Stacey Loves Me

Time Management

2011-08-18T08:44:00.003-05:00

I woke up this morning with this great plan to deactivate my Facebook account and cut off the cable. I just got back from vacation with a good friend who is a doctor with four kids. Her life partner travels pretty much constantly for work and so she's a single mom to those four kids 72% of the time. All of the kids make straight A's and play travel soccer. When she's not at the hospital busy saving lives, she is flying out of town two or three nights a month to give talks for drug companies (for $3,000 a pop). She also has some sort of research grant and a research assistant that as far as I can tell, has little (or nothing) to do with her regular doctor job at the hospital. This is a whole other life-saving endeavor in and of itself. When it is one of her four kids' birthdays, she bakes the birthday cake. She sews her own curtains (and they look great). Needless to say, this bitch doesn't have Facebook and never watches television. She is well-traveled, always jetting off for a long weekend in St. Maarten or Zurich or West Virginia. She also looks great in a bikini, which begs the question, why exactly did I pick her to go on vacation with?

I have another friend who is very, very high up in the military, like one of the highest-ranking military officials in the country (world?). Despite living about ten states away, he is in Washington, D.C. two or three times every week. It is nothing to get a text from him one day from Kuwait and then the next day from Korea. When he tells me his weekly schedule, I get tired just from listening to it. And he never forgets my birthday. You guessed it, he doesn't have a Facebook account and wouldn't know who Snooki was if she slapped him in the face.

Of course I'm sure neither of them have blogs either.

Aspirations

2011-07-24T09:45:00.001-05:00

When I grow up, I want to be a gypsy wedding planner.

PTSD

2011-07-19T11:09:00.003-05:00

When you are a witty Alpha you get invited to a lot of parties. But you are basically unpaid help, there to entertain everyone, to be charming, tell good stories and make everyone laugh. Eventually the free alcohol isn't worth the burden of knowing that everyone's good time is dependent on your good time. Especially when you calculate how much money you spend to bitch to your therapist about said burden.

And how narcissistic are you when the other thing you pay to bitch about is being smarter than everyone you deal with on a daily basis?

Some people might worry that after a hundred or so hours of listening to such bitching, that the listener is bored to tears and barely listening at all. But a true narcissist doesn't worry about such things, and is instead convinced that their therapist wants to fuck them.

Yo Adrienne!

2011-07-15T14:46:00.002-05:00

You know that part in Rocky IV where Rocky banishes himself to Siberia and trains for the big fight by living in a barn in Russia, lifting frozen wheel barrows and chasing chickens? Well, that's what I'm doing. Only without the big fight at the end. And I will probably never step foot in Russia.

Fuck Facebook

2011-06-15T08:30:00.001-05:00

I'm going old skool and start blogging again.

My Eagles Are Wetter Than Your Eagles

2008-01-13T12:52:00.000-05:00

I've very slowly and miserably been dying of pneumonia for the past several weeks. That pneumonia was very officially diagnosed by Dr. Hot Lipz. So this week I finally went to the doctor, the dermatologist. I have great skin actually, texture wise that is, but lately I've been cursed with this weird and horrible blotchy uneven skin tone. So I finally broke down and made a dermatologist appointment and then waited the 9 months until they could finally fit me in. Oddly, the dermatologist prescribed me a low dose antibiotic and said that sometimes that helps with uneven skin tone. I know, that doesn't make any sense to me either, but who am I to argue with a skincare professional? Initially I thought, Wow, this is great, I'll have flawless, even skin and get rid of my lung-plaguing pneumonia all with one copay and prescription. But that was almost a week ago, and I think my pneumonia is getting worse. I think I have just strengthened it with this bullshit skin antibiotic. So if you never hear from me again, I've succumbed to the mutated, drug-resistant, self-created lung infection. It was nice knowin' ya.

I'm currently in the process of hiring a new cleaning lady. Not a day goes by that I don't receive some poorly-punctuated flyer for a new cleaning service in my paper box. So the interview process could go on indefinitely, but I think I am just going to have to take the plunge and make a decision here in the next couple of days. So far I have it narrowed down to two. It is either going to be the two Brazilian girls who are built like brick shithouses who showed up to give me an estimate in 9 inch platform shoes and micro mini skirts and don't speak a word of English. Or it is going to be the very American (it says so on the bumper sticker on the back of her '98 Dodge Ram) redneck woman with an ass like a bag of marshmallows who is overpriced, but English is her first language. The Brazilian bombshells are a good $40 a week less than Rhonda the Redneck, which equates to $160 a month, and hell I could have a Kia for that amount of money every month. But I think being able to communicate with my house staff is really fairly important for a number of reasons. $160 a month could seem like chump change when the Brazilian bombshells fuck everything in the house because they don't understand my directions or can't read the labels on the cleaning products. But one of them did have an ass that was giving me impure thoughts as I was walking up the steps behind her. Decisions, decisions.

I hope you all had great holidays and 2008 is looking bright for all of yous. I'm going to try harder to be a better blogger in the coming months.

Well, Well, Well

2007-12-12T21:28:00.000-05:00

Look who finally decided after a two-month absence to make an appearance on her blog.

And it only took me 346294820 attempts to remember my password.

There is pretty much nothing I can say about my absence that will explain it or forgive it. I've got some shit going on. Like mega, major, life-altering shit. And it has consumed every morsel of my time and energy for the past 8 weeks. I think the shit is going to turn into some awesomeness, but until then, the shit is just going to have to stay secret. But I'd say by spring, early summer this blog will be benefitting from the past couple months of shit. During my 8 weeks of shit, I've taken up meditating or some bastardized version there of and I've found much comfort in cliches. My two current faves are: It Is What It Is (I recently saw this painted on the back of a dumptruck and although I've heard this a million times before, it suddenly made sense and I'm pretty sure God painted it on the back of that dumptruck with his own two holy hands) and Live and Let Live. Deep, huh?

