Springtime Freshness

According to Vogue, May marks the official start of Jesus sandles and electric blue toenails season.

My Plan to Get Out of Debt

Being strapped for cash really sucks, doesn't it? It seems like there is never ever enough. My debt refuses to get smaller no matter how much I pay on my credit cards. No sooner will I get one of them paid down then something will happen -- like my car's transmission will die, forcing me to plonk down $3000 for a new one. Since I have no savings to speak of it has to go on the plastic.

"Cha-ching, cha-ching!"

That's the sound of the good people at Visa tap dancing with glee on the shreds of my hopes and dreams.

It's truly shocking how much life costs these days. I can easily blow through a hundred dollars just filling up my gas tank and buying three measly little bags of groceries. Unbelievable! Do you know how long it takes me to earn a hundred bucks at The Boobie Barn? Well, only about an hour or so, but still, it's a hideous godawful hour. Believe me, the nights go by slooooooowly at work.

The obvious solution to these money problems would be to work more, I suppose, or get another job, but these ideas hold little appeal. My delicate, artistic soul cannot handle the nine to five drudgery of an office job. Been there, done that a million times. And I already spend way too much time at the strip club. Damn, it's a nasty place. I used to secretly delight in and be amazed by all the stupid drama that went on, but it got old fast. Now I barely even blink when a used tampon whizzes past my head as some pissed off stripper expresses her anger by throwing it at the smug faced manager. Gross, huh? Oh, the stories I could tell! Why they'd make you barf they would.

The thing is, how can one get more money without working or robbing a bank? I ruminated over this question for many days. Using a technique learned from watching the Oprah show, I envisioned myself with a brand new car, all my student loans paid off, and giving the finger to the credit card companies as I closed every last account. I asked the universe how to make this happen.

The universe never answered. That book The Secret is a total rip off! So I've just decided to get myself a sugar daddy.

This should work out fairly well though. Of course, I'm kinda picky. I don't want one of those run of the mill, idiot, record producer dorks who are constantly giving me their business cards and bragging about how they live next door to Tim McGraw. Ick! No, the man I'm looking for needs to be a creative type, cute, fun to be around, and super-duper loaded. Preferably a bazillionaire.

I'm thinking Paul McCartney would be pretty much perfect.



Back off, bitches! This sexy grandpa is going to be MY new sugar daddy! You guys can have Donald Trump.


Maybe you think I'm being unrealistic. Why would a big star like Paul want to spend time with an ordinary girl like me? Well, we actually have quite a bit in common.




-- We are both dedicated vegans, even though I cheat all the time by munching on cheese. Well, have you ever tried soy cheese? Bleh! Also PETA seems kind of stupid to me but if it pleased Paul, I'd be happy tag along with them when they throw fake blood on some fur wearing bitches. Heh heh, take that you rich hags! I mean....let's save the animals....yeah, that's it.

-- We both have a healthy appreciation for nature's finest green herb.

-- We are creative types. He fills the world with silly love songs, while I do my best to fill the web with stupid poetry.

-- I always tend to go for muscians anyway, I just usually bring home the young, skanky, penniless types. True, I've never yet been with a guy old enough to be my dad but hey, he's Paul McCartney! A Beatle! My third favorite after George and John. Ringo would be okay too if he'd shave off that scrubby facial hair.

-- Paul seems to go for plain-faced blondes with great racks and that pretty much describes me to a tee.

-- I'm younger than his kids but not so embarrassingly younger like say, Miley Cyrus or whatever the heck that girl's name is, would be. I'm a mature woman of the world! But if he wanted me to dress up like a slutty Catholic schoolgirl or something that would be fine.

-- I'm not interested in marriage at all -- gah, hell to the no! -- so I wouldn't be bugging him for a commitment. And I'm not a crazy ass gold digger like his last wife. A million or two would do nicely.

-- He'd never have to take me out to fancy parties. The jet set life doesn't interest me much. I'd be happy to hang out with him at his castle estate in the countryside, making up songs and crank-calling Heather Mills. That would be great!

-- Did I mention my rack? It's fantastic.


Yeah, Paul would like me a lot. His daughter Stella would probably hate me, but that poor little rich girl can fuck off. The old man deserves some fun and I deserve to pay off my credit cards.

So, my mind is made up. Instead of paying $3000 for a new transmission, I will head over to England to find Paul McCartney. It shouldn't too be hard. Years of watching bad television sitcoms has shown me that meeting a famous person is easily achieved by dressing up in a bell boy uniform and sneaking into their hotel room. Lucy did it. It worked for Marcia Brady too.

