I Survived the End of the World and All I Got Was This Lousy Head Cold

I've been stumbling around today feeling light-headed and a bit groggy.  My thoughts are all fuzzy and a couple of times when I've sat down to rest, I ended up falling asleep... like the time Felix and I passed out in the booth at Denny's.  And I'm all thinking.... WOW that's some really strong....wait a minute...  I haven't been drinking!  WTF???

Now I have to deal with the horrifying reality that I am sick instead of drunk.  I can handle the latter...I'm actually pretty adept at it.    What I want to know is which one of my little heathens at school gave me their cooties as a Christmas bonus?  Somebody's parents let them come to school while they were infectious --and as soon as I pinpoint the culprit, Santa's elf will be delivering some last minute kazoos, play dough, fingerpaints, Christmas candy, and Red Bull for your child's stocking.  I may even leave some noisemakers and confetti for New Year's Eve. 

So what do I do if all of this hahaha-I-can't-think-straight is because of illness?   Like a head cold?????????????  Or a sinus infection??????????  Or worse yet..... I can't bear  to say it -- I dare not invoke the Eff Word by name.  Look, all I'm saying is that it is a homophone for flew and flue and I will not call upon it -- it's like saying MacBeth or Beetlejuice or some bullsh1t like that. Because THEN I will be sicker than Linda Blair in The Exorcist and unless I grow antlers and hang out under a deer stand eating dried corn, no one around here is going to hold my hair for me when my head spins and I spew pea soup.  

The Hangover

My eyes were really red from allergies and exhaustion this morning.  As I was attempting to douse the bloodshotedness from them with about a half a gallon of Visine, taking care to dribble equal portions down my neck as well as into the crow's feet alongside my eyes, and therefore creating a trail of pharmaceutical tears into my ears, thereby necessitating an extra 15 seconds of "getting ready" time that was eaten up with meticulous q-tipping of the stray Visine before it penetrated my eardrums and permanently deafened me or some equally unlikely and ridiculous sh1t like that. 

It occurred to me as I was squinting into the mirror that my eyes looked REALLY BLUE  when surrounded by red, inflamed ocular tissue and thus I am probably really pretty when I am hung over.

Score. 

Then I started thinking of other reasons besides the attractiveness of my eyes that make hangovers not such a bad thing.

Getting there.  Any parts of the night before that can be recalled, whether from personal memory or Facebook posts, often make the "morning after" extremely worth it.  If this is not the case, then you are partying with the wrong people. 

Shades.  Specifically, wearing them when other people are not.  This makes you look cool.  If you don't look cool, the hangover advantage is that you don't give a rat's a$$ about how you look. 

Skipping breakfast causes weight loss.  If all you are consuming during the duration of your hangover is aspirin, coffee, and nicotine from chain smoking to take the edge off until the liquor store opens back up, then you will INEVITABLY lose weight.  Atkins ain't got nothin' compared to a few good hangovers. 

A day off.  You will look and sound like h3ll.  You might even be puking.  No one will question that you are ill. 

Hair of the dog.  What other ailment can you think of that could actually be made better by exposure to liquor?

Mild Mannered

Chunk informed us at the dinner table tonight:  "I have etiquette out the a$$!" 

Show Nuff

QueenB was lamenting that Pepita's LittleOne had decided to show a pig at the livestock show this year, and that the pig was extremely uncooperative.  She further stated that cows, goats, and sheep were all easier to load, unload, and show in the arena and that next year the LittleOne would need to make a better decision about what animal she chose.  

I call Bullshi+.  And not just because it comes from cattle.  Not one of these ideas is acceptable.  I feel it is my duty as the LittleOne's aunt (because Tia is the first part of tiara), to step in and put a stop to this foolishness before they mess things up nine ways to Sunday for this poor kid.  

You would think that with the fact that QueenB has more years experience at this than I do, she would have learned all the tips and tricks and nuances of showing animals at a stock show. 

I helped a friend at a stock show ONE YEAR and with that limited experience, I figured out the most important reason why girls are in 4-H and FFA to begin with -- and that is to pick up cute boys.  

So.  The bottom line is this:  CHICKENS.  

C) "CHEEPER" to feed.  That leaves you with the problem of having too much money left over at Tractor Supply and enables you to buy fancy boots and new jeans for when you are picking up cute boys.  

H) HANDLING them is way easier.  Chickens will not put up much of a fight when they are being put into their cages for the ensuing road trip.  Your hair won't get messed up, unlike the stupid girls whose mothers and grandmothers talked them to showing pigs/cows/goats/sheep. You will look much better than them when you are picking up cute boys.  

