Party Crasher

Because Big Daddy is a Big Dummy, this is the shitty picture of my hair you get. It was looking all shiny and hot, but the lazy fucker refused to move from his perch on the other side of the house to play fashion photographer to my locks. Of course I guess I should be happy it never occurred to him ask, Um, why exactly am I taking a picture of your hair, just your hair?

Whatevs.

Guilty music confessions: JoJo Too Little Too Late and Justin Timberlake My Love. Try not to hate.

I had a full dance card this weekend and was invited to no less than 4 parties. Three of which I wanted to go to, one not so much. So of course I am happy to report that the only one I actually attended was the one I didn't want to go to.

Are you sitting down?

It was a baby's birthday. A very nice friend of mine's beloved, late-in-life baby's first birthday and of course I felt obligated to go and spread the Hot Lips cheer. Of course the birthday party was the first time I ever laid eyes on the kid and I still managed to spend more on the kid than every other party guest combined, including her parents. And of course my packages looked like they had been wrapped by God himself. The moral of this story? Everything, right down to the tiniest detail, is a competition and Hot Lips must always win at all costs.

My outfit for the baby birthday bash way out in the country where everyone was watching the football game and eating chips? Well, a lovely pair of tan dress pants with black pinstripes, a big flowy black cashmere sweater, my big black '80s clog heels pictured a couple of posts down, lots of matching jewelry including but not limited to a gold ring with a huge brown stone in it that is literally 3.5 inches long, smokey eyes, hot rollered hair and a $700 purse.

What? I was bored.

Another embarrassing confession: I'm contemplating the purchase of a pair of Uggs. I know I'm like 4 years too late, but I'm just about convinced that I need the soft sheepskin on my bare feet all winter.

Oh, nevermind, Blogger won't even let me post my hair. I'll try again later.

Fuckers.

I've Died And Gone To Heaven

If I can't have this in my near future, I don't want to live one more second.

The Littlest Hotties

I'm sorry, but Baby is just the most attractive animal ever. And then there's that big, doofy clown right above her.

Coming Out Of The Closet

I don't know if you selfish bastards have been able to tell or not, but I've been going through some shit lately. Not major shit, but shit nonetheless. I've even found myself getting a little weepy on occasion, but I blame that on all the sad music I've been listening to. But don't worry, I'm working through it. Work through it is my middle name, so my fragile emotional state is in good hands.

So today I'm fresh from a shower and standing in the vast expanse that is my closet and trying to decide just which pair of pinstriped pants I should wear today (the black with green stripes? the black with white stripes? the black with red stripes? the black with tan stripes? the black with blue stripes? the black with yellow stripes? I settled on black with red stripes and a big, huge, red cowl neck sweater for those of you keeping score) and I caught myself spontaneously break out into the porn star dance in the midst of my wardrobe selection. And I thought, Well, things must not be so bad if I can still, totally unprovoked, break out in the naked porn star dance in the middle of the closet. Just me and the music in my head.

Bow Chicky Bow Bow.

So today I'm driving up to the office and I see this man getting out of a Hummer that is parked on the side of the road a few blocks down the street from the office. He stopped as he was getting out of his massive behemoth and craned his neck to stare at me as I drove by. Now, as an attractive chick in an attractive car, I'm quite used to the fellas rubbernecking in my direction, but this was quite different. He was acting suspiciously. Turns out he was my 2 o'clock appointment, and all he did was moan about how broke he is and he can't afford to pay anybody anything. And I thought, Oh yeah, now I see why you had to park your H2 a mile down the road and walk up to the office like you just got off a bus. Nuthin gets by me!

And on that note, let's go to bed.

Tangent

Overall the party was a success and everyone had a good time. Although the ladies had much better entertainment this year, I couldn't help but to think that I actually had more fun at last year's depraved ho fest. And then I remember that's because I was high as a kite at last year's party and this year I didn't have that luxury. And it just reaffirms my belief that I need to become a pothead. But like most things in my life, my job is a total cockblocker.

