Sunday, August 31, 2008

14 Haiku Rants About My Bitch-Faced Neighbor And A Couple Ridiculing Juicy Sweatsuits

Have I mentioned that
I hate my bitch-faced neighbor?
Well, I really do.

Let me count the ways:
She is super unfriendly
with a scowl for all.

She drives her bloated SUV
over my petunias while
yakking on her cell.

Hang up and drive you
arab oil loving hag! Of course
her car sports Bush stickers.

She hates my flamingos,
but leaves her garbage can out
seven days a week.

The shittiest thing
she does is neglect her dogs.
They bark day and night!

She ties them outside
and takes off, without leaving
enough food or water.

I called the authorities
on this c u next tuesday
but nothing happened.

The show Animal
should drag her ass off, I'd
make popcorn and watch.

If she were a bird,
she'd be a turkey vulture
gnawing on roadkill.

If she were a cake,
she'd be so dry and crumbly
that you'd spit her out.

She's got Bette Davis eyes
in a Bob Sagat face hit
with an ugly stick. Twice!

Now that my bitch-faced
neighbor wears Juicy sweatsuits
they must be so done.

Also, I think it's
lame to see the word "Juicy"
stamped across a butt

Across any butt
not just my bitch-faced neighbor's,
though hers makes me retch.

Your butt should be free
of any stoopid message
in my opinion.

The only thing she
should display on her pants is
a "Kick Me Hard" sign.

P.S. She sucks!

** Let this serve as a
warning to all those living
near Prunella Jones's home.

Do not piss me off!
For then ye shall suffer the
wrath of my bad haikus!

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Who Will Stop Land Gator?

That wretched Land Gator will not quit wreaking havok upon the innocent inhabitants of Casa de Prunella. Observe.

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He chomped Shirley.

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He NOMed Mae Mae.

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And then he -gasp- made off with one of my mom's sassy boots!

Oh, what are we to do? How shall we ever rid ourselves of this horrible menace? If only some sort of hero would come along......

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Did someone call for a hero? Never fear, senorita. I, El Muchacho Descarado, am here to save the day. Now, where is the villian? I will kick his espuma ass!

OMG! My prayers have been answered! The Sassy Boy is the hawtest superhero of all! If he can't get rid of Land Gator then no one can. Gracias, El Muchacho Des--

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Muyhahahahaha! Sassy superheros are even tastier to my mouf. Who can stop me? Nobody! I am unstopable. Ain't no one can stop me.
I mean, who gonna stop me?

Wednesday, August 27, 2008


I forget where I first saw this link but I've been obsessed from the moment I clicked with designing the perfect pair of sneakers.

These are from my new You are So Going To Hell fall collection.

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Here are some with the bug-eyed pope. I'm so fond of him.

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I wanted to write, "I shocked the pope and all I got was these lousy sneakers" but it wouldn't fit, dangit!

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These are my Fatal Attraction shoes. Perfect for a first date.

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I believe in truth in advertising.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Conversations With God

I had a very strange experience last night.

Actually, I guess technically it happened this morning. At about...oh... approximately 5:30 A.M., which feels like the middle of the night to me as I don't do early.

I had gotten to bed late as usual, so I was happily snoozing away when a very loud voice thundered in my ear, "PRUNELLA JONES! I COMMAND THEE TO AWAKEN!"

"Okay," I murmured sleepily. "Just give me five more minutes."

Well, the next thing I knew there was a very bright, white light shining in my eyes. I squinted and held up my hands to block it out.

"What the hell?" I thought.


I ran a hand through my hair, feeling confused and a little pissed. I'd only been sleeping for a few hours and I was in no mood for this kind of bullshit.

"God, huh? Yeah right, I don't believe in any god. Now go away!" And with that I pulled the covers back over my head.

But the voice would not shut up. It went on and on about how he, God, had chosen me to be his prophet, and how he needed me to prepare mankind for the coming apocalypse, blah, blah, blah and etc. I closed my eyes and tried to tune him out and go back to the dream I'd been having. It was a nice sexy dream where I was Snow White and was forced to share a cottage with seven hawt little hobbits, who tended to my every want and need. I was just getting into the part where Frodo was feeding me buttered Triscuts, and undressing me for my bubble bath and warm oil massage, when something the voice said caught my attention.


"Wait a minute," I said, sitting up. "Lemme get this straight. Are you saying that the crazy freak with the three foot long, grimy dreadlocks, who stands outside of Kroger ranting at people all day long is actually your prophet?"


