12 Days of Christmas at The Boobie Barn

Come on everybody, sing along!



On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me




A girl who needs to make more money.


On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money




On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me




Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money



On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money



On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money



On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.


One the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me





Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.



On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me




Eight dorks who think they're big shots,
Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.


On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Nine coke fiends snorting,
Eight dorks who they're big shots,
Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.


On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Ten trannies teasing,
Nine coke fiends snorting,
Eight dorks who think they're big shots,
Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.



On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me




Eleven lickers licking,
Ten trannies teasing,
Nine coke fiends snorting,
Eight dorks who think they're big shots,
Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergi Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.



On the twelveth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me




Twelve overdue student loan bills,
Eleven lickers licking,
Ten trannies teasing,
Nine coke fiends snorting,
Eight dorks who think they're big shots,
Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.



The End

I am a dork.

You already know this so I guess I will go ahead and tell you what I did the other day.

The weather was really nice on Friday, very sunny and not too cold. My mom decided she would go for walk around the neighborhood and left about the same time that I drove off to run a few errands. On my way home I spotted her ambling along in her high-waisted mom jeans and goofy straw hat. So I drove up behind her, rolled down my window and hollered out, "you better shake that ass a little faster, old lady!"

I'm sure you can guess what happened next. It wasn't my mom! It was some other old chick. Boy, was she surprised. So was I. We just gaped at each other for a minute until I put the petal to the metal and roared home, laughing like a hyena. God, I'm dumb.

But it did cheer me up. Sorry for being so mopey lately. I guess I just got depressed when I realized I'll never be a teen model. Thanks for all your nice comments and emails.

Well I hope everyone has a great holiday celebrating whatever it is you celebrate. May you all live long and prosper and may I always deserve your good will and friendship — you always have mine.

Cheers!

Three Bad Poems

Christmas
Roasting chestnuts in the fireplace smell nice
the children play with their toys
the uncles drink beer
the aunts squabble in the kitchen
I sip eggnog
and watch Grandma try to smoke a Hickory Farms salami.



Memories
There are some things in life that you never forget no matter what.
Like the first time we kissed,
and the night I ate that bad crab salad.



Jeff
Once there was a guy named Jeff.
He worked at a coffin factory
in charge of mentally challenged adults.
They all loved him,
he was their fwend
and mine too.
He had a big belly, long, bristly beard, and a great goony laugh
that could startle children.
Jeff was sad sometimes,
he drank too much and died young.
It sucks when people die.
Miss you, fwend!


(Poor Jeff. He really deserves a much better poem. I wish I was capable of writing him one.)




My internet paramour Mister Underhill and I have started a blog for our terrible poetry and other angsty silliness. Click here if you want to check it out. I know it really needs some color. We are dithering over the template. Any suggestions are welcome.

This is How I Feel Lately

Real Life Sucks Losers Dry

Sorry for the lack of posting. I seem to be suffering from an excess of the black bile lately. It's probably due to the holiday season. I always feel a bit down this time of year. It's like the misery that I stuff down all year suddenly pops up in my face, like some lame, emo jack-in-the-box and I have a hard time shoving it back in.

Don't worry, Cousin Balki's friend Bryce and I have a plan. We are going to cut ourselves and listen to mY cheMicAL roMaNcE until our humours are back in balance.

If that doesn't work, maybe I'll just add some Zoloft to my daily pharmaceuticals.

I feel wretched. WRETCHED! I will never, ever drink again as long as I live, so help me Xenu.

That is all.

The Pink Ladies

I make it a point to read the news online everyday, even though it's almost always depressing. The endless war, the credit crisis, the way our leaders insist on kissing the asses of the misogynistic freaks in Sauda Arabia, all of it makes me sad and angry. But every once in a great while I come across some articles that lift my spirits and give me just a little hope that everything will turn out fine.

This story made me smile. Click here to read about India's pink clad vigilante women.

You've got to love an article that starts out They wear pink saris and go after corrupt officials and boorish men with sticks and axes.

