Tuesday, January 30, 2007

I Suck And I'm Boring, Sue Me

So today I was leaving a building where you had to go through three sets of doors before you were actually outside. The first two doors are automatic, and for some odd reason, the last one is not. So I'm cruising on out when I get to the last door and the woman in front of me just stopped and paused for a few seconds. She was waiting for the door to automatically open. But it didn't. Because it wasn't automatic. So I'm not the only one! Ha!

The countdown to (insert plans for taking over the world) has now reached the stage where I am now counting in hours. I'm still red shoe-less, though, and I've only got 43 hours to get that taken care of.

Today is tie up loose ends day. Tomorrow is make myself hot day: mani, pedi, eyebrows, hair, red shoe purchase. Who wants to take over the world not looking their very best? Not me, homies.

Who wants to come fold my laundry?

One last thing, The Bad Girls Club is the best television I've seen in a long time. I dare you to disagree.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Footwear, Etc

Yesterday I purchased shoes, among many other things, because when you plan to take over the world, you must be well dressed and well accessorized. I went to the shoe store for the sole intent (excuse the pun) of finding a pair of red shoes, but instead left with a bag full of black shoes. Imagine that. So I'm still on the hunt for some hot red shoes and perhaps even a hot red purse. Yesterday's theme, aside from black, was apparently peep toe and patent.

Pair Number One. These are significant because they are from the Jessica Simpson Collection. Nuff Said.

I found this little purse at Target where I went immediately after the shoe store. I will wear the shoes and carry the purse with this super hot little black and white outfit complete with black and white striped silk scarf in my hair that I recently purchased to wear to my birthday party. I ended up scrapping that idea because as cute as the outfit is, the icing on the cake is the scarf in the hair and well, if you'll remember, I had already planned to wear my fabulous black lady church hat to said birthday party. So this magnificent outfit, which is really even more fabulous thanks to the new shoes and purse, will make its debut as (insert plans to take over the world).

Pair Number Three. I have no specific plans for these, but I don't know, they just spoke to me. I think I might just wear them this afternoon to a god damned motherfucking Pampered Chef party that I somehow got conned into attending today.

And finally, I hesitate to even show you these because I know at least a small amount of ridicule will follow, but I'm Hot Lips and I can take it. I have failed to mention here because it does bring me a certain amount of shame, but I have indeed become fond of my Crocs. They are absolutely the ugliest pair of shoes I've ever owned, and that's saying a lot. The higher the heel and the pointier the toe, the better. So Crocs really go against everything I believe in. But God damn, they just feel so...right. My feet enjoy them and beg me to put them on whenever I'm just running out to do a quick errand. So I was quite delighted yesterday to find a pair of Croc maryjanes. The same Croc comfort, but less bulky and dare I say it, a dash more feminine.

So there you have it, yesterday's footwear scores.

I know this entry has gone on long enough that I've already lost half of my readership, which means only Pissy is still reading. But since I haven't updated lately, I'm going to add one more quick item.

Do you guys remember my old neighbors Biff and Feather? I could go on and on about them for days, they are horrible alcoholics, pretentious, racist, ugly, Republican, miserable, negative, elitist, self-involved etc, etc, etc, etc, etc. But with all of their shortcomings, they were nothing if not entertaining. And this is why sometimes, very late at night, when I would find myself all alone working until the wee hours of the night, I would wonder over to their house for a little levity. I was guaranteed to find them, no matter the hour, the day, the season, to be awake and drunk and ready to party. And as I'm sure you can imagine, this would always generate a good, nay great, story.

Let me give you just a bit more background on these two. I'm not sure how a more perfectly matched pair found one another. They were completely consumed with money, wealth and status. So much so, that to everyone but themselves, they have become a running joke, especially Biff (at least in this department, Feather is the running joke in just about every other department). If I had a dollar for every time one of them would just blurt out in a conversation at random or with a stranger I'm Rich or I'm a Blueblood, I, too, would be rich. Of course my definition of rich and blueblood is apparently not quite as liberal as their definition. Oh God, I could go on and on with examples, but I've got to reel myself in.

