IPW

I was attempting to demonstrate my physical prowess to the Lucilles while we were at the beach this afternoon. So I took my empty beer can and placed it between my thighs to crush it. Which, incidentally I was able to accomplish and pass the resulting aluminum pseudo-disk over to Felix for a souvenir. Isn't that impressive?

Not as impressive as the surprisingly round and symmetrical dueling bruises that I now have on the inner area of my legs just above the kneecaps.


This is an Identifiable Party Wound.

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."

Crazy

Just told MyPoolBoy that I was crazy about him.

Then I told him that actually I was just crazy, but I disguise it as being crazy about him so that it appears more socially acceptable.

On the Side

I love prescription drug commercials. More specifically, I love prescription drug commercial side effect disclaimers. Ok. Frankly what I love is making FUN OF prescription drug commercial side effect disclaimers. Like, the ones that say "serious side effects may occur, including death."

Ummmmm...Yeah. I'll take "death" for 2000, Alex. Dude are you so hurtin' to get it up that you would risk DEATH???????????? Just get some porn and a popsicle stick and yarn to make a splint. Or get a girl to deep-throat a popscicle while you watch and then you can use the popsicle stick as a splint when she's done.

Anyway - I heard a great one last night. Side effects included blurry vision, slurred speech, inability to focus, dizziness, and more frequent urination.

Really, that just sounds like Wednesday night poker to me.

Holy Impropriety, Batman

We're watching this investigative news show and the mistress of this preacher said that he seduced her by counseling with her and holding her hand and telling her that he wanted to pray with her.

MyPoolBoy said that was one way to get her on her knees.

It wouldn't work with me. I'd get down there and get sidetracked and start cleaning out from under the bed or something...

Suh-Weet!

KY has these new sensational body syrups or wtf ever advertised on tv right now - chocolate for her and strawberry for him. And it's supposed to make everything about my marital relations be more than I ever could have hoped for. Or something like that.

I told MyPoorGulliblePoolBoy that we should get some and he, being a boy, got all excited and is like "yeah, yeah, we should."

And then I told him I thought it would taste really good on ice cream.

Navels and Nasals

So. Another Felix and WTP bonding moment. Got my navel pierced today. Felix got her nose pierced. Of course we had to be together to do it because we are like middle school cheerleaders when it comes to defacing our temples (bodies) and we can't do anything by ourselves like big girls. MyPoolBoy and her niece (whose boyfriend owns a bar - this is important for later) came along with her little boy, HomeSkillet, for the free laughs. We had to lay back on a weight bench during the process (literally, it was a weight bench) and I was thinking, hmmmmm.... this is what it feels like to be a popular high school cheerleader.....

Anyway. She swung her feet while the guy was doing it - the PIERCING gutterbrains - (mostly because she is short and her feet don't reach the floor from the bench that she was laying on) so it ended up looking like someone had rolled a really cute Oompa Loompa turtle on its back and it couldn't get off its shell in order to set itself aright and resume the regularly scheduled Oompa Loompa turtle programming. And when he actually DID pierce her nose she started to tear up and there was blood and so she asked for a kleenex. And then, while the blood ran down the little canyon beside her diamond-doodad thingy, Felix took the kleenex and dried her eyes so that her mascara wouldn't run! Priorities. We have to be pretty first.

Then, she kept making me laugh and I was worried that the guy would miss and I would be all crookedly-navel-pierced or pierced in an ovary or my appendix or something and then be scarred physically and emotionally for the rest of my natural born life because of it. And there was NO VODKA so it wouldn't have even been funny at the time.

When we went to pay out we noticed the "cash-only" sign and Felix was standing there, credit card in hand and trying to devise a plan for how to obtain cash to pay for everything without risking a repossession of her new nasal embellishment or risking charges from the vice squad for questionable "business negotiations." So MyPoolBoy paid for them both and reminded us that I hadn't paid Felix for the rest of my beach trip, so we'd put the cost of the piercing towards the cost of the beach trip. And THAT transaction - trading a piercing for a vacation deposit - is a wildly white-trash moment of which I am exceedingly proud, I must say.

At this point, HomeSkillet tugged his mom's sleeve and handtogawd in front of the tattoo artist/piercing guy asked, "Mom, are we going to the bar after this?"

Fits of laughter. And just when we were thinking that it couldn't get any more white trash than getting piercings together and having the cost be bartered between friends, Felix's niece decides to join in on the fun and get a Marilyn Monroe piercing above her lip. She asked the guy what they did it with, meaning which studs did she have to choose from - but he was already sinking to our level and he told her "a rusty nail." More fits of laughter.

So she got done and left and texted Felix because she forgot what her aftercare instructions were. Felix and I completely relished the opportunity to relay this message:
1) get a soft drink with some ice in it and move the ice around by her upper lip to help reduce swelling
2) Rinse the area with Listerine after eating or drinking
3) no wine or BEER because of the yeast!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!! I said that would kill her - like a castration of sorts - but h3ll, it would be better than getting a yeast infection in your upper lip, right? And I used the opportunity to clarify with the guy that I could still have all the beer and wine that I wanted.
4) the stud could be replaced with a new one in two weeks
5) No French kissing or other "oral activities" for 6 weeks HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Then Felix and me both said that would kill her boyfriend!!!!!!!!!!!!

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.

A New All-Time Low

DonnyCat is usually disgusting - I've mentioned that here before... his white fur doesn't really look white, he rarely bathes, usually has sticker-burrs matted in his fur, bleeding scabs from lord knows what kind of activities...in other words: He's unpettable, unless you just sort of scratch him on the back with a stick or a screwdriver or whatever object you have handy because you don't want to touch him with your bare hands!

This morning he showed up with cobwebs in his ears - WTF?

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.

Anyone Have Some Mack Daddy Grammar Skills That Can Handle This?

50's music on at the bakery.  Nothing that could lead to me blogging about  necrophiliac crooners or cougars with VD or anything.   Slow sock-hop type songs.  Told MyPoolBoy that it made me want him to take me dancing so I could grope him in the dark.  He just grunted.  I'm not sure if that was a Yes grunt or a no grunt.  My translation skills are waning.  

 I gotta get it figured out before this afternoon though cuz I need him to do some Dremeling on my tortoise-shell-rhinestone-cateye shades today.  Dremeling.  I'm not sure exactly how one would go about conjugating Dremel as a verb, and as close as conjugate is to the word conjugal, I am not sure I'm going to get into it with MyPoolBoy. 

Heavy Medal

This mean-a$$ hateful old woman who was volunteering at the registration/awards table at Chunk's track meet yesterday unwisely crossed my path after I was hot, tired, and feeling especially maternal.  And I was nice.  Chunk had won his first event and gone down and gotten his medal for it earlier.  Towards the end of the meet, he got 2nd in his 2nd event and was so excited that he ran to their table and got in line for his next medal.

While we were standing there, DragonLady tells everyone she is only a volunteer, she doesn't have the results yet, please be patient, we're doing the best we can - then punctuates her message with: "if you don't like the way I do things why don't you volunteer and I can go relax." Everyone stood there stunned, because no one was being particularly rude or anything to her to warrant such an outburst.  I looked at MyPoolBoy with a big-eyed expression of disbelief to signal to him that I was tolerating her quite well, but there was a big knot at the end of my rope that I think was tied in the dark by an ADD 1st year Bobcat Cub Scout who had lost a couple of fingers in a farm-implement accident and couldn't find his glasses, so this particular knot's chances of holding me back much longer were slim.