Basically these chicks, known as the "gulabi gang" (pink gang) are taking back the northern Indian state of Uttar Pradesh, brandishing sticks and axes and going after, among others "men who have abandoned or beaten their wives."

And in Bombay, women have started driving pink cabs, solely for the use of other women who don't want to ride in a car with a strange man. The cab company is even training the new drivers in karate to make them feel safer. Read about it here.

I don't know about you, but the thought of pink clad, karate-chopping, ninja chicks standing up for themselves in India (not such a great place to be a woman) really fills me with glee. You go, girls!




The Pink Ladies are the hippest clique of chicks at Rydell High.

Turkey Talk

November is the cruelest month. It's when the weather starts turning cold here in Tennessee. While I enjoy seeing all the beautiful colors of the fall foliage, I'm a California girl and therefore I freeze when the tempetures dip below 60 degrees. I hate the way indoor heating dries out my skin and sinuses, and I hate wearing a hat outdoors because it messes up my hair. And also, since the weather has turned colder, my cousin Balki can no longer sleep in the shed out in the backyard and had to move back into the house.

Did you forget that Balki was living with me? That's okay, I kinda forgot myself. I rarely see him at The Boobie Barn. He works with the janitorial crew, cleaning up at the end of the night. During the day when it was warm, he liked to sit in the back yard carving little toys out of wood. Now that it is chilly, he lays on the couch with Tucksworth watching reruns of "Making the Band" on MTV. Since I've been suffering from a bit of blogger ennui lately and I don't know what else to do with myself, I join them. Wow, that O-Town was something else, huh?



Cousin Balki. He's very single, ladies!



The wooden toys Balki made. He's hoping to sell them so he can become an American millionaire. Very cute, I guess, but for some reason they freak me out. Those eyes are creepy.


Oh, and I solved the mystery of Captain Jesus. Turns out he is one of Balki's friends from work. His name is Corky, but we mostly call him Captain Jesus because of the suit he always wears. When asked why he wears the suit he just shrugs and says, "because I like it." Can't argue with that.

On Thanksgiving Day we were all hanging on the sofa watching tv, while my mom fussed around with the turkey in the kitchen. I don't much care about a traditional dinner, if it were up to me I would have just ordered in Chinese food, but she loves all that Martha Stewert stuff so she cooked up a storm and invited a lot of people. In addition to me, Balki, and Captain Jesus, we had Mom's new boyfriend, Ronnie, and two more of Balki's friends, a guy named Hamburger Dave, and a guy (girl?) named Bryce. Mom also invited Paris the alien stripper because she feels sorry for her. I didn't invite anyone to eat with us, since I'm basically antisocial.

I like Hamburger Dave, though. He's really easily amused and laughs like a hyena at everything I say. Even lame jokes, like when I say, "hey Hamburger Dave, get in mah belly!" make him giggle like crazy.

Bryce is another story. He (she?) is a weird goth kid that lives down the street from us. I honestly cannot tell if Bryce is a boy or a girl. When I asked Balki he said, "Don't be reedi-cool-us cousin, he is big, strong man!"

Then CJ piped up, "are you sure? I thought she was a girl."

So who knows? I'll post a pic and you can tell me what you think.





Hamburger Dave. His hobbies include competitive eating and collecting condiments.



Bryce. He (she?) enjoys goth music and being androgynous.


Anyway, we were watching MTV as usual before dinner, when "The Hills" came on. That show makes Tucksworth scream in agony and I hate it too, so I quickly changed it over to VH1 and we watched a Behind the Music special on New Kids on the Block. Balki was mesmerized. After it was over he turned to me and sid, "Cousin, I have thought of new way to become American millionaire. I will start boy band. Me, CJ, Bryce, and Dave can sing and dance and look sexy just like New Kids. Good idea, yes?"

I nearly choked on the Bloody Mary I was guzzling, but the others were enthusiastic. Even Bryce was into the idea so maybe he is a boy after all. They started talking excitedly about what kind of songs they would sing. I restrained myself from making fun of them. After all, who am I to kill their dreams? When Paris finally arrived, Balki dropped to his knees and seranaded her with a love song.

