi+ up....) a MATCHING black and white toile train case to keep in the trunk of the Beemer to store stuff like brake fluid, quarts of oil, leopard print duct tape, Beemer Glue (5-minute Epoxy from the car parts store that we relabeled as Beemer glue because shi+ keeps falling off and this stuff really holds it together pretty well), and all the parts that I am finding in the ashtrays and in the trunk and under the seat that I haven't yet identified but I strongly suspect will need to be reattached using the Beemer Glue.

And.  Before I forget... QueenB asked me the other day what my Beemer's name was.  I had never thought about it.  And it's one of those obvious things like my tramp stamp tattoo that took me three years to figure out what it should say and when I finally figured it out it was a "duh" moment.  At least this one didn't take that long.  Bi+chslap and I decided that the Beemer should be named - obviously - LUCILLE!!!!!!!!!!! 

In other news.... I am blogging for a friend who owns a home theater company (This is the link here).  It is my first "real" writing job that I am being paid for by any means other than scholarship money.  The beauty of this gig, my first "professional" writing, is that I negotiated to be paid in vodka.  CAN. NOT. MAKE. THIS. SHI+. UP.

 Also.  Went to lunch today with MyPoolBoy and Felix and Hyphen.  Went to the restroom and when I got out, I went to wash my hands and out of the other stall came a restaurant employee.  And SHE WALKED THE F&(K out of the stall after me and LEFT THE RESTROOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Did not wash her hands.  Well.  I bi+ched loudly and sat back down to finish my soda (I wasn't gonna EAT anything else!) and she must have had an Ex-Lax Blizzard from the Dairy Queen next door because she had to go to the restroom again before we left.  So I followed her.  I'm all stalkerish and shi+.  She must have known what I was doing because I didn't pee or anything and I sort of stood outside the door like some kind of creepy ax-murderess and waited for the water faucet to be turned on.  Which she DID this time because of my creepy ax-murderess stalker behavior.  Except there was no soap.  And I KNEW that because I had washed my hands in there before.  And she DIDN'T know that because she DIDN'T wash her hands in there before. 

Dear Blessed Mother of Sweet Fancy Moses.  I had all kinds of heart palpitations and pseudo-asthmatic near-panic attacks.  Almost choked on my Dr. Pepper.

So.  Tonight.  I spilled about a half a glass of tea on my lap.  I was wearing my ugly pants (they're actually cute turquoise and white and orange and green paisley pants, but because they have more than 2 colors on them, MyPoolBoy has deemed them as ugly) so the spill didn't really show.

At this point I decided I need to pee, also.  I commented out loud that I could just pee in the chair and no one would know because my pants and the chair were already wet from the tea.

Not a comment that was well-received by the other establishment patrons.

GAWD.  People are so SERIOUS. 

I also sat in an inservice today where the presenter was using Johnny Depp as an example of an actor that kids would identify with and since they had seen Pirates of the Caribbean, they would want to go see Alice in Wonderland, etc., etc.

no. shi+.

Look, people.  Pretty much if Johnny Depp was in the Bloodborne Pathogens training video we have to watch at the beginning of every year, I'd watch it (for a change).

Another TMI Post Punctuated with Some WTHIWWY

MyPoorPoolBoy. He is enduring quite a bit of mouth-runneth-over syndrome this evening, and I'm really pretty sure it is because I have discovered this:

Deep Eddy Sweet Tea Vodka

Now, due to my effed-up precocious predisposition to developing kidney stones since the medically unrealistic age of 26, I am not supposed to have tea. So basically, I am risking my renal health to even be in the same room with this shi+.

It's iced tea with Imperial Pure Cane Sugar, so it's pretty much the mostest absolutely perfectest Texas beverage ever made.

Ever.

Because someone who is obviously a freakin' genius put VODKA in it.

If that genius is a man, he can get in line to be my 3rd husband.

Anyway, here are my epiphanies for the evening -

1) While watching the Gene Simmons episode where Shannon has a taser party (basically it was about like it seems like it would be - a Tupperware party but without the trademark burping noises and more like a lot of buzzing and resulting screaming, so you know, like a dark and serious sex toy party) - I remarked that you really wouldn't want to get one of those and just toss it into your vibrator drawer.

2) I reminded him that I am more or less branded as his property with my tramp stamp because the wording includes an APOSTROPHE and an S after his name. Like a white trash luggage tag or something.