Speaking of my job, I'm totally over it. I'm so sick of thinking. And I'm so sick of responsibility. And I'm so sick of thinking about responsibility. I want a no brainer. I just want a job where I get paid to look cute and hang out all day. And maybe get laid from time to time. And to laugh a lot. And maybe to do thrice weekly shopping at the mall. And look cute. But maybe every Friday and Monday to sleep in until 10 a.m. and stay in my pajamas until approximately 2 p.m. And also, I need to get paid to travel around and see cool shit while looking cute. And I want to get paid for buying lotto tickets. And I want to get paid for making fun of ugly people. And I want to get paid for riding dolphins. In my pajamas. But looking cute. And I want to get paid for talking dirty and masturbating. Constantly. I want to get paid for riding roller coasters and spitting on the people down below. I want to get paid while I'm reaching orgasm in the pedicure chair while Phil sucks my toes. I just want Phil to suck my toes, that can be for free. And I want to get paid for eating at Applebee's. And I want to get paid for being a sarcastic bitch.

You get the idea.

But mostly, I just don't want to get paid for being responsible for your problems. And your inability to keep your life together. And to get along with others.

But seriously, don't get me started.

/rant.

Now, let's all think happy thoughts, shall we?

Like unicorns galloping through a field of daisies and with fairies and pixies and leprechauns.

I still love ya'll, for what it's worth.

I'm Wearing A Turtleneck Today

Because this guy gave me a hickey.
Fo rizzle.

Sad But True

So I've decided - and I know I've said this before, but this time I really mean it - that I'm not having any more parties. Seriously. First of all, I easily dropped over $3,000 on this party. It was just a party at my house, but god damn, strippers are expensive. I spent what is roughly equivalent to a week's salary. I had an especially grueling and stressful week of work just prior to this party. So the whole time I am swiping my debit card for party favors and adding up how much this little shindig is going to cost me in my head, I am struggling with the realization that I got up at the ass crack of dawn, worked my ass off and stayed in a perpetual state of stress and anxiety for 7 days just to throw Big Daddy a dumb birthday party. Yeah, it was kind of hard to swallow.

Then there is always such a strange mix of people at my larger parties. There are a couple of people I work with, a couple of people that Big Daddy works with, a couple of my life long friends, a couple of Big Daddy's life long friends, a couple of neighbors, a couple of people from here, a couple of people from there. And really, none of them know each other from anywhere except for always seeing each other at my parties. As a result, I feel like (and okay, this might have a tiny bit to do with the fact that I am an obsessive micromanager) like I need to constantly be checking on everyone, going from person to person to person making sure everyone is having a good time and no one feels left out. So I never get to spend a lot of time with any one person. I'm on the go the whole time making sure everyone is mingling to my satisfaction.

Also, there is the little problem with my wild streak and complete inability to sensor myself in such a social atmosphere. Now, I think I behave myself a little bit better at other people's houses, but when I am in my own home, I pretty much do and say anything and everything. Of course this wouldn't be a problem if everyone there was as retarded as me. But no, I always have to, against my better judgement, invite at least a couple of people that are fairly conservative (read: uptight) and who, I am sure, leave completely appalled by my behavior. Like when the male stripper shows up dressed like a fireman and I start screaming Help! My pussy's on fire! Help! Or when all the ladies are upstairs with the stripper and he rips my shirt off, frees my breasts from my bra, covers them in whipped cream and begins to lick all the whipped cream off and ends up suckling my nipples for the next 2 to 3 minutes for all the world to see. And hey, look, I'm proud enough of my breasts that that really isn't a problem. But there were a couple of forty-something ladies I work with there watching it all aghast that caused me to wake this morning with that what-the-fuck-have-I-done feeling.

Seriously, what the fuck have I done?

So with that, I am officially dethroning myself as the hostess with the mostess and leaving the title up for grabs. Everyone is going to have to get themselves drunk and entertained from now on, 'cause Hot Lips is leaving the business.

I hadn't thought of it before, but Arcturus brought up a good point. If you are at work or just don't otherwise want to see a great big black penis, don't scroll down any further. Thank you.