"Oh Miss Paris
if I were not embarrass
I would tell you that I love yooooouuuuu"


I had suspected that Balki had a little crush on Paris. Poor guy, she wasn't very impressed with his efforts. She just kind of smirked and whipped out a mirror and applied another layer of gloss to her already goopy lips.


It was a big relief when my mom finally called us all to the table. Before we started eating she made us say grace and then we each had to tell what we were most thankful for. It's a tradition she began a few years ago, after she read about it in Southern Living magazine. Here's how it went:

Mom: Okay, I'll start. I am thankful for my family, good friends, and the pre-roasted turkey from Publix that only needs to be heated for two hours. It's such a wonderful convenience.

Ronnie: I am thankful to have met such a gorgeous and sexy woman like you, Sarah.

He kissed her hand, which made her giggle. I nearly vomited. Old people love, eeeek!

Balki: I am thankful to be here in America where I will soon be millionaire boy bander and I can marry Paris and buy her fur coat.

Paris was busy staring at herself in the mirror again so my mom had to prompt her. "Paris, hon, what are you thankful for?"

Paris: huh?.........um whatever.



Maybe Paris isn't an alien after all. Maybe she's just dumb.


Hamburger Dave: I'm thankful for turkey. And green bean casserole. And gravy. And stuffing. Is that Stove Top stuffing?

Mom: No, it's homemade. I got the recipe from Food Network.

Hamburger Dave: Oh well, that's okay too.

Captain Jesus: I'm thankful for science.

He didn't elaborate so my mom prodded him.

Mom: Oh that's very interesting, Corky. Why are you thankful for science?

Captain Jesus: (shrug) I just like it.

Me: Well, I'm grateful I never got that lower back, tramp stamp tattoo I had considered getting a couple of years ago. I think I'm the only girl at The Boobie Barn without one.

Mom: (making face) Oh you, always making jokes. Quit being so sassy!

Suddenly Balki jumped up from the table, very excited.

Balki: That's it! That's the name for our boy band! We will call ourselves The Sassiest Boys in America! Or SBA for short. What you think?


No one said anything. I think were all trying not to laugh. I know I was. Ronnie snickered a bit but my mom glared at him so he stopped.

Paris: That's hawt.

Balki Oh good. It is settled.

Bryce: Well, I'm not really a sassy boy --

Me: So you are a sassy girl then? (I'm not usually this rude, but the Bloody Marys had kicked in.)

Bryce: (glowering) I was going to say that even though I'm more goth than sassy, I'm grateful to be included in The Sassiest Boys in America. I'm also grateful for Harry Potter. And by the way, Pru, you really need to dye your roots. You've got at least an inch of dark showing in that blond hoochie hairdo.

My hand automatically went to my hair. He (she?) was right. I do need to touch up my roots.

Me: Oh snap! You're sassy all right.

Paris: I'm thankful that I'm a natural blonde. (sniff) Ewwww, what's that, like, smell?

The minute she said that, I became aware that foul stench had filled the room. Everyone scrunched up their noses and looked around in disgusted horror.

Hamburger Dave: It wasn't me!

I knew immediately what it was. My beagle, Shirley, was sitting under the table hoping a piece of turkey would come her way. She's always been a somewhat fragrant dog, but just lately her emissions have been powerful enough to clear a room. It's because my mom is always feeding her table scraps, I think. Once we kicked her out and opened all the windows, we were able to eat without gagging.

So, contrary to my expectations, it turned out to be a pretty nice Thanksgiving. The Great Gazoo didn't show up and bug me, so that helped matters. Tell me, how was your holiday?

Little Green Men, etc..

Damn it.

This week has been busy. So busy that I haven't been able to blog at all, which I hate as it is my only hobby apart from reading. Although, truthfully, reading is more of a necessity than a hobby, so blogging is all I've got. I can't wait to go around and catch up on all of your blogs.

As for my new job selling cemetery plots, well what is there to say except that it sucks. I knew it would the minute I sat down at my desk in the office cubicle farm (I hate cubicles) and found a note the previous seat filler had scrawled on a memo pad and left in the desk drawer. Here is what it said:

This job sucks. You are not going to make any money. You might as well quit now. And whatever you do, don't say the word TRONDANT three times while looking into a mirror!!!! Consider yourself warned.