I)  IF they don't sell, chickens are easily dealt with later.  Either let them roost and lay eggs for you, fire up the Fry Daddy, or practice voodoo.  If worse comes to worst, turn them loose in the yard and let a distracted motorist on his cell phone put a definitive end to the "Why did the chicken cross the road" debate once and for all.  No pesky mascara runs from tears because you will miss your animal or if it doesn't sell for as much as you hoped.  (Who cares?  It's a chicken.)  Your makeup will be intact for the rest of the show and you will be fresh and pretty so that you can  pick up cute boys.  

C)  CAGES for chickens are small and can be placed easily in the bed of a truck, thus eliminating the need for a trailer altogether. You will be able to park closer and get inside sooner to pick up cute boys.  

K) KFC.  Do you know of anything else pertaining to chickens that starts with K?  This is what you name your chicken.  Cute boys think naming your chicken KFC is funny. 

E) EASY to show. Showing chickens is actually a misnomer.  Chickens show themselves.  Chickens can be dropped off at the show barn, cage card and cage latch double-checked, and then you are free to roam the rest of the barns looking for cute guys.

N) NO need to enter the arena at all.  This ensures that you will not smell like livestock snot, urine, or feces.  It also protects your new boots and jeans from getting livestock snot, urine, or feces on them.  The stupid pig/cow/goat/sheep girls will be smelly and none of the cute boys will want to talk to them.  

S)  SIMPLE to bathe and get ready to show.  Bathing a chicken is less time consuming than bathing larger animals.  Some chickens actually don't mind.  Be careful not to have the water too hot.  If your chicken appears to be losing consciousness and the water smells like Campbell's soup, you should remove your chicken immediately or add noodles.  Either way, you won't be all tired out from the ordeal, and you will still have plenty of energy to pick up cute boys.  

CAR-ma

I was unable to fulfill my regular football game parking lot duties tonight because it was just too crazy and they needed us to "spread out."  Being unable to fulfill your regular duties means that the first-runner up receives the crown.  Which means that I have "my people" in the Reserved Parking Area so well-trained that a man could handle it and so my parking lot duties fell to MyPoolBoy this evening and I had to go take over directing traffic on a corner.  Not that I am not fully comfortable working a corner, it just a deviation from the norm that was somewhat noteworthy to me.

I was fully prepared for the task, wearing my specially-designed parking lot duty shirt that has the word PARKING emblazoned across the chest with sparkly silver letters and a rhinestone tiara ironed on underneath.  This attire is not only pretty, but also functional, so that people will realize that I am, in fact, sober and SUPPOSED to be out there and not just on a Friday night bender with a sudden reckless whim to stand in a high school parking lot and direct traffic at the football game.  

I was waving and smiling and helping people avoid the moral depravity of parking in handicapped spaces when this woman pulled her car up to my post and wanted to drop her daughter off right there in the middle of the flow of traffic and turn around in the middle of the flow of traffic so that she could go back out the way she came and avoid going on a rocky bumpy dirt road.  I asked nicely - politely - professionally for her to please pull into the parking lot by the band hall and let the ladies in that parking lot help her turn around.  She didn't like that answer either.  She started yelling at me that she didn't want to tear up her car on the rocky bumpy dirt road.  I tried to explain to her that if she would follow the flow of traffic, she could turn around before the road and not block traffic.  Then her kid just says "just let me out here, Mom" and bangs me in the leg with her door as she jumped out of the car.  The mom took off, brushing the back flank of her vehicle against the very same leg her kid had just tried to maim, and pulled into the-very-same-parking-lot-I-had-just-asked-her-to-go-to-only-moments-prior. So I guess basically I was hit (albeit lightly) by a car tonight.  Once she was able to turn back around against the flow of traffic she gassed it back past me so that I would get the message that she was pi$$ed off at me for trying to make her drive her precious car down that rocky bumpy dirt road.  

Approximately 40 yards later, I heard the lilting sounds of metal scraping asphalt as she bottomed out while going too fast over a speed bump.  

Dear Karma, 

Thank you for being a bigger bi+ch than me tonight and allowing me be there to witness it.
Sincerely,
WTP  

There She Is

So.  This morning I informed TheLongestOneNightStandEver that I had the horrific thought run through my mind that as of this past Sunday, she is no longer eligible for MISS America due to her so-newly-acquired-marital-status-that-she-hasn't-updated-her-Facebook-profile.  Then I got depressed.  Because then it dawned on me that I can't be Miss America, either.  It's not just marital status, but also age.

But then I cheered up again.  Because that probably wouldn't be the grounds for disqualification in my case anyway.

I'm pretty sure I've broken most of the pageant's morals clauses.

An Open Letter of Pre-Apology

So. Thunderduck springs on us last night that he and TheLongestOneNightStandEver are getting married. 