"So....he's not insane? Are you kidding me? He wears a robe made out of aluminum foil and a blue sock! He uses a goldfish bowl for a hat!"


"No way!" I said.


"That's ridiculous. No one will take me seriously. They'll think I'm a raving lunatic and ignore me, as they should."


"Yeah, sure....okay," I snickered.

I just wanted God or my diseased brain or whatever it was to shut up so I could go back to sleep, but the voice kept right on blathering out more instructions that I had no intention of following - something about how I should quit bathing and construct a pair of shoes out of duct tape. I was desperate to get rid of him.

"Hey, um...excuse me," I broke in. "Look, I'm very honored to be chosen as your prophet and all, but I really don't think I'm the right person for such an important task. Why don't you get someone else to deliver your message? A minister maybe? Or a politician? Say, how about that John McCain, huh? Seems to me that something like this would be right up his alley."


Ugh, after that bit of information I was done chatting. I needed my beauty sleep! I took an Ambien and thankfully it knocked me out immediately. I woke up hours later feeling fuzzy headed from the sleeping pill, and weirded out from my early morning visit with the Almighty.

Interesting conversation. I'm not sure if it really happened. But if it did, it certainly explains a few things.

Rated G for Gruesome

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It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. A little orange kitteh lay curled up in his bowl, snoozing happily.

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Suddenly startled by a noise, he opened his sleepy eyes. What was that?

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Oh Noes!

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Valiantly the tiny kitteh struggled and fought with all of his might, but he was no match for the evil (and hungry) land gator who swallowed him in one gulp.


Friday, August 22, 2008

The Adventures of Prozac Pony

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Hi there! My name is Penny, but you can call me Prozac Pony. Everyone does. Why, you ask? Because after many years of therapy and a whole lot of Prozac, I realize that life is too short to be sad and alone and I want to spread the word.

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I used to be depressed all the time and stayed by myself, never joining in any pony games. Since I was such a downer no one wanted to hang out with me, which made me even more bummed out. It truly sucked.

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But that's all changed. Now I have a great outlook and tons of friends. Life is good.

Hey, guys!

Hey Prozac Pony, how's it goin?

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Wait.....where are you going? Guys? Guys?

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Guys? Come back! Is breath? Is my conversation boring? What?

(cue the music from Jaws)

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Muyhahahahaha. Yummy. Hungry Gator loves mentally healthy meat best! SSRI's are like MSG to me. Makes everything tastier to my mouf!

Still hungry.....

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Muyhahahahaha. NOM NOM NO--......pleh! Ack, ick, yuck! This meat no good. It taste like crazy.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Paula Abdul Is Divalicious, But I'm Still Working On It

The little devil who lives on my shoulder and tempts me to do bad things is at it again.

Do you remember the one? He looks like Richard Dawson with devil horns, and he's very, very persuasive.

Anyway, ever since I returned from vacation and settled back into the misery of my everyday routine, he just won't leave me alone. All day long he urges me to do stuff I shouldn't, nattering in my ear about how it doesn't matter anyway, life sucks and then you die so have a little fun now, blah, blah, blah and etc.

"Go on, luv," he'll whisper. "Why don't you have an extra Adderall or three, hmmmm.

"Shut up, Richard!" I'll say, covering my ears. "Get thee behind me, cockney charmer."

"You know," he'll coo, "it's okay to powder up your pill and snort it. You are still getting your medicine, it's just a different method of delivery, that's all."

"No Richard! I'm not going to abuse my medication. Survey says, Rrrrrrrnnnnk wrong answer!"

Could you resist a suave bastard like this?

If he can't tempt me with drugs he'll try a different tatic.

"Well then, why don't you grease the stripper poles at work? It'll be mad fun to watch those bitches fall on their asses."

"No Richard," I'll say. "That's wro......wait a minute, that's a pretty good idea actually."

Yeah, sometimes he succeeds. Well, what do you expect? I'm not a saint.

The other day though, he almost got me in big time trouble. This is what happened. I was out at Target with my best friend Paula Abdul, looking at the glittery body products. I had told her about the Diva book and Paula wanted to follow the Frivolous Diva Do suggestion for the week. Oh yeah, here it is in case you want to try it too.

Find some body glitter and pretend it is fairy dust. As you begin each day, make a wish or say a Diva Declaration....

1. About yourself and spruinkle it on yourself before you leave the house.

2. About your car and sprinkle it around your car.

3. About your sensuality and sprinkle it in your bed and in your lingerie drawer.

Paula and I were laughing our asses off and thinking up stupid Diva Declarations like, "Today I allow my Hello Kitty panties to sparkle with enough glitter to choke Mariah Carey, because I am a sensual goddess."