3) Then I got a horrific case of projectile diarrhea and I tried to explain the severity of the situation to MyPoolBoy by describing its force and magnitude to him with Richter scale measurements and tornadic F-force ratings. I included the comment that it was a good thing that toilet bowl sides go up kind of far (for obvious reasons) and I was reminded about a German word that I concocted at the beach - bierschitz - in honor of the 2 straight nights of Lone Star consumption and the 2 subsequent days of unfortunate bowel circumstances that I incurred.

4) Not only that but I also came back from the coast with a fever blister on my lower lip. And of course I KNOW where I got it.

Because the study of reptiles is called herpetology, y'all.

That's right.

The a$$hole beer-hostage-taking SNAKE gave me herpes.

Sunny Beaches

Day 1 of the 5th edition of Lucilles at the Coast. I have already had some fabulously brilliant vodka-induced ideas and observations. Like my beach chair, which was originally tan, but I deemed it necessary to paint pink and green and stuff because I cannot be normal. I love this chair because it has a zippered storage compartment on the back, a little pillow headrest, a cupholder and cell phone holder on the side, and a COOLER at the back.

Ok. So. Onto my brilliant ideas and observations. First - I think a bikini top that was made all boxy and weird so that it looks like the block-out bars on the tv when they don't want to show a girl's girls would be so cool.

Before we left - we saw a lady with this pvc pipe contraption that was supposed to form a hole in sand to get some sort of wildlife to come to the surface. I thought it looked like one of those p3nis pump things that they sell at adult toy parties.

We lucked into unbelievably awesome beach and weather conditions. As we were wading out into the water, drink-in-hand-tiara-on-head, I realized that my bathing suit bottoms were on inside out and I was forced to devise a plan on how to get the seams righted to the intended factory specifications. So, as I waded further into the waves, I traversed just far enough to cover myself from my newly pierced belly button down with the ocean as my camouflage. Then I handed DownUnder my drink, and asked Hyphen to hold my hair while I squatted down and turned my bikini bottom back the right side out underneath the surf - only pausing to raise my drawers above the water level enough to make sure that I was at least not putting them on BACKWARDS after going to all the trouble to get them back on correctly.

Quote of the day: DownUnder commented in her eloquent Aussie accent that it was "lovely" and that "the water is the exact temperature of pee."

Heads Up

Well. I was in bi+ch mode tonight. I know, big surprise, right? One of the more annoying poker players showed up sporting a baseball cap tonight. This was unusual and noticeable simply because he regularly shows up with an overly-coiffed Brylcreemed style of obviously fake strawberry gray atop his noggin. I wanted to prove it to myself and any other morbidly curious onlookers that the pink chia pet was not present with us for the evening and therefore by default was NOT underneath the hat. So. I concocted a brilliantly evil scheme to achieve this purpose: I sent Thunderduck to the jukebox with a single dollar bill and explicit instructions to play the National Anthem. When the "oh say can you see" started I loudly instructed the boys to take off their hats out of patriotism and respect. DapperDan lifted his hat for about a millisecond before scooting out the front door for a ciggy break. So we never actually got a good look for a confirmation of my suspicions.

But I died laughing anyway. Cuz I'm a bi+ch.

You Know What?

They have these handrails in public bathrooms. So that when you have had 3 beers and are attempting to "hover" so that you don't get preggers or catch an STD from the toilet seat you can catch yourself before you fall. Wasn't that nice of them?

Thunderduck is trying to ignore me. He is NO FUN.

The Crazies Invent a Sport

I work with some extremely crazy people. Not a big surprise since you have to be crazy to hang with me anyway, but this time I laughed SO HARD. Dehydration laughing. Cuz you are peeing and crying from laughing and you lose all your bodily fluids from both ends and get dehydrated and have to go get more beer.

We were at StripTease's house and Duckit and Felix and I were all sitting on the couch and MyPoolBoy was across the room in a recliner trying his d@mnedest to ignore us as we were laughing and snorting on the couch over stupid stuff. First of all, StripTease had a chili pepper pinata hanging from the rafters of her back patio which overlooks the golf course. (This is important for later) Since Duckit and I have been white-trashing up our hallway and classroom doors for the last two weeks (leis, mardi gras beads, feathers, glittery posters), and we plan to continue to do so NEXT week (only worse - fuzzy dice, Nascar flags, etc.), we immediately had the same thought: we need that! We said it at the same time and fell into fits of hilarity which incited an exaggerated eye-roll from the recliner. We figured it would be the culminating decoration would be this glorious pinata after we put up balloons, then a flamingo windsock, then chili pepper lights. StripTease said we couldn't have it. She knows we're up to no good. Then Duckit and I decided that we should go and buy our own anyway - a multi-colored BURRO/jacka&& one - it would be funnier anyway! Duckit also mused out loud if there was a way that we could rig it to attach to our door handles so that when we opened and shut the door it would raise up and down! More fits of laughter from the couch. More eye-rolls from the recliner.