Chunk stepped up to the table and told her he had finished 2nd in his event.  She said she didn't have the results yet, so he obediently stepped back out of the way and let the next person in line go.  Basically at this point, the only people at the table were folks waiting for medals for THAT event.  So a parent went to the coaches' tent and got the results. Chunk and one of his friends tried to be helpful and organized 2 lines, one for each volunteer.  And then he stupidly got into DragonLady's line.  

When the parent came back with the results, DragonLady started in again.  "Everyone step back I will do this in order you just have to wait for me to call your name."  Everyone did.  She started calling names of kids on the list by age group.  Most of the younger kids had already gone home, and we started realizing that she was just talking to the air by doing it this way, but she persisted.

Finally she got to Chunk's age group, and she called out the 1st place kid.  Then she called out the 3rd place kid (not there), and Chunk stepped up and told her he had gotten 2nd place.  Someone had put a check by his name that he had already received his medal (the check was probably supposed to be by the 3rd place kid, since he wasn't there), and Chunk told her no, he had been standing there waiting on the results the whole time (and he was nice and polite - I was very proud of him!).  She argued back that he already had it, he had a check by his name, and he replied that he got a medal for his 1st event but that he had been standing back and waiting for the results like she told him to for this medal.  She then THREW a medal across the table at him and said "I'm not going to argue with you, just take it."

wow.  Congratulations on your achievement, right?

And then the inevitable happened.  The knot slipped.  It must've been obvious - MyPoolBoy and Chunk started gathering their stuff and heading toward the gate cuz they knew the shi+storm was about to start.  MyPoolBoy lingered on the sidewalk at the exit gate and watched the trainwreck in helpless horror as I quietly (it's NEVER good when I'm quiet) stepped up to the table and said, "Excuse me, ma'am."

MyPoolBoy said something to the effect of "oh, crap, here it comes" and everyone around the table got dead silent.

I had the floor.

I nicely (stop laughing - I really was nice) told her that she didn't need to talk to the kids that way - he had been standing there patiently waiting like she told him to, and while I appreciated the fact that she was a volunteer, we were ALL hot and tired, but these kids are excited about these medals and she shouldn't just throw it at them and treat them that way.  She started to reply back and I cut her off with "Really honey, just rethink the way you speak to people."  And then I walked off.

Over in his little corner of eternal mortification, MyPoolBoy just shook his head and a lady next to him said, "Don't sweat it.  She's just saying what all the rest of us are thinking."

THANK GOD all I said was what EVERYONE ELSE was thinking.  Cuz if I had said what I was thinking, this would've played out a whole lot differently.

Not Kidding

I was talking to a friend who doesn't have kids the other day.  She said she and her hubby wouldn't adopt because you could never be sure what would happen.


From my own personal experience of genetically becoming a parent, I would have to say that, the million to one chance of the right sperm cell making contact and turning into a halfway normal human being is pretty much a crapshoot, too.

That's It

MyPoolBoy said I can have no more caffeine this morning. 

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!

Drive-By Pie

Just was downtown eating at a cafe.  Hand to Gawd - Bi+chslap's oldest child came in, asked the waitress to let him taste the pie, and SHE GOT A FORKFUL OF PIE FROM ONE OF THE PIES IN THE CASE AND LET HIM HAVE A BITE.  Then he walked out. 

I would love to know how he got that deal to go down, cuz I *heart* pie.

I Hear You Knockin'

Jehovah's Witnesses came to the door. Outside of Lurch (who just talks in circles and confuses the crap out of everyone anyway), MyPoolBoy is hands-down the best religion-repellent that I know. He opened the door, they introduced themselves and asked his name, and then they started their spiel. MyPoolBoy interrupted word #3 or 4 by saying "No Thank You" and so they asked him if he knew anyone else they could go talk to. WTF????? The Jehovah's Witnesses are working off of referrals now? Is it some sort of pyramid scheme? I guess they figure that despite the pulpit bar in the back yard, anyone who knows us definitely could use some saving. Do we get some sort of dove-tail afterlife commission for this referral? Anyway, he said no and they started talking again, and he just shut the door in their face. So they left. He was headed back to the door to give them each a free kitten, but it was too late.

They would have been Jehovah's KITnesses!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then I ran across THIS: A two-headed kitten (can't call it a Siamese kitten because he is black and white). But good heavenly days they named him Two-Face. wow. That must've taken you all night wrackin' yer brains to come up with that one. How'd you get so all-fired clever?

Cougar Moment of the Day

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

One-Upped

Felix has beaten my White Trash Moment of the Day. On the way home from town, she turned at the corner to her street where there is a convenience store. There is also some construction work going on in that area, so there were a couple of port-a-potties off to the side of the store. As she pulled onto the road, she saw one of the port-a-potties tip over... and standing BEHIND the port-a-potty was a dude taking a p!ss.

Don't know why he was BEHIND it instead of in it. Don't know why he knocked it over. WTF?????

An Addition to My List of Talents

I have appointed myself the official funeral bouncer of this family.

I will HAVE to explain this in detail later because I am on MonsterInLaw's computer and there is NO VODKA HERE and the dial-up connection is wearing on my threadbare patience.

White Trash Moment of the Day

Just saw a shirtless dude taking a p!ss behind the convenience store in broad daylight.

BONUS: I am not related to the shirtless dude taking a p!ss behind the convenience store in broad daylight.

Smile - or Else!

OMG. Everyone who has come into the bakery this morning has been grumpy. Worse than MyPoolBoy after a night of tequila shots. Like "you're the kind of person who has dwarves named after you Grumpy." I think most of them just got up on the wrong side of the planet. A few I suspect had their facelifts pulled too tight. Some are upset because of the lack of donuts (this is a BAKEry, not a FRYery - everything here is baked with love, not oil - you can't make donuts with love). MyPoolBoy suggested we set up a donut stand out in the parking lot outside. And I laughed out loud - a LOT - much to my own amusement, the embarrassment of MyPoolBoy, and the annoyance of the grumps. AND they are playing 60's music on the radio. HOW IN THE H3LL can you be in a bad mood with "Lover's Concerto" in the background?

Regardless, I am not in the mood to have my day invaded by grumpy people today. It doesn't help that I've had 2 1/2 cups of non-decaf this morning, either. And I am wearing my sequin flamingo flip-flops and my rhinestone cat-eye shades. You know that glitter and sequins and rhinestones change lives - I firmly believe that they are mood-altering anti-depressants.

I have threatened to stand up in the booth and scream out - "That's it! Start smiling people! You're screwing up my karma!" And then I will pass out smiley face glitter stickers to everyone and make them sing "Kumbaya."

Weather or Not

Saw a guy on the Weather Channel reporting from the flooding situation in Nashville. And he didn't look thrilled to be there. SOMEONE drew the short straw for this assignment. And he was wearing a black polo shirt and a little black baseball cap. So it also looked like he was on the back nine when he drew the short straw. UNLESS someone from the office called and said, "Hey, man, it's flooding in Nashville, where are you? Ok, well, never mind, we really don't care cuz we're drawing straws to see who goes to report on it -- here, we'll draw one for you. Awwwww, dude, sorry! You got the short one. The helicopter will be at the clubhouse in 10 minutes."