Be patient, I don't want to jinx myself, but once the appropriate amount of time has passed it will all make sense. It is what it is, after all.

And whether I blog or not, I still love the hell out of my hotties. I love ya'll more than I love my Don Miguel empanadas from the freezer section. Well, ya'll are a close second.

Soon Soon Soon

2007-10-12T08:22:00.001-05:00

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

2007-10-09T10:03:00.000-05:00

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

2007-10-06T12:12:00.000-05:00

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

2007-10-04T10:03:00.001-05:00

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...

2007-10-03T21:35:00.001-05:00

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

2007-10-02T12:09:00.001-05:00

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

2007-10-01T09:53:00.001-05:00

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.

Heart Disease and Homelessness

2007-09-24T13:24:00.001-05:00

So the girl child says to me the other day, What if I didn't have a house. To which I explain to her, Well, you would probably be really hot in the summer and really cold in the winter. (SEE! I told you I would be a great mother!) To which she responded, Yeah, I would probably get heart disease.

She must be recently obsessed with homelessness because a few days later we see what appears to be a homeless man walking across a main road where we are stopped at a stoplight and she asks, Is he homesick? To which I reply, Probably. And carsick, too.

There is this lady's blog that I have been reading off and on for years. She just had a baby in July, her first, and now the blog is nothing but baby this and baby that, pictures of the baby, videos of the baby, post after post about the baby. It is driving me insane (because I am still a easily-annoyed child hater at heart). I am just about to delete her from my favorites. I really don't want to turn into her, but as a result, I just don't post. So then I figure posting something, anything, is better than posting nothing at all. But then I think about how annoying this lady has become and I swear not to do that to my hotties. So there's that.

Does anyone else obsess about becoming Britney's life coach? I just can't stop thinking, If I could just somehow fly to California and convince her to listen to everything I say for six months, I would have her back to her former glory. Seriously, I think this often. I'm convinced no one would or could do a better job of getting that wreck of a soul back on track than Hot Lipz. It might just have to be my next project. Hot Lipz, saving the world one lost soul at a time.

Now, if you don't mind, I must go to the grocery store and buy some Lunchables.

Hot Lips Is Having A Baby(ies)!

2007-09-15T10:14:00.001-05:00

Twins.

A great big, huge 75-pound 8-year-old boy and his little, tiny 7 year-old twin sister.

I'm a mother, mother fuckers, that means I garner instant respect, so make a note of it.

They aren't foster kids per se, but kids who have actually been in my life for a while and needed a situation. And since I'm a selfless giver, I have stepped up to provide that situation. I don't know how permanent or temporary this new mom gig is going to be, but at least for this school year.

This is the announcement that I had alluded to earlier. I had decided not to blog about it. It is kind of hard to explain, but I felt like it was kind of not my story to tell, if that makes any sense. And besides, I'm new to the touchy subject of talking about kids on the Internet. But since this has basically taken over my life for the past month-plus it is really all I have to blog about. And I have caught myself in the middle of a couple of hilarious little life moments that epitomize Hot Lipz and I think to myself, I've really got to blog about this, my hotties are the only ones that will appreciate this (Read: I'm totally ashamed to tell anyone else, like last week when I bribed someone - I mean like straight up money exchanged hands - for the boy child to be put on a better baseball team. Or the other day when the girl child came home from school complaining that someone on the bus was being mean to her and my advice on how to handle it was by saying, You need to remind that mean girl which one of you lives in an apartment and which one of you lives in a mansion. And then you need to tell Apartment Annie she needs to know her role.)

And I know what you are all thinking. You are thinking, But Hot Lipz, a shallow, filthy-mouthed, pretentious, uncompassionate, materialistic child hater isn't exactly the best candidate for being a parent. And while under normal circumstances I would agree with you, in this situation I would have to argue that I will be making quite a positive impact in the lives of America's future. It has been well documented here that I am a crazed, competitive lunatic, and I'm sorry, but that's got to give me an edge here. That will only mean that they will be the best dressed and groomed kids in school. They will have the newest and greatest of everything, if for no other reason than to satiate my need to be completely over the top in everything I do, including child rearing. And please, don't even get me started on the show-stopping birthday parties they will have. So while at first blush it may seem that I will just be bringing up more little Paris Hiltons, you've got to keep in mind that these are essentially dirty little orphans and this is exactly what they need.

(Side Note: I can't help but to be reminded of that episode of My Sweet Sixteen where that rich, bored housewife in Pennsylvania adopts the pretty, petite Caucasian 15-year-old girl for no other reason than to dress her up like a Barbie doll and throw her a Sweet Sixteen party like no other. ((notice when homegirl was talking about adopting a kid to make a difference she didn't pick out a chubby black kid with emotional problems.))

And besides, since I'm the most easily annoyed person on the planet, not only will they be the most spoiled little kids within a 75-mile radius, but also the best behaved. That's gotta count for something. So you can wipe off your judgmental little smirks and place 'em right in your back pocket, I got this locked.

Now, if you don't mind, I've got a little league game to attend.

Homicidal Tendencies

2007-09-12T19:50:00.001-05:00

I'd kill someone (including a close blood relative) for the chance to be 18 again.

Shameful Confessions

2007-08-28T12:22:00.001-05:00

1) I kind of like Britney's new single. I mean, I realize it doesn't exactly have a catchy chorus or deep, thought-provoking lyrics, but I like her voice in it. (That might be the weirdest thing I've ever said.)

So why do you desert me, baby boy?