"Oh, I like that one," Paula said. She picked up a jar of Jessica Simpson's Dessert Belly Button Creme and sniffed it. "Ugh, what does this smell like to you?"

I took a whiff. It smelled like old Hostess Twinkies to me. Why does anybody buy Jessica Simpson stuff? She doesn't deserve to make any money from it. It's all crap!

It was pretty damn glittery though.

That's when Richard started whispering. "Put it in your pocket, Pru. Don't you dare pay for that. Fuck Jessica! Just take it, take, it, take it!"

I started sweating. Damn Richard! Why is he so tempting? I haven't shoplifted anything in ages - not since I used to hang out with Wynona Ryder - but I remember the rush. Oh yes! Slowly, very slowly, I eased the tub of creme into my pocket. Ha ha!

The minute we were out the door, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Excuse me, Miss. Can you empty your pockets for me, please?"

My heart started to pound with fear. The security guard was a tall, rusty haired, body builder type. He looked at me with eager anticipation. He'd probably been hanging around bored all day and now there was finally going to be some excitement. He'd get to frisk me and the police would be called and I'd be led away in handcuffs, all because of stoopid Jessica Simpson's sparkly belly butter that stinks like stale cupcakes. How humiliating! How un Diva-like. I cringed.

Thankfully, though, Paula was with me. She whipped out her inner diva and saved my ass.

"Are you accusing my friend of stealing or something?" she demanded. "I am Paula Abdul! I have enough money to buy everything in this entire store, including you! You're kinda cute, by the way. Are you single?"

Stammering and blushing, the guy asked her for an autograph and her phone number. He was so dazzled he forgot all about me and I quickly ditched the stank creme in the nearest trashcan. I'll never do that again! I am scared straight...probably. I hope so anyway. A true diva doesn't steal trashy items from Target. And she ignores little devils who tell her to do that kind of stuff. I should quit making fun of that book and start wearing my tiara to the grocery store like they suggest.

I was so grateful to Paula that I decided to write a poem in her honor. I read it to her last night when we were at our favorite Mexican restaurant, throwing back Margaritas and flirting with the macho, hairy chested waiters. Here it is.

Ode To a Diva
by Prunella Jones

People let me tell you about my best friend,
a super cool chick with a fine rear end.

Her name is Paula, and while she has fame
she is still one classy dame.

We love to giggle, laugh, and joke
and also guzzle rum and Coke

When I hurt my back or bump my shins,
she’ll float me some of her Vicodins.

Paula is so very nice,
she happily checked my scalp ten times for lice.

And when I nearly got arrested the other day
for stealing Jessica Simpson body spray
her quick thinking saved my tail
and kept me from shoplifter's jail.

You are a true diva, Miss Abdul.
With a fierceness that makes Ryan Seacrest drool.
They need to bring back your show, “Hey Paula” it ruled!

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Paula was touched by the poem I wrote for her.

Later on when she passed out face down in her guacamole salad, I moved her head over to the side so she wouldn't get sour cream up her nose. And I didn't take a picture of her like that to sell to the tabloids, even though they would pay big bucks and I need the money. Richard was hopping up and down demanding that I do it, but I was able to ignore him. How dare he even suggest it? PAula is like a sister to me!

And I didn't even steal her bottle of Vicodin, even though it was sitting right there in her open purse.

Well......okay, I did take two pills. But the bottle was practically full. She'll never miss them.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Are you Divalicious?

My mom bought me a present the other day.

It was a book called The House That Cleans Itsef: Creative Solutions for a Clean and Orderly House.

"Do you think you might want to read this sometime?" she asked. "It has a lot of good suggestions and it's not preachy."

She looked at me so hopefully, that I had to laugh.

"Aw you're so cute, Mom, of course I will," I lied.

I love books. I'll read pretty much anything if it's interesting enough to me. But housecleaning is not interesting. At all. Besides, I'm sort of obsessed right now with a book I just found while standing in line at The Pancake Pantry. It was in a pile of free books they leave out to make the wait more bearable. The title is I Am Diva! Every Woman's Guide to Outrageous Living and it's one of the wackiest, most ridiculous things I've ever read.

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Basically it's just a self-help type book, and it's message is pretty decent - love yourself as you are, be self confident, don't be a doormat, get more enjoyment out of every day, etc. - sort of a touchy feely mix of Oprah and the kind of articles you see anytime you flip through a Women's Day magazine. Ho hum, you've seen this type of book a million times I'm sure.