Sad But True

So I've decided - and I know I've said this before, but this time I really mean it - that I'm not having any more parties. Seriously. First of all, I easily dropped over $3,000 on this party. It was just a party at my house, but god damn, strippers are expensive. I spent what is roughly equivalent to a week's salary. I had an especially grueling and stressful week of work just prior to this party. So the whole time I am swiping my debit card for party favors and adding up how much this little shindig is going to cost me in my head, I am struggling with the realization that I got up at the ass crack of dawn, worked my ass off and stayed in a perpetual state of stress and anxiety for 7 days just to throw Big Daddy a dumb birthday party. Yeah, it was kind of hard to swallow.

Then there is always such a strange mix of people at my larger parties. There are a couple of people I work with, a couple of people that Big Daddy works with, a couple of my life long friends, a couple of Big Daddy's life long friends, a couple of neighbors, a couple of people from here, a couple of people from there. And really, none of them know each other from anywhere except for always seeing each other at my parties. As a result, I feel like (and okay, this might have a tiny bit to do with the fact that I am an obsessive micromanager) like I need to constantly be checking on everyone, going from person to person to person making sure everyone is having a good time and no one feels left out. So I never get to spend a lot of time with any one person. I'm on the go the whole time making sure everyone is mingling to my satisfaction.

Also, there is the little problem with my wild streak and complete inability to sensor myself in such a social atmosphere. Now, I think I behave myself a little bit better at other people's houses, but when I am in my own home, I pretty much do and say anything and everything. Of course this wouldn't be a problem if everyone there was as retarded as me. But no, I always have to, against my better judgement, invite at least a couple of people that are fairly conservative (read: uptight) and who, I am sure, leave completely appalled by my behavior. Like when the male stripper shows up dressed like a fireman and I start screaming Help! My pussy's on fire! Help! Or when all the ladies are upstairs with the stripper and he rips my shirt off, frees my breasts from my bra, covers them in whipped cream and begins to lick all the whipped cream off and ends up suckling my nipples for the next 2 to 3 minutes for all the world to see. And hey, look, I'm proud enough of my breasts that that really isn't a problem. But there were a couple of forty-something ladies I work with there watching it all aghast that caused me to wake this morning with that what-the-fuck-have-I-done feeling.

Seriously, what the fuck have I done?

So with that, I am officially dethroning myself as the hostess with the mostess and leaving the title up for grabs. Everyone is going to have to get themselves drunk and entertained from now on, 'cause Hot Lips is leaving the business.

I hadn't thought of it before, but Arcturus brought up a good point. If you are at work or just don't otherwise want to see a great big black penis, don't scroll down any further. Thank you.

The Only Picture I took All Night

Footwear II

But then I stumbled across this pair, while not really my style, they are the exact color of deep teal as the tank top I'll be wearing AND my eye shadow. Decisions decisions.

Footwear

While looking for the perfect pair of shoes to wear with tonight's outfit I stumbled upon these little beauties and decided they would work fabulously with my Totally '80s Totally Hot theme. I am almost certain my mother rocked a pair just like these from '82 - '83.

Quite Puzzling

Can someone please tell me why his balls are so god damned long and dangly? I've never seen such a phenomenon before. Balls aren't supposed to hang down lower than the actual penis, are they? Seriously, I need to know if this is as troubling to any of you as it is to me.

Who'd Have Guessed?

S'up fuckers?

I know I made a little promise promise that I accidentally didn't follow through with. But I ran away from home last night and ended up on Dee's deck for 4 hours instead of being at home and doing like, 900 other productive things, which may or may not have included making the blog post that I promised everyone. But let's not sweat the small stuff, m'kay?

And just a little fyi, tonight is ladies night. Does everyone remember the silly little monthly neighborhood gathering that I used to attend regularly? I haven't been in a few months and I think I'm going to go tonight out of nothing more than obligation. Lucky me. Lucky you.

And quickly, before I get into the bizarro guest list, let me tell you what random thing I just did. Random, random, random. My brain stopped working about 17 days ago and I've been on autopilot ever since. And I'm not even sure I should share this story with you guys because it won't mean a damn thing to you. Although I alluded to it in the early days of this blog a couple of times, before any of you fuckers even came here, I don't think I've shared the story. But whatever, Hot Lips, just get to it.