Oh sure, some wacky hijinks will probably ensue and various hilarious misunderstandings might make things a little more difficult, but it will all work out in the end. At the very least I'll get to meet Paul and possibly learn a "Very Important Lesson" which will turn out to be something really, really stupid, like all rich people are miserable and I should be happy being my poor yet spunky self, gosh darn it!

Good plan, huh? If for some crazy reason things don't work out I suppose I'll look into getting another job, but really I don't see how this could fail.

In Case You Were Wondering Why the Polygamy Wives Have Such Dopey Looking Hair

C'mon, you know you were. Even Meredith Viera couldn't stop herself from asking such a stupid question during her interview with them. They told her there was no signifigance in their tinny robot voices. Yeah right! They were, of course, lying. Allow me to explain how their hideous hairdos came about. The following story is 100% true! Ish.

It happened a few years ago. You see, I was time traveling back to the year 1969 to visit my groovy hippy lover and attend Woodstock, when something went wrong -- I'm not sure what. Maybe I zigged when I should have zagged -- and the next thing I knew I found myself lying on the ground, surrounded by a bunch of chicks wearing Little House on the Prarie dresses. At first I thought I'd gone waaaaay back to the 1800's or something but no, the women told me it was 1969. I was just at an FLDS compound in Texas instead of the dairy farm in New York.

I slowly sat up, feeling a bit dizzy. Time travel is hard on the body. The women gathered around, fussing over me and made me drink several cups of Mormon tea. My sudden appearance out of thin air had awed them. Between that and the red tee shirt I was wearing (the color reserved for Jesus) they were convinced I was some sort of an angel sent from heaven.

Well, I couldn't resist going along with it. "Of course, I was sent here by Jesus to check up on you people," I said.

Knowing it would take a few hours to reset the coordinates on my time travel thingee (too technical to go into here) and feeling hungry and curious about their beliefs, I said to them, "please bring me some food and tell me what goes on here."

"We are all sister-wives who love each other almost as much as we love our dear husband," said the one in the light blue dress.

"We are modest in dress and thought and do exactly what Dear Husband tells us to do," recited the one in a darker blue dress.

I tried not to be too judgemental, but as they revealed more about their lifestyle I started to get nauseous.

So I took a stab at reasoning with them. I talked until I was blue in the face about how marrying off thirteen year old children to old men was creepy and wrong. I ranted about women's rights, and asked what they thought happened to their sons after the older men drove them off, but you know how hard it is to change people's minds. They simply sat and stared at me, smiling like zombies, till one lady started muttering that maybe I wasn't sent from God after all. Maybe I was an agent of Satan.

The other wives began to look alarmed at this thought. It occured to me that I had better turn things around quickly, since I was going to be stuck there for a few more hours.

"You're right," I said to the disgruntled chick. "I was just testing you all to make sure you were holy. Good job!"

They relaxed then and I breathed a sigh of relief. Who knew what these whack-jobs would do to an agent of the devil? I had visions of being burned at a stake or thrown down a well, while these gentle women threw rocks at me and chanted, "Satan! Satan! Satan!" Thinking about it pissed me off, so I decided to fuck with them a little before I left.

"You know, sisters," I began. "The Lord is very, very pleased with you all. Really, you are doing so well. But there is one little thing.....well, it's your hair. He finds it quite frumpy."

Their eyes grew very big. "But...but we grow it long so that we may wash His feet with with our locks when He comes back, just like we are supposed to," a Laura Ingalls look-alike sputtered.

"Yes, He likes that part." I said. "But He finds those flat braids and buns you wear too boring. He wants you to add a little more ooomph and dazzle. Maybe some poofiness in the front." I thought about giving them some big Bon Jovi type hairdo, but decided that might be a bit too messy for them. They were very tidy and neat. A mohawk would have been cool, but they'd never go for it. I sat and pondered the humiliating hairstyles of my youth till it hit me. Of course! Vanilla Ice!




So I spent the rest of the afternoon puffing and fluffing and getting jiggy with their tresses. The ladies seemed to like their new do's, and I have to admit it gave me tremedous enjoyment to see them sporting lame ass, suburban, wigga hair in the front. Helll yeahhh!

"Word up, yo!" I said. "My work here is done and now I must leave you. Now remember, God himself has given you this hairstyle so you must never, ever change it no matter what your husband says."

