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.