So you know my little lesbian friend, Sara? Yeah, her. We used to be best, best friends. We were always together, always having a blast. She would take me to the lesbian bar and I would shake my ass to Beyonce with anyone who would have me all night long. And we would be silly and goofy and talk mad shit and lounge at the pool all summer long and life was good.

But then one day, out of the blue, Sara's grumpy, jealous girlfriend put the kibosh on our friendship and it has all been downhill since then. I still consider her a friend, but instead of talking, seeing and emailing her every day it is more like email once a week, talk once a month and see once every two or three months when K is out of town or otherwise occupied. She and K broke up for a short period this summer and she moved in with me. Remember those two weeks that I had a roommate? But that was short lived and they reunited and she moved back home. I have only seen her once since then.

So today I'm cutting through a neighborhood that I usually cut through to get on the interstate to get to work and I pass by S and K's house and I see K's car in the driveway and remember she is currently unemployed. Surprising even myself, I deviate from my route, pull into the driveway and ring the doorbell. K answers the door fresh from the shower and I ask her if she wants to go to breakfast. She said she couldn't because she had an interview to get to, but she would take a rain check. I stayed and talked to her probably 20 minutes and left with the agreement that I would stop by again one day soon.

That's the first time I had seen her or spoken to her in 1 year, 11 months 1 week (but who's counting?). And I'm not sure what I accomplished, but I did it and that's that.

Maybe I should keep up the momentum and go around town making amends. That in and of itself might be a full-time job since I have a cold, dark, empty heart and find it easy to just write people off when they even just slightly piss me off. Maybe we could turn it into a reality show.

Shut up.

I'll be back later, I promise.

Where Are My Leg Warmers?

God Damn I smell good.

Real good.

I decided I needed new perfume today. So I went a samplin'. And the combination of so magic, white linen and vera wang's princess sure do smell fancy. I want to make out with myself I smell so good.

I seriously don't think you understand how fucking great I smell.

My scent is intoxicating.

I decided on so magic, for those of you who care.

Moving along.

So I have a tendency to give totally random things totally random names based on the impression said random thing leaves with me. A good example is my Jetson's kitchen. There is also this super hot suit I have that I refer to as my Welcome Back Kotter suit because it is powder blue. You have my word that I rock it with the utmost stylishness, but I can't help but think I look a little bit like my dad at the prom in '75 in it.

I've been mulling over my wardrobe and overall look for the big party on Saturday night and decided the look is going to be: Totally '80s, Totally Hot.

I'm a genius.

Yes, complete with hot-rollered hair and blue eye shadow.

No, it's not a costume party.

Don't hate the player, hate the game.

Have I mentioned how great I smell?

I know I mentioned we'd discuss the bizarro guest list for Saturday, but I gotta run. How about if I promise to come back tonight and fulfill that?

Love ya'll

Since You've Been Good

Have a little peek at my art.

There's My Money, Bitch!

Considering my bank balance on Friday, imagine my shock when I logged onto online banking this morning and saw over $30,000 in my checking account. Now, these are the kinds of mistakes that I prefer the bank to make. Apparently they found my lost deposit over the weekend, that together with the money they replaced and another deposit I made to cover all the checks I wrote in case they didn't find my money made me rich today. It crossed my mind to go on a shopping spree this morning and feign ignorance when they finally sorted everything out, but decided that that wasn't enough money to risk a felony conviction over. As long as they found my money, that's all I care about. Fuckers.

It took Big Daddy until 11 a.m. to realize that he had eaten bad Chinese food and had food poisoning. But he flashed the bat signal and I suddenly came down with a horrible case of food poisoning and had to rush out of work unexpectedly. We rendezvoused for lunch and then made a very romantic trip to Costco for beer for his party. Around 4 p.m. I found myself bent over the side of the couch for some birthday lovin'. What? Pissy doesn't have internet for 4 days, I can say stuff like that until Thursday.

Big Daddy is in the midst of some white trash family drama. But Hot Lips has very little sympathy because she warned him against hiring relatives a long time ago. I'm waiting for the Jerry Springer show to call. Whatev, I'll jump on stage and get my shirt torn and weave pulled out for my boo.