Let me paint a little mental picture of Biff. 5'10, 250 lbs (all belly, all the time) slicked back graying dirty blond hair, red puffy face, always, always, always, wearing an overly starched pastel Oxford shirt and boat shoes and a pinky ring. Are you smelling what I'm stepping in? He had no problem telling you how many models he banged or how great he was at collegiate sports. He loved to talk about money and how much of it he had. He's the type that has to tell you how much his new car cost, how much his new Rolex cost, you get the idea. No matter what the conversation might be, whether you are discussing the war in Iraq, or crying over your dead dog, somehow Biff was able to turn it into about how great he was, how much sex he and Feather have, all the people he knows, and mostly, how much money he has. (Please keep in mind I watched his car get repo'd as I stood at my backdoor giggling, but that's another story for another time.)

So in sum, Biff was always talking, and always talking about himself and he had this ridiculous low, slow, nasally, pretentious draw to his speech. Which, of course, I soon began to imitate. Nothing tickled me more than to tell a Feather and Biff story in my Biff voice. I did this so often, that I could do the Biff voice better than Biff. For a while during the spring/summer of '05 I got so obsessed with the Biff voice that I was using it a good 50% of the time. But alas, I finally sold my house and they, too, sold theirs and we went our own separate ways and my Biff voice soon became just a fading memory.

But then last week who should I run into at the local Applebee's Neighborhood Bar & Grill? You guessed it, Feather and Biff. I sat and chatted with them for about 15 minutes. I got to hear about their trip to Mexico and how great their business is doing. All the classics. I politely excused myself and got the hell out of there.

The next day I called Dee to tell her that I had run into them, and just like an old friend, my Biff voice came back to me, it fit like my favorite old t-shirt. And for a moment while I was doing my Biff voice for Dee, I was sad it had ever left.

So now I need to see if I can figure out how to get into audioblogger and let you, too, enjoy the wonders of the Biff voice.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Choose Your Own Blog Title

Last night I had a dream that I was dating Kevin Federline. He was fun and I liked him a lot. Which I think is some weird dream analogy for the fact that I'm fun and I like myself a lot since I always say I am K-Fed, which my long time readers will remember is my term for the perfect combination of white trash and ghetto. So yeah. And then after that I had a dream that Bindi Irwin set a hotel on fire.

I'm the biggest, filthiest birthday whore in the world. Oh yes I am. I didn't mean to be, it just happened. I celebrated for 4 straight days. Nine different people sent me flowers. That means at least nine people on Earth like me. I got a good 50 birthday cards. Please keep in mind I usually get about six. I got gifts, and I got gifts and I got gifts which included but is not limited to, 3 different gift cards to 3 different spas, a 50 inch plasma TV (I'll give you one guess who that romantic gift was from) jewelry, a designer handbag and cash. I got 600 smackers! 300 of which were in the form of 1 dollar bills. Apparently the theme of the night was Hot Lips likes strippers. By the time I got done receiving and opening gifts, I was completely overwhelmed and embarrassed. Seriously. Like what do you say to your neighbor when you open a card from her with 200 bucks in it? It is sort of uncomfortable. Even Dee was generous this year (she sent flowers and gave me one of the spa gift cards.) So yeah, the moral of the story is, I'm a birthday whore who is going to be very, very disappointed when things return to normal next year. Poor, poor me.

I've been very busy going to the gym and the tanning bed (yes, the tanning bed, sue me) so I will look my very hottest for (insert plans to take over the world).

Who wants to update my blog for me? It shouldn't be that hard, just act like me and update. I'll pay you.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Who Got A Lot Of Flowers For Her Birthday?

Me, that's who.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

It Was Bound To Happen Sooner Or Later

So today is the day is the day is the day.

After spiraling into a bottomless pit of self pity and loathing for the last six to eight months, now that the day is upon me and my youth has been flushed away like an aborted fetus, I'm surprised to find that I'm still standing.

Who would have thought that turning 30 wouldn't kill me? I thought for sure that 1-18-07 would be the apocalypse.

Despite all the deals I made with the devil, today still happened, and well, I guess that means I don't have much choice other than to just deal with it. So I'm dealing. Don't tell anybody, but I might even be the tiniest bit excited. After all, being 30 gives me street cred.

I've been way too busy this week and haven't had one spare moment to devote to my impending birthday celebration. As such, I still haven't found the perfect outfit. I have, however, found the perfect hat. Oh yes, I said hat. And not just any hat. Nope, not me. It is the biggest, hugest, most fabulous black lady church hat complete with veil and feathers this side of the Mississippi. And for those hotties that aren't from the South, a black lady church hat goes something like this...