"Goodbye, sister-angel," they called, waving until I disappeared into a cloud of sparkling red dust. By the way, time travel is fun but that red dust can really ruin an outfit if you don't watch it.

After that I went to Woodstock and took tons and tons of drugs, so I'd kinda forgotten about those poor, brainwashed FDLS wives and that mean prank I pulled on them, till they showed up on the news two weeks ago. It made me chortle to see their descendants still wearing that goofy style. Even though I do have a bit sympathy for these chicks, I'm glad they are losing their children -- the brainwashing has to end somewhere -- and that creep Warren Jeffs needs to go to jail.

Of course, while watching Larry King interview them (badly, when is that old goat going to retire?) all I could think about was how much I wished I could have convinced the wives to wear a mullet. How rockin would that have been?

Oh hello there, good people of blogland! My name is Velveeta and I am a very good friend of Prunella's. I told her I would post something as she is too crabby to do it. You see, she had very bad news. Her car needs a new transmission, which will cost her nearly $3000. This has made her veeeery, veeeery angry, and she has been cursing and throwing things all week. And the screams! I yi yi!

I told her chill out. I said, "buck up little soldier. It will all be s'okay. S'okay? S'alright? I say this in my tiny, hilariously high pitched voice. And I smile real big and encouraging like this.



See? And then what does she do but give me the finger and snatch my new weave off. It is a nice weave too. I just got it from the Britney Spears collection for 7/11.




(sigh) It is veeeery hard to be a friend to someone so ungrateful but I try I really do.

Why Do I Carry So Much Freakin Crap Around In My Purse?

This is my purse. It's not very big, but it's pretty damn heavy. That's no surprise, I guess, seeing how it is stuffed full to bursting with things that I really don't need to be carrying around with me. How does this always happen? Whenever I change bags I start off with nothing but my keys, wallet, checkbook, tampons, and maybe a lip balm, but somehow or the other I start to aquire things until it's as weighty as a boulder. My handbag is like my own private Sisyphus's rock, and someday it will crush me. Or at least cause major back problems.


Here is list of what I'm hauling around today besides the wallet, checkbook, cell phone, etc..

1. A hardback book. (I usually carry a book around with me at all times as I am terrified of being stuck somewhere with nothing to read. This one is called The Center Cannot Hold - by Elyn Saks and it's about one woman's struggle with schizophrenia. It's a really riveting read.)

2. Clear scotch tape.

3. Gum.

4. Earplugs. (I bring them to wear when I go out to concerts in an effort to save my hearing, but never bother to put them in.)

5. Hair trimming scissors. (Why are they in my bag? I don't remember.)

6. Kleenex.

7. 1 teabag, Lady Grey flavor.

8. Fruit flavored Mentos. (They are the freshmaker!)

9. My lucky rock.

10. A bottle opener/corkscrew/knife thingee.

11. Tarot cards.

12. 1 and 1/2 Lara bars.

13. Billy Bragg CD case (no CD inside the case).

14. My address book. (So that's where it was! I was looking for that sucker.)

15. A cheap bracelet from Target (just in case I feel a sudden need to accessorise).

16. Nail polish. (Why? You just know it's going to break and spill all over everything.)

17. False eyelashes.

18. A polishing cloth for glasses.

19. My purple librarian glasses without the case. (I lost it somewhere.)

20. A lucky blue dot torn out of a National Enquirer. You are supposed to rub it and it will bring money to you. Hasn't worked yet, but I am ever hopeful.

21. Dark chocolate covered graham crackers.

22. Junk mail.

23. Old lists of stuff to do that I probably didn't.

24. A box of homeopatic calming drops. I don't know if they work as I've never opened the box, but it's comforting to have them with me just in case I freak out or something.

25. An Itunes download of the Into the Wild soundtrack. I need to download that thing today!

26. Burt's Bees lip balm (my favorite).

27. A little skeleton figurine riding a motorcycle. (I bought it at Goodwill a couple of weeks ago for fifty cents.)

28. 17 ATM receipts.

29. 1 coupon good for $3 off dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant (expired of course).

30. 1 little plastic grey alien figure that I bought for a quarter out of a machine. Her name is Gleep, and she often commands me to set things on fire.

31. My digital camera.

32. Assorted pens and eyeliners.



No wonder my shoulders are always sore! I just weighed myself holding this thing and it is five and a half pounds. I'm an idiot. And did you notice that there are no tampons in the bag? Naturally, the one thing that I would actually want to have with me when I leave the house is not there. Yep ladies, I'm the girl that hits you up for a pad or tampon or whatever you've got when you're trying to do your business in the restroom. Sorry about that.