In less than 24 hours. 

And they don't even have to. 

Imagine my surprise and heartfelt disappointment that there was no time to plan a decent bachelorette party.  I am taking this opportunity to publicly apologize to the Lucilles who have been cheated out of an excuse to raise h3ll. AND I can't even go shopping for a new dress or anything because all the good thrift stores don't open until later on Sunday.  Did they think of that?   No.  They are "in love" and are all happy and crap and are under the starstruck misguided effing impression that this is about THEM. 

Also.  Not sure how I am feeling about letting an AGGIE into the family since we are still adjusting to the fact that BrideOfTrainwreck is a Yankee.  But there is some consolation in the fact that she is cute enough to potentially produce acceptable-looking offspring for my wallet.  Because if Trainwreck's baby had been ugly I was just gonna keep the picture off of a jar of Gerber baby food and tell everyone it was just an amazing coincidence that he looked like that.  

Also to her credit was her remarkable ability to almost keep up with me last night after 3 bottles of wine.  Our evening almost ended prematurely when Thunderduck mistakenly thought she had fallen asleep in the truck on the way back to our house.  I made sure that THAT was not the case by hauling her out of the truck and into the house where we commenced to trying on our dresses and tiaras and made the menfolk build us a fire so we could finish off a box of wine and play Bride while they looked on helplessly just praying that they wouldn't have to call the fire department with us sprawled out in lawn chairs looking all wedding-ish and sh1t.

So there. She can't back out now because I have already blogged about her. 

You Tee'd Me Off

Listening to a yuppy dude (in a UT t-shirt and UT flip-flops for Gawd's sake) try to explain to a yuppy chick where and what Billy Bob's is (because nothing screams "I"m a real cowboy" like UT t-shirts and UT flip-flops).  If he is having to explain it in THAT much detail she is apparently not from Texas.

 Sadly, he is not capable of telling the truth her due to his obvious impairment: Let's face it, a yuppy-in-a-UT-t-shirt-and-UT-flip-flops-for-Gawd's-sake is overkill evidence that you A) did not actually go to UT or B) are an alumni who was a transplant from another state because we all know that UT really doesn't have anybody from Texas that ACTUALLY goes there unless they are football players.
The truth that he failed to impart is this: Billy Bob's is a great place to go for Rick Springfield concerts and to watch bull riding if you know someone who is actually riding bulls that night. Otherwise, Billy Bob's is where the yuppy dudes in UT t-shirts and UT flip-flops for Gawd's sake hang out trying to be all Texan and shi+.

And if you go in there trying to act all Texan and shi+, us real Texans will sniff you out because you are the one who gets up to go line-dance in boots that are too expensive. In the process you invariably and stupidly will leave your margarita unattended, so we'll send our drunk-a$$ sister-in-law to put a booger in it.

 I've HEARD.

Do You Want Fries With That?

So. MyPoolBoy and I go to Whataburger and I'm pretty sure that we saw a prostitution deal go down. (THAT sounds totally Harold and Kumarish doesn't it?) We sat at a table off to the side so that we could people watch because I haven't blogged in a while and I needed material. Whataburger did not disappoint. Across from us sat two women who looked like they had not yet recovered from the previous evening's festivities. Maybe even the previous week's festivities. Anyway... they started up a conversation with these guys wearing golf shirts who had arrived in a nice truck. One of the women (let's call her The Management) struck up a conversation with them that went something like this: "There's no good men in this town." (Now THAT's a pick-up line!) Translation - There's no men in the bars where we hang out that make enough money to buy their own drinks AND our drinks The Golf Shirts smiled and nodded and made the mistake of humoring her. "Well, we're not from here." Now... The Management took the social politeness as INTEREST and continued.... "That's good. We went out to the bars last night and it was just the same men as usual. Where are y'all from?" They told her. "Oh that's good." By this point, another pair of guys had arrived and seated themselves nearby. Ok. Let me rephrase that. Grizzly Adams and Barney Fife arrived and seated themselves nearby. The Management lowered her standards. "So where are y'all from?" They told her they used to be "from here" but now they lived somewhere else. "Oh that's good." This interpersonal communication proved to be more successful in that it involved more than one person in the conversation. Well "involved" beyond the point of me and MyPoolBoy listening in and muttering smart-a$$ responses to everything she spat out between bites of her Breakfast on a Bun. The gem was when she announced to both tables of men that right now she had no place to stay because her mother was about to kick her out. (Me under my breath: Why do you think that is?) The Golf Shirts left quickly in their nice new truck and she announced that she was going out to smoke and she would talk to Grizzly, Barney, and her sidekick in a little bit. The remainder of everyone else's meals continued in relieved silence and then the three got up and left at the same time. By the time that MyPoolBoy and I left, The Management had Grizzly Adams cornered at his work truck with Barney standing sheepishly at the passenger side waiting to get in. By the time we were through the double doors, The Management and her silent sidekick had started jaywalking across the highway to Walgreens. Grizzly and Barney had gotten in their truck and were pulling around to exit past the drive-thru. At this point, MyPoolBoy was receiving direct succinct orders from me to FOLLOW THEM FOLLOW THEM FOLLOW THEM! Sure enough. Grizzly's truck crossed the highway and pulled into the Walgreens parking lot. There was an exchange of words out in front of the RedBox rental machine and then the foursome entered the store. I had to continue my surveillance because of the aforementioned lack of blog material. They came out with beer and condoms. And then went to the motel across the street. Seriously. MyPoolBoy complained that all he ever got with his meal at Whataburger was heartburn.