But the suggestions the authors give is the reason I can't put this book down! Oy vey! They make me laugh and laugh because they are just so damn silly. I'm sorry, but I don't see how buying myself a tiara and wearing it to the grocery store is going to get me in touch with my inner diva and make me more self confident.

The book is full of goofy ass advice like this. Oh boy! Everytime I read over it I cackle with glee. I just love this kind of eye-rollingingly cheesy stuff.

Although I do have issues with their use of the word "diva", which to me conjures up a mental picture of Naomi Campbell or JLo freaking out and throwing a diamond studded cell phone because their chinchilla eyelashes were rinsed out in regular water instead of Evian.

According to my dictionary the definition is:

Diva - a distinguished female singer; prima donna.

So then I looked up prima donna.

Prima Donna - a temperamental person; a person who takes adulation and privileged treatment as a right and reacts with petulance to criticism or inconvenience.

Me thinks the word goddess would have been a better fit for what this book is advocating. Most people don't need any help in being bigger assholes.

So anyway, it starts off with a short quiz to help you gauge how far along you are on the "Diva Contentment Continuum." I scored 80-99 which makes me a "Diva-in-Waiting." So all I need is a little polish on my diamond in the rough. My mom scored 70-89. She's a "Diva-Wannabe" which means she really needs this book. She didn't seem too jazzed about it and declined to play, but I'm ready to start on my journey to Divaness. There are 52 weeks worth of suggestions and I plan to do them all. Or at least a couple, till I get sick of it. Which won't take long, but what the heck I'm broke as a joke right now so I've got to get my laughs where I can.

How about you? Wanna join me? Come on, it'll be fun!

Here are our Diva Do assignments for the week.

1. In order to begin, they said we'll need a diary to record our fabulous transformation from sad sack to hawt bitch. A blank notebook that should be decorated Diva-style with glitter, velvet, or a boa trim. The authors seem to think glitter is very diva like. I'm not sure why. It seems more like a twelve year old's idea of glamour to me, or maybe a tranny's, but whatever.

Okay, so I got a blank notebook from the dollar store. It's pink and sparkly enough to make Mariah Carey gouge her eyes out with jealousy.

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But since I'm not really the glittery type, I decided to decorate mine with eyeballs and a cholo sticker I got out of a gumball machine.

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There I think that's divalicious, don't you?

2. Next, it says to pick a few Diva role models. "Women who have qualities that you admire. Write them down in the Diva Diary."

Hmmm this one required some thought. There are lots of chicks I admire, but which ones are the most divalicious? It took me a while of pencil tapping, but I finally wrote down three.

Carrie NAtion - She was a leader in the temperance movement in pre-Prohibition America most well known for marching into saloons singing and praying, and destroying the place with a hachet while the men just stood there open mouthed, watching with dismay. I have no problem with people drinking myself, but I just love it that Carrie was such a ball-buster. How can you not like a person who described her bar smash ups as "hachetations"?

Queen Elizabeth the first - What a total badass. She didn't put up with shit. She was smart enough to never marry so she could keep the guys dancing in attendance to her hoping for favors all of her life. I like her big red wigs too.

Paula Abdul - I just love her. Paula can't sing, but somehow she was able to have a career as a pop star and now has job judging other people on their singing ability. And she's able to go to work drunk and stoned everyday and not get fired for it. Damn! You just can't beat that.

You are then supposed to cut out pictures of these role models and make them into a collage, but yeah, I think I'll skip it.

3. "Pick one quality you admire to focus on. Take fifteen minutes each day to reflect on what will be present in your life if you have, for example, more grace."

A quality I admire? Grace is okay, but I'd much rather have the power to shoot lazer beams out of my eyes - so hot that they could burn a hole straight through my enemies innards, and send them off to the hell they so richly deserve. Muyhahaha. If only I could aquire that ability by meditating on it.

4. "Create a new action to integrate this quality into your life. When I practice gentleness, I speak softly and move slowly."

Bah, I've been trying to shoot lazer beams out of my eyes since I was a child. How I wish it would work.

Well, that's it for this week. Man, this journey to Divahood is hard work! I'm too tired to do the "Frivolous Diva Do" at the end of the chapter but if you'd like to here it is:

For a quick shot of fun and silliness, perfect to escape any moment of monotony, jump up and down on your bed like you did when you were six.

