I need a Ginkgo

I just ate a bowl of ice cream and drank a Fresca, so even though I only got 17 minutes of sleep last night, I am now ready to take on the world.





*Edited to say that I actually just ate a bowl of oatmeal, not ice cream. He he. I don't know if that was a Freudian slip or just an indication that the oatmeal and Fresca only served to lull me into a false sense of readytotakeontheworlddom and really the 17 minutes of sleep succeeded in turning my brain to mush. I'm voting for the latter.

Shux!

I jinxed myself when I whined about work being slow. All of a sudden I'm too busy to change my tampon. Feast or famine, fuckers. So this is just a quick little something I got weighin' heavy on mind.

You know who is even worse than the deafs? Fuckin' people that don't cuss. Is there anyting worse on earth? I surely can't think of one. I would be more comfortable in the presence of a handicapped child molester with an unslightly skin rash and a wandering eye than I would be in the presence of a fuckin' noncusser. Shit's unnatural, yo. The worst are the ones that don't even say damn. How repressed must one be to not even say damn? Or shit? Or cumdumpster?

I had the misfortune to spend a couple of hours with a noncusser today and I feel all dirty and stifled now. Because of her I caught myself saying dang it. And let me tell you, there is pretty much no lower point in my life than catching myself mid-dang it and having to question what my life has become.

17 Reasons Why!

Sugar. He brings me sugar.

I just saw the check that Big Daddy wrote for our Chinese food and he only added in like $1.87 in tip. I had a meltdown. Because a) I'm a bitch and b) I'm pms'ing, so it just seemed the thing to do. But seriously, $1.87?!? I'm so embarrassed.

Work has been really slow, which is surprising this time of year. And although I'm really, really enjoying this slowness, it is kind of turning me into a worthless, lazy sloth. There has been a lot of napping, bathing and masturbating going on 'round these parts lately.

I want to give big ups to mama nature for the 90 degree day that's in my forecast for tomorrow.

And look, if you find yourself in the position of being deaf, please, I implore you, don't learn to talk. Just learn to sign. Sign language and maybe occasional lip reading is all you need. Don't get all ambitious and learn to talk and freak everyone out with your creepy, breathy, constant inhaling, not able to pronounce A's speech. It is unnatural and scary. Helen Keller was just an urban legend.

Remember when we had a deaf Miss USA? I was so pissed!

I think I'll plant an herb garden.

You Want A Piece Of My Heart

You know how everyone has a theme song? Everyone = Oprah. Everyone except me. Well, Hot Lips finally has her theme song.

Workin for the Weekend

I remember being a youngster in West Virginia in the early '80s. My mom was divorced and going to college full time, and we lived in these weird dorms for people with kids. My mom would leave me all alone in the dorm/apartment and go upstairs to get high with her friends for hours. Oddly, even as a five year old I wasn't scared to be home alone. I would just hang out with the cat and watch TV. I wasn't allowed to answer the phone, though because it might be my grandparents, and they couldn't find out that my mom had gone off and left me all alone. I was pretty much a grown adult before I entered kindergarten. But I digress. Sometimes I would go through my mom's album collection. My favorite was the one with the butt in tight red leather pants with a pair of crossed fingers. I knew what crossing your fingers meant because my mom would always walk around with her crossed fingers in the air before she had a big test or on the day the child support check was supposed to arrive. I also really liked the album with the guys with the red flower pots on their heads.

So one day recently I realized that I had lost track of my days. I thought it was a Thursday, but apparently that was only wishful thinking because it was only a Wednesday. And the next thing I know, I'm sitting on the toilet taking my morning piss and singing to myself.

Everyone's watching, to see what you will do
Everyone's looking at you, oh
Everyone's wondering, will you come out tonight
Everyone's trying to get it right, get it right

Everybody's working for the weekend
Everybody wants a little romance
Everybody's goin' off the deep end
Everybody needs a second chance, oh
You want a piece of my heart
You better start from start
You wanna be in the show
Come on baby lets go

It was like a magical epiphany moment. It was as if the words to that song spoke to me on a higher plane than anything ever had. Truer words have never been spoken...or sung for that matter. I just want to turn up my collar and tap my heel.