Look at all this crud!




What's that, Gleep? I should do what?....No....no I couldn't! They are my internet friends..I..I..don't want to harm them. Please don't make me!

This made me laugh like crazy. What a rotten brother. I'm glad you tube wasn't around when I was a teen.

"In the butt" is now my new favorite phrase.

Evil Eye

There's a stye in my eye
and it's feeling quite bone dry.
How I wish that it would hit the road.
Because I can't stand the itch
my eyelid's swollen like a bitch
and it looks like it just might explode.

This stye resembles a fat pink tick.
To gaze upon it would make you sick.
Here is a letter that I wrote to it:



Dear Vile and Painful Eyelid Lump,

Go away! Go away! I've had enough of you. Why won't you leave?
I've been coddling you for days. I've soothed you with wet tea bags
and hot towels. What more do you want? You've teased me by shrinking
down and acting like you are leaving, but then roaring back the minute
I apply a little mascara and liner. Quit doing that! I need to wear
that stuff when I'm working at The Boobie Barn, as I suffer from
plain face syndrome. No one will tip a girl with no lashes and a mutant
third eyeball shooting out of her face. They are cheap bastards at the best
of times. And some jealous bitch dancer started a rumor that I had an outbreak of herpes in my eye. I bet it was Paris. I'm going to fix her good! As soon as you go away, that is. So go away!

I've got things to do. Now poof - be gone!


Thank You,
Prunella

P.S. Beat it!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Dear Prunella,

Ha Ha. Suffer!

Kisses,

Your Stye


P.S. I see my dear friend period bloat also stopped by to pay you a visit.
Say hello for me, won't you?

A Public Service Warning

What can I say about Tom's Oven Baked Fries?
They are so very great.
The jalapeno and cheddar flavor is particulary good
which is why I overate....them.

If you try even one of these zesty little sticks
you'll want to shovel them all down your throat.
Your fingers will be coated with spicy orange dust
and your stomach will balloon out with hideous bloat.

BEWARE!

Her Boots Aren't Made For Walking

Well, my computer problems have finally been fixed. At least I hope they have (knock wood)! Being without it for a week made me realize just how very addicted I am. Don't ever leave me again, my precious, precious interweb!

Although, not having a working computer did force me to spend a little more time paying attention to my mom, which is a good thing I suppose. My mom is a fun lady. But, good Lord, the woman can talk! I mean, yeah I'm used to her nattering on and on endlessly, but when I'm surfing the net it's easy to tune out her chatter. It's sort of like hearing the grown ups talk on a Charlie Brown television special, all "Waaammph, waaaamph awaaaampha waaaamph." Requiring me to do nothing much except mutter, "yes ma'am," every once in awhile.

But without the cushioning glow from my monitor, I was actually forced to start listening to what she was saying. Apparently she knows every single thing going on in this neighborhood at all times and she worries a lot about terrorism and gangs.

I also noticed that she leaves the house early in the morning wearing a strange getup. She has this red, cape-like poncho with slits that she puts her arms through, a Britney Spears styled newsboy type cap and giant bug-eyed sunglasses, her usual mom jeans, and a pair of boots that look like something Wonder Woman would wear if she was a senior citizen. Those boots are sassy! Way too sassy for running errands.

"Where are you going in that outfit?" I asked her the other day. "You look like you're ready to fight crime."

She just stuck her tongue out at me and said, "wouldn't you like to know, Miss Nosy."

Now this is very unlike her, as she is usually happy to give you a minute by minute detail of her daily plans. It got me thinking and soon I deduced what was really going on. I think....no, I'm pretty sure my mom might be a superhero.

This is not a joke. I am dead serious. If you watch movies at all you know that it's common for superheros to disguise themselves as ordinary, everyday people. That way they can move around easily amongst the rest of us and no one will ever suspect them. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Here are my reasons.

1. My mom is a very virtuous person and a total do-gooder.

2. She disappears for hours during the day, saying she's going to the YMCA to walk or having lunch with her friends but that's an easy excuse, isn't it? Who's going to check up on her? And who knows what she's up to at night when I'm at The Boobie Barn?

3. You have to see this outfit! I think the bug-eyed sunglasses give her extra strong vision powers. Perhaps she can melt steel with them too. That poncho looks like a cape. Every super hero needs a cape. I wish I could post a picture of her wearing this ensemble but she won't let me. She did, however let me snap a photo of the boots. Tell me these boots aren't made for kicking bad guy ass in cushiony comfort. They are sassy!