That word again! I admit that I was really intrigued. I kept thinking about that word the entire week while I called people and tried to convince them to buy a burial plot from me. Incidentally, I'm not very good at selling. Most everyone hung up on me except for this one guy. I almost had a sale on Friday, but I screwed it up at the last minute.

Me:- "....so I know this isn't a very pleasant subject to address, but what is even worse is the idea of leaving this burden to fall on your family..."

Customer:- "I know, I've been thinking about this. I'm glad you called. I'm ready to buy. Here's my credit card number - 337...5.."

Me:- (trying frantically to find a pen to write the number down) "Just one moment, sir. Let me find a trondant to --"

Customer:- "wha....did you say trondant?" (click)


He hung up! I'd totally blown a sure-fire sale. I'd been thinking about that word so much it just slipped out at the worst possible minute. And I still had no idea what it meant. According to Google, it's just a nonsense word. I was pissed!

I stalked back to the bathroom. No one else was around. All the other employees were busy, sucking down Diet Coke and making their sales quotas. While washing my hands I was overcome with the irresistable urge to do the forbidden thing and say the word TRONDANT three times. I blame it on my rebellious nature, and the fact that I'm pretty stupid.

So, with my heart pounding, I stood in front of the mirror and quickly muttered "trondant, trondant, trondant" and sort of flinched, waiting for the lights to go out and my throat to be slashed or something. But nothing happened while I stared into the mirror, except that I noticed it was about time for me to make another appointment for a lip waxing. Damn, I hate the way body hair grows back so freaking fast!

By the time I sat back down at my desk I'd already forgotten about the trondant silliness. I was busy searching through my purse for the business card of my favorite waxer so I could make an appointment, when I heard a voice say, "Nice going, dumb-dumb!"

I looked up and saw a little, green, effeminate man hovering over my desk.



My new little buddy, The Great Gazoo.


Boy, do I ever wish I'd heeded the warning from that note! This little green guy calls himself The Great Gazoo, and he's a jerk. He's always hanging around me now, commenting on whatever I'm doing, ridiculing my fashion choices, cackling, and calling me names. He's so irritating! Hardly anyone can see him besides me, Tucksworth, and Captain Jesus. If you can see him in the picture I put up, it supposedly means something. You are either pure of heart or totally whacked, I'm not sure which.

If I had to be stuck with a little green man from outer space, I'd much prefer Yoda. At least he's good with a lightsaber. I'd love to work one into my exotic dance act. It would be a nice change from juggling knives, and I could swing it at those fucking frat boys the next time they start squirting me with their water pistols.

11/10/07: A Very Odd Day

I'm not really the kind of person who believes in astrology or anything like that, but I'm thinking that the stars must have aligned in some sort of weird pattern lately. So many strange things happened on Saturday that I'm not sure how else to explain it. Here, let me describe what occured and you can tell me what you think.

7:00 AM: I woke up at bright and early as usual, even though I'd worked late at The Boobie Barn the night before. I tried to go back to sleep -- but once I'm up I'm typically up -- so I headed to the kitchen to make some coffee and was greeted by this sight.




I stopped dead in my tracks. It's not everyday you see a guy in a Captain Jesus outfit sitting at your kitchen table. It was a bit disconcerting.

"Um....hi, how's it going?" I said.

"Good," he looked up from the paper he was reading and smiled. "You're out of coffee."

"Oh, there's probably some in the pantry," I said, opening the door to check. It took me just a few minutes to find it, but when I returned to the kitchen he was gone.

When my mom came downstairs a few minutes later, I started teasing her about being a big 'ol slut, and having sex with Jesus.

"What are you tallking about?" she said looking puzzled. "I didn't bring anyone home last night."

So that was weird.

Then I heard some unexpected news. Apparently Big Earl is closing down Classy Earl's House of Class and Tits and turning it into a school for African dance. Who would have guessed he was into that?