Trashy

BoogerCat has been banished from the comforts of our home indefinitely. MyPoolBoy caught him in the trash again. By "in the trash" I mean he jumped up onto the edge of the trash can, pulled it over/ knocked it down with his body weight, proceeded to drag out all the contents of the trash bag and scatter it all over the laundry room floor, and ruthlessly shred and annihilate the defenseless trash bag. A solo game of "feline trash hockey" ensued, followed by Booger himself getting INTO the knocked over trash can and proudly smiling up at MyPoolBoy as if he were going to receive some sort of effed-up TrashKnockerOver award. He's not.

Customer Service

MyPoolBoy SLAYS me. He is not cut out to talk to machines. Pretty much he and machines of almost any kind don't get along anyway. At all. So he argues with them. Unsuccessfully, I might add. But he doesn't seem to catch on the futility of the situation. Which provides endless supplies of entertainment. So. Two of our cable boxes are not working with the new "upgraded channel guide" and he called the special customer service number to report a problem with our service. And he got a machine. And it's the usual state your name, account number, blah blah blah. But when they started the automated troubleshooting it went south pretty fast.

Automated Machine Customer Service Lady asked him if the trouble was with the programming or the cable box. He said cable box. (So far they are still on civil speaking terms.) Next. Automated Machine Customer Service Lady asked if the cable box was turned on. He said yes, dumba$$. Automated Machine Customer Service Lady caught the yes, but not the dumba$$.... I'm sorry, we could not process your response, please respond again - Is your cable box turned on? He said yes (with a decidedly frustrated look on his face). But she is unfazed and is able to continue with the process.

Then, Automated Machine Customer Service Lady suggested that he try something else: Have you turned your machine off and then on again to reboot? Now he responds with a short answer - yes - because he is mad at her and is communicating as little as possible (I know the feeling, Automated Machine Customer Service Lady). So Automated Machine Customer Service Lady says: was this successful in solving your problem? MyPoolBoy says - NO. Done tried that. Didn't work. And Automated Machine Customer Service Lady sweetly says again.... I'm sorry, we could not process your response, please respond again - Was this successful in solving your problem? So MyPoolBoy shortens his response again, only is louder this time: NO!

Wow. I'm thinking: This lady is a PRO! Cause he does that to me and I usually throw something or yell back or storm out of the room. THEN... She gives him some more suggestions that I begin to suspect he is not really listening to (again, Automated Machine Customer Service Lady - I know how you feel). Anyway - his responses begin to get a little bit unrelated to the cable box situation: What are you wearing? You sound pretty. Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend?

I think he was finally successful in breaking her icy, mechanical response mechanism, because she finally gave in and said Please hold - I will direct you to our next available representative for servicing. And he shouts: FINALLY! I get "serviced!" How much?

Then a live operator came on and talked to him and it was boring.

Why I Drink Reason #376

Actual conversation I had with a student today while trying to get them to COPY their research source notecards onto a Works Cited page.

ME: First put your cards in alphabetical order on your desk.
STUDENT: What's that mean?
ME: Alphabetical means ABC order.
STUDENT: I don't have anything that starts with A.
ME: (through gritted teeth) You don't need an A. Use the first letter of the cards that YOU DO have and put them in order. What one comes first?
STUDENT: This one? (points to the card that starts with M)
ME: The words on your cards start with M, L, and P. What is the first one?
STUDENT: The one with M
ME: No, no... in alphabetical order - which one comes first? Say the alphabet and think about the letters.
STUDENT: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M
ME: Ok. Stop there. What card are you going to put first?
STUDENT: The M.

The State of Texas Owes Me a Big Bottle of Grey Goose

I figure I could just go to the liquor store, grab a bottle off the shelf and tell them to charge it to TEA.

I. Am. Tired.

Locked in a classroom with 16 8-year-olds until 2 pm for 2 days straight. And it is PMS week. Really. You think the state would have asked, "Hey, are you going to be PMSing this week, cuz, if so, we can reschedule the TAKS testing." No.

Also. Not allowed to say anything besides what is in the scripted freakin' "Administrator Manual" to the freakin' kids. And TODAY there was a big-a$$ horsefly in the room. First of all, I don't even know if he had been properly trained with the TAKS trainer modules to even be ALLOWED in the room. He was a big fly. I'm talking Food of the Gods big-s$$ Jeff Goldblum FLY. Let me just let you all know that there is NOTHING in the test administrator manual about how to go about executing a big-a$$ Food of the Gods Jeff Goldblum FLY during the "testing opportunity." Can't whack it with a student booklet cuz it might create an unnecessary mark that could be construed as an answer on the answer document. I was afraid to use the actual Administrator's Manual because what if I needed it later to read the "special phrases" for kids who didn't bubble in all their answers? I also was not sure that a flyswatter was an allowable instrument in the testing environment - the state doesn't issue them with the testing materials, so I was not going to request one -- you know, in case it was not approved by the state and could create a testing "irregularity." I also could not WATCH the big-a$$ Food of the Gods Jeff Goldblum fly because then I would not be "actively monitoring" the students.

Let me just clarify that I did not ALLOW the unauthorized Jeff Goldblum fly into my classroom (aka: the "testing environment") because, you, know he probably just teleported into the room anyway.

So what was I supposed to do? Freakin' unauthorized non-trained Jeff Goldblum was in my room for FOUR FREAKING HOURS and I was PMSing. I needed to kill something, but was in an intense quandary about how to go about it.

See? They need to issue me a voucher to the liquor store with the "secured testing instruments."

Breaking and Entering

HOLY CRAP! Someone broke into the travel trailer. Thunderduck is taking his turn at being the white trash offspring by living in it out in the back yard. With the pitbull mix dog that he adopted from the animal shelter. So he came home from work at lunch and went to get his new wimp-a$$ pitbull mix dog and take her back out to the trailer. And then he discovered the missing items that he had to subsequently report to the Peyton Place Police Department with a straight face: miscellaneous DVD's, old broken cell phone, deli-sliced lunch meat, cheese whiz, and a bottle of Boone's Farm.

Obviously, not criminal masterminds. My guess was stoners. Or middle-schoolers. I was right. On both guesses. Please read on and let me prove this point.

Like I said, Thunderduck came home from lunch, discovered the "crime", went into the house, and immediately took action as a responsible citizen of our community and called the authorities. After that, he went BACK out to the trailer and had lunch with the "petbull."

Now. HERE's where it gets really good. The "burglars" came BACK! Yep. I guess all we can get in Mullet County are mentally inferior burglars. Just so I can blog. They opened the trailer door while Thunderduck and Foxy, the petbull were having lunch. Thunderduck sat bolt upright and yelled "what the f*ck!" and Foxy the petbull stuck her head around the corner of the sofa to see who was at her door. She then proceeded to bound down the alley after one of the mentally inferior burglars. And Thunderduck chased the other one.

Yes, officers, I believe you can identify the perpetrators by the fear-induced crap in their pants and the pitbull slobber all over one of them.

Biker Night

First off. WOW. This is post # 666. Woohoo! It's official. I AM the Devil! I am playing a lot of old schlock country music on the jukebox and Thunderduck and the boys are not happy. Too bad. We are in a higher tax bracket than their little boy selves are and I can afford to play the jukebox more than they can.