And you know, when I think about my black lady church hat, I get all tingly and excited to be me. I mean, who else on earth could rock that head masterpiece on her 30th birthday better than me? No one. That's who.

I can't stop singing Eye of the Tiger. Maybe that will be the theme song of my thirties.

So many times, it happens too fast
You change your passion for glory
Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past
You must fight just to keep them alive

Monday, January 15, 2007

Happy MLK Day, Fuckers

I know some of my Midwestern hotties don't want to me to brag about the beautiful weather I've been enjoying for the last few days, mid - 70s, bright, sunny and fabulous. This, I think, is what a January should be. I spent all weekend with my windows open and a warm breeze blowing through. I sat out on my front porch in my rocking chair and pondered the meaning of life while the sun beat down on me. I danced around my front yard in a gauzey white dress while bluebirds braided my hair. It is no secret that my happiness seems to directly correlate with the weather. And this is why, no matter how much he begs me, I am unable to marry Joe and move to Montana. It did not, however, keep me from having impure thoughts about him Saturday night. But that's another story for another time.

After pouting for a full straight week, I thought up the cutest little idea for my birthday. So I made a few calls and sent out a few emails inviting the upper tier of real life hotties to a little self thrown birthday bash. Only to find out a few hours later that apparently I had somehow foiled plans for a surprise party to be thrown the night before. Oopsie. So after comparing plans for the two parties, I autonomously decided that mine were way better and therefore, my party must go on. So the cake (which I'm told is going to be a doozy) food and decorations from party A will be carried over to the location, date and theme of party B. And then, maybe, just maybe, I'll be happy.

The focal point of the night is going to be a roast in my honor. I'm self depreciating enough to find this exciting. So I will spend this week with my thinking cap on furiously penning counter roast jokes for the finale. And if any of my hotties would like to participate, please email your Hot Lips Roast material to me and I'll be sure that they are read aloud. You know the email address, bitches.

And well, that's that.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Tight Lipped

My nipples have rug burn.

And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

9 Days

Some of you may or may not have noticed that I have a tiny bit of an obsessive personality. And because I'm a giver, I've decided to let you in on a couple of my newest obsessions.

The first being whitening my teeth. Now, I've been a consistent teeth whitener over the years, but I recently purchased this big ass kit that came with toothpaste, mouthwash and white strips. And real quick, if anyone cares, after years of teeth whitening I've found that my favorite method is the generic Target brand whitening strips. Sue me, I love 'em.

But trust me, this toothpaste isn't what you think. It isn't your normal whitening toothpaste. It is like 97% bleach. Same with the mouthwash, I'm pretty sure it is just pure bleach that I'm gurgling around in my mouth. By the time I have completed steps 1 and 2, the inside of my mouth is all puckered and dehydrated and pitiful from the inordinate amounts of bleach. Finally I white strip for 30 minutes while applying my make up. At the end of white stripping, I threw in one more step, which is a quick additional brushing with the 97% bleach toothpaste.

I know that this is probably taking the whole teeth whitening thing a couple of steps too far and that by now, I have no enamel left on my teeth, but I can't stop. I'm obsessed.

My next recent compulsion is Wendy's Southwest Taco Salad. I swear I try to have one every day. Here's the beauty of it: They give you a regular garden salad, a thing of chili, a little baggy of seasoned tortilla strips (read: broken up Doritos) and a tube of sour cream and then you construct the salad yourself. Oh God, I'm getting all worked up just thinking about it. So basically you get a full fast food meal, but you get to keep yourself guilt free because you are just eating a salad. See how that works? Magical.

And yesterday while cleaning out my wallet, I decided to snap a picture of one of my longest standing obsessions: Applebee's. My 4-year love affair with Applebee's Chicken Fajita Roll Up is such a poorly kept secret that I received not one, not two, not three, not four, five or six, but SEVEN Applebee's giftcards from friends and/or clients this Christmas.

So you see, boys and girls, I am a much more complex person than you all originally thought. My obsessions run deeper than just shopping, masturbating and complaining. They also include eating and vanity.

Monday, January 08, 2007

I Piss Excellence

Is there anything creepier than a man with fat ankles?

Yes, there is, actually.

Nicole Kidman.

Bitch is Cree - Pee. I can't decide if she is a robot or a zombie. Probably a little of both. If I somehow got tricked into marrying her, I'd immediately check myself into rehab, too.