I blame that damn 3 Foot Rule that the city has started enforcing! Earl's probably losing business. None of us dancers can make any money since we have to stay at least three feet away from the customers. Now after I finish dancing, instead of walking around lifting my garter for the guys to slide a tip into like I used to, the customers are forced to wad their dollar bills into a ball and wing it at my head. Ouch! Some of them can really throw hard. God, it's so much more degrading! That's mostly why I've been looking for another job.


I heard one of the Jessica's (sorry, I can't really tell them apart) was so bummed about being fired from Earl's, that she got all trashed and accidentally joined the army.




I guess it sucks to be her right now.




Britinia didn't seem to be taking the news of being out of work too hard. This is how she always greets me, so it was no big deal. What was shocking was that she didn't try to run over my foot. Now that was atypical of her.


In the afternoon I had a job interview for a part-time position selling burial plots at place called The Garden of Memories. I usually hate job interviews. All those questions about your strengths and weaknesses really get on my nerves. Like anyone is going to tell the truth. It would be kind of fun if you did though. Can you imagine?

"Well my strengths are that I only show up for work stoned about half the time, and I've never spit in a customers face even though I've really, really wanted to. I guess I'd say my biggest weakness is that when I get pissed off, I tend to take out an AK-47 and spray the room with bullets."

Anyway, the guy who did the interview looked strangely familiar. And kind of like a weasel. I swear I've seen him before somewhere.



His name was Mr. Shore. Here's how the interview went:


Mr. Shore: (looking at resume) So, Prunella, it says here that you've recently been employed as a dancer. Tell me, do you think Walt Disney's body is really frozen and stored in a secret room beneath Disneyland?

Me: Um....well, I've heard that's just an urban legend. But personally, I believe it.

Mr. Shore: Very good. Now when I say the word trondant, does that mean anything to you? (He stared very hard at me while asking this question.)

Me: No.

Mr. Shore: All righty then. You can start on Monday.


It was the most unusual job interview I've ever had, but at least they hired me. I decided to go shopping to celebrate and bought a pair of shoes.



I thought they were really cute in the store, but now I'm not so sure. What do you think? Too much? They're too spikey, aren't they? I don't know what I was thinking.


As I was leaving the mall an old drunk sitting on a park bench hissed something at me. Normally I wouldn't have paid attention to the blatherings of some homeless bum, but one of the words caught my ear because I'd heard it earlier in the day.



"What did you say?" I asked him.

"Beware of trondant," he said with a cackle, using his fingers to make air quotes.

"What is trondant?" I asked, puzzled.

The old drunk didn't answer. He just laughed louder and louder until he got a coughing fit, and then spit out a tooth. Freaky!


I got home just in time to meet the new guy my mom is going out with. His name is Ronnie and he drives a Little Debbie Snack Cake truck for a living. He was nice enough, but honestly, he didn't seem to be my mom's usual type. I can't figure out what she sees in him. He's not terribly attractive. I mean, check it out.




As they were leaving I grabbed my mom and whispered, "what...is he rich? Does he have a big dick or something?"

I was just joking, but she got a big grin on her face and winked at me. How bizarre! She never acts that saucy.


Later on during my shift at The Boobie Barn, I noticed my neighbor Star and her gay husband Al, sitting at a table in the corner, drinking champagne and making out. Ewwwww.



Actually that was more gross than strange. But still!


And then right before closing time, I looked up and saw that freaky new girl, Paris, hanging out and talking with my new boss Mr. Shore.



As you know, I'm convinced Paris is an alien. There is just no way that chick can be human. I was super curious as to what they were discussing, but when I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation they moved away. I bet it had something to do with the "trondant". What could that word signify, I wonder? Maybe I'll find out more on Monday when I start the grave selling job.

All in all, Saturday was a very mystifying and wacky day. Like Dr. Seuss wacky. I truly would not have been surprised if a Star-Bellied Sneetch had shown up at The Boobie Barn and started waltzing with Captain Peanut. But, hey, at least I didn't have to use my AK. So I gotta say it was a good day.