Also. There is one of those effing Dr. Dumore flossing gadget thingies in the bathroom floor at the front of the bar. Look, people. I am all for personal hygiene. Especially if you are taking the idea of "get a room" to the next level. Good for you. However, if you notice the opposite side of the facility, there is a lovely trash receptacle provided for your convenience. Use it.

So. Last night MyPoolBoy got a text from an old poker buddy wanting us to go to Biker Night at the Laundromat/Bar - So we went. I wore my hooker boots that I bought at the thrift store for 18 bucks. They have officially been dubbed my "Get Off My Corner, Bi+ch" boots. I heart them. And I rode bi+ch.

Anyway. Where was I? Ok. There I was. At the Laundromat/Bar on Biker Night. With a bunch of old bikers. There was chicken and rice in some sort of old biker pot-luck meal thing of which I would have partaken if I had known that its origin, but since it was BIKER NIGHT, I was not taking any chances with my personal safety. Then they had a raffle. The big prize was 50/50 and the smaller prizes were a couple of biker DVDs, about 4 biker pictures, and 2 bottles of Jack. As in Daniel's. I was asked to draw the tickets because (I am not sh1tting you) I quote: "You have the most honest looking face here." Yes. This was from a guy who very obviously, did not know ME.

Ok. Now that you have stopped laughing... I go to draw the tickets and I swear, even though I have read the handwriting of 8-9 year-olds for a living for over a decade, I was completely unable to decipher the handwriting of these old dudes.

So, to sum it up, here's what I learned about myself from this experience. Drunken tasks I CAN do: Pee on fire hydrants. Recite alphabet backwards at ungodly speed. Drunken tasks I CANNOT do: Read drunken biker scrawl on the back of a raffle ticket.

For Thunderduck - Whose Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys

Here's the news footage:
RIP, Texas Stadium

Here's a tribute video some guy put together:

Ok. Wait. I Figured It Out.

Google is just pulling my blog address whitetrashprincess.blogspot.com and not a specific blog entry URL.  Furthermore, if I undo the Customizations setting on the Google search results, my blog drops down to #14 for "Jesus Pez" queries.  So the miraculous and awesome powers of updating the "Jesus Pez" results for which I was giving Google credit are unfortunately unfounded and I am utterly disappointed.  Crap.   The magic is gone.

Wow!

Google is totally FAST!  I was showing MyPoolBoy how if you Google "Jesus Pez" you get my blog as the second entry, and now it already is showing TODAY'S post as the result for "Jesus Pez."  

Is this some sort of personalized Google thing or is everyone getting every single post about "Jesus Pez" that  I write at super-lightning speed? 

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.

April Fool! You've Been Rick-Rolled!

Happy April Fool's Day!!!!

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.

I'm So Sorry

Uncle Albert.  And I let me just say that I am bemoaning the fact that I just had to explain that reference to a child/adultish child.

Ok that rant is over.  Now I am BWI and you are to be subjected to random blogness.  Why?  Because I am not faring so well at the poker tournament, and I have now digressed to playing poker with packets of sugar and Sweet n Low.  After just 2 glasses of Merlot, I have come to the decision that A) Someone should give me a dollar so I can play "Ode to Billie Joe" on the jukebox, B) I will kick anyone's a$$ for you (even your mother's) if the price is right -- btw, the price is generally a dollar so that I can play "Ode to Billie Joe" on the jukebox, and C) Cheesecake should be served in bars.

Basically, C) should sum up the fact that I have had it with people who are in positions of authority over me who know less about my AND their jobs than I do.  Pisses me off, I'm just saying. 

Example 1:  Received an email from a "specialist" wanting to know what topics we should discuss at an upcoming meeting.  I replied with a suggestion for a topic.  "Specialist" replied asking me if I would like to lead the discussion.  How do I nicely and professionally say, "F*ck, no, bi+ch, I don't want to do your job for you?"  Should I, for instance, say, "F*ck , no, bi+ch, I don't want to do your job for you, Hugs & Kisses, WTP?"   What if I add little X's and O's at the end?

Example 2:  Information that was supposed to be turned in for an assessment-type situation.  The person in charge neglected to tell me or Hyphen the criteria before we submitted our information.  Consequently, we had to scramble for the whole hour of our conference to make it all correct.  

Oh, crap.  There's chocolate syrup over in the bartender stuff.  They should give it to me.   Because nobody will let me mainline tequila to completely erase this day from my cerebral storage forever.  

So.  I just told the bar owner to add "Once-a-Month-Cheesecake Week" to the menu.  It should be scheduled around my PMS whims.  Everyone else should synchronize their biological watches with mine, so that we can KNOW when the cheesecake will hit.  However,  the menus are laminated, so if I really and truly want to observe "Once-a-Month-Cheesecake Week," I will be forced to smuggle in a Sharpie and write it on the menus myself. 

Also Starring

Well the Tucker Max blog that was turned into the Tucker Max book that was turned into the Tucker Max movie has gotten me to thinking that I could publish all this crap on actual paper like a real writer and then get some great middle aged movie stars to play all the Lucilles.

I would have to be played by Nicole Kidman or Raquel Welch (my supposed celebrity twin) - somebody tall who is willing to show off a tramp stamp. 
Felix would be Sally Field - that's the only one that seems perky/short enough to pull it off.
Hyphen needs to be that chick Karen on Will and Grace  
Bi+chslap is Meryl Streep because she did such a good job in Mama Mia and Bi+chslap loves that movie  
Baloney should be Beverly DeAngelo (of National Lampoon's Vacation, etc.)
DownUnder has to be someone with an accent -- All I've got is Julie Andrews... does anyone know somebody else that has an accent??????? 
TrailerTrash will be played by Lucille Ball except she's dead so we have to pick someone else.  CRAP.  Ok.. Bette Midler. 
FrenchTickler will be Rosie O'Donnell.  DISCLAIMER: FrenchTickler is NOT a le$bisan just in case any of y'all get any crazy-out-there ideas. 
CrocBuster could be Tatum O'Neill.  

Well, CRAP!

I was TOTALLY going to blog and I have had too much red wine and I don't remember what I was going to blog about.  I have alcohol-induced attention deficit disorder.

And I love Rick Springfield.  

And the song Ben by Michael Jackson.

And incidentally, judging by their reactions to the currently-playing jukebox selections, my fellow bar patrons apparently do NOT love either Rick Springfield OR the song Ben by Micheal Jackson.

Assume the Position

So.  I have been musing over the notion of why I am more attracted to lineman than backs.  Because they are bigger and more muscular.  I need someone who can step in front of me and stop any threats to my physical safety that may cross my path.  Or beat the crap out of guys that talk trash about me.  Or beat the crap out of guys that I talk trash about and need someone to bail me out of the messes that my mouth creates.  Plus, they're pretty handy to have around if you need something moved.  That's all they do on the line is move shi+.  It's second nature.  There's that.  And I just really like someone with some flesh on their bones to grab onto, if you catch my drift.  

And:  Linemen are dumb and easier to control.

wow

MyPoolBoy just told me I aged better than one of his high school ex-girlfriends.  Kind of a nice compliment, I guess. 