Hey BooBoo

PSA: Yoga is infinitely more relaxing, yet completely unsuccessful when vodka is involved.

Curses! Foiled Again!

How many answers are we allowed to give?

#1 - The obvious answer: Wrap the foil around the rabbit ears antenna to get better reception because if you are old enough to know this answer, you remember when there was no such thing as cable.

#2 - The White Trash answer:  Put foil in the windows of your mobile home to keep the incoming sunlight from creating a glare on the screen while you watch your stories.

#3 - The improvisational rotten child answer: Roll the foil into a long cylinder and clamp onto the midpoint of the rabbit ear that you broke off while rough-housing in the living room of your mobile home.

#4 - The parental answer:  Use the empty cardboard roll to whoop the rotten children when they get in front of the set and block your view of the screen or if they are rough-housing and break one of the antenna off the top of the set and try to disguise it with rolled up foil.

#5 - The nutjob recluse neighbor answer:  Wrap the foil around your head, creating an unattractive yet functional beanie/hat to use while watching the television so that the messages coming in from "them" won't infiltrate your brain and make you end up like the white trash people in the mobile home next door.

Letter Rip

This is supposed to be all inspirational for planning a wedding and being romantic and whatever blah blah blah.  The bride and groom write each other a note to read before the ceremony. 

I was drawn to the changes of the expression on the bride's face (joyful, pensive, then touched -or heartbroken cuz he decided to end the letter with an "it's not you it's me and I can't go through with the wedding).  In contrast, check out the expression on HIS face - it never changes. 

I think it is because he is still trying to sound out the words!

Games People Play

OMG.  I just participated in the most exhausting game of Fetch ever known to mankind.  DammitDog, Killer, and Spazz would dutifully run after the ball I threw, but the little one couldn't get his mouth around the ball to bring it back and ended up just jumping around and barking like a fool. 

The 2 big dogs chased the ball, but by the time they crossed the yard to get to it, they apparently forgot why they were running and got all sidetracked into some sort of ADHD version of Tag and neglected to follow through with their end of the game, too.

In the meantime, DonnyCat began to feel left out of the frolicking and proceeded to start his own game of "Attempted Murder" by weaving in and out of my legs each time I went to "fetch" the dogs' effing ball for them. 

The V Word - And It's Not VODKA

If you are getting your dander up and even remotely thinking I am going to be all political with this post you are way off, so you can pick your beer back up and put your earrings back on.

Look, the only party I will say I totally support is a cocktail party.  Or a keg party.  Because, honestly, people, I am too busy trying to mess up my own life to give too much of sh1t about politics messing it up.  Now don't get me wrong... the government is important, and the news is important, but I am the parent of two sons in the military and, pretty much all I care about is that no one shoots at them.

Ok, ok, I don't want anyone shooting at the 2 sons who are NOT in the military, either.

Here's the issue - I am linking to a video to describe what I am talking about in case you, like me, get your news from Google newsfeeds, gossip at the taco stand, and the Daily Show. (Jon Stewart: The Vagina Idealogues)

Why is everyone so shocked that using the "V" word got this woman in trouble?

H3ll, using my V-word got me "in trouble" FOUR TIMES!

As Young As You Feel

So. Queen B posted a Facebook "game" with instructions that indicate participants are supposed to reply to her post with a single word response that conveys how and/or where we met her. Then we are supposed to copy and repost the same "game" on our own Facebook status so that she can do the same.

Basically, I'm just too freakin' lazy.  However - I will never pass up the opportunity to give someone, especially a family member, a hard time.  Queen B is only 8 years older than I am.   I have all kinds of things I could say about THAT.

Furthermore, I  have a complete and total lack of ability to follow instructions.  So my first thought was to respond with TWO words - tennis balls.  Because in order to meet his bride, my father used the completely unorthodox date-pick-up method of whacking tennis balls over the chainlink enclosure of a tennis court and literally "hitting on" Queen B.