By contrast, Sunday has just sucked ass. How was your weekend?

Bored lately? Me too.

Say, have you ever wondered what you might look like as an ape? God knows I have. Well, thanks to this swell face transformer site you need wonder no more.



A planet where apes evolved from men?


I also checked out how I'd look as a manga character.




If I'd been drawn art nouveau style by the artist Mucha.




If I were an asian woman.




What I'll look like in forty years. Or in five years if I don't start taking better care of myself.




And finally, here's how I'd look as a she-male, tranny hooker.



Gah, break out the Cover Girl cosmetics! I look more like an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.


Well, it's something to do anyway.

2 Memes = Way Too Much Information

I was tagged a while back by the lovely Helen to write about my dreams. The tag goes something like this: Write five things you want to be when you grow up. Big dreams that seem like folly, but in your heart of hearts are very real and dear to you. Things that maybe you have forgotten about in the ebb and flow and toil of the everyday, but that never really leave your soul. What you would do if anything was possible?


Well, the thing is, I've never had any kind of realistic dreams or goals. Even as a child, I never dreamed about being a vet or anything remotely attainable. I always wanted super powers or something. So, I will just cut straight to that last line "what would you do if anything was possible?"


Here is what I would do:


1. I'd like to be a man for at least a week. And not just any guy either, I'd want to be a real studly man, like a seventies era Burt Reynolds. I'd wear tight pants and unbuttoned silk shirts that would allow my chest hairs to bristle out fetchingly, and have a hot babe on each arm. I'd say stuff like, "Hey baby, come suck on Burt's mustache," and the girlies would be all over me. That would be awesome! Or else I'd like to be a real tough dude, like Chuck Norris, so I could kick butt. Maybe I'd go over to Iran and singlehandly destroy their nuclear weapon making capabilities while giving their president a roundhouse kick to the face live on television. It would be fun to be such a complete badass.



Who could resist me?




2. I'd travel back to biblical times so I could hang out with Jesus and see for myself what really happened. Knowing me, I'd be standing around with Doubting Thomas during the entire crucifixtion, speculating on what tricks Christ would use to make himself appear to die and rise again. I'd also like to see him walk on water and party with him. I wonder how much wine it would take to get the son of God drunk?


3. I'd like to be Samantha on the old television show "Bewitched" (not the stupid movie with Nicole Kidman). She was hot, and it would be nice to just be able to just twitch my adorably pert little nose and have whatever I wanted to happen happen. Plus it would be fun to hang out with her mom and evil cousin. We'd drink martinis all day, and fuck with Mrs. Kravitz, and conjure me up a much more attractive husband than either of the two Darrins.


4. It would be nice to have taste buds that made broccoli taste like pizza. I'd be the healthiest bitch in the world.


5. My biggest hope is to one day be completely debt free. Unfortunately, it will be about as likely to happen as my first four dreams.




Abner! Prunella is going to do another meme!



I was also tagged by my favorite 80's music lover Onehungman to share seven random facts about myself, so I think I'll go ahead and do this one too, seeing as to how I'm on a roll and all.


1. I don't really have any artistic talent, but I like to doodle constantly. My favorite thing to doodle lately is pictures of The Creature From the Black Lagoon. I also like to draw sleestacks from the old Land of the Lost series.


2. I love books. I tend to think of my favorites as old friends.


3. I own an OJ Simpson doll. It was made during the seventies, back when he was a football hero. It's probably worth some money, but it's in bad condition and missing a leg. Once I dreamed that it came to life, Chuckie-style, and started trying to stab me. It freaked me out enough that I moved the doll from my bookcase to a bathroom drawer. But now that I think about it, I should go ahead and move it back. Even if it did try to stab me, the damn thing is only eight inches tall and since it only has one leg it would have to hop. I could easily kick it across the room.



Muyhahahahaha!



4. I came into the world feet first and nearly died at birth.



5. Even though I own a lot of beautiful shoes, I tend to wear the same old, beat-up pair of navy blue Converse sneakers everyday because they are so comfortable.