AND -- that he really does love me.... sometimes he wants to hit me with a baseball bat, but he loves me. 

I Have Decided to Write Country Songs

About school. 

It just came to me.  I can't let it go without writing it down, so I cracked up Duckit COMPLETELY before she went to bus duty. Here's the chorus of one:

There's no vodka on this campus, I have looked  
Not in the teachers' lounge,  
On the playground,  
Or behind the library books  

I have to make it day to day, and you expect me not to pray
There's no vodka on this campus...

You get the idea. 

Dessert Menu

I think that they should sell Girl Scout cookies at the bar. 

The Best Part of Being an Adult on Facebook

I don't have a virtual farm, order any virtual mafia hits, or raise virtual fish.  But today I saw a picture of an old junior high crush who did not age well. 

I heart Facebook.

Birthday Invitation

Here's what I sent to the Lucilles the Friday after my birthday:  

I have decided that we need to go somewhere this afternoon and celebrate my birthday.  After being invited to 3 birthday parties this week (none of which were mine) and getting frustrated over my family’s lame idea of a birthday dinner at the gourmet catfish buffet in the ambiance of the fabulously fishing/hunting-cabin decorated Inn in beautiful downtown Mullet TX which, incidentally, has bathrooms down a frigid, stark hall that was not unlike the hallway to the elevators in The Shining, I am taking matters into my own hands.   Let’s just say that the highlight of the evening was walking into the parking lot and seeing somebody’s huge Weimaraner sitting behind the wheel of a ’72 Buick (not to sound ungrateful, but my guys ARE SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO impaired by testosterone!!!!!!!!!!).

 I don’t care where…. Name the time/place and I will be there with my tiara on. 

You have to come… remember, I am the devil.

Take 5

Remember how the Grand Marshal told us we needed to give 101%???  Today it was posted in the gym -- a big cut-out red 101% on the wall.  Then, right during the moment of silence (after one of the fifth graders farted and I told him he was supposed to be silent and we got the giggles...) it hit me.  101% is not possible in a base 10 mathematical system.  That 's a given.  Why is it bothering me so much????  

It's BINARY!!!!!!!!!!!!  OMG we only have to give like FIVE PERCENT. 

And, incidentally, I pi$$ed off one of my students today, and he told the Grand Marshal what he thought of me.  I have evolved (or devolved) from Big Fat Meenie.  So GrandMarshal came into tutoring today and whispered to me in my ear that now, I am the Devil. 

Laughter is Never in Short Supply

To add to the neverending aggravation that is being imposed upon us by the GrandMarshal, we are having to sign out for our classroom supplies at school now.  So if I need a red pen to grade papers with I have to write down the kind of pens I am taking from the cabinet and record the quantity on a little form on the counter.  Duckit was looking for large paperclips but there weren't any, so she took one of practically everything else and then added the note "who took all the large paper clips?"  Felix went behind her and got some stuff and added the note "I did" below Duckit's note.  I followed and accidentally wrote the quantity on the wrong box so the note "clearly you didn't read and/or follow directions as usual" was added to my entry.  Then Hyphen took "1 single solitary rubber band."  We fell the h3ll out laughing.

Later, Duckit noted that someone had written "tape (scotch)" - I wanted to write "tape (vodka)" but she is trying to keep me out of too much trouble so that dream was squashed. 

Duckit Loves Me

Well, there have been a few "incidents" involving staff members at various campuses in PeytonPlace ISD lately that have made our little hometown newspapers' front pages.  So, today the superintendent came and wanted to speak to us about protecting our reputations when we are out and about town, and, although we should have a personal life and protect our personal time as important, we need to remember that we never stop being a school employee since we are in a small town. 

After the meeting, Duckit and I were in our hall outside our classroom doors talking to a few folks and Duckit expressed her dismay at the message that was delivered at the meeting.  She basically said that she felt a little upset that it was directed at the whole faculty -- if he had a problem with her partner's behavior he should go to me directly and straighten it out with me!!!!!!!!  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! She kills me.

Lost

I think the GrandMarshal may have managed to completely and utterly confuse two groups of kids recently:  First - he gathered up all the 3rd, 4th, and 5th graders in the gym and lectured them on working hard and using their strategies and doing everything their teachers tell them to do.  He told them that if they don't listen to us it will be "bueno" - and I leaned over to B1tchslap and whispered.  "Ok, he just totally screwed things up for the ESL kids - cuz now they think that it is "good" to not listen to us."

Then, today he told us at the faculty meeting that we needed everyone giving 101% -- He knows we are doing our best, but we just need to give 100% more, etc. etc. And he announced that he would be posting a big 101% for all the kids to see as a reminder of how they need to give us more effort.  Which is mathematically impossible in a base ten system. 

Now he's lost all the 5th graders who are struggling with decimals and percentages in math.

Lesser of Two Evils

The BEST choice right now is to drink a bottle and a half of Merlot, and a 6 pack of warm beer, and a fifth of vodka, and whatever is left in the bottle of brandy at the back of the liquor cabinet... and then regurgitating all of it back up through my nostrils.  As opposed to the day that I ACTUALLY had.  I, honestly, am tired of being on the same planet with people who are dumber than me.  And I get tired of other people's negligence suddenly becoming my emergency, and I am tired of "being Jesus."  And WHY in the name of holy Peter himself does my son think it is necessary to load the jukebox with songs about TRACTORS for crying out loud on a day like this?   It's a TRACTOR - a farm implement.  Granted, an important development in the industrialization of American farming and horticulture, but - IT'S A TRACTOR.

Is it a penis metaphor? 

If he, in fact, takes the tractor for another round (and assuming that we are still metaphorically referring to the "tractor") - eventually the "tractor" is going to contract some sort of STD that will put it out of commission for at least one harvest season. 

My Metaphor

School is a big showy parade.  Our principal is the grand marshal, and he is riding on his high horse, leading the way.  He is oblivious to what is REALLY going on behind him -- including the horse shi+  that is dropping behind his horse all along the parade route. I surmise that the horse's name is TAKS.

The poor kids are the marching band that have the unfortunate task of plodding along behind the horse and are dodging and side-stepping the piles created by said horse -- remember, we think his name is TAKS.

I, however have decided that I, the eternal princess of whatever I want to be the princess of at the moment, am getting on a big-a$$ float with my tiara and throwing candy and waving ("elbow elbow wrist wrist").  And I'm driving right over the horse shi+ and not paying attention to any of it.

Today I Am a Big Fat Meanie

It was put in writing.  By one of my little darlings.  On a TAKS test practice sheet no less.  Actually it was spelled "meenie" and it was underneath the words "I Hate Ms. WhiteTrashPrincess"  and he had spelled my last name incorrectly, too.  One of the things he was in trouble for today was not paying attention.  Guess if he ever DID pay attention he would've spelled stuff correctly and I wouldn't look like the world's suckiest language arts teacher.  Anyway, I called him into the hall to discuss it with him and he starts denying that he wrote it!  Except that he said "I didn't wrote it!"  When Duckit tried to correct his grammar by saying "You mean you didn't WRITE it,"  he retorted - "I swear, I didn't wrote it!"

Learning. Nothing.

There goes my teacher of the month nomination.