I then decided that I WILL respond with a single word (which incidentally MyPoolBoy is disputing its actual lexicographical existence because spell-check is putting that annoying effing red squiggly line under it).  Also, I will not post the the "game" on my own Facebook  (refer to the aforementioned lack of ability to follow instructions).

Anyway.  The word I have chosen is  CRADLEROBBERY.   I am going to post now and watch the merriment commence!

Say Cheese

I didn't take a lunch to school today, so I took the very adult problem-solving action of cutting in the cafeteria line in front of my students.  As I was attempting to communicate to the sweet lady behind the serving line that I wanted a quesadilla, one of my boys kept saying my name over and over. "Mrs. WTP."
I ignored him.  Again..."Mrs. WTP."
Ignore. Yet again... "Mrs. WTP."
I finally got my tray of food and turned to address his incessant beckoning..."What do you need?"
"Well, I was trying to save you.  Those quesadillas are really gross!"

Cup of Prevention

After multiple days of feeling under the weather, my housekeeping skills have gone from "lacking" to "nonexistent."  So it was not entirely surprising to me this morning when MyPoolBoy's boot became entangled in the straps of a bra that I had carelessly (as in, I could care less) left at the foot of the bed.  As he propelled forward and unsuccessfully attempted to regain his balance before falling into the door frame in a display of Three-Stooges-like physical comedy, I punctuated his unfortunate ordeal with the hilarious-to-me commentary:  "Booby trap."

I think I may have unintentionally found a way to save money on security systems.  My new enterprise will be called "Second Base Security," and we will keep you ABREAST of your home's safety with 24 hour SUPPORT!

Quick Quips

At the faculty meeting this afternoon, I was delighted to discover that my colleagues had provided mini-Snickers and mini-Butterfingers AND THREE different kinds of brownies. As I made my way down the line with my plate, someone questioned what the topic of the meeting was to be. The response: information from a curriculum audit of our campus.

 To which one of my co-workers interjected this ABSOLUTE PEARL of wisdom -- "Audit." That's not really a party word, is it?

 BWAHAHAHAHA!

 Now that I am home, DonnyCat and I have come to the happy realization that it's just us here, and that we have first dibs on leftovers for dinner.

Important Video Message

You should go HERE for an important video message about my blog.

Hot Tub Time Machine

So.  I am the proud new owner of a $50 hot tub.  It is straight out of the late 70s or early 80s and after moving it, we NEED it! 

I had to clean the heating element with vinegar to remove the lime scale while we were dong some maintenance on it.  Now the whole back porch smells like Easter egg dye.  Or douche.  

It is big and ugly.  Ivory fiberglass with dark brown Spanish tile trim.  I fully expect to lift the cover and find Ron Jeremy sitting in it.  And probably the only way we  can emulate the time machine experience is to  drink heavily and then hit replay on our mp3 player and zap us back a whopping 2 minutes and 39 seconds in time.  Deja vu all over again.

Best 2-line Conversation of the Whole Day

MyPoolBoy (to Chunk who had severe bedhead):   Good morning, Mr. Bieber, you missed breakfast. 

Chunk: Shut the h3ll up!

Foo King Chinese Food

Actually it is the Panda Cafe, but we are here because we needed to eat and the Telenav Gypsy Bi+ch reviews said it was cheap delicious college Chinese food.  It was next door to a place called BULLrittos and the Frozen Goat yogvurt shop.  We really thought we were getting the better deal of the three.   And THIS was sitting on the first table when we wlked in the door. 

What's HapPINing

So.  I get on Pintrest after hearing how it is the suburban woman's crack.   And my verdict is a resounding "maybe."

I've seen a few little tidbits of info here and there, and it has been brought to my attention that there is even etiquette for "pinning."  And none of this has ANYTHING to do with voodoo dolls or getting a hot fraternity guy to mark you as his territory.  Unless I run a search for hot fraternity guys on Pintrest and then I could see what it sends me to.  (Reminder to self: look up hot fraternity guys on Pintrest later.  Reminder to self #2: check original sites for ages of hot fraternity guys before repinning to avoid pesky jail time.)

I don't have it all figured out yet, and I'm not really sure how the site chose all these random-a$$ people or pinners or pin-ups or whatever-the-h3ll-you-call-them for me to follow.

There was one that came up tonight under the category of "Architecture."  Now, first of all - I don't give a rat's shiny green a$$ about architecture.  And second of all - it was ugly.  Commenting thusly  (Hey, I don't give a rat's shiny green a$$ about your ugly architecture, etc.) on the pinner's prized collection of virtual Ugly probably violates one of those decrees of pinning etiquette.  Instead, I "Unfollowed" it, but I really was considering for a moment of "repinning" the whole shebang to MY account and just renaming the category "Ugly Sh1t."