Yes, this really is a serious, self help book that you can actually buy at Amazon, and not a humorous instruction manual for half-witted drag queens. I couldn't believe it either.

Friday, August 08, 2008

Summer Lovin

I don't write much about my love life on this blog - mostly because it isn't very interesting - but while I was on vacation recently that all changed. I met and was romanced by a very, very special man. Our time together was short, only a few days, but I'll never forget it. It was like something out of a Shakespearean play. Or maybe a Robert James Waller novel. Beautiful and passionate and doomed from the beginning.

I was having breakfast at a little restaurant in Morro Bay when I first noticed him busing a nearby table. Well, actually I noticed the other busboy first because that one was wearing purple eyeliner and a little bowler hat that made him a dead ringer for Debbie Gibson in her Electric Youth days. I was intrigued by this and started scribbling a poem called "Sexually Ambiguous Busboy" on my napkin. I had almost finished it when I heard a voice say, "You want some more tea?"

"No," I said, without looking up.


"Yes," I said, feeling irritated. It's so annoying to be interrupted while trying to think up a word to rhyme with androgynous. "I'm sure."

"O-tay," he said, and then the next thing I knew, ice cold tea was drenching the table and paper napkin I'd been writing on, and dripping down my legs.

"Oh! I sorry, pretty lady! Sorry! It was an accident!" he cried, and began wringing his hands.

"You idiot!" I was peeved. The poem was gone, as the ink was now illegible. I stood up, ready to yell at him some more, and that's when I really saw him for the first time and I was......captivated.

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Can you blame me?

Tenderly he wiped me off with the filthy bus towel, all the while looking into my eyes with his intense green gaze. And then he gave me a killer grin that could melt the panties off a nun.

"You're pretty," he said, simply, and grabbed my hand. "Are you my fwiend?"

At his touch, the hairs on the back of my neck began to tingle with lust.

"Sure," I whispered, knowing that, indeed, we would be very good friends. "My name is Prunella, but you can call me Pru. What's yours?"

"I'm called Tom," he said. "Some people say I'm crazy, but I'm not crazy. I'm special!"

"Yes," I agreed, checking him out in his tee shirt and jeans (you can see them in the photo above). From what I could tell as he stood very close, he had a decent bulge going on in those pants. "I bet you are quite special."

"Fwiend," he grinned. "Can I have a hug?"

And with that he pulled me tightly towards him, his tiny hands roving over my back and ass in a way that sent shivers of desire down my spine and straight to my hoohah. I felt a warmth like I had never known, from somewhere deep within my loins swell up and spill between my thighs, and I realized then that I had to have him. Even though I knew it was wrong, that society would frown on a tryst between a mentally challenged man and a brilliant young genius like myself, still I decided to go for it. After all, a love like this only comes along once in a lifetime. Besides, there isn't much to do in San Luis Obispo after the sun goes down, and I hadn't been able to get tickets for the Hearst Castle tour.

"Tom," I murmured as we embraced, rocking back and forth. "Would you like to come back to my hotel with me?"

"Oh! Yes! Hooray!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Let's go! Wheel of Fortune is on at 1:00 and again at 1:30! And then it comes on another time at 7:00!"

I was charmed by his childlike enthusiasm. He was so excited by everything, a nice change for someone like me - a woman who had become a bit jaded by life. He was not a smart man by any means, but under his tutelage I found a new joy in the simple things, like slow, wet, sloppy kisses, frolicking on the beach sand, and walking hand in hand with a lover while searching the night sky for UFOs. I even began to develop an appreciation for the blandness that is Pat Sajak. By the way, did you know that Chuck Woolery was the original host of Wheel of Fortune?

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My lover, enjoying the new sunglasses I bought for him at Target. He cleaned up quite nicely. In this picture, I had just asked him how large his penis was and he was estimating. He did a pretty good job. Why else do you think I was kept him around for three days?

In return, I taught Tom about the ways of love - hawt sexual love - between a man and a woman, and also the wonders of a heated toilet seat with oscillating rear cleansing. He enjoyed both, although it sometimes seemed to me that he was a bit too into the rear cleansing. I could barely get him off of that thing!

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Tom never seemed to stop smiling. Here he is telling me about aliens from outer space. He gets really excited about them.

The few days we spent together were truly magical. Unfortunately, it had to end when the time came for me to head back down to Riverside.

"Tom," I said that night, after he had watched his TV show and I had crammed all my junk back into my suitcase. "I must leave you now."

"What?" he looked stunned. "You can't go, fwiend!"