Anyway, the vehement denials continued until I was near tears with laughter.  He accused the kid in front of him of writing it on there while he was taking a bathroom break.  Since 4 of the boys (including him and the kid he accused) sit in a traditional row seating pattern down the middle of the room, and they have cardboard study carrels around their tests, AND I was walking around the room "actively monitoring" the TAKS practice, it is impossible for it to have gone down the way he claimed.

 I want to put the letters B.F.M. at the end of my name like M.D. or something.

On the bright side, however.... today was the last day of TWO - yes TWO - of the big trouble-making discipline problem refuse to follow directions and don't want to be at school and I'm gonna make everyone else miserable while I'm at it kind of kids.

Somewhere in the world there are 2 other teachers who are about to become Big Fat Meenies also.

Sealed with a Kiss?

Based upon the sign-out point sheet records, my own personal flawed (inebriated) perception of reality, and anecdotal reports made by MyPoolBoy and Thunderduck, this is what happened last week at poker:  I vaguely remember bluffing for the first time in my life -- pocket 10s and I made all the boys think I had kings.  I don't remember playing well enough to place for points. 

And I don't remember that I signed out on the points sheet with LIP GLOSS. 

Christmas Is Over

Turned on the radio this morning and the first song on was not a Christmas carol:  

DELTA DAWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!  That is an omen to get my Lucille-karaoke voice back in shape.  And my mood can swing back to unfiltered heartless Bi+ch instead of caring giving loving sentimental crying-jag WTP.

NOW I can tell you what happened in the UPS place.  We went to ship gifts to everyone that we weren't supposed to buy gifts for (Rule #1: There are no rules for me), and there were 2 lines.  I got in the first line - why?  Because it was shorter (stupid stupid silly naive me - if the laws of lines at Walmart have taught me nothing, it should at least be that you NEVER get in the shortest line because there will be price checks and coupons and change shortages - I digress), I got into the short line and began to figure out that the girl in front of me with her unboxed stack of gifts, arranged on the counter in front of her as a towering monument to capitalism, has no box to ship in and did not check the website to see which shipping method would be fastest/cheapest.  The fool jerk idiot  a$$hole in a cowboy hat with a Santa hat on top of it - and thought he looked cute, but really he just looked like a moron - who was waiting on her. Anyway CowboyA$$hole is A) going to charge her $7 for a box B) going to charge her $4 more dollars for packing materials and C) tells her that ground service won't get to point X in-state by Christmas, so she better send it air service, which was $60 or $70 something dollars!!!!!!!!!! I KNEW this was crap because I had checked the website and my package was going to make it to Florida to Trainwreck by 7 pm on Christmas Eve.  And I bit my tongue.  HARD- just in case Santa was watching.  Because I figured my odds of making the "Nice List"  were getting slimmer and that it would not behoove me to suddenly burst into accusatory fits of screaming "LIAR!"  at CowboyA$$hole. 

Then I told MyPoolBoy that I was going to call the FedEx place and I would be in the truck.  I went and called information and the little guy at information said that he didn't have a listing for them, I told him that I thought it was under a name with Mail in it and it was on the highway.  He came back with the name and also offered that there was a UPS store in our town also.  I sweetly as h3ll tried to reply that I was at the UPS store and they were pissing me off, so I was trying to get the FedEx place on the phone before the words "in custody" became attached to my name in the local news paper.  He laughed and said, "I'm sorry."  I laughed and told him, "It's not your fault that the guy at UPS is an idiot, hun."  He laughed again and said, "I'm gonna connect you to the mail place - try to have a merry Christmas, ma'am." 

Now, I get ahold of the mail place, and because I live in Mullet County, there is no ground service available in our area.  Crap.  Of course.  So I was stuck with UPS.  I went back in and MyPoolBoy nudges me over to the line that had formed at the back of the store where a very sweet lady was waiting on customers.  YEA!!!!!!!!! Santa brought me a non-moron to wait on me for Christmas!  She weighs our box and smiles and says, "Wow!  This is saying that it will get there by 7 pm on Christmas Eve!"  And I, in my best LOUD no-shi+-Sherlock voice, reply, "Oh, I know.  That's what y'all's website said last night when I checked." and I shot a mega-bi+ch death glare at CowboyA$$hole.   CowboyA$$hole suddenly felt the need to trade spots with the guy who had been working in the back part of the store. 

Yep, holidays are over.  Peace and goodwill - OOOOOHHH Goodwill - let's go thrift store shopping!!!! 

ADHD and PMSly yours,
WTP

You Know What?

White trash knows no cultural boundaries. "You are on the STUPID 100% of the time."  Dirty laundry aired on-air:

http://a1135.g.akamai.net/f/1135/18227/1h/cchannel.download.akamai.com/18227/podcast/PHOENIX-AZ/KZZP-FM/snake-dontusethemouth.mp3

Hormones and Holidays Don't Mix

Please refer to rule #8 of "My 12 Rules of Christmas" post.   Yesterday was fruitcake-baking day. So I was already a bit of an emotional mess.  Thank goodness for waterproof mascara.  And then this happened: 

I went to Bealls to get cologne for Trainwreck. While standing in line, a guy comes through with a sales girl and he's dragging a suitcase and carrying a bouquet of flowers. He had a buzz haircut, and even though he was in civvies, I figured he was military. He and the sales girl were looking through the sale jewelry and she was scratching off some savings coupons trying to find one that was more than 20% off that he had. She got one and handed it to him and they go back to searching with another sales girl. They looked at necklaces and rings and finally I caught on that they were looking to find something that could be combined with the discount (that he was not supposed to use for sale items, but they didn't care) to meet his budget.

He told them he had spent everything on a plane ticket from South Carolina to surprise his  girlfriend, and he just wanted a little something for under the tree. I couldn't stand it any longer. I got out of line and went over and tapped him on the shoulder and asked him if he was military.

He said, "Yes, ma'am."  I told him I was sorry for eavesdropping, but my son was in the Air Force and I was actually  buying his present right now - and I asked if he minded if I helped him out.

"Oh, no ma'am it's ok," he said... I interrupted him and told him that he wasn't going to be home for Christmas this year, and I would just like to think that someone would help out my son while he was away. So, he went and picked what he wanted, and we got in line together and talked a bit.

Then we got to the cashier, who had heard the whole thing, and it was a lady I knew.  So she asked about the boys. I told her we had the other 3 home for Christmas but we just couldn't get Trainwreck home this year. Then she said, "Kind of a bittersweet holiday, I guess."

When she rang up our stuff, I handed her his coupon. She looked at it, then looked at me and winked - and even though she wasn't supposed to take the discount off of fragrances or sale items, she discounted it anyway. So that was kind of cool.

Then she handed us our sacks and I turned to tell the young man Merry Christmas and he hugged me and said that he hoped a hug from him would take the place of being able to hug my own son at Christmas.

I had a hard time letting go of him.

Someone commented that I gave him and his girlfriend a Christmas present that they will never forget.

Actually, it was the other way around. 

See there, Baloney? I'm not COMPLETELY heartless.  You can resume listening to your "Christmas Shoes" song again. 