Ventilation Without Filtration

If I said everything I was thinking I would be unemployed, divorced, and have no friends except Felix and DonnyCat.

Here's what I am thinking and not saying today....

187.  It's my IQ.  It is also the California Penal Code for murder.  Trivia you might need.  

Oh, really?  Wahhh wahhhh.

You know what this place needs?  A big g0ddayum giant chocolate cake.  And vodka.

I'm so glad you have time to post on Facebook while the rest of us WORK for a living.

Your lack of planning is my emergency because WHY????

You know what you need?  About 10 more years of life experience.

Oh h3ll yes.  Please let me stop doing everything that I am doing and take care of YOUR crap,  because I know your crap has GOT TO BE way more important than mine.

Instead of thanking me for all the work I do for you, why don't you DO SOME OF THE WORK YOURSELF?

Dog and pony shows sure leave a lot of sh1t behind for others to clean up later.

If you can't say anything nice -- well, you seem incapable of saying anything nice, so shutting the h3ll up is really your only option, isn't it?

Sorry.  I forgot to be overwhelmingly impressed.  Do you want me to do a f*cking cartwheel?

Even if you spraypaint bullsh1t gold, it's still bullsh1t.

Yippee - effing - skippy.

Why yes.  I'd love another motherf*cking responsibility on top of all the sh1t I already do to make your life easier.

Oh f*ck.  Please go away.    

Heartbreaker

Wednesday.  Driving to Sonic with MyPoolBoy in the Beemer because it was a gorgeous day and I needed to have the top down for more than the 7 blocks from school to the house.  As if I was not already a nervous wreck due to the abysmal reality that I sometimes refer to as MY DAYUM JOB, I had the added pressure of transporting a backseat driver in the passenger seat.  I was doing the best I could to keep the clutch-shift-gas rhythm going in my head to avoid hearing the sounds of his teeth grinding and his nails digging into the leather of the armrest -- I was doing completely fine with only the intermittent distractions of squirrel roadkill and turning up the volume for an appropriate cruising song, and he drops this on me:  Well, Davy Jones died today.

What?

Ok.  Admittedly I was distracted by the dead squirrel in the road at this point and for a millisecond I thought he meant the pirate.

Then it hit me.

What?

So he goes - "I SAID Davy Jones died today.  A heart attack.  So there will be no more Monkees reunions."

I HEARD you.  What kind of sadist are you?  Crap.  Don't do that to a woman -- don't just break the news to her that one of the cutest men on the planet is dead while she's trying to shift from second to third.  Are you trying to get us all killed?  I could have careened out of control at the breakneck speed of 21 mph and it would have been ALL YOUR FAULT.

To make matters worse - this morning, the GrandMarshal spearheaded a celebration of Dr. Seuss's birthday by getting the cafeteria to serve green eggs and ham for breakfast and he totally missed two other very important occasions - Texas Independence Day and Jon Bon Jovi's birthday.  No mention at all.  Not one whit.

Fast-forward to now - because the in-between is a h3llish blur that would drive most women and all men to drink. Being in the category of "most women" I have concocted a "sort-of-pina-colada" from remnants of various flavors of vodka and rum and a pitcher of frozen pineapple juice.  And some flavored syrup sh1t like you're supposed to put in coffee but coffee contains no alcohol so SCREW THAT.

So I'm cruising Facebook and mulling over the comments by a few of the Banned Camp girls, and I come across THIS phrase: geezer rock stars I'd still do.

It's like an even MORE inappropriate though thoroughly precise version of Do-able/Not Do-Able.
And so, I am inspired.  Here's my list.

Rick Springfield (obviously)

Bon Jovi (though I am not sure that he qualifies as a geezer because he's only 50, so technically he is not even old enough for the senior discount at Denny's)

Possibly Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees.

Davy Jones WAS on the list but he's not now that MyPoolBoy broke my heart with his insensitive announcement.

Elvis WOULD BE on the list, but I was like, 9 when he died so that kinda would've been statutory rape and besides at THAT point in my life I thought Leif Garrett was cute, so what did I know?

P.S. Add Leif Garrett because now I'm inebriated, and it's just funny!

We May Not Win But We Had Fun Trying

 So.  Me and Felix and Duckit and Hyphen entered the campus chili cook-off, which I must tell you was disturbingly bereft of  a number of health code protocols.  I know WE didn't use those ill-fitted plastic glove-thingies OR hair nets -- unless you count the Dr. Seuss hats we were wearing as hair nets. 