Then we got into a discussion about pets because I was telling Felix about our rabbit, Al, that she gave to me after she rescued it from her dogs. I started explaining the zoo at my house to Duckit and when I got to the description of the lizard that we used to have I told her that I had to call the campus secretary one time and tell her that I needed someone to cover my morning duty because I was running late because the lizard got out and was in the a/c vents and we had to catch him before we left because we were scared Wild Kingdom would go down in our house cuz the cats would stalk and eat him while we were gone and we didn't even have that Jim guy to call the play by play and catch it all on film for posterity. That reminded Felix of the most ridiculous call to work she ever had to place: her dog was raped.

Felix then begins to explain the scenario to us about how she once had this little cocker spaniel in a fenced-in area of her yard. The neighbor's German shepherd jumped the little picket fence and got frisky with her (you know what I mean). Ok. Wait. The German shepherd got frisky with the cocker spaniel, not Felix.... just had to clarify that pronoun antecedent. Anyway. They got busy. As busy as dogs get. And then it was canis coitus interruptus when Felix went out the back door to yell at them to stop. (Did you see all that Latin? Aren't you impressed? It's not even PIG LATIN). So back to the dog rape. When Felix yelled at them to stop, they didn't. And the cocker spaniel was still "attached" to the German shepherd. And the German shepherd got scared and jumped the fence.

With Felix's cocker spaniel still in tow.

Over the fence.

Backwards.

Attached to the German shepherd.

So then Felix had to go catch them and separate them and take her dog to the vet to get a doggy abortion so Felix was late for work that day.

Again - fits of uncontrollable drunken dehydration laughter from the couch and annoyed eye-rolls from the recliner.

And then the "sports" began. A couple of the Ethels found some wiffle-golf balls and golf clubs. And they invented "Dodge Golf." And Dodge Golf is exactly what it sounds like. Take a bunch of your drunkest friends. Procure wiffle-golf balls and golf clubs. Line up across from each other in Napoleonic warfare juxtaposition. Hit golf balls at each other. Laugh uncontrollably.

You know what they say...

It's always funny until someone gets hurt.

Then it's hilarious.

WTP Gardening Tips

Just saw that Thunderduck posted on Facebook he was getting off 1/2 day and he just got his check.  I replied to him that it was good because that meant he could pay for beer and snacks when he came home early to help finish building the fence around the garden because I caught a momma possum and her ugly piggy back baby possum heading out of our back yard and across the road to the neighbor's the other morning.  I even yelled at her to get out of my yard and that her baby was ugly, and I think that's why she just kept running.  I also think that's why the neighbors think I need therapy. I have a reputation.  Take that, you trespassing momma possum with your ugly piggy back baby possum.! And don't come back if you know what's good for you!  Possums (possi?) fear me. 

The development of this situation necessitates us finishing the fence around the garden because now I am pretty sure that the presence of the aforementioned possums is exactly how the zucchini and cantaloupe keep disappearing from my garden at the mere larval stages of development.  As eloquently as I try to put it, I am fairly certain that this is pretty much one of the more redneck things that have ever left my fingertips and gone out into Cyblogspace without the aid of liquid thought enhancements.

Hold my beer.  Watch this.

WAIT WAIT WAIT!  I could just post an ugly offspring of MY OWN on a lawn chair near the garden with a twelve-pack and let them throw the empties at the possums!  possi???? 

Like whack-a-mole.  Only with possums.

And beer cans.

I'm On a Roll

From Gary Lewis and the Playboys:  

Walk along the lake with someone new
Have yourself a summer fling or two
But remember I'm in love with you and 


Be sure to stop by the free clinic before you come back home to me!!!!!!!!!!!!! 



BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sick-sties

I am really in fine form this morning and MyPoorPoolBoy is having to sit in public and suffer through it.  They are playing the 60's channel on the satellite radio at the bakery and I can't control my brain mouth at all.