My 12 Rules of Christmas

1.  The first rule of Christmas is that there are no rules for me.
2. The second rule of Christmas is that I reserve the right to go around making rules for everyone else.
3.  The third rule of Christmas is leave your crying-a$$ kids at home if you decide to go to Walmart.  I have a to-do list with items that must be accomplished, and there is probably a self-imposed deadline on those items, causing me huge amounts of neck-tensing anxiety.  I probably know the "Santa" in the garden center and I cannot guarantee that I won't bribe him with a six-pack to tell your brats that he won't bring them anything.
4.  The fourth rule of Christmas is everyone gets fruitcake.  And likes it. Or pretends to like it.
5.  The fifth rule of Christmas is tell me when we are out of Scotch tape. I cannot be held responsible for my actions/reactions if I get all merry and jolly and go to wrap a gift for someone and there is no tape because one of you used it all up trying to hold the batteries into the remote control because you lost the back. 
6.  The sixth rule of Christmas is don't give me a crappy Christmas gift (salt and pepper shakers shaped like the band members of KISS) or send me a sappy Christmas letter and not expect me to make fun of it.
7.  The seventh rule of Christmas is to stay out of the chocolate candy that my students gave me at the Christmas party at school.  It had my name on it.  I may have taken it out of the bag or box that had my name on it and laid it onto a beautiful Spode Christmas tree candy dish in a fabulous presentation in our home, but you will pull back a nub if you reach your grubby hand in to snatch a piece of it.  Unless it is cheap stuff.  And incidentally, truffles are not considered CHEAP STUFF.  
8.  The eight rule of Christmas is monitor your own behavior in accordance with my hormonal imbalances and mood swings.  I will cry if I hear "O Holy Night" while I am making cookies or fruitcake because it reminds me of my grandmother.  I will laugh if I hear "Christmas Shoes" at anytime because it is stupid.  If you can't discern the difference, too bad for you. 
9.   The ninth rule of Christmas is I do not like winter, but I do like Christmas.  You are not allowed to run the A/C during the month of December - I don't care if it is Texas and the wind chill is 94 degrees. I will turn on the electric fireplace and drink hot cocoa and you MAY be required to sit on the couch with me and "snuggle,"  subject to rule number eight (see above).   An amendment to this rule, also subject to rule number eight, is if I get the whim to go out in an unpredicted cold snap and look at Christmas lights, you are obliged to haul your a$$ out of the warmth of our cozy home and drive me where ever I command you to go. 
10.  The tenth rule of Christmas is the Snoopy ornament goes on the tree FIRST.  It has been this way for most of my life.  It has been this way longer than most of the inhabitants of my household have been alive.  Get out of the way and let me do it.
11.  The eleventh rule of Christmas is don't touch the radio.  It is set on the Christmas channel because I WANT it on the Christmas channel.  If I get a wild hair and decide I want to hear something else, I will change it.
12.  The twelfth rule of Christmas is if you have a know history of gastrointestinal dysfunction (including flatulence) you are limited to one serving (equivalent to 8 fl. oz.) of eggnog  per week.  If you would like more than one serving of eggnog per week, I suggest you space it out in this manner:  Drink 1 oz. per day, and you can have two 1 oz. servings on Saturday or Sunday as a special holiday weekend treat.

I can't even think of a title for this post

Ok, I was on BannedCamp this morning and the ads at the top of the forum were alternating between a FlyByNight University and a Christian World Charity organization of some sort asking me to please send money to buy a goat for an underprivileged third-world child.

A goat.

Goat.

NO.  I said GOAT. 

And there was more than one version of the ad rotating through.  Then a little while ago, I got on again and now the ad wants me to buy a SHEEP for little Diwali or whoever the heartstringtugging child in the ad is supposed to be.  And I'm wondering why he couldn't just ask Sinter Klaas or Father Christmas to fulfill his livestock wishes.  I guess a goat won't fit in a stocking.

And how could Santa get something like that down the chimney without making the whole hut smell like barbacoa and ruining the surprise for little Diwali?   

Then -- I got on Facebook, and this was in the sidebar of my profle:

"Mom" looks a little bit like a serial killer to me.  Or Jesus.  I'm pretty sure I could at least find "her" photo in a registered sex offenders lineup.  Is this "Mom" from a Slavic country?  Perhaps they got the scholarship ad copy intermingled with the photo layouts for the depilatory cream ad campaign.  I'm really not sure.  What the H3LL am I surfing on that makes this sh1t come up?

That's IT.  No more vodka while I'm on the web.  I don't even want to know what my Amazon recommendations would be this morning.

Pipsqueak

MyPoolBoy doesn't get me AT ALL. I am hereby sufficiently caffeinated and in the right mood that I am dancing along in my seat at the bakery watching this -- He is rolling his eyes at me. He may need slappin'.

Anyway.... The moves! The harmonies! You can't beat the Pips! This version is a little skewed (warning - not the original Pips!) But I freakin' love this song!!!!!!!!! So, let's recap for the morning: I'm a Pip, but I'm a Pip with cramps.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gj_BbsOp7wY

Bric-a-Brac Theater Christmas

"Pudding, pudding, kill, kill!" BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nn6rsDb_2Ws

Half Wit

One of the BannedCampers just posted that a Facebook friend of hers from high school was spouting off about her brilliant 3-year-old that the preschool is telling her is "pre-reading," and that the ditz wondered if the child was so gifted because she is half Korean.

After having a good laugh about what "pre-reading" is (recognizing the golden arches and assigning meaning to that letter as McDonald's, or the "Happy Meal Place") everyone launched into an assault on the chick's racial profiling of her own offspring.

Upon further determination that some of us (like me) have wonderful unlikely crossbred/inbred bloodlines such as Irish, German, and Comanche (shot of whiskey, chase it with beer, get uncivilized) -- one of the ladies told the original poster to tell the ditz that studies show Korean kids will peak early like that but level off after 3rd grade or so, and the to tell her that since the kid is only half-Korean perhaps she had a shot at making it all the way to middle school before tanking completely... with a reminder about Long Dong Whatshisname from Sixteen Candles.

To satiate my search for another fabulous comeback, I googled Half-Korean.

The first result was porn.

Virtuality

Chatting on Facebook with MyPoolBoy at breakfast this morning I realized that online chat is a great way to communicate those feelings that you otherwise couldn't utter in a public place. H3ll, we could have an entire knock-down, drag-out domestic disturbance right here in the bakery and as long as I don't go after him with a golf club, no one would ever know.

Postponed Thanksgivng Post

This post was postponed because I spent the last 3 days of my life in holiday/relative h3ll... and holiday/relative h3ll only has dial-up.

Went to MonsterInLaw's for Thanksgiving. MonsterInLaw has been through several medical issues lately, so the plan was for all of us (me, MyPoolBoy, and various relatives that managed to show up) to do the cooking this year. We arrived about 9 pm Wednesday night, upon whence we were given the word by MonsterInLaw's brother and “wife," that they had already shopped for the big meal and were getting a few things ready so we wouldn't have much to do in the morning, and we could all just sit down and visit. "Wife's" son, 40-something-year-old-Rainman/Forrest Gump-with-a-comb-over-mullet-and-still-lives-with-his-momma was with them. I am not making up the comb-over mullet part. Wish I could. Also wish I had a picture. ANYWAY. Was told that he has an actual name, but that he goes by Thumper or Peanut or Pequot or Peathump or some crazy bullshi+ like that. Was further informed that this is the son that "wife" does NOT have a restraining order against.