Tomorrow we can talk about the bizzaro guest list for Big Daddy's birthday celebration.

Like, omigod, could I have said Big Daddy any more in this blog entry?

Where's My Money, Bitch?

I'm sorry, but we are going to have to talk about how busy I am because that's all I've got. Take it or leave it.

To get a day off in my life it is basically a race to the huge yellow appointment book that sits on the receptionist's desk. I flip through it until I find an empty day and then scroll HL OFF across the page. I've been so busy lately that I actually forgot that I had that option. But this morning that yellow book caught my eye and I dove on it. But as I flipped through, I couldn't find an empty page...anywhere...not even a random Tuesday afternoon in November.

Now, I know that to a self-employed gal with a stable of employees to pay, this should seem like a bountiful blessing, but instead, my heart sunk. Luckily I'm not above faking the stomach flu to suddenly clear the books and earn myself a day in bed. Tomorrow is the anniversary of Big Daddy's birth, so I am currently trying to convince him that we both got food poisoning from bad Chinese food and have to stay in bed fucking all day tomorrow. But apparently my pootietang ain't what it used to be because he has so far been resistant. And well, it is sort of imperative that he agree to this because so far that's all I've got for his birthday.

I made a deposit of a little over nine grand last week and then promptly turned around and wrote out a stack of checks from it. Imagine my surprise when a few days later when I logged onto online banking expecting to see a five figure bank balance and instead saw my balance was $499. Apparently the bank lost the deposit, like straight up lost it and then turned around and took the entire $9K+ out of my account. Of course I didn't discover this little mess up until 4 p.m. Friday afternoon. But I was able to zoom to the bank quickly enough to make the bank manager pee on herself and replace my money. I'm not sure if the money replacement is permanent or just a loan, but in the meantime they are searching for my $9,232.89. Not surprisingly I'm not exactly reassured by this. It was Friday the 13th after all.

I realized the second that I pushed the post button last night that I had not attached the pictures. But then blogger (stupid, dumb, motherfucking blogger) wouldn't let me back on the blog all night to fix it. Maybe if you behave yourselves...

Where's My Money, Bitch?

I'm sorry, but we are going to have to talk about how busy I am because that's all I've got. Take it or leave it.

To get a day off in my life it is basically a race to the huge yellow appointment book that sits on the receptionist's desk. I flip through it until I find an empty day and then scroll HL OFF across the page. I've been so busy lately that I actually forgot that I had that option. But this morning that yellow book caught my eye and I dove on it. But as I flipped through, I couldn't find an empty page...anywhere...not even a random Tuesday afternoon in November.

Now, I know that to a self-employed gal with a stable of employees to pay, this should seem like a bountiful blessing, but instead, my heart sunk. Luckily I'm not above faking the stomach flu to suddenly clear the books and earn myself a day in bed. Tomorrow is the anniversary of Big Daddy's birth, so I am currently trying to convince him that we both got food poisoning from bad Chinese food and have to stay in bed fucking all day tomorrow. But apparently my pootietang ain't what it used to be because he has so far been resistant. And well, it is sort of imperative that he agree to this because so far that's all I've got for his birthday.

I made a deposit of a little over nine grand last week and then promptly turned around and wrote out a stack of checks from it. Imagine my surprise when a few days later when I logged onto online banking expecting to see a five figure bank balance and instead saw my balance was $499. Apparently the bank lost the deposit, like straight up lost it and then turned around and took the entire $9K+ out of my account. Of course I didn't discover this little mess up until 4 p.m. Friday afternoon. But I was able to zoom to the bank quickly enough to make the bank manager pee on herself and replace my money. I'm not sure if the money replacement is permanent or just a loan, but in the meantime they are searching for my $9,232.89. Not surprisingly I'm not exactly reassured by this. It was Friday the 13th after all.

I realized the second that I pushed the post button last night that I had not attached the pictures. But then blogger (stupid, dumb, motherfucking blogger) wouldn't let me back on the blog all night to fix it. Maybe if you behave yourselves...

Hot Lips The Art Collector

S'up fuckers?

Have I really not updated since Wednesday? Damn. My apologies. I suck.