First, Judy Collins - the Emily Dickinson of her generation, was on singing some lame sad bullshi+ song about why she is so dayum lonely (uh - cuz you are UGLY, Judy fix your hair and get some Max Factor after your face and then we'll talk about signing you up for Match.Com or PlentyOfFish.Com and we'll take a really fuzzy profile pic or something). 
Then THIS song came on: 




Now, I am pretty savvy as far as music goes and I thought I had heard them all.  But I must admit, this one was a new one on me.  So I listened intently to the lyrics and caught on to the gist of it all about 2 verses in..... and then I proceeded to make fun of it out loud:  

Last night at the dance I met Laurie,
So lovely and warm, an angel of a girl.
Last night I fell in love with Laurie -
Strange things happen in this world.

As I walked her home,
She said it was her birthday.
I pulled her close and said
"Will I see you anymore?"
Then suddenly she asked for my sweater
And said that she was very, very cold. 

Dude - she is either wanting you to give her the sweater as a birthday present or she is totally trying to strip you - go for it!!!!!!!!


I kissed her goodnight
At her door and started home,
Then thought about my sweater 


Liar!  You were thinking about going back and totally doing Laurie.  The only reason you thought about your sweater was that you had a huge b0ner and you needed it to camouflage your crotch. 

And went right back instead.
I knocked at her door and a man appeared.
I told why I'd come, then he said:

"You're wrong, son.
You weren't with my daughter. 

You were with my skanky cheating Cougar WIFE!  Thanks for bringing her home, though!  I haven't seen her in a few days -- btw, she has VD and it makes her have cold chills, did she mention that to you? 

Ok, there's more - his necrophiliac-self went to the cemetery to find her and his sweater was on the tombstone, but I really wasn't listening too much anymore cuz I was laughing so hard at my own Cougar/VD comment that I had to look up how predictably predictable the rest of the song went:   blah blah blah - just dig her up, a$$hole, and quit whining already!

MyPoolBoy told the people next to us that I was off my meds.   BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Cougar Moment of the Day

How much does an Italian soccer player cost? I would like to buy one, please.

Yes, Virginia

So.  After my post yesterday about the pulpit/bar and the possibility of Jesus Pez dispensers, and after one of the girls on Banned Camp posted a picture of her son's toy train set with a Jesus action figure tied to the tracks with Mardi Gras beads, I couldn't stand it any longer and I Googled "Jesus Pez."  

First, I am thrilled to report that my blog comes up second on Google if you type in "Jesus Pez." 

After THIS.

Sold!

Last night Felix and I went to an auction and she wanted to buy a big-a$$ telescope, but she saw some old dude looking at it who was going to outbid her. She was muttering under her breath that he needed to quit looking at it and that he didn't need it because he was too old. I told her he DID need it because he was old and maybe he had lost his reading glasses. So then we started snorting and laughing and causing a disturbance and we got dirty looks from MyPoolBoy and her ManSlave.

Then they had a huge-a$$ fan that Felix threatened to buy and put in her classroom to help her counteract the hot flashes because her a/c won't get down to sub-arctic or whatever setting it is that she thinks is going to make her comfortable. I told her to have at it - I didn't want it because I stay freezing all the time. So they go to put it up for bid and tried to demonstrate how it worked. It didn't. I told her that I needed that fan for MY classroom!!!!! And we started snorting and laughing and causing a disturbance and got more dirty looks from the boys. So we didn't buy that, either.

However, I DID buy a pulpit for 10 bucks at the auction - and, no, I am not going to start my own religion just so I can wear a hat. Actually I plan to make a bar out of it. Mr. Nasty Bear now has a permanent, logical home. I figured I could offer 2 choices at my bar: water or wine. Probably Blue Nun. And I may need some pie plates to take up an offering when we need to go on a beer run. I also plan to get some to-go cups for the bobsled ride to h3ll that I probably will be taking once it is all said and done.

So. I am bad. But I think this is not as bad as the cross-shaped Easter candy I saw at Walmart. 2 varieties - chocolate and grape sucker, which was near the empty PEZ display. Please tell me there were not any Jesus PEZ's or I will fall over.

Bar None

Do NOT switch bartenders on me.  I went from having a former student w/a "J" name be my bartender on Wednesday nights to having someone else with a "J" name be the bartender.  I knew it started with a J but for the life of me could not remember it. 

We tried Jake, Justin, Jeremy, Jason, Jacob, Jack, Jeremiah, Jerry, Jed, Jeffrey, and Jesus - pronounced the King James way and the Spanish way.   Turns out it is the same name as the 1st bartender.  So I just should have stuck to the usual routine. 