Nothing says next big hit like a fake cell phone conversation in the bridge.

2) My OCD has recently reached new heights all thanks to a little something called the Swiffer Duster. I can now add frenzied, obsessive dusting to my long list of irrational compulsions.

3) I have very vivid fantasies of inviting Michael Vick over and hanging, drowning and electrocuting the incessantly barking neighbor's dog. This morning when it started up at 7:00 a.m. and woke me up after only 2 hours of sleep (see confession #5), I swear to God if I had a gun I would have shot it right between the eyes. And look, I love my dog more than I love pretty much anyone else on earth (I guess that should be confession #4), but I think I could kill those dogs with my bare hands and a satisfied grin on my face. I think I'm going to have to start being one of those neighbors.

5) I am completely, totally, thoroughly obsessed with Big Brother 8. The other day I even said to Big Daddy, "My life has no purpose on the nights that Big Brother isn't on. There is just this void there that can't be filled." I have started staying up every night to watch the live feed on Showtime from midnight to 3 a.m. (This is probably the most pathetic of all of the confessions, and that's saying a lot considering #1).

6) I have owned a pair of Sketchers within the last five years.

I hold my head in shame.

Dear Parents:

2007-08-26T15:59:00.000-05:00

Because you spawned them, because they share your DNA, because you pretty much have to, you think your kids and all of their actions are just adorable.

The rest of the world, not so much.

I don't care that little Johnny is only 4 years old. It is time for him to start learning some manners. And no, he doesn't get a pass for being an obnoxious little pain in the ass brat just because he's a preschooler and you think I think he's cute.

You see, I'm polite and so I try to go with the flow when your little terror is climbing me like a jungle gym or interrupting my adult conversation with their whiny nonsense. But you, as a parent, aren't being polite by allowing it to happen. I know it is in good form to try with all my might to ignore her and throw out a sheepish grin while Baby Amber rummages through my purse uninvited looking for gum and when she finds my cell phone instead, opens it and slams it shut incessantly while I'm just trying to have peaceful adult conversation with her mother. But it is not in good form for you, as her mother, not to grab her by her grubby little arm and get her away from me.

What ever happened to children are to be seen and not heard?

And seriously, when did five-year olds start running the world??

I don't know how many times in the past couple of weeks I've had some little kid come up to me and start pecking me with their forefinger right in the middle of my stomach to get my attention while I'm mid sentence having a real conversation with an adult. And I really just have to wonder why the parents are just standing there watching while I stop what I am doing to attend to their ill-mannered little varmint, instead of taking this opportunity to explain to Little Emili why it is rude to interrupt adults (or really anyone for that matter) and make sure they don't do it again. I mean, for real people, if Emili is old enough to interrupt me then she's old enough to learn that it is rude and not to do it. And if not now, when?

And another thing, if you don't have the intestinal fortitude and sticktoitiveness to tell a three-year old no and actually mean it and follow through with it, then please, do the universe a favor and don't have any more kids. The world is overpopulated enough as it is. Have you guys ever seen an episode of SuperNanny or Nanny 911 and noticed that these families have vast amounts of children, one being even more out of control and horrific than the next? I mean, when your first kid is too much for you to handle and you feel defeated and tired and hopeless and your marriage is in trouble because your kid is running the house, which part of your brain tells you the best thing you can do in that situation is to have at least three more??

What the fuck, People?!!??

Perhaps because it is summer and the kids are out of school and it is cook out, pool party, social gathering season, I have been spending more and more time around friends', neighbors', acquaintances' children lately. And it isn't just one bad kid, I swear it seems like a good 80% of the kids I have come into contact with lately are completely insufferable. And as much as I want to kick the kids in the head, I have found myself just getting more incensed with the parents who do absolutely nothing about their shitty little offspring running around ruining everyone else's time. It is like a phenomenon. A social epidemic. There are friends of mine that I won't even hang out with anymore because even though I really enjoy their company, I know that they'll show up with their really bad kid that they will let run wild and ruin my day.

And look, I get it, I'm an unsympathetic kid grinch, I'll take my lumps for that. But I also know that the Mommy and Me set is taking over the world and it has become completely acceptable to refuse to discipline or teach your kids any manners. And if they are under the age of, say, about six years old, you are not only supposed accept them for the insufferable little hellions that they are, but apparently find the little darlings adorable as well.

I'm moving to a retirement community.

If You Sprinkle When You Tinkle

2007-08-23T12:06:00.000-05:00

Please be neat and wipe the seat.

I think I'm going to go to a craft fair and see if I can pick up a hand-painted wooden plaque with that saying to hang in my bathroom. And maybe a crocheted toilet paper holder?

I don't know what I'm talking about, either.

Somehow Big Daddy and I ended up at a little get together with some of the world's classiest people. The drink of choice amongst the guests? Moonshine. I.sweart.to.Allah. Usually that's the point where I start to freak out at what my life has become, but instead I took a shot of the stuff for bragging rights and just laughed. I'm oddly proud and have told no less than 5 different people today that I sampled moonshine last night. When we left Big Daddy said, I had a blast. Which, coming from Big Daddy, is quite a powerful statement.

My mother has apparently purchased a new condo and some how finagled my poor decreped 77 year old grandmother in to making the 7 hour trip down to paint it for her. Sometimes I just can't believe that I sprung from that womb. I want a DNA test!

Speaking of new condos, I finally found one at the beach that I put a contract on. It isn't exactly what I wanted, it is on the bay and not the ocean, for instance. But the ocean is just a short bike ride away (if I knew anyone that took bike rides that is). Something about it just spoke to me and so I said, I'll take it. I might resume my search for the perfect condo on the ocean next summer, but then again, I might not. It took me all summer to find this one because I never had any time to go down there to look, which I am assuming doesn't bode well for the amount of time I'll be able to go down and enjoy it. But, whatever, being practical isn't my strong point. I was going to post a picture, but Blogger is being an asshole so some other time, okay?