I've been working so much one day melts into the next and then the next thing I know I turn around and I haven't communed with my hotties in almost four days. And I'm afraid you are the ones that suffer. Fucking shit.

I hate being stressed out. I don't do it very well. I try to be laid back Lips, but sometimes the stress creeps in and I don't know how to deal with it. Usually what gets me over the hump is a major purchase. Say hello to my major purchase above. Try to keep the negative comments to a minimum and remember that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Thank you.

Apparently the little people don't come to town until weekend. But next weekend is Big Daddy's Big Party so I'm afraid I'm going to miss them. Speaking of naked people who dance for dollars, I'm right now, as we speak emailing with the guy that's supposed to be dancing for us on Saturday night. He's trying to be all sultry and sexy and stripper cheesy and I'm not having it. I just sent him an email that said something like, Please stop flirting with me and let me know your music list. He He. I love being me.

One last thing my homies, I'm happy to announce that Kiki no longer lives with me. She went to her new home at TD's house this afternoon. All it cost me was a blow job.

This Old House

Dee called me over to her house today. She was expecting a visit from Feather and she wanted me to be there to help her deal. Feather was sober, having come straight from work, and she was fairly easy to deal with. Feather used to be my neighbor at my old house, pictured above. She moved about a month after I did last summer. She still stays in contact with the people that bought her old house and she told me that my old house had been sold again just last month for $249,000. Damn. Where were they when I was trying to sell it? It made me a little nostalgic for the old place. I went and dug up this little picture online.

Apparently 12 + months is what it takes for me to forget what a lunatic Feather is because I invited her to Big Daddy's stripathon next weekend. If she comes it will only be to check out my not so new anymore house. She was building hers while I was building mine and it was somewhat of a competition. Her house is very nice, but it is way out in the country, she has 5 acres but I live in a better part of town. My house is bigger, hers has more upgrades. She even has a pool. So the way I see it, it is a draw. But I'm sure she won't see it that way. Apples and oranges, really.

All I ever do is work and that makes me tired and boring. I'm trying to tie up some loose ends so I can enjoy my weekend. I've had too many crazy, hectic, stress about work weekends in a row and I want a weekend that's a no brainer for a change. Plus, I heard a rumor that the little people strippers were coming to town this weekend. What says no brainer more than dwarfs in thongs and pasties?

PS - S'up fuckers?

I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up

So, apparently, unbeknownst to me, I love fall. Who knew? I always thought I hated fall, but I'll be damned if as soon as the temperature dropped and the leaves started falling I didn't get way happier. This summer was a doozy, for a number of reasons, and I sure am happy to see the seasons change. Now, I reserve the right to be bitching about it all, wishing for summer's return in a couple of more weeks when I'm sick of the chilly temperatures and it getting dark by 6 p.m.

Maybe my disdain for fall was deep rooted in childhood when the end of summer inevitably meant going back to school. It took me over ten years to shed that association, but for the first time I'm enjoying myself in the month of October. Maybe it has to do with that nasty 10 pounds (which, honestly was really only 6, but 10 is more dramatic) that I picked up over the summer, and I'm excited to be able to hide it under a nice big sweater. I wore slippers today and made a pot of chilly and it all just felt right. Yay fall.

I survived my dumb work conference only a little worse for the wear. I managed to sit still through the whole thing and somehow not hear a word of it. I passed notes with a colleague the whole time. Like, lots and lots of notes. But I will be forever bitter for donating a Saturday of my life to nothing in particular.

The newest new hire is very beautiful, sweet and fairly good at her job. BUT her voice is killing me. She sounds just like Paris Hilton and it is more than I can take. I wish I could somehow audioblog her cell phone message so you could commiserate with me. (Read in your most obnoxious, Paris-Hilton-like, valley girl, nasally, whiny voice "Hey, this is Tif. I can't get to the phone right now, but leave me a message and I'll call you back." But whatever, after that last pain in the ass psycho I had working that job, I have to remind myself that the nails on the chalkboard voice is better than a nails on the chalkboard personality any day.

The countdown has begun for Big Daddy's stripperfest, drunken orgy of a birthday bash. Who's coming?