My mom modeling the sassy boots in question. She knows how to strike a fierce pose!


4. For an old lady she is very strong. She's constantly pushing the furniture around in order to vacuum under beds and dust under the TV. The one time I tried to move my couch from one room to another, I threw out my back.

5. Well, that's all I have so far but I'm sure some more will occur to me.

Just a minute ago she came dowstairs dressed in her action garb, saying she was heading out to go shopping at TJ Maxx.

"Yeah right," I said. "I'm on to you, old lady. You're really on your way to cleanse the mean streets of downtown Nashville of villiany and wickedness, isn't that right?"
And then I sang a little theme song I made up for her (to the tune of Spiderman.)

Sassy boots! Sassy boots!
She's a hottie in sassy boots.
She fights crime.
All day long.
And then at night she hits the bong.
Look out!
Here come her sassy boots.


And instead of getting annoyed with me for joking that she smokes marijuana - she never would in a million years! it's against the law! - my mom just smiled mysteriously and said, "Maybe I am. I'll never tell."

She is. Her name is probably Sassy Boot Woman.



Want to see which superhero you are? You can take this quiz to find out. I'm Catwoman.

I Have Angered the Internet God

Gonna teach this sucka a lesson!


I don't know what I did, but my internet connection has been awful all week. Very, very slow and then it will go out completely for several hours. Whenever that happens I fall to the floor in screaming convulsions of anger, foaming at the mouth and cursing in tongues. Geez, when will this agony end? Should I sacrifice a goat or something? I set a glass of wine and a bowl of Cool Ranch Doritos in front of the modem last night, and promised to quit shoplifting lip balm and bowling balls if the internet would only please, please, come back to me. It's my precious! When I woke up this morning I noticed that the wine was untouched, but the Doritos bowl had been licked clean, and the connection has been a bit better. What does that tell us? That the great cyber god is a teetotaler who enjoys flavored tortilla chips, that's what!

Or else that my dog, Shirley, got into the chips. Whatevs.


*By the way, when I tried to picture what an angry web deity would look like, the closest I could come was a miffed Mr. T in a dress. Do you see it, or I'm a way off the mark? What do you think He would look like?

Kumquats!

Ever tried them? These little suckers are delicious. They are like little tiny oranges that you can pop in your mouth and eat, peel and all. It's a very tart/sweet taste. And I love the name kumquat. It sounds like some sort of pelvic exercise, doesn't it?

"After having a baby, Jan did fifty kumquats a day to tighten up."

Or it could be used as a term of endearment.

"Come to me, my little kumquat."

Or maybe I'll use it as an alternative to cursing.

"Oh kumquats! You kumquating beeyotch!"


Hmmmm. Okay, I don't really know where I'm going with this. Oh well, what else is new, huh?

8 Reasons Yesterday Rocked

I woke up early, but not at the crack of dawn like I usually do. The sun was shining and the birds were chirping and I was full of energy and good cheer. For a minute I was puzzled. What was different? Why had I been able to sleep in past sunrise? Then I realized that my neighbor's dog was not barking (1) for once! Maybe some investigators from the Humane Society had shown up and arrested my bitchface neighbor and I'll get to watch her being led away in handcuffs on an episode of Animal Cops. Or maybe someone had thrown the poor mutt some poisoned meat and put him out of his misery. Either way it was nice to finally have a night of uninterupted sleep!

I bounced out of bed and made my breakfast. Fresh squeezed orange juice and whole grain toast with vegan cream cheese and candy sprinkles (2). Yum yum.




Hot tea and Adderall were also important parts of this nutritious breakfast.


Mister Sprinkles makes everything taste better. All food should come out of a clown shaped container if you ask me.



After breakfast I took a quick shower but avoided shampooing my hair. I'm letting it get good and dirty before I dye it back to my favorite shade of hoochie blonde. A hairdresser gave me this tip. Apparently the grease and oil help keep the bleach from eating holes in your scalp. Plus filthy hair makes it is easier to keep my tard bangs swept to the side(3). It will be such a happy day when those things grow out.


Since I wasn't scheduled to work at The Boobie Barn(4) I decided to go shopping. Although I only had $19 in my pocket that was plenty as my favorite places to shop are Goodwills, Thrifts, and Dollar Stores. Check out this cool Chewbacca notepad(5) I scored. Perfect for a girl who loves wookies and making lists.