6. I wish I was a type A personality who could get things done, but I'm more of a slacker. If I do two things on my daily to-do list, then that day is a success. I also have loner tendancies. Too much human contact makes me crabby.



7. I have a really embarrassingly goofy laugh. I think it makes me sound like Alice the Goon.




I will tag the following people to do either one (or both) of these:

Brenda Love

Morbid Misanthrope

Diane

LA

Norm

Sudie

And anybody else who has not yet done one. C'mon, you know you want to.

Aliens Among Us

There's a new dancer working during my shift at The Boobie Barn and she's freaking me out. There is something a little bit off about her, something not quite right. Don't laugh, but I'm kind of thinking that she might be an alien in a human body. Okay, okay, I know that statement sounds pretty crazy, but I have my reasons. Plus I know a thing or two about invaders from outer space. Remember that time I was abducted by Scientologists?

First of all, here's a picture of her.





Creepy looking, huh? And get this, she calls herself Paris and that's not just her stripper name, it's her real name too. I could almost dismiss her as just another Marilyn Manson lookalike, but for the fact that I have just finished reading an article in The Weekly World News about a reptilian-type race of aliens who have recently infiltrated Earth. Apparently they want to learn our ways so they can conquer and enslave us. People, we can't let this happen! The article helpfully listed eight surefire ways to spot an alien. It's uncanny how this Paris chick fits all of them. Check it out:


1. Aliens often wear huge sunglasses to hide their freakish eyes. Paris wears sunglasses so big you could confuse her with a dragonfly. It almost looks like the plastic is attacking her head. If she isn't wearing her sunglasses, then she wears these strange blue colored contacts. She's definitely hiding something.



2. Aliens are obsessed with technology. They spend hours chatting on cell phones and sending e-mails. But they're not conversing with people -- they're actually transmitting data they've accumulated back to their home worlds. Yep, this bitch lives on the phone, but she never says much besides, "That's hawt." No one would actually have a conversation that boring for hours and hours, would they? Although I do often wonder what the hell people are jabbering on their phones about when they should be driving.



3. Aliens dress in oddly revealing clothes. Aliens find clothing irritates their flesh, so the less of it they wear, the more comfortable they are. They also like to keep their fake human skin exposed to air, to allow it to breathe. Well, this one is harder to prove since none of us at The Boobie Barn wear much clothing, but at least the rest of us wear panties once in a while. Paris never does.




See what I mean?



4. Constant questioning about customs of co-workers. Space aliens who are trying to learn about earth culture might ask questions that seem stupid, Easton said. "For example, a co-worker may ask why so many Americans picnic on the Fourth of July," noted Steiger. Just the other day she asked me if Wal-Mart sold walls. I mean, come on, who is that stupid? It really made me suspicious.



5. Aliens have strange bodily proportions. The newest breeds of aliens attempt to imitate human appearance -- but they never quite get it right. They are like exaggerated ideas of human perfection. Their stomachs are too flat, their chests too big, their faces wrinkle-free. You should see her amazingly big hands and feet! Almost like they should belong to a man. I bet those aliens got their body parts mixed up when designed her human suit.


6. They smell. Aliens use all manner of deodorants, perfumes, or lotions to disguise their natural scent, which is offensive to humans. Well she doesn't smell bad, mostly like cheap cologne, but I've noticed that after she gives a lap dance the customers are covered in a sticky alien goo. They don't seem to mind too much, though. They are even happy to hand over sperm samples to her, but then again Boobie Barn customers are always trying to give away their semen, so I guess that's not overly questionable.


7. Aliens do not understand Earth's sense of humor. Forget what you saw on Mork and Mindy. Aliens find it difficult to understand laughter -- even a simple knock-knock joke can throw them completely off. They might laugh at inappropriate times -- like during a funeral -- or stare blankly at the funniest jokes. She never, ever laughs at my jokes!......Well, okay, no one else does either. Scratch that one.



8. Aliens practice mind control. This one has got to be true. This chick cannot dance, or sing, or do anything the slightest bit entertaining, yet she makes more money than all of us girls combined and has a ton of fans. Alien mind control is the only thing that can possibly explain her popularity. I mean, can you explain it?