"I'm sorry, my darling, but I have to return the rental car soon and go back to my life in Tennessee. Now get dressed and I'll drive you back to the group home."

"No!" he yelled, his face turning red. "Nooooooooo!"

He then leapt on the pink velvet couch we'd been sitting on, and began jumping up and down hysterically.

I felt terrible that he was so upset but I really had to get going. Plus, I had visions of the Madonna Inn charging me big bucks for any damage to the furniture.

"Stop that right now, Tom," I said sharply, "that sofa is an expensive antique. Get down!"

"Noooooooo!" He kept right on jumping. "No, no, no! You complete me! You commmmmpletttte me!"

It took an hour and two Valiums to get him to calm down. Of course, I had to lie and tell him the Valium were Vitamin C pills - someone had convinced him drugs were bad - and I eventually got him back to the handicapable home where he lives. It was hard to say goodbye - mostly because he kept screaming You complete me!

As I drove off, I popped the soundtrack to the movie Grease in the CD player and sang along with the Olivia Newton John parts of the song Summer Nights. Whoever wrote those lyrics was quite wise in the ways of holiday romance. It seemed to be written just for Tom and me.

Summer lovin, had me a blast
Summmer lovin happened so fast

(Other boring lyrics that don't relate to me and Tom)

Shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop,shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, YEH
Summer fling, don't mean a thing, but uh-oh those summer nights
Summer heat, boy and girl meet, but uh-oh those summer nights
Summer dreams ripped at the seams,
bu-ut oh, those su-ummer nights....

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A worker from Tom's group home just emailed me this picture. It seems he's been doing nothing but jumping on the couch since we parted.

Thursday, August 07, 2008

Some Vacay Photos

My trip to Cali was very nice. I can't believe it's over already. Every day was jam packed with fun, except for the last few when I ran out of money and had to crash with some elderly relatives who wouldn't turn on the air conditioning even though they live in Moreno Valley and it was 100 degrees.

They were like, "Doesn't the fan keep this room so nice and cool, Pru?"

Um....that would be a big no. But what are you going to do? Beggars can't be choosers, etc. It was really nice of them to put me up.

In their sweltering, sweltering guest room.

God, I'm an ungrateful brat! I shouldn't complain. I spent most of my time enjoying the lovely cool breezes of San Diego and San Luis Obispo. I also stopped by Huntington Beach so I could hang out with fellow bloggers LA and Diane. It as so great to finally meet them and find out that they were even more awesome and fun in 3D. We chattered nonstop for hours and hours, and then Diane gave us a tour of her gorgeous beach pad and I got to meet her dogs, the famous Nanners and Noodles.

Unfortunately I didn't take any pictures with them. I meant to, but I was so busy having fun that I forgot. Also, I didn't remember to charge my digital camera battery before I left and it ran out of juice pretty quick. What pics I do have were taken with my crappy cell phone.

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Here is the most famous statue in San Diego. I forget what it is called, but it's famous! Really it is!

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I like this one better because of the Eurotrashy couple in front of it. I could tell they were European because they were exquisitely accessorized. The fact that they were gibbering in Italian might have helped too. A few minutes later, they asked me to take a pic of them with their bazillion dollar camera. I was tempted to run off with it. Why wasn't I born in Europe? Free medical care and their money is worth so many dollars they could wipe their ass with greenbacks and still have plenty left over. I am so jealous.

In San Luis Obispo I stayed at the world famous Madonna Inn. I loved the way it was decorated in an over the top opulence. And BTW it is not owned and operated by Madonna as my mom asked when I told her about it.

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Here is the bathroom in the attached restaurant of the hotel. It looked like something out of Dracula's castle.

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Trying to work the friggin camera phone! Yes, my hair looked this fried the entire time.

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Posing in front of the restroom stall because I'm all about class, baby!

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You may think I'm obsessed with bathrooms (and you'd be right) but this toilet in my room was special. It had a heated seat! I am but a poor lass from the IE unused to such decadence and I must say it felt like heaven on my buns!

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It also featured a bidet with rear and frontal cleansing. What happens is a jet of warm water shoots out and bathes the nether regions. Very thorough! I think I may have had an orgasm from it.

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Pretty scenery from a beach. This one was in San Diego, I believe. I have a bunch of these but they all kinda look the same.

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One of my favorite tourist spots in San Luis Obispo. It's called Bubble Gum Alley. Basically it's just two walls filled with people's used gum and formed into designs and whatnot. Just the kind of thing I love.

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Here is my contribution. It was watermelon flavored.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008