I've Got Better Things To Do...Like Crack

S'up fuckers?

I've got a horrible, awful, suicide-inducing work conference tomorrow. Some continuing education bullshit that lasts for 12 MOTHERFUCKING GOD DAMN HOURS. Do you have any idea how torturous that is to someone with ADD? It is way horrible. I'd rather have electrodes strapped to my balls. Poor, poor me. In addition, it means that even though it is Saturday, I have to get up at 6 o'motheruckingclock in the morning. FOR THE THIRD MORNING IN A ROW! Also, the dress code is business casual, which Hot Lips doesn't do. I've got your business and I've got your casual, but never do the two meet. So I just got home from the mall where I purchased a new outfit just for the occasion. I'm pretty sure I still didn't pull off business casual, though. My outfit involves dress pants, heels and lots of matching jewelry, so call it whatever you like. But my God, business casual? Isn't that like khaki pants? Egad.

So remember Tim and Shelby? How's that for a blast from the past? Well, apparently Tim just got arrested for embezzling $64,000 from his company ... to buy crack. Sweet Jesus. As Big Daddy was telling me this story I said, Well, if my wife fucked my best friend right in front of me, I'd probably turn to crack, too.

I hate to cut this short, but since I have to get up with the roosters, I better go tuck myself in. I hope everyone enjoys their Saturday while I'm busy slitting my wrists in some auditorium somewhere.

Clos!ng The God Damn Door

S'up Fuckers?

Remember how last night I was all whiny and sick? Well, I'm not anymore. It is a miracle, damn it. As soon as I felt the yuckies creeping in, I started pumping myself full of Cold Eeze and Vitamin C and I'll be damned if I don't feel like I could arm wrestle Tucker Carlson to victory. Yay me! Now, I'm not sick, just whiny.

So I got a little overzealous trimming my snicerdoodle this morning. And I'll be damned if I' didn't end up Telly Savalas twat. Ironically, I haven't shaved my legs for 4 days. Big Daddy said today, Um, honey, are you growing your winter coat? Little does he know.

So the new hire fire's replacement is a 22 year old college student. She's only going to be working for me part time for now. That's fine, who cares. But here is the thing, she is absolutely the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. She looks like a super model. I'm not exaggerating. She's about 5'10, 115 lbs and the most gorgeous face. I met her boyfriend the other day, he came to pick her up in his new Mercedes (he, too, is 22) and he looks like an underwear model. He's Australian. If they aren't the most beautiful couple, I don't know who is. I would like to point out, however, that me hiring her is a testament to my security in my own astonishing beauty. But God damn, some people have all the luck.

Speaking of God Damn, that reminds me...So I only listen to satellite radio these days. But today for some reason I was listening to regular radio. That song was on, I don't know what it is called, by Pan!c at the Disco and I'm singing along because that's one of the things that gives me joy in life, to sing along to the radio. And I'm singing to the chorus something about Closing the God Damned Door, only they bleeped part of it out. At first I'm a little taken aback because I'm so spoiled from listening to Satellite for the last year that I'm not used to my music being bleeped out anymore. But then I hear the chorus again and I realize that they are not bleeping out Damn, they are bleeping out God. What the fuck? So you can say damn, and really why couldn't you, and I'm sure you can say God, but why can't you say God Damn? What's the world coming to? Fucking Christians. (sorry Sunny, but you've got to get your people in check, fo reals)


I would like some props for three updates in one day. Can I get a what what?

S'up Fuckers?

Holy mother fucking shit. Did you guys have to break out the magnifying glass for that last post?

I forgot to tell you that after all of that happy, happy Hot Lips news down below, I do have a little bad news to share. I'm sick. Head cold or something equally as yucky. So expect a fair amout of whining and searching for pity for the next 5 to 7 days.

I just downloaded Over the Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo ' ole and I've listened to it about 67 times already. Is that gay? I mean ukulele music is gay, right? But see, I have a thing for Samoans. My favorite part is when he says, "high above the chimley tops".

Did I mention I was sick?

Don't Hate

S'up fuckers?

I have some good news for my hotties.

First, I'm happy to announce that my new hire is now my new fire.