Live Nudes, Bitches

2007-08-18T20:35:00.000-05:00

How hot is this blog?

Don't cha wish your blog was hot like mine?

Eggsactly.

Big ups to Pixie for the hot new makeover and to Pissy and Monk for the referral.

I think this much fabulousness will only have a positive impact on my blogging frequency.

I have some big news that I *think* I'm going to share with you soon. I've been wavering back and forth as to whether or not to discuss it here, but I think I might just do it. I'm going to sleep on it another night, though, just in case I change my mind. It is my prerogative, after all.

And finally, there is an 82% chance that I'm in love with Elliot Yamin.

Kinky Cheese and Jobs

2007-08-14T21:57:00.001-05:00

Today I had lunch at this cute little out of the way bistro with fancy things on the menu like chicken and spinach crepes. They had good wine on the menu and good art on the walls. But my waitress left me with the impression that they were shorthanded today and made an emergency call to Alice's Diner who donated someone from their waitstaff to help out in the pinch. As she stood in front of me reciting the day's specials she explained that the pasta was made with sun-dried tomatoes and fetish cheese. I almost ordered it just to see the tiny little gouda wheels with ball gags, but alas, I don't like sun-dried tomatoes.

Very nonchalantly and noncommittally for the past year Big Daddy has made little comments like, I almost hired you today and You would be perfect for (insert new business idea). Which always ends with a, Yes, I would be perfect for that, but you can't afford me. Today while at the cute little out of the way bistro he tells me that what has up until this point been an idea that he will one day pursue two or three years in the future, was suddenly green-lighted by the major investor to begin in the next couple of months. He kept going over and over the qualities that he wanted in the person who would head up this little project. Of course he modeled all of said qualities after yours truly, and I politely listened and offered suggestions as to how he could find someone to fit the bill. We kept going round and round with this and finally during a moment of weakness I said, Okay, fine, I'll do it.

These are the kinds of moments that Stacey lives to make fun of me for.

My stipulations to him were that I wasn't quitting my day job, but I would give him approximately 6 - 9 months of my life in the evenings and on weekends getting it up and running the way he (read: me) wants it and can set up an appropriate model for how things should go when I then find and train my replacement. I finished my lunch and then a half an hour later like a ton of bricks the reality of what I had just promised hit me. Apparently I had just signed on for a second job? 70+ hour work week? All my weekends for at least the next 6 months?

Apparently I should have just ordered the pasta with fetish cheese and listened more and talked less.

The thing is, even though it is much closer to fruition than we had ever thought it would be, say, just yesterday, it is still a couple of months away. So there is still plenty of time for me to back out or things to change or one of the other primaries involved to have a different idea about who should run it. But even though the thought of working what essentially amounts to two fucking jobs makes me want to vomit, I'm sort of a tiny bit excited about it. After all, the theme of the summer has been Try New Things and, well, hard work would certainly qualify as a new thing.

In other news, are any of you fuckers watching Big Brother?

And finally, I've contacted Pixie about a new blog. I haven't yet heard back from her, but let's cross our fingers that new digs are in our near future.

And, of course, I love ya'll.

NEW!

2007-08-05T14:03:00.000-05:00

If I just hold off three more days, it will have been a whole entire month since I updated last. Which makes me a fuckwad asshole bitch?

Apparently Beta Blogger disagrees with her, and Stacey says she can't make me a new blog. But I can't do polka dots and daisies a day longer. Who knows someone who knows someone who knows someone that designs blog templates and isn't frightened by Beta Blogger? I want something dark and brooding.

So where do I go from here? Gas prices? The weather?

I think I'll hold out for absence of daisies and polka dots.

Mommy Dearest

2007-07-08T15:43:00.000-05:00

This mom thing isn't so hard when you can drop the kiddies off at the activities room and then go to the hotel bar and get tanked.

So far I am still only a mother of two. There were some snafus with GiGi's travel arrangements and she still hasn't made it down yet. She is supposed to be arriving tonight after a 9 hour Greyhound ride.

No wonder the French hate us.

Stuff for July

2007-07-03T10:27:00.001-05:00

There is something about a woman named Joan that I just don't trust. I don't know why, historically Joans have been perfectly respectable ladies, Joan of Arc, Joan Collins, Joan Rivers. But the name is just so wrong. Maybe it is the parents of a woman named Joan that I shouldn't trust.

I just spent $165 on a bathing suit. And for those of you paying attention, even though I seem like an extravagant money spender, I am actually a cheapskate when it comes to such things. I'm more quantity than quality. I mean, I wouldn't mind spending $165 if I got like 5 bathing suits. But I'm headed to the beach, and I felt it necessary.

Gigi is 19 and from what I can tell from the dozens of pictures that she sent me, hot. Now that I'm days away from carting her down to a beach full of horny perverts, I'm cussing my insistence on picking the hot 19 year old that likes dancing and boys and not the mousy 15 year old that likes ponies and flowers. I have suddenly entered fretting overprotective mother mode and she hasn't even gotten here yet. But I don't want a Natalie Holloway on my hands.

I ran into the drug store the other day and when I came out I caught Big Daddy scrolling through my cell phone. It was interesting trying to explain to him why I had so many text messages to a "Hot Lipz". But since honesty is the best policy, I simply explained to him that they were wrong numbers.

I'm interviewing a new girl today. Wish me luck.