I haven't been up to anything amazing. My house is clean, laundry is done, Christmas is packed away and work is caught up, but other than that, I'm a big, boring dork. I do, however, have plans to redeem myself on Super Bowl weekend. No, I'm not going to the Super Bowl, but who cares because I don't give a shit about football. I am going to be having more fun than should be legally allowed. Sorry, mum's the word. Right now Pissy is the only one who knows my ultra secret plans to take over the world and well, she's tied up in my basement, so I know she ain't talking.

I'm a great big spoiled brat. Tell me something I don't already know. For the last couple of months when a friend would ask what I wanted to do for my birthday I would respond with, "Nothing since I'm (insert secret plans to take over the world) like a week after my birthday." So here it is just a week and a few days before the birthday of all birthdays and now it is my turn to be asking, What are we doing for my birthday. Only to my shock and amazement to hear, "Nothing because you are (insert secret plans to take over the world)." And now I'm pouting.

Pout. Pout. Pout. Pout. Pout. Pout. Pout. Pout.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

I Put The F - U In Fun

I'm really not sure if I should tell you about New Years Eve or not. I'm afraid you might lose some respect for me. And you're all I've got.

But since I've got nothing else to write about, I guess I have to tell you about stumbling out of a party at 3 am after two bottles of wine and a bottle of champagne and deciding there was no time like the present to walk to Dee's house for a cigarette (I haven't had one in ages). In the rain. With sunglasses on. While having to pee. Holding a handful of meat skewers.

So I get to Dee's house and surprise, everyone is in bed. At that point I realize I need some assistance so I crash on the rocking chair on her front porch and begin dialing for help. Oopsie, Hot Lips forgot to charge her cell phone. I continue to rock for a few minutes while deciding what to do. Finally, I realize I just have to walk my ass on home. In the rain. With sunglasses on. While having to pee. But not holding a handful of meat skewers because I left them on Dee's deck. Right as I'm leaving I get hit with inspiration. I must let Dee know that I was there. I must leave my drunken New Year's mark. So I whip out my lipstick and write Dee love messages all over her porch. The next morning she called and said, "So are you the lipstick bandit?"

So I walk home. It is about 3:30 at this point. Did I mention it was raining? And that I was wearing sunglasses? Or how about the fact that I'm strolling around alone on a main road at an ungodly hour at great personal risk to myself? Yeah, so let's just skip ahead. I won't draw out the suspense. I made it home safely after an hour of wandering the streets. In the rain. Wearing sunglasses. But not having to pee because that took place on a public bench somewhere between Dee Village and Hot Lips Village. I just pulled my pants down and sat down like it was a toilet. And at that moment, it was.

I also stopped by Dr. M's house and left her several New Year's lipstick love messages, too. Oh yeah, and there may or may not have been an incident involving my water slide and near death. But like I said, let's skip ahead.

So yeah, I get home at around 4 and immediately begin drunk dialing. I call Dee, I call Dr. M, I call the 400 lbs limo driver, I call Big Daddy, I call and I call. I am happy to report that our beloved Stacey was kind enough to not only answer the phone at 4:14 a.m., but to also stay on the phone with me and laugh at with me for approximately a half an hour. As a thank you, I then drunk dialed her new boyfriend in Texas. At one point or another I have had the cell phone numbers of three of my hotties (aside from Stacey). And on January 1 at approximately 4:45 a.m. I was tearing my house apart looking for said numbers because I wanted to personally wish my hotties a Happy New Year. Lucky for the three of you, the numbers were nowhere to be found. Also while talking to Stacey I realized I was thirsty and had a Smirnoff Ice. Or two.

I finally hang up the phone and give everyone a little peace and this is about the time I turn from happy drunk to sad drunk and I spend the next hour rolling around on the ground screaming and crying because I've decided that my dog doesn't love me anymore. The next morning it occurs to me that she was hiding under the bed and refusing to come because she was scared to death of me. Who could blame her. Oh yeah, did I mention this all happened while I was holding an open umbrella and wearing only panties?

And if that doesn't bring a tear to your eye, then you are just heartless.

About 6 a.m. I call Sarah to tell her I love her and good bye. This is the end. There is a 94.6% chance that I would be dying of alcohol poisoning within the next half hour.

Around 6:30 a.m. I finally fall asleep.