THEN.  Some Janice Joplin hippie chick came in and took over the jukebox and played worse music than me.  At which point some of the guys started offering me dollars to play "Jessie's Girl" as many times as I wanted just to escape the aural torture.  She had a bandana headband and braids.  And then she played like 3 Willie Nelson songs back to back and I figured it out. 

It was Willie Nelson's sister. 

She came to the table and asked everyone if there was any music we wanted to listen to.  And then, like a bi+ch, I said, "Yes, we would like to listen to ANY MUSIC." 

She left. 

But the guys laughed. 

Double Vision

Well. Yesterday, MyPoolBoy and Thunderduck and I went garage sale-ing in the next town over. Among our finds that we regrettably did not purchase was a tabletop crane machine that took plastic tokens instead of coins. It was only dollar, but we didn't know if it would work and it didn't have any toys in it so it was kind of like a sad-empty-one-night-stand-Vegas-marriage that probably would of sat empty and meaningless forever reminding us that we could never be winners.     Also almost bought a two-foot-long plastic "action figure?" frilled lizard.  Very realistic-looking.  Had toes missing off of the back foot that someone had painted red with nail polish to resemble blood as if this plastic reptile had been subject to plastic action figure animal abuse in an underground  plastic action figure lizard cage fighting ring or something.

Anyway.  We stopped to eat at a little place on the square of the Mullet County courthouse and we were just finishing up our sandwiches and peach tea when a couple walked in and were waiting to be seated. Thunderduck had his back to the door and did not see them come in, but MyPoolBoy who was facing the door, made eye contact with me and I was like, “WHAT?????” He nodded his head in the direction of the door and so I looked and I said something to the effect of “Oh My Gawd” or “Good Heavens” or "I'm blind! I'm blind!"  or something equally appropriate for occasions when you can't believe what your eyes are seeing and you wish that you had fresh-sliced jalapenos to rub over your corneas to briefly impair your vision so as to avoid witnessing what your brain has already committed to memory and will not let you forget... in which case, you then start fumbling around semi-blindly for an ice pick to jab into your frontal lobe to pierce your short-term memory center and erase all traces of  the image from your personal RAM.   Let me prepare you for this.  It is not your usual run-of-the-mill Mullet County sight... such as redneck dude with back hair wearing what is probably one of his illegitimate offspring's  Ed Hardy tank tops.  Or the road map varicose veined legs of the redneck dude's equally redneck overweight girlfriend wearing the offspring's cut-off jean shorts.  At which point you start wondering if the child was left at home naked because they have nothing to wear.

Oops.  I think this is the point where real respectable writers would say something meaningful like, "but I digress."  Y'all just know it's because I'm all ADD and sh*t.  So.  Back to the story....  What we saw was THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  So, Thunderduck leans forward after I uttered/screamed out “Oh My Gawd” or “Good Heavens” or "I'm blind! I'm blind!" or whatever and wants to know what is behind him -- in case it was a giant minotaur or something that could potentially pose a threat to him.  I just lean in and whisper - your dad just spotted THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING.  He shook his head and said that we were mean.  I told him if he didn't believe me he could look for himself but he just needed to be aware that it would be an emotionally  mind-shattering experience.   Because Thunderduck chose not to heed my warning that THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING was indeed, right behind him, here in Mullet County, he turned to look.  So.  We had all been turned to stone at that point.  I think it is important that I interject here with an explanation of what I mean by THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING.  Really, I bet that these parents adopted him, or at least the "mother" was a stepmom because if it had been my kid, I would have left it on a Spartan hillside somewhere at birth.  If you don't get what I mean by that, then Google it or pay better attention in history class - and don't come back here chastising me for being mean, because, remember, after Thunderduck saw it for himself he didn't think we were so mean after all. 

Thankfully, the waiter brought our check and we were able to head to the front and pay out -- knowing that we would have to pass THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING as well as THE UGLIEST BABY'S parents.  Really and truly I was trying to avert my eyes like I was in some seedy back-alley circus sideshow tent - but I couldn't.  And that's when we saw it:  THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING had a twin!!! An IDENTICAL twin. Or maybe a clone.  At any rate, he then lost his title as THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING because now he was in a tie for first/last place. 

Seriously.  They should have some sort of filtering system when people choose to breed.  Sort of like a blood test for a marriage license.   If you cannot morph the two people's drivers license pictures into a picture of an aesthetically socially acceptable human, then they cannot be allowed to procreate.  Especially if there is a chance of a multiple birth.  So fertility drugs are totally out of the question.