This paper tells the truth! You can learn a lot from it. I can't wait to vote for Hillary and Bigfoot. If anyone can save Earth from these evil, soul-sucking extraterrestrials, it's going to be them!


HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Visible

So, I guess I haven't posted very much lately. I don't really have any good reason for not posting. It's certainly not because I've been too busy with my fabulous and fascinating life. Don't I wish! No, I've actually been behaving myself pretty well lately, doing my yoga, following my raw vegan diet without too much cheating, reading a lot of books, and trying not to spend money.

God, I'm dull!

See why I haven't posted? I'm even boring Tucksworth. That monkey no longer bothers to scream and fling poo like he used to whenever I would turn on my Wilco CDs and assume the Lotus position. Instead he just shrugs and goes back to terrorizing the cat.

But now it's 4:30 A.M. on a Saturday night (technically Sunday morning I suppose) and I feel like posting something, dammit! But what?

I was considering writing about the time I met Fabio, but that's kind of a dull story. He just shook my hand, and couldn't have been nicer. (He is, however, even more amazingly cheesy looking up close than you'd imagine.)



You can't believe it's not butter, can you?


I was just about to give up when I remembered Bottle Blonde's excellent post on blogging 101. If you've never been to her blog, please check it out. She's one funny chick, and gorgeous as well. Anyway, she urges everyone to post pictures of themselves and I agree with her. I don't know about you, but whenever I start reading a person's blog, I find myself wondering what they look like. I've kind of developed a mental picture of each of the bloggers that I read regularly, although I'm sure it's completely wrong.

I've been a bit shy about posting pictures of myself, but what the hell? It's not like I have to worry about being dooced. So without further ado, I present you with some dorky pics.




Take the friggin picture already!



Here I am at a family function, completely sober. I can tell I'm sober because I'm smiling my fake smile and looking oh so enthused. Plus, I remember being uncomfortable because I was wearing an ugly dress and barely any makeup. My mom has a cow about dressing appropriately for these types of things. She seems to think that if I'm dressed like a lady, I'll behave like one. As if! You would think she'd know better by now.




Just add alcohol and weeeee!


What a difference two hours and three glasses of wine make! Whenever I drink, I start getting a Paris Hilton wonk eye. Seriously, one of my eyes (usually the left) will bunch up into a squint like a pirate or something. Argggh, matey! It doesn't take much alcohol to get it started either. Two drinks and the eyelid begins its slide. I can usually feel it happening, but by that point I don't care. So many of my pictures have been ruined by that dopey squint.






My hippie hair, ass, and the hideous lamp that my mom just bought.


I took this pic because I was so happy to finally be able to fit into these jeans again that I had to document it. I've never had a weight problem, but these jeans were definitely getting too tight and I was developing a muffin top, much to my chagrin.

In case you've never heard that term, here's the definition:

Muffin Top- The roll of fat that hangs over the top of too-tight, low rise jeans.


Now thanks to the mostly raw vegan diet and some ADD drugs, not only do the jeans fit again, they are even slightly loose. Yay!

If I had good photoshop skills I would caption that picture like one of the LOLZ Cats. I would make it say I CAN'T HAZ CHEEZBURGER! I'Z VEGAN! If somebody wants to do that for me, it would make me laugh. Those damn cats are hilarious.


And finally, I do have a photo of my rack if you want to see it. I took it when I was trying to get a good shot to send to Ms. Smack's "Guess the Blogger's Breasts" challenge. I think it's a pretty demure picture, but my nipple did pop up so I guess that makes it NSFW. I have thoughtfully hidden it just in case you don't want to see, but why wouldn't you? I know I enjoy looking at boobies. Mine aren't real big or anything, but they are spectacular if I do say so myself. Okay, not really, but by some trick of the light the boob that is visible looks fairly good. I doubt I'll ever get a better pic so I'm just going to go with it.



my rack



Well, that's it. I was trying to take a picture of one of my ears to show you how incredibly simian they are, but I'm not having much luck. Maybe next time.