That was a couple of months ago, and I have caught myself unconsciously singing that tune in my head several times a week. The next thing I know I've got myself a full blown theme song. And as any good theme song does, it has become words that I live by. Through no conscious decision of my own, I have realized lately that instead of the work weeks seeming to drag on ad infinitum, they actually seem to fly by. I swear it seems like yesterday was Monday, but yet tomorrow is Friday. I just keep my nose to the grindstone, my eye on the prize, my hand in the cookie jar, my finger on the pulse and my heart on my sleeve and poof, it's the weekend.

Alrighty then.

PIX

How about some pictures. I just found this random memory card floating around my desk and I popped it in the reader and all sorts of pictures dating back to Christmas came up on my screen. I'm about to flush 'em all, but thought I'd be kind and put a couple of them up here for my dear hotties. Most of them are past their prime, but whatever, so am I.

First let's start with my birthday, shall we? Here is my lovely and delicious birthday cake. Look familiar, Pissy?



The party was actually a funeral where I was eulogized (roasted) by friends and family. Here is Dr. M, who gave the best eulogy because she's an overachiever, roasting me.


And then we have Dee saying a few words.


Everybody else is boring, so let's skip ahead to February.

Here is my oh so romantic Valentine's Night set up.


Please note the chocolate covered strawberries. If you are good, maybe I'll give you my foolproof chocolate covered strawberry recipe.



Also note the little gold box on the front of the tub. That was my gift. For once Big Daddy didn't buy me electronics. And thank god, because that could have gotten a little messy in the bathtub.


Moving along to the whale watching adventure. I actually had a great time, but the pictures are of the shittiest quality. So I've decided that for the next holiday, the electronic item that Big Daddy will be purchasing me is going to be a fancy new camera. I'm gonna look like a photojournalist and shit.






What's that old adage? If while out whale watching, a battleship crosses your path you get 7 years good luck. I think that's it.



Here is the view from my hotel balcony. Notice the palm trees are still wrapped. Let's not forget it was still winter.



Some surfers. Why not?


And a girl and great big long skateboard going down the boardwalk.



Thank you and have a good day.

Oh How I Wish This Wasn't A True Story

Remember this post? Too bad I didn't.

Between Christmas and Vegas and whales and my whirlwind courtship and marriage to a German Count, I sometimes forget things that I purchased months earlier. Luckily the venue that was hosting the Blue Man Group sent me an e-mail a couple of days before asking if I would like to pay $25 for the preshow buffet, thusly refreshing my memory of said event.

And for those of you that are wondering, the Blue Man Group was gay.

Unfortunately the Justin Timberlake tickets were purchased through a third party and therefor no preconcert reminders were given. So imagine my surprise when I opened the newspaper this morning to a review of the Justin Timberlake concert last night.

Yeah.

I paid seven-hundred god damned mother fucking dollars for those tickets.

Who is going to buy me a day planner?

I know it is so not awesome to listen to me go on about the weather, but Jesus, Mary and Joseph, bring on the spring. It was mid 80s for half of last week and then I froze all weekend. There is something cruel and unusual about that. I'm crossing off the days until the pool opens with a big red marker. It is all I think about. Summer. I love you, Summer. I need you, Summer. I've got to got to have you, Summer.

And finally, I went to pick up a friendly acquaintance for lunch today and to my startlement she whipped out a mini bong and started puffing away. So now I'm really, really high.