Along the way to the culminating moment of chili judging, we also hit some other lows.... slightly inappropriate attempts to turn a stuffed Cat-In-the-Hat toy into a voodoo doll, eerily realistic-looking plastic cockroaches that *somehow* appeared on the lids of other contestants' chili entries, an impromptu acapella rendition of the "buy the world a Coke" song, and the shameless waving of a crumpled five dollar bill in the faces of the judges. 

Someone came by our classrooms later and excitedly reported to us that they thought they saw a ribbon on our table. 

Yeah, we know.  A blue one.  We put it there as a subconscious message to the judges that we deserved to win.

Don't Say I Never Gave You Anything

Have I got a deal for you!  From the Free Stuff Times website:

Free K-Y jelly at Walmart

4:24 pm -"Coupons" 

Print this $3/1 K-Y coupon(login or register and click the red circle). Many Walmart stores have the 2 oz. jelly for $2.62, making it better than free.

Brave the blue-vested greeters and fire up your Lexmark -- this deal is even better if you use the paper and ink from your printer at work, passing more savings on to you!

Kentucky Jelly!  Admittedly it is sh1tty on toast, or even with peanut butter.  Enjoy!

Last Minute VD Gift Idea

If you have not yet gotten a Valentine's gift for that someone special --- or if you do not yet have a "someone special,"  Craigslist comes to the rescue!  

Valentine's Sexy Spells & Love Voodoo kit - $10 

Valentine's - or any time -- You won't find this in the local store!!!! 

No shi+ you won't find this at the local store, unless your local store is Marie Laveau's Voodoo Emporium.  I went to Walmart last night and there were NO voodoo kits. 

There appear to be no voodoo dolls or pins in either of these.  Which is a bummer, cuz given the very nature of the "spell,"  that would be a riot.   

However - the "Sexy Spells" looks a little bit like a conversation hearts box, which I think would be a GREAT idea.  Just type the magic sensual, come-hither words onto the candy itself and distribute to your love interest to drop the hint.  If WTP wrote love spells on candy hearts you would get such doozies as: 

Guess what?  I shaved my legs! 

You'll do.  

The kids are outside.
I'm sooooooo drunk!   

The clinic called, and I'm clear "for now." 

Are you awake? 

(for men) My Viagra just kicked in.  

We'd better do this now because I'm supposed to start my period in 2 days.  

You've got 13 minutes before "Swamp People" comes on.
What the hell.  I need to burn off the 27 calories of conversation hearts that I ate earlier. 

Hallmark Never Thought of This

I spent the better part of my evening at the Valentine's Dance - which you need to understand that, at the elementary level, is more like a Valentine's Run-Around-Like-A-Howler-Monkey-Hopped-Up-On-Mountain-Dew.  One of my students brought me a cup of lemonade (bribe? peace offering? hemlock?)  which I oh-so-politely declined by saying "no, thank you."  Please note that I did not say "I know you don't wash your hands after recess,"  nor did I ask,  "How much vodka is in that?"

Anyway,  I went back to my room to collect my purse before my escape, I mean , departure.  There was a little project put up in the hall by some of the volunteers and kids that had polled some of the staff and asked them to tell their favorite Valentine's memories. 

I asked the Grand Marshal how come his favorite wasn't the time that me and Hyphen and CrocWhore shoepolished his truck and TP'd his house!

Say it with Charmin!

Pick a Winner

So.  Peyton Place ISD is having a contest to come up with a new district motto.  I'm gonna win.  The toughest part of the  competition will be which one of my mottos is the best. 
1. There is no "I" in TEAM, but there is an  "I" in PPISD.
2. We're like you, only prettier. 
3.  What's a-motto with you?
Perhaps we could have a Latin motto, like the fancy Ivy Leagues do - 
4. O-gay Ackmules-pay
5.  PP.  It doesn't stand for what you think. 
6.  (This one's from Duckit) Packmules - A few good students. 
7.   Nowhere to go but up. 
And my favorite... 
8.  At least we're not Bur***. 

In My Yahoo Spam

2 emails that caused me a moment of pause and reflection: 

1 - Meet Mature Singles in Your Area
Well, I don't know any mature people NOW, so why would I want to meet any at this stage in my life? 

2 - Never Shave Again!
Is that like..... permission?   H3ll yeah!

How to Tell You Are Too Old for Vegas

Top Ten Ways to Tell You Are Too Old for Vegas

10.  You have a stack of ones ready -- to tip valets and bellhops, not for strippers. 
9.  You say "no thanks" to the guy handing out strip-club flyers because you have PTSD - Petrifed and Terrified of Spouse Disorder.
8.  By the 2nd day you have ditched efforts to look stylish on the  Strip and have opted for comfortable shoes.
7.  The TSA airport id checker on the trip home double-takes because you look "tired" compared to your id photo.
6. You can afford the maximum insurance on your rental car.
5.  You are leaving your room for your morning coffee at the same time the folks in the next room are stumbling IN.
4.  You avoid certain areas of the casino because they are "too loud."
3.  You avoid other areas of the casino because they are too far from the restroom. 
2. You order cosmos because you know you need the cranberry juice. 