A Family Affair

2007-06-30T11:02:00.000-05:00

I just don't have anything to say anymore. I don't know what happened, but all blogging ability has left me. I'm just an empty void. And then after you haven't updated for two weeks, it is kind of like, What's the point?

What is the point?

I'm getting ready for vacation. Long-awaited and overdue vacation. Sweet sweet vacation.

Every year as a child my family would pack up and go to Myrtle Beach for the week after 4th of July. We would go the same week and stay in the same hotel. Family from all over the country would meet us there and it was this really fun vacation/family reunion same time, same place every year. I haven't been in 8 years. My uncle was killed in a motorcycle accident around vacation time. And as you can imagine, it was a devastating family tragedy, and vacation was canceled that year. The next year the hotel was closed and up for sale. And I was simultaneously becoming a grown up and not tagging along on family vacations anymore.

Somewhere over the past couple of years the vacation has gotten back on track. The hotel has reopened under new management and everyone has gotten their vacation schedules resynchronized. I haven't joined back in on the reindeer games because I have permanently attached myself to someone who hates the beach and also there's the little thing about the wicked stepmother. So I've instead opted that my vacations consist of tagging along on business trips, hopefully somewhere that gambling is legal, and staying drunk for 7 days 6 nights.

But this year wholesome family vacation has found its way back to my life. Not necessarily by design, but it is the end result that matters, right? Remember when I bought all of those timeshare "points"? I got a little a crazy with the points purchasing and as it turns out I am able to go on several deluxe vacations. I picked Myrtle Beach as my first destination, and as luck would have it, the week after 4th of July was the only week available in the big, fancy, new, oceanfront resort. I'll take it. I also decided to burn some points by booking myself into the 4 bedroom presidential room.

And this is where the wholesome family vacation really kicks in. With all that room, I gotta take someone with me. Far be it from me to let a 4 bedroom presidential go to waste. So I'm taking my two god children (ages 6 and 8) and are you ready for this? A French exchange student. Her name is GiGi and she will be meeting us on Sunday and spending the rest of the week with us. Then she'll come home with us and stay the rest of July. What? It was Big Daddy's compromise with me if I didn't get a crack baby.

I've been having a hard time reconciling these maternal feelings that I've been suffering from ever since I turned 30 with the fact that I hate kids. I figure spending my vacation as a mother of three ought to help out with that.

And yes, of course I've prepared for the trip down there by purchasing a new, rather large, gas-guzzling SUV with dvd players and plenty of cargo room for my new brood.

Love Ya'll.

It's June, God Damn It

2007-06-12T11:24:00.000-05:00

There is a lizard living in my garage and it is pretty much ruining my life. I don't do lizards. I really don't do anything except for humans and cute little puppies. And by do I don't mean fuck, I mean, not scared to death of.

I'm thinking of taking up cake decorating as a hobby. I thought it only makes sense since right now my only hobby is cupcakes. Eating not baking.

I need someone to please explain to me Bok Choy Scissorhands' insistence on doing very noisy early morning yard work. If there is something with a loud motor that can be used on the exterior of one's home, ie a lawn mower, weed trimmer, pressure washer, there is an 85% chance that Bok Choy can be found using it outside of my bedroom window around 7 a.m. any day of the week. I wish he would get mono or something.

I've been insisting that the pool be shocked after every time a kid is in it. At first Big Daddy was accommodating, but lately I think he's ready to shock me instead. But children are filthy little varmits and I know that they are sneezing and pissing and snotting all over my beautiful pristine pool and the thought of that makes me want to peel my skin off. The only thing that settles me down a little bit is the thought of high chlorine levels.

Yesterday I went to Dee's house. Despite the fact that she only lives half a mile away, I hadn't been there in months. Apparently she has recently purchased one of those big, huge trampolines with the nets around them and put it in her garage. Now it has become the neighborhood hangout. When I got there, there were about a dozen kids ranging in ages from 3 to 13 rabidly hopping around, screaming, fighting, pouncing and bouncing in that thing while all the mothers sat out in the driveway smoking cigarettes and yapping. After about 3 minutes of all that noise echoing through the garage and into my ears I could feel my ears start to bleed. I said, Can't we put the garage door down? And all the mothers turned and looked at me like I had just confessed to molestation or something. So I just finished my cupcake and left. When I got home I felt like I had just gotten out of loud, shitty concert or off one of those roller coasters where they blare loud rock music the whole time. I'm totally autistic when it comes to noise.

And finally, I've decided soon, very soon, I'll get off my lazy ass and start a new blog. We need a fresh start. Yes, that's what I need to post more.

Family Circle

2007-05-31T12:38:00.001-05:00

I just sent the email telling my dad that I won't be at the big June birthday bash. All three boys and the dad were born in June, throw Father's Day into the mix and suddenly you find a reason for a big party one Saturday in June. It happens every year at my grandparent's place at the river. I used to try to go every year, but I've started skipping it the last two years. My stepmother apparently hates me. The last time we were together, Christmas '05, she didn't speak to me or even make eye contact with me the whole time that Big Daddy and I were there. I don't know what her problem is with me, I really behave myself around her. There has never been any blow ups and really no reason why two adults can't be a little more friendly. But she makes it very apparent that she wishes that I would drop off of the face of the Earth whenever I come around. So I don't come around. The only thing I can think of is she's pissed because I have forgotten her kid's birthday for the last couple of years. But whatever, I make no associations within myself of him being my brother. As far as I'm concerned, he's just some little boy who calls my dad Dad.