One Time At Band Camp

If I don't know you that well then I'm generally a pretty nice person. I try to use my manners and be polite and considerate to those that I come in contact with in my day to day life. I am always conscious to use my pleases and thank yous. But listen up people, if I tell you thank you then you better god damn believe that I expect a you're welcome in return. Apparently saying you're welcome is a lost art. And since when is Uh-huh in response to a thank you a suitable replacement for you're welcome? What the fuck?! And look, if you are serving me at a drive thru window and I have the decency to be treating you like a god damned foreign dignitary then the least you can do is speak. I don't know how many times I've been at a drive thru or a convenience store or some such thing being just as polite and friendly as I can be throwing around my yes, ma'ams and please sirs and the motherfucker helping me doesn't even open his mouth to say a word. Thank God for the digital readout on the cash register because these fuckheads don't even bother parting their precious lips to inform me of my total. And one more cottonpickin thing. If I am nice enough to linger in a doorway for an extra few seconds expending my energy and time to hold a door open for you, then by God I expect a thank you. And if I am kind enough to let you out in traffic, then I expect a wave of acknowledgment and appreciation. None of this seems that hard, people. Get it together.

Sheesh.

And while I'm at it, please ladies, no more fake ponytails. You aren't fooling anybody.

Since NWG is always ranting about them, I decided to try a pomegranite martini tonight with dinner. It was good so I ordered another and another. They got me just drunk enough to where I decided to exclaim to Big Daddy, You know, I wish I had gotten the Hypnotiq martini instead. That comes with a cool glow stick. You know what I want to do with that glow stick don't you?!?!

Of course Big Daddy knew exactly where I was headed with this and he quickly tried to change the subject, but I was tipsy and relentless.

I want to stick one of those glow sticks up my pussy. Wouldn't that be cool to see my Sweet Tart glowing in the dark?

Big Daddy = mortified.

About that time my waitress with the fake ponytail arrived with my Hypnotiq martini.

Two In A Row

Look what I brought out of the closet and dusted off...

S'up fuckers?

Today I somehow (and quite potentially erroneously) calculated that today is my 11,010th day on Earth.
And that seems strange to me. I can't believe I've done this 11,000 times before. You would think I would be better at it by now. Maybe around 15,000 I'll get the hang of it.

The weekend was lovely. I broke out the capris on both days. I took the puppy to the dog park on Saturday and made a lot of enemies by grimacing at all the other, way less attractive dogs there. At 15 pounds, Coco was one of the smallest and by far the pussiest dog there. I wasn't amused when the humongous, poorly-behaved Black Russian Terrier kept terrorizing little Coco. And how was I to know when I disgustedly asked Big Daddy, Whose horrible big, black dog is that? That it would belong to the grumpy, stout lesbian standing right beside me.

Whatever Honey, don't hate me because you can't date me.

Today it is warm and the birds are chirping, but the sun isn't out shining brightly. So it isn't quite a trifecta. But a sneak peek at this week's weather forecast shows that it is supposed to reach 85 degrees on Wednesday. Could that really be? With that on my mind, I just called Harry about opening the pool. He will be here April 15th, Tax Day, to officially open her for the season. I'm scheduled to host ladies' night the following week, so provided we aren't experiencing any April showers, I think it might just be the first ever poolside event.

And finally, I decided to forgo the adopting a disadvantaged black youth idea and instead am concentrating my efforts on finding an attractive 15-year-old girl to adopt so I can spend the next six months planning a Sweet Sixteen Party. As soon as the party is over and the camera crews clear out, I'm going to snatch back the keys to the Beamer and trade her in for a crack baby.

Holla at your girl!

So What?!

Whoever thought I would get to where I had nothing to say? I surely didn't.

I'm still doing the same shit I've always done and even some new shit, but somehow just don't have the grey matter to pull it all together for a post. The two-year itch, perhaps?

And well, beyond that, I don't really have anything else to say.

So how about a picture of my nasal cavity?

(Please note the blue eye liner, because that's just how I roll)

Free Willy

Following suit of everyone else in bloggerdom, I'm going back on vacation. I'll be gone for the next several days on a whale watching expedition. Hopefully, I won't end up like Jonah.

One of the stipulations of me agreeing to matrimony was that I would be whisked out of town every six to eight weeks. So here we go, on our first contractual marital getaway.

I figure if I keep talking about being married then in a couple of weeks you will start to believe me which will be just in time for April Fool's Day.

I'm fairly certain that there is nothing I love more on earth than ricotta cheese.

And that's that.