And the number 1 way to tell that you are too old for Vegas:.  You meet someone on the shuttle from the airport whose 25th birthday is the exact date of your 25th wedding anniverary!

What I Like Most about Vegas

...so far

UNLIMITED BACON AT THE BUFFET!

Bus-ted in Vegas

Hand to GAWD just got off the shuttle at the hotel withMyPoolBoy and. a girl whose 25th birthday is the.same day as our 25th anniversary.  We have invited her to crash the wedding.  We screeched and laughed all the way to the hotel!

I Got New Glasses

QueenB got me a set of glassware (ok, barware) for my birthday.  It is beyoooootiful classy retro with gold pinstriping around the pitcher and glasses.  It also has a long stirring spoon.  I cannot find anything like it on Google images or eBay to compare and confirm what exactly it is we've got here.  Basically the pitcher is shaped like a large brandy snifter with a lip for pouring.  The glasses are all little rounded cups - demitasse-sized.

Here's the thing -- she was told it was an antique martini set, yet the pitcher and glasses are not shaped like one would expect for such imbibements.   I have almost decided that the pitcher COULD be for sangria.  (But not as a pitcher.)

Also, I have deemed those little glasses as useless if such is a case.

You can't seriously expect me to keep refilling those tiny little f*ckers.....They must be for doing shots or are just coordinating votive candle holders.

Shoe-In

Was looking at shoes for the re-wedding on Craigslist this a.m. just in case I want to deviate from the original plan of wearing the acrylic hooker heels.  Found a gorgeous pair with beading and cute little strappy across the back.  BUT they are a half size too big.  MyPoolBoy said we should go ahead and get them if we are going over to TheBigCity anyway.  I tried to explain to him in the simplest of terms to make his testosterone-infused brain understand that you can walk inebriated down the aisle with Elvis in shoes that are too SMALL because you can kick them off later and be ok; you canNOT walk inebriated down the aisle with Elvis in shoes that are too BIG because you will turn your ankle and fall and break your neck. 

"Woo hoo!" he said, "Single in Vegas!"

Re-Do

So. 
MyPoolBoy and I are approaching the 25-year mark.  Felix and I had planned this whole thing out a few years ago  and I am happy to report that roughly 30% of it may actually make it to fruition.  Unfortunately, Felix will not be unable to go to Vegas and attend the wedding, and there are no Rick Springfield concerts for me to get the proposal or groom that we had planned, but ELVIS WILL BE INVOLVED. 

Some of the Lucilles think I need to have a Bi+chelorette party (not a typo -- I'm not a bachelorette). 

I'm going to have to locate a big ol' Barbie dress for the ceremony -- been scouring Craigslist and if I don't either A) lose enough weight to be a size 4 or B) gain enough weight to be a size 16, then I am S.O.L.  I attempted to achieve goal weight B today by consuming an entire sleeve of  newly-purchased Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies.  I don't think I can make it by the 2-week deadline. 

Therefore, MyPoolBoy and I are going to thrift stores this weekend to find THE DRESS.  Please don't text or call or email me and tell me I can borrow yours.  You are missing the point.  I need to go dress shopping and I need to find something that will go with my tiara, acrylic hooker heels, rhinestone cateye shades, and vodka.

YOU: Don't want cosmos and/or appletinis spilled all over your heirloom garment.
ME: Extremely capable of spilling cosmos and/or appletinis all over your heirloom garment.  

Anyway -- I thought it would be great fun to change my status on Facebook to "engaged" instead of "married" to MyPoolBoy until the re-wedding occurred, and FB said it had to confirm this status with MyPoolBoy. 

Silly Facebook!  Don't you know that after 25 years, I don't need his permission for ANYTHING?

Please Stab Me in the Eardrum

Who besides me cannot stand to hear the moronic and badly syncopated lyrics of the Truvia commercials as sung by that annoyingly nasally bi+ch?

Dear Truvia and/or Truvia's marketing agency representatives:

Quit bogarting the crackpipe.  That is the only explanation for how such inanity made it to the airwaves.  That and the chick who sings your jingles must be doing  somebody really important.

Sincerely,
WTP

P.S. Just cuz you b@stardized "Jingle Bells" does not make it a holiday song, either. 

Maybe the Truvia jingle is what the drag queens are singing "watermelon watermelon motherf*cker watermelon" to.