I remember when they got married. I got an email that day informing me of the impending nuptials. It was just some random Wednesday afternoon in her living room, not a big affair by any stretch of the imagination. But I wasn't invited, just informed. I had just started dating Big Daddy, and I had checked my email from his house when I got the message. I remember sitting on Big Daddy's couch and crying my eyes out. It is really a wonder that he continued dating me after that. It was like that for the next couple of days. It was as if someone had died. I would be driving in my car or walking through the grocery store and just spontaneously break out into tears. After a few days I pulled myself together and dropped off a wedding gift on their front porch, a picnic basket that cost $75, which was about $70 more than I had to spend at the time. I did the right thing, right?

The problem with me also happens to be my greatest attribute. I always, always, always do the right thing. Well, unless I'm drunk, but that's another post. No matter what the situation is, I can step back, quickly analyze it, project the outcome of options A, B and C and end up making good choices and doing the right thing. Doing the right thing has been good to me and gotten me a good life. But the problem with doing the right thing is I spend 80% of the time being pissed off and disappointed in those around me who can't ever seem to make a good choice or do the right thing. It really does take a toll being perfect.

And since I always do the right thing, instead of being at the annual June birthday bash, I will instead be down at the beach shopping for a new oceanfront condo with my beach Realtor, who also happens to double as my mother. Because apparently the universe was going to insist that I spend the weekend with at least one of my parents.

And one more quick snippet from the "I always do the right thing" files.

You know I'm a gambler. And when I'm not in Vegas or Atlantic City flushing my money down the toilet, my local version of gambling is buying 5 lottery tickets every Tuesday and Friday. Apparently someone in the next county over from where I live, and the county where Big Daddy and I both work purchased a $44 million winning lottery ticket on Tuesday. I was in the bathroom applying deodorant Wednesday morning when Big Daddy came in and announced the news. To which I responded, I wonder if it is anybody that we know. And then simultaneously we both said, I hope not.

So Yeah

2007-05-29T08:24:00.001-05:00

I think we're going to move. I'm not sure where or why, but Stacey Loves Me needs to find a new home. I'm probably being paranoid, but we've been here for almost a year and it is time to move on. A rolling stone gathers no moss after all.

So this is what I need you to do, send me an email at hotlipslovesyou@gmail.com so I can email you the new link. I think I know the four of you, but for those I don't know, there will be a painless security screening and DNA collection (courtesy of pissy).

If Eve would give me a 1/2 day seminar on how to erase half my blog and make this private and make that disappear, then this might not be neccessary, but she is tight lipped about her security secrets. So we'll have to pack our bags like foster children and keep on keeping on.

Thank you.

Fuzzy Wuzzy Was A Bear

2007-05-26T10:11:00.000-05:00

Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy, was he?

Yes, Arcturus, it was one of these in the passenger seat of the Caravan.

I am not sure what has happened to me, but this week I got a serious case of the slackers. I only managed to make it to work three days, and one of those days it was only for a couple of hours. Yesterday I got a call from Dr. M saying that she had a horrible family emergency to attend to so she would be leaving work post haste and joining me in the pool. She doesn't share the same love of floating as I do (I just don't get it) and only dips in the pool quickly to cool off and then immediately climbs back out. So yesterday as I was floating and she was sitting on the side of the pool talking to me, I happened to catch a glimpse of a tuft of yellow pubes poking out of her bikini. Ugh.

People who have the world by the balls and don't seize the opportunity just make me go insane. Dr. M is a case in point. I can't imagine a better scenario than being a hot, blonde doctor (M.D., PhD as she likes to point out). She's 5'9, 125 lbs, C cup boobs, Blonde/blue, nice face, funny, smart, successful, loaded and the bitch doesn't get a bikini wax?!?!? Da fuck?

I give up.

Horse Power

2007-05-24T10:21:00.000-05:00

The other day Big Daddy brought me an Ipod Shuffle. It is tiny and pink and clips onto my shirt. Sadly, the Shuffle has more than enough room for the 150 songs I have on itunes. So there is that.

Please excuse my absence. I've been incarcerated for the last 15 days. I was supposed to do 20 to life, but with good behavior and the terrible problem of jail overcrowding, I got out in just over two weeks. Which is too bad, because if anyone is cut out for a maximum security women's prison, it's me. C'est la vie, I guess.

True Story. Yesterday while driving down the highway at speeds upwards of 62 miles an hour, I began to pass an early '90s Dodge Caravan. As I approached the vehicle from behind I could see something in the passenger seat that was nonhuman, a Golden Retriever I decided. Nay (excuse the pun). As I got closer I saw that it was a not of the canine species at all but a HORSE! A tiny little pony, but a horse nonetheless was riding shot gun in that minivan. Nice. And I thought to myself, Self, if anything brings you out of your self imposed blogging disappearing act, this is it.

I had to take a personal day off from work yesterday and somehow found myself bobbing around my pool solo in a noodle chair. I must have dozed off for a second, but I was soon awakened by the loud slamming of the backyard gate. When I threw my eyes opened I was shocked to find a man standing at the end of the pool watching me. I almost shat my tankini bottoms. It turns out it was the creepy pooper scooper. And the thought crossed my mind, Too bad he's not hot because I think it would be totally fun and B movie to lead his ass inside and fuck him real quick right about now. Luckily (?) he wasn't fuckable.

And I think it is this line of thinking like a man that got me invited to a bachelor party Saturday night. Of course I would be the only woman there, well, that will have her clothes on, well, that will have her clothes on at least until midnight. So yeah, dirty old man, that's me.

And now, because my life doesn't suck, I'm going to go smoke a bowl and bop around in my noodle chair for the next 2 to 3 hours.

Mister Blister

2007-05-08T12:39:00.000-05:00

I have the biggest nastiest blister on the pad of my right index finger (I burnt myself on my crack pipe). It is really getting in the way of how I like to live my life which consists of lots of typing and masturbating. Dr. M keeps telling me that I shouldn't pop it, so I haven't. But God damn.