Chewbacca is my favorite. You know, it always bugged me that at the end of Star Wars, Han and Luke got medals but Chewie didn't. What was up with that?


On that note, this video (6) made me laugh.




And later while practicing my normal afternoon yoga routine, my chakras suddenly fell into place and I attained enlightenment(7) accepting the divine within myself and becoming one with the universe. That was pretty sweet.


Namaste! My mantra goes something like this - Krishna, Krishna, Gesundheit. Try it sometime.


I ended the day by attending a Lesbian Spanking Festival(8) with my good friends Lindsay Lohan and Paula Abdul. Unfortunately I don't have any pictures to post from there. I brought my camera with me but.....I got busy. Sorry.


All in all yesterday was pretty perfect. That gypsy curse my family has been living under for generations appears to be lifting. Finally! Good thing I met that psychic who lives behind the dumpster of the 711. She's the one who clued me in. A thousand dollars to get rid of it seemed a little excessive to me, but it looks like that money was well spent, huh?


**One of these things may be a lie. Can you guess which one? I'll post the answer in the comments.

Tucksworth and Tacos

Let's say you have a monkey. A batshit crazy one, but he's your pet and you love him. Then one day he disappears and you receive a letter informing you that he's been kidnapped. You'd probably assume it was true and try everything you could to get him back, right?

Well, not if the monkey in question was Tucksworth.

I was suspicious from the first when I got that ransom note. For one thing, it was written in fingerpaint on the back of my electric bill. Also, it was smeared with Cheetos dust and grape jelly, two of Tucksworth's favorite snacks. In fact he enjoys eating them together. The only other person I know who likes that kind of gross combination of foods is Britinia. I wondered briefly if she might have had something to do with his disappearance but she denied it, and I realized she was too dumb to plot anything as complicated as a kidnapping. Sheesh, she can't even manage to get a decent weave!

And then there was the picture that had been stapled to the note. Remember the one, of the monkey getting electrocuted? It didn't really look like Tucksworth, but I was so horrified I didn't question it. Upon further examination I realized it had been cut out of Stop Vivisection Now! pamphlet. I'd been duped. That rotten little ape hadn't been snatched at all! He just felt like running off. The whole kidnapping thing was a scheme to get me to send him more Adderall. I guess he really developed a taste for it after downing my prescription that day he freaked out. I was pissed off that he'd pull something like this, but not really surprised. Tucksworth loves drama almost as much as he loves Cuervo Gold and fine Columbian.

Alert reader Helen let me know what was going on after she spotted him in this Taco John commercial. Thanks Helen!





Look at him ride that dog!

I didn't think I'd be seeing Tucksworth again now that he's famous and all, but he crept home late last night full of remorse and begged me to forgive him. He looked really tired and his fur was all straggly. All the money he made from his acting job is gone. Lord knows what he spent it on. My mom didn't want him back. She hates his mess and thinks he's too much trouble. He IS too much trouble and a spoiled rotten brat besides, but it's hard to resist those sad, pleading, monkey eyes.

This morning I woke up to find the cats tails tied together and my mother furiously scrubbing cream cheese and peanut butter off of the TV screen. I guess I'd better have a talk with him at some point. I'm too exhausted to do it right now, though. The new managers of The Boobie Barn installed a mechanical bull and they are making every dancer learn how to ride it so we can participate in Buck Naked Bullriding Fridays. I'm not very good at that sort of stuff. I can't seem to stay on for more than three seconds. Plus it gives me motion sickness.

I scrawled this poem in the employee rest room last night.



The thing about Buck Naked Bullriding
is that it makes you bruise your shins and throw up your tacos.
Other than that it sucks.

3 Threes

Three Reasons My Neighbor Deserves a Dagger in Her Midsection

1. She leaves her dog outside 23 hours a day and he barks his head off.

2. She never answers her phone or responds to any complaints about her barking dog.

3. She wears super tight, ugly sweatsuits with the word Juicy written on the butt and has major bitch face.



Three Reasons The Boobie Barn Should Be Set on Fire

1. It's been taken over by a new management team even worse and more moronic than the last, hard as that may be to believe.

2. They have decided to install a mechanical bull so we can have something called Buck Naked Bullriding Nite. Hee haw!

3. Five words. Frat boys with water pistols.



Three Things I Hope I Can Do Today

1. Get rid of those stubborn mildew stains in the shower.

2. Take back my horribly overdue library books.

3. Refrain from stabbing my neighbor and setting The Boobie Barn on fire.

The Devil and Miss Jones

Do you ever feel like there is a devil on your shoulder urging you to do bad things? I have one of those. He looks like Richard Dawson from the 70's when he was on that show Match Game, except with devil horns. It's so damn hard to resist Richard. For one thing, he has that charming accent. It always makes whatever foul thing he's suggested sound perfectly reasonable, almost a shame not to do really. And he calls me "luv" in that cheeky way of his. He's just so good at wheedling.