Can I get a hallelujah!

Second, the horrible, life altering, panic attack inducing work project I have been working on for the past three weeks is out of my life forever. Or at least until someone calls to complain what a shitty job I did on it. So until then, cheers!

Third, I can fit my fat ass back into my favorite Seven (tm) jeans from last season. In celebration of this, I decided to not only wear them last night, but today as well. Those lucky jeans.

Fourth, I've been blatantly hit on three times in the last 24 hours or less. (see above) The first time was last night by TD. Now, I know you are all thinking that given our history, that TD doesn't count. But I would have to disagree. Granted, there is usually sexual tension in the air when TD and I get around each other and quite a bit of flirting. However the flirting is always very veiled, just glances that linger a little longer than they should, a lot more laughing and attention being given to each other than might otherwise happen, say, if either one of us was ugly. But we aren't exactly throwing around a multitude of sexual innuendos or being too obvious about our sexual desire with one another. Mainly because if Big Daddy ever caught wind of this he would take out hits on both of us. So we are careful. And really, recently, I've been over my whole TD thing and it has cooled off quite a bit. But then last night at a board meeting for the Hot Lips Hurricanes he couldn't seem to contain himself. He was fairly controlled for the first part of the evening, but by the last hour after everyone else had left, including his current girlfriend, he was being rather open with his desire to take me to bed. Or to marry me. I think he'd be happy with either one. At the end of the night he told me that if anything happened to Big Daddy he wanted to be my man. Not if anything happened between me and Big Daddy, but if anything happened to Big Daddy. Because he knows that Big Daddy would have to be dead and buried before he anything like that would be safe. There were several other comments as well that made it very clear that had I been in the mood, that TD would have run off to Vegas with me for a quickie wedding. Or at least a passionate fuck at the Super 8.

The second guy was a big black guy at this same restaurant. And I guess he really only half counts because big black guys will hit on anything.

The third was today at the doctor's office. Yes! The doctor's office. I got a call from a friend that she needed a ride home from the doctor's office. So I went waited for her in the lobby. It was just me and this other guy sitting in the lobby. He said he was waiting to give his cousin a ride home. (it was the orthopedic doctor, they were both getting casts and couldn't drive) Anyway, we were the only two people in the waiting room and it seemed like the thing to do so I struck up a conversation. I'm a friendly person, what can I say. At one point he got a call on his cell and he stepped outside. Not long, after my friend came hobbling out, and as we were leaving we passed him standing by the door talking on his cell phone. When he saw me he said, Hey, hang on a second. So I paused. He took out his wallet and started digging around. The next thing I know he's handing me a business card and saying, "Call me sometime." My response? "What will we talk about?" Feel free to use that smooth line. But honestly, at this point I'm not 100% he's not handing me his business card to try to sell me something. So then he tells me, "So we can just talk, hang out. You seem like a nice person. I'd like to go out with you some time." I looked at his card, asked him about his job, talked about a couple of people that we knew in common in the same field. And then I very politely and casually excused myself to drive my friend home. So I'll take his card and throw it in my stack where I throw all the business cards that I collect in this manner, and similar to the 400 lb limo driver, I'll pull it out when I need something and say all cutesy, "Hey, Frank, this is Hot Lips from the doctor's office. How have you been? I was wondering if you could help me with my (fill in the blank)" And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why it is beneficial to have nice tits.

And in celebration of my fruitful day, I give you puppies lounging by a freshly painted white picket fence.

Title Schmitle

S'up fuckers?

How about a little snap shot of Coco since you always see Kiki. This is the good one. She's a snuggle britches.

For the second weekend in a row Kenny the painter was a no show to paint my fence. So on a whim, the biggest of daddies picked up about 2358420 gallons of white paint and got to work. Kudos Big Daddy. I see a blow job in your future.

And you know what that means, right? I means I am the proud new owner of a white picket fence. How many of you can say that? I mean, a white picket fence. A white, mother fucking, picket fence.

And for those of you who care, I'm going through a very trying and stressful work situation. But come hell or high water, I will bring it to an end tomorrow. Seriously. Hot Lips has to get on with her life.