My life has become a whirlwind of Realtors. I've got two different Realtors in two different cities. What? I need a vacation home. So the hunt is on. Now, normally this type of thing is right up my alley, but this time around I find myself just exhausted. So far nothing makes me happy. The thing is, I already have a pretty nice house. I don't want anything shittier than what I already have. And since I'm willing to add a couple of hundred grand on to the value of this house, I feel as if it should be substantially nicer. But yet, I'm just not finding that.

The other problem is that the Realtor I'm working with in town is way too nice. I like her as a person, but god damn, as a Realtor, I'm sick of her being so upbeat about everything we look at. This hinders my true self quite a bit because after a couple minutes of her sunshiny persona saying how much she loves everything in the room, I feel like a big whiny complainer when I just point out the stuff I don't like about it (and since I'm apparently very picky, that little list can be quite large.) So the last house we went to see I decided to just not say anything at all and just take it all in. So when we left she mistook my lack of complaining for a sign of love and wanted to know if I wanted to write a contract on it. Um, it was built in 1996, has green carpet in the master bedroom and the back splash is tiled with tiles that have veggies painted all over them, what do you think? So yeah, that's when I narrowed my search to built in the last 5 years, but I honestly think it needs to be narrowed even more. Of course she lives in a house that was built in '93, cedar roof and brass fixtures and all, and just doesn't understand my line of thinking. So I think I need to cheat on her with someone cattier, like a gay man. Yes, that's what I need, a gay Realtor!

And Big Daddy, bless his heart, sometimes I wonder how we ended up together since we apparently don't have anything more in common than a shared love for filet mignon and yelling at people. But the other day as we were leaving one of the houses that Ms. Happy Sunshine just got done showing us, we both leaned into each other and simultaneously whispered, Eh Gross, it has an asphalt driveway, and I knew I had found my soul mate.

So there.

Stop The Insanity

2007-05-03T08:57:00.000-05:00

The good news: After only four consecutive days hitting the gym first thing in the morning and eating an apple for lunch, my butt already feels higher. This is good for two reasons. 1) Hopefully it will save me about 10 grand and I'll get to forego that Brazilian Butt Lift that I have convinced myself has become life or death surgery. And 2) at this rate, I'll be ready for that triathlon much sooner than I thought. 2009 instead of 2011, perhaps?

The bad news: I've been suffering from a bad hair day since approximately mid March. This is uncharted territory for me because as I've documented here before, I've got great hair. But a couple of bad choices while sitting in the chair at the salon, and now I'm paying the price. Now you have new insight into my sudden contemplation of going Susan Powter. Because one bad hair choice begets another.

Jesus help me.

My house smells like rotten oranges. This is very perplexing considering the vast amounts of fragrant lilies I have stashed in every corner of the house.

And while I'm busy bitching about my house, the barking dog situation around here has finally pushed me over the edge and driven me to call a Realtor. Or maybe I should just call a canine hit man. But seriously, something's gotta give. On my best day, my sanity is just hanging in there by a thread. When you mix in 5 incessantly barking, howling, yipping dogs, I pretty much end up rocking myself in the corner drooling and talking to Jerry Orbach. (God I miss you, Lenny Briscoe)

I can't complain to the neighbors because for one, I'm a great big pussy when it comes to such things. And for another, I'm somewhat of a hypocrite. I have a big bumbling clumsy puppy that spends a large amount of time out in the backyard. As a matter of fact, I think that's what the three yippers next door are barking at all day. Weather permitting, I throw her out in the backyard while we're at work during the day. It is either that or she sits in her crate in the house all day. God knows she's nowhere near well-behaved enough to run free in the house while no one is home. But here's the thing, she doesn't bark. I swear. She just isn't a barker, I'm not even sure she knows how. I know half of you don't believe me, but trust me, the bitch doesn't bark. So even though she may be the object of the barking, she isn't the actual barker.

So I came up with a plan to send her off to doggie daycare for a month or so, just long enough to establish a pattern of her not being here during the day. Then I could finally send Big Daddy next door to complain without looking like a total hypocrite. That's when I found out that doggy daycare is $25 a day! That's $125 a week! $500 a month! Da fuck? They aren't taking care of a newborn, it's a fucking dog. I could have a convertible for that price. That's when I decided it is probably just cheaper to move.

Triathlons Are For Lovers

2007-05-01T09:17:00.001-05:00

It is fairly obscene knowing how much work I have piled up and waiting for me but yet here I sit blogging. I have so much work to do, in fact, that I took the day off of work to get it done. What's more obscene? There is a very good chance that after I finish this little post that I'll throw on a tankini and float.

I'm in the middle of reading Nutrition for Dummies and I've started hitting the gym every morning again for the first time in a year. Why? Because a very lovely and wonderful yet very obese friend of mine recently told me she was going down to the beach to do a triathlon next month. That's not all, folks. Apparently this will be her fourth in the past year or so. What the fuck? I couldn't do a triathlon if my life depended on it. But yet here is this gal who is almost 100 pounds overweight doing her fourth such event with apparent ease. Or as much ease as you can do a fucking triathlon. Her training regimen? She stops drinking and smoking the month before. Needless to say, that made me pretty much feel like shit about myself. So now I've decided to go all Jackie Warner on your asses.

A fucking triathlon. Give me a break.

This reminds me of the time that my not so smart college roommate entered the PhD program.

All right, bitches, it is time to go float. Maybe I'll even swim a couple of laps to train for the triathlon that I am planning on doing in 2011.