For instance, this morning he recommended that I chop up and snort my daily Adderall pill.

"Go on then, luv," he said with a grin. "You've been good for quite a while now. You deserve to have a little fun."

"Quit it, Richard," I said, uncomfortably aware that the very thought made my heart pound with anticipation.

He knew he was getting to me and pressed his advantage. "Well just swallow a couple more then, three or four. One won't do anything much. You need it. You're very muddle minded lately."



Tell me, could you resist a suave motherfucker like this?


I'll admit I was super tempted. I opened the bottle and stared with longing at those gleaming orange and white pills. I poured out four and held them in my hand, considering.

But luckily I have an angel on my other shoulder who convinced me to only take one by shaking her head and giving me a stern look. She doesn't always win, but she did today. Thanks, babe.



My angel. She has her work cut out for her.


By the way, if your cable carries Game Show Network then I urge you to check out The Match Game. It's so amazing to see the stars smoking while they play the game, and the humor is so naughty. I swear the other day I saw Betty White give Charles Nelson Reilly the finger.

The Ballad of Lil' Stripeyhead

I'm watching you.



Let me tell you a tale that begins right here
in a house in Tennessee
about a plucky, scruffy, tiny cat
by the name of Lil' Stripeyhead Lee
and this kitten she lived with no other thought
than to eat Friskies and scratch at her fleas.

Till the day that my mother decided to come
to my house in Tennessee
and bring with her a cat who is hideously fat
and bad tempered to the highest degree.
This cat's name is Mae and she's older than dirt
and therefore not terribly pleased
to make the aquaintance of another feline
especially one covered in fleas.

Stripey was thrilled, from the first, to meet Mae
and she sniffed her new friend with glee
"I love you, let's play!" she seemed to say
while sharing her Chicken of the Sea.
But day after day, refusing to play
the old cat would smack her and flee.
Yes, day after day, the old biddy named Mae
rejected these friendly pleas.
Hissing and pissing on Stripeyhead Lee.

But this little furball, for one so small
is determined to a remarkable degree.
And she will not rest till she succeeds in her quest
to make Mae her playmate it seems.
"Love me!" she cried, "I will not be denied!
Quit trying to run off and flee.
From my love you will never be free!"
Sniffed Mae, "Get away from me."

Now a day won't go by that I don't hear a cry
from the frustrated Stripeyhead Lee.
And the sun never beams without bringing me screams
from the pissed off Stripeyhead Lee.
And as much as she's tried, Mae just cannot hide
from this kitten, this kitten she must live beside,
in a house in Tennessee
with this stalker named Stripeyhead Lee.



Love me, bitch!"



Halp!

This Is What Happens When You Give An Insomniac A Camera

Last night I dreamt I had turned into a tiny little doll and woke to find it was so.


"WTF?"


I'm not sure what happened exactly, but there I was, barely three inches tall and stuck in a land that looked suspiciously like my bathroom countertop.



"Wow, this is weird! Oh well, at least I have a cute outfit. Very renaissance fair."


It was trippy. Unfortunately, I quickly became bored. There was nothing much to do but wander around in the Nail Polish Forest.



"Bo-ring!"


And hang out in the Valley of Supplements.


"This is so not fun."



I tried talking to the locals, but we couldn't seem to communicate very well.



Me: "Hey, how's it going?"

Monkey 1: "Who said that? I can't see!"

Monkey 2: "Mmmmmph mmmphh."

Monkey 3: "WHA?...WHAT?"


There was some other sort of weird gargoyle type creature around but it didn't talk. It only seemed interested in staring worshipfully at a can of Pringles.



"Ewww, salt and vinager flavor. I prefer regular."


What was a tiny doll to do? I was lonely.



"This sucks. I must have really pissed someone off. Woe is me."


I kind of fell back on my butt since my little doll legs wouldn't bend, and felt very sorry for myself. It was my darkest hour. But suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a shimmering light. Looking up, I saw dazzling gold picture of a kindly man in a funkified pope outfit.




