Soon Soon Soon

Hello my loyal fuckers.

I'm going to try like the dickens to get my god damn bachelorette wild weekend post up today. But holy shit that's a lot of photos to alter and I'm not exactly photoshop-savvy.

In other news I'm happy to report that depsite the fact that I have recently become a mother and have had to greatly limit my work schedule (9:30 - 3:30 in case you care)that September and October will be my highest grossing months in the five years that I've had my little business going. I attribute it to finally getting the right support staff in place. Did I mention Jo's gone? Yep. She finally retired and I ended up replacing her with 3 new people (2 full timers and 1 part timer) and I think this is the secret sauce to my success. Can I get a witness!?!

Now, if you don't mind, it is 9:30 and we all know what that means, I've got clients waiting for me.

Home Again Home Again Jiggity Jig

I'm home safe and sound.

It was an amazing trip. Really it was. I'm so glad I went because a couple of times I had said to myself, Fuck this, I've got too much on my plate, I'm skipping the five-day bachelorette party. But luckily I didn't listen to myself and packed my shit and went. I have many, many stories to tell which may or may not include meeting Richard C. Davis, getting arrested and partying on a yacht all night long. But unfortunately I came home to a pile of work on my desk, a filthy house and a sick kid so I can only tease you with the existence of said stories. But hopefully life will be back to normal tomorrow and I can grace you with an update then. If it is any consolation, I took lots of pictures.

Quickie

I made it down to the beach. We had a fun little Cannonball Run/Scavenger Hunt competition on the way down. I, of course, came out victorious.

The house is amazing (and currently on the market for $3 million!) and we are all having a lovely time. I'm taking lots of pictures, or at least I did yesterday and have good intentions to continue throughout the weekend. Of course the only thing that this $3 million dollar beach mansion doesn't have is wireless internet so I'm writing this from dialup. Mother fucker!

So there is that.

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

I was supposed to be leaving for my Folly Beach getaway this evening after KT got off of work, but it looks like we're losers and won't leave until in the morning. Before we leave we've got to go to the local dirty store to stock up on penis party supplies and porn (say that 10 times fast).
Even though everyone else is flying or taking the train, KT and I decided that we were going to drive. Don't ask me why. That's very unHotLipslike. But at the time I had just gifted myself with a huge new 890 person SUV and it seemed like an appropriate time for a roadtrip. KT and I decided we would watch porn on the DVD players the whole way down. We've also got to hit the liquor store and stock up on booze.

Big Daddy suggested that I take my other car down because it is better on gas. I told him that was ludicrous. What's the point of having an 890-person SUV if you don't take it on roadtrips? He said, Yeah, but there is only two of you. But then I started naming off all the stuff I needed to take, including but not limited to: my own sheets, blankets, pillows and towels, an inflatable 6-foot penis, a blender, a suitcase full of booze and lubricant, a vacuum, a half dozen Swiffer dusters, a blow up doll, a stack of porn DVDs, a laptop, a briefcase, a purse the size of Wilmington, Delaware; a case of Mardi Gras beads, 11 visors, a large jar of honey, 17 pairs of shoes, 6 bathing suits, three dozen cupcakes, 69 jello shooters, 22 outfit choices, and blow darts, chloroform, duct tape and a ball gag (for when I kidnap Richard C. Davis). I think he finally saw my point.

So, yeah, I've got nine and half million things to do, that's why we put off leaving until the morning, but yet here I sit procrastinating. It is what I do best.

Everyone say hi to our newest hottie, Dixie Chick.

You Are Not Going To Believe This But...

I just got home from a PTA fundraising committee meeting.

Sara is always saying to me, Let's write a book. And I'm always saying back, What the hell would I write about?

And tonight as I sat there on that leather sectional in the living room of the fundraising committee's chairwoman, I had an out of body experience. At least that's what it felt like. It was the strangest most surreal feeling the whole time I was sitting there. I kept blinking my eyes to try to ground myself. I kept reminding myself that what I was doing at that moment was probably the most normal thing in the world. But God damn it felt strange to me.

Sometimes everything, right down to the little, mini tortes on the granite countertop, seems so cliche to me that I feel like I must have just been dropped into the middle of the Twilight Zone. The other 15 committee mothers there all looked exactly alike, sort of half granola, half yuppie. And then there was me. I am pretty sure I was the only one wearing make up, and I am very sure that I was the only one with their cleavage on display.
Even my French pedicure was sure to assert its individuality from everyone else's (and of course everyone else was rockin' the French pedi - I felt like I was in some freaky cloned toe bizarro world).

I'm not sure what exactly I'm trying to say here, but the whole scene was just strange to me. And at one point as I was flying around the room detached from my body I thought to myself, I've got to put this in my book. But then I thought, Who am I kidding. No one would buy my book, and even if they did, no one would get it. Except maybe me and the six of you.

Clumsy Fool

Big Dummy, er, I mean Big Daddy broke his foot. Don't ask me how because I won't be able to tell you. It is just broken. What a damn mess. This hampers my lifestyle on several different levels. The first of which being that I like to be waited on hand and broken foot. And suddenly I find myself as the waiter and not the waitee. It is unfamiliar territory. Yesterday Big Daddy said, I need to go out and turn the pool timer off, but it just seems like too long of a walk right now. My sympathetic response was, Well, don't worry about it. It doesn't have to be done right now. You can do that in a couple of days when you get more used to the crutches. God forbid I waddle my lazy ass out there and flip off the timer.

Then it occurred to me that perhaps I should cancel my upcoming bachelorette sojourn to South Carolina. Big Daddy is after all going to be a single parent while I'm gone. But luckily I came to my senses and realized if those two little dwarfs in Oregon can parent four children then certainly a one-footed Big Daddy can parent a couple of little varmints for five days. All he has to do is make sure they don't die. He can do that in a cast, can't he?

Of course I wouldn't be surprised if my mom and grandmother showed up at my doorstep this afternoon with grapes to feed him and hot compresses and fans and anything else you might pamper a big, spoiled baby with. When I told them that he had broken his foot you would have thought I said he was in intensive care with only a 2% chance of survival. They both started hemming and hawwing and freaking out as if it was a big deal. Holy shit, people, it is just a metatarsal.

I've recently become obsessed with the word shuttlecock. Can you blame me?

Dumb Stuff

Last week was not a good week. It was just the strangest combination of ironic misadventures. For once I am happy to see a Monday. This new week has got to mean better luck for our heroine, Hot Lips. Thursday I'm headed down to Charleston, SC for a 5 day stay at a lovely estate on the ocean to celebrate a bachelorette party. I didn't realize bachelorette parties lasted 5 days and occurred 2 months before the wedding, but since it is resulting in a much needed vacation for yours truly, I won't argue their interpretation of pre-matrimonial celebration etiquette. Of course this little out-of-state, multi-day, celebration is interfering with the purchase of my very own beach estate. I was supposed to close last week, but that got all screwed up. So then I was rescheduled to close on Friday, but I'll be down south stalking Richard C. Davis and doing belly shots in Folly Beach so it has been moved a second time to the following week. So hopefully I'll be getting the keys right around the same time of the first frost of the season. Of course I'm literally booked every weekend between now and late February so it doesn't really matter when I get the keys at this point.

In other news I have a new friend (within the past 5-6 months) that I am madly in love with. Not that kind of madly in love with, but she's incredibly funny and a ton of fun to be around. Are you ready for the kicker? We talk to each other in funny little made up voices and have stupid nicknames for each other. My nickname? Ed.

So gay.

I better end this before I further incriminate myself.