FFWD to Thursday. After sleeping late (for me) on Thanksgiving morning, assured that it was all "good to go," I strolled into an empty-except-for-me-and-MonsterInLaw kitchen at 9 a.m. to find a HUGE-A$$ roaster pan of cornbread made and about a dozen hardboiled eggs. I had gone to bed Wednesday night with the erroneous feeling of security that the other 3 adults had it all under control. Looks like we're having deviled eggs and cornbread, folks.

Luckily, the turkey was being smoked by a neighbor and it arrived shortly. I ran in desperation to the computer (on dial-up, mind you, which took 8 minutes) and pulled up my holiday meal checklist/schedule (because the first part of being analytical is "anal") and checked to see how far behind we were before I officially started to panic. MyPoolBoy woke and came in shortly after I did, so MyPoolBoy peeled and put the sweet potatoes in the oven, I peeled the potatoes and put them on to boil for mashed potatoes, MyPoolBoy boiled the onions and celery for the stuffing, and then I looked through the dozen or so boxes of mason jars of canned food in the back bedroom closet to find the last surviving jar of green beans in the entire house. Threw in some of the onions from MyPooBoy's pot and a couple of crushed strips of pre-cooked bacon. Yes, it's lazy. I was stressed. Eff you.

At 10:45 the rest of them awoke to inform us that they probably needed to put the ham in the oven. We had looked for the ham. We couldn't find the ham. We assumed they had forgotten the ham. No, no, it's here somewhere... after more senseless and futile searching, Peathump says he might not have gotten it out of the truck yesterday. Peathump had, indeed, not gotten it out of the truck yesterday. It was thawed, at least. That's alright, we can cook it up pretty quick. No hun, it's a 10 freakin' pound ham. It will take at least 4 hours. It should be ready about 3 pm - I'm not waiting that long for lunch. We'll have turkey for lunch and ham for supper.

That decision made, we were then told that the rolls still needed to be baked. This was about 11:00. Frozen yeast dinner rolls. Still frozen. And they remained unbaked until the ham was ready. So much for having everything done ahead of time.

Then MIL's brother used ALL the chicken stock to make the world's largest effing pan of dressing - leaving none for me to make gravy, so I improvised with some bullion. At 11:25 it was decided that the 3 of them could not work another single solitary minute without more cigarettes so they set out to town - 30 minutes away, on a holiday no less - on a quest to procure cancer sticks. Thank God.

"Dear Lord, today on this auspicious holiday, I would like to pause and give thanks for other people's nicotine addictions and for the good fortune of me discovering a half a flask of Crown Royal that MyPoolBoy forgot to take out of the door of his truck before we hit the road."

Oh, yes I did. I started drinking prior to 11:30 a.m. On Thanksgiving day.

I yelled at MyPoolBoy and Thunderduck and Chunk to set the table quickly before they got back because I did not intend to spend another second of my thread-hanging-on sanity in the kitchen with any of them.

Here's the REST of the story:

Peathump was wearing a hospital bracelet because he had gone in for an injury to his arm or something and they wanted him to remember what day he was there in case he needed to go back for a check up or something. Which we thought to be odd. Then we found out why. Peathump is bipolar. And ADHD. And something else. And on multiple medications.

He was bemoaning that he couldn't get enrolled in one of them computer courses down at that there community college so he could use their computers for free because they wanted him to have a GED.

His Mom told us that she had a friend that had a tattoo on her belly of some guy's name and she wanted to get it removed. She said her friend had wanted to just cut it off with a knife and then bandage it up and she told her that was a bad idea because it would get infected. Her friend talked her into a compromise – to get the knife blade hot and burn it off. She told her that she would do it but she couldn't tell anyone who had done it. So her OTHER friend held her friend's arms down on the couch and she got the blade glowing red hot and laid it down on her stomach and then she saw her the other day in the pharmacy downtown and the friend was getting something for the scar... here I was ASSUMING it was something dumb she had done in a drunken dare as a teenager. No. This was apparently done RECENTLY and they saw fit to discuss it in the middle of their local neighborhood RiteAid.

At this point, I went to get a bottle of water out of the back fridge. I wasn't really thirsty but I had to leave the room to process this information. And to let Thunderduck know that he was missing the free entertainment that his common-law-second-cousin was providing for the holiday.

Then Peathump announced that he wants a male lion cub but the humane society won't let him keep it unless he can prove he can take care of it long-term. --- tried to tell him that no one would sell one to him, he retorted that you can buy them off of the computer... he thought that Bubba H. back home had one at one time and that's where he had gotten it. (hand to Gawd - the guy's name was actually Bubba)

This is where I went to go get pie. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I had to leave the room before I peed on the couch.

Peathump complained that he couldn't see the numbers on the phone to dial anyone because his lithium makes his vision blurry.

This is where I left the room for no particular reason whatsoever. And I just stood in the laundry room and tried to freakin' BREATHE!

Peathump told us that he met some girl off of “that fubar on the computer” and he talked to her on the phone a couple of times, but he wanted to make sure that he wasn't going to meet or date her before he knew if she was gonna be able to hit him as hard as a man could and she told him that she was schizophrenic and he decided he didn't want to talk to her anymore.

I think I need a t-shirt that says "I survived holiday h3ll with Peathump and all I got was this lousy t-shirt." And I need another drink.

Bohemian Rhapsody - Not Queen

Animal: Mama..... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tgbNymZ7vqY

Coming soon.... the Thanksgiving post that was postponed due to the fact that MonsterInLaw still has dial-up.

Team Work

MyPoolBoy came up behind me and started kissing on the back of my neck. Very romantic. Then he bit me. Hard.

I told him I felt like I needed to rush out and get a Team Edward or Team Jacob shirt before the moon got full.

Holy Vaca - This is HILARIOUS!

Put on your Depends before he gets to the second verse because it will cause you to laugh till you pee .... you've been warned --

If I'd had known this caliber of educational material was available, I would have had MyPoolBoy watching it in lieu of going to Spanish class.  We could have saved all that gas and tuition money!

Second Semester of Spanish Love Song - YouTube

bored

here is how boring my house is right now.... Thunderduck just asked me how to use the spot upholstery cleaner.

Toil and Trouble

Thunderduck and Chunk were at school with me last night while I cleaned up my table and graded a few papers. Thunderduck and I made a reference to Macbeth, and Chunk popped up with "what's that?" We laughed at his expense, of course, and then I told him that it was a Shakespeare play. He said "How was I supposed to know that?" I told him he needed to get some culture. Then he asked me, "How am I supposed to do that?" Thunderduck told him it was easy: he could just "Google that shi+." To prove his point, Thunderduck did exactly that. He Googled "how to get culture" on one of my classroom computers. He called Chunk over and said, "Here, look at this" and proceeded to click on the first link. Which brought him to this:



That's right. Access Denied.

Peyton Place School District will educate your child, but we will not expose them to culture!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dance Instructor

Pretty much decided tonight that Def Leppard's Greatest Hits should come with a pole-dancing how-to booklet in the CD case to get your potential stripping career off to a fabulous, successful start. I figure we could get rich quick, $1 at a time.

Prize Winning Idea

DrunkenFelix and I decided tonight that we are like the Mother Theresas of abandoned beers and shots we should get Nobel Prizes for rescuing them from their orphaned state when they are left - paid-for - on the bar.