"It is the Pope! The one who died a few years ago, not that new one. Oh Your Holiness! Please sir, I beg for your help. I don't know what's going on, or if I'm being punished for something, but if I've got to be stuck here on the bathroom sink can I please have some company? Pretty please? A talking lion or something? Come on, that's not too much to ask, is it? I'm not that bad a person, really I'm not. I mean, how many times have I cursed and taken the Lord's name in vain?




"Three million, two hundred and sixty seven times."




Shit! God dam--........uh.....sorry bout that."


It looked like I was doomed to sit all alone in an infrequently cleaned bathroom forever. But then --







"Hola, baby! Que paso?"




"A man! Sweet! Thank you, Mister Pope. I'm so glad I have your picture on my bathroom wall instead of Xenu's."

Picture Post

Well, it's been fifteen days without Adderall. BOOOOO!

I guess I am sleeping a bit better. YAAAY!

But feeling kind of meh. BOOOOO!

Although, it's given me a chance to catch up on Oprah. YAAAY!


Sorry, that's probably annoying. I'm done now. Promise.

YAAAY!


In other other news, my new camera is pretty cool. I'm trying to get into the habit of taking it with me wherever I go. I took it to the grocery store not long ago. Here are a couple of pictures from that outing.



I like grocery shopping late at night when it's practically empty. The workers are more laid back. I caught this enthusuastic young lad singing along to Oasis. Publix has good piped in music, not that boring muzak stuff. I joined him for the chorus - "...and after all, you're my wonderWALL!"

Isn't he cute? Why I just want to pinch his cheeks I do! The cheeks on his face, that is. I'm not a filthy minded old woman. Not yet anyway.





Look at these cool Passover toys. Man, do I wish I was Jewish. Baptists don't have anything this good. Who could resist a toy bag of plagues? You can't see it in the picture, but it comes with a tiny rubber hand covered in boils. I almost bought it but it was $10.99 and I'm poor.





Nashville is getting so cosmopolitan. Check it out, y'all, we gots us some British food now. One of these days I want to try the Spotted Dick pudding. That name makes me snicker. And also, think of Michael Jackson for some reason.





I did buy this candy bar. It sounded intriguing - rose flavored candy covered in chocolate - but I had to spit it out. It tasted like a mouthful of my grandma's perfume. Bleh.



On the way out of the store a pretty interesting thing happened. I managed to step in dog shit. Now maybe I should've been paying more attention but it was dark and what, do I live in Calcutta? Who would expect dog poop in a grocery store parking lot? It really pissed me off. I put the shoe in a grocery bag before I got in the car and when I got home I threw in on the back porch, figuring I'd deal with it after I unloaded the groceries.

One week later.


Note the actual, unphotoshopped stink waves. Isn't this camera amazing?

My Mother's Afro Pick: A Gift of Love

Here is a sad tale that I'd like to share
about the time my sweet mom put a perm in her hair
that was so tight she resembled a fuzzy blonde bear.
No comb could run through it, which made her cry and swear
and sit slumped over sadly in her rocking chair
because looking in the mirror filled her with despair.
Wanting to help out, I searched the shopping square
hoping to find something that might help to repair
the frizzed out halo of tough, crinkled hair.
At the drugstore I examined the tools for tress care
and discovered some picks to soothe and groom afro hair.
There were plenty to choose from, but I wanted one with flair
and I found a black comb featuring a fist in the air,
which to my eight year old mind was a cool thing to wear
in thirty-six year old, suburban, white lady hair.
But my mom didn't agree and her eyes they did glare
as my dad laughed and laughed till he fell out of his chair.
"Really funny," she hissed, and stormed off to her lair.
Looking back, I think that was a bit unfair.
I wasn't trying to be a smart ass, at least not then and there,
but mom never did use the proud fist on her hair.
I guess the moral of this story is - choose your gifts with care.


Hope everyone has a happy Valentine's Day. I've been busy, but I plan to get back to blogging soon. I bought a sweet new digital camera so I'll be able to post pictures as soon as I figure it out. Don't expect me to post a bunch of pics of my boobs though, I send those straight over to the Rate My Rack website.

A Cheery Poem for Monday

What would you say if I told you that
I have secret fears I'll trip over the cat
and plunge backwards down the stairs and land on my head
the impact would make my skull shatter and shred.
At the bottom of the steps the cement floor would turn red
from the blood and the brains and the spinal fluid
my body so broken I'd prefer to be dead
but I'd end up like Christopher Reeve instead.
I picture it all and it fills me with dread.
Maybe, just maybe I'll get rid of my cat.
Cause I really don't want for my head to go splat.