Love,
Sugarfoot

I'm Changing My Name To Sugarfoot

2007-04-30T12:30:00.000-05:00

My friend KT came down from DC this weekend and we hung out yesterday. KT is one of my all time favorite people, but more on that later. Somehow at the end of the day we ended up on the computer looking at Myspace. I totally am not into Myspace and don't get it at all, but KT, being the cool cat that she is, is all about it. So we were at her little page and she was showing me all of her friends and we were clicking this one and clicking that one. She was showing me all the people from high school that she had hunted down and were now her "friends." And so I went around checking out all of my former classmates Myspace pages as well. As it turns out, they all live out west somewhere and all the boys have grown hideous beards. What's up with that?

And I started to reminisce about high school and I had a realization that as horrible as I thought it was at the time, it really wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. There wasn't any Clueless, Means Girls type activities going on. As a matter of fact, my high school was made up mainly of hippies. I find this particularly strange because I didn't go to high school in San Francisco in the '60s but in conservative, suburban Richmond, Virginia in the '90s. But the coolest car you could drive in high school was a Jeep and everyone wore tie dyes and Birkenstocks and smoked weed and listened to the Grateful Dead. This was back when Jerry was still alive. We also had an unusually high lesbian population, but that's another story for another time.

So as I was thinking about this I realized that it wasn't really such a surprise that everyone I went to high school with ended up in Seattle with beards and cool graphic design jobs and Jettas. But it really begged the question as to exactly how and when I decided to open door number two and become a snobby, materialistic yuppie. And I thought if I ever got a Myspace page my caption would have to be, My House Is Bigger.

But whatever, I can think of worse captions.

Love,
Sugarfoot

I Want To Go Outside And Play

2007-04-28T11:25:00.000-05:00

I'm going to cut all of my hair off and bleach it platinum a la Susan Powter. Why not? I've been threatening this for awhile. I'm starting to become the boy who cried wolf. But one day I'll get just bored enough and walk in and say, Take it all off.

I've also been threatening for some time now to get quite a bit of plastic surgery done, but so far, I haven't gone under the knife. I was thinking a boob job, maybe some lipo here and there and if I was feeling froggy a new ass, perhaps. I kept saying I was going to do it for my 30th birthday, because I was convinced 30 was way old and that's when I would need to start the maintenance. But apparently I'm not as old as I thought it was when I was 29, and I can hold off on the extreme makeover for a couple of more years.

I always start to write new posts and then get halfway through or not even and just erase it and go on with my day. It just seems like so much work to get my thoughts across the way I need them to come across so then I just don't bother.

The other night after consuming a little too much tequila at ladies night I thought what a fun place it is to live in my head. I wish I could somehow get all this really funny stuff that floats through my head keeping my cracked up and happy all the time out for the rest of the world, or at least you, to see. But I don't have the tools, and really, I'm afraid it just wouldn't translate. Most of all, I'm selfish and as long as I can entertain myself, I'm too lazy to work hard and to get it out for the rest of yous.

I think ladies night was actually the first time I actually got drunk from tequila. And I don't remember a whole lot. I do remember being fairly rude, though. Imagine that. I told Dr. M that her shoes looked like something that a school cafeteria worker wears. And I am pretty sure I called a few people filthy whores and old bats.

The next day I apologized profusely to Dr. M because she is quickly becoming one of my best friends and she is really too good to me. And I really love her, I do, I do. So what if she wears tapered jeans and makes bad footwear choices, at least she returns the friendship, so I felt like a great big ass. When I told Big Daddy what I said he was genuinely mad and gave me a big, long lecture.

Also, at some point during my drunken tirade after everyone had left except Dr. M and her boyfriend, I confessed my love for the florist. Woopsie. I couldn't help it. I've got it bad. When I went in earlier that day to pick up my latest batch of lilies I could barely look her in her eyes. Also, I finally got her name. I'm not going to share it with you degenerates, instead I'll probably just start referring to her as some obscure constellation or planet or something. I know, Ms. XM Radio.

See, I'm cracking myself up.

Love ya'll.

Froggy Went A Courtin'

2007-04-25T09:37:00.000-05:00

Why is it that every time I turn on the television I see an ad for some new Romantic Comedy with Drew Barrymore as the female lead? Drew is gross. I never got the attraction there. Meg Ryan she is not. Somebody in Hollywood needs to slide over and let me do a little casting.

I think now is the time for me to announce that I am officially the happiest person on Earth now that the sun is consistently shining and my pool is open. As I was spraying myself down with sunblock on Sunday to go outside and scrub patio furniture, the tropical coconut scent of the sunscreen wafted to my nose and I felt my eyes well up. Tears of joy, bitches. If I was smart I'd move off to a tropical island since apparently sun and water is all it takes to make me happy.

I'm so excited because tomorrow I get to go pick up more lilies!

Where There's A Party, There's a Way

2007-04-24T13:55:00.000-05:00

As I think I mentioned here before, just mere days after the scheduled pool opening was the scheduled first ever poolside neighborhood ladies night. And it is well documented here that Hot Lips suddenly has a renewed sense of urgency when there is a party looming overhead. So with Harry busy being a cocksucker, I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands. So I jumped on the internet and quickly began studying up. I now fancy myself a pool repair expert. So first thing Saturday morning Big Daddy and I drained that motherfucker and set out to do our own repairs. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but god damn, we rocked it out. I fixed my own pool! (And by I fixed my own pool, what I really mean is that Big Daddy spent his entire weekend getting burnt to a crisp sweating his ass off and twisting his ankle fixing the pool that he vigorously warned me against getting. But every couple of hours I would stick my head out the door and check on his progress, so let's not split hairs, okay?)

So with little out of pocket expense to myself I was able to get that sweet mama back in action in merely a week. I'm resourceful like that. It took two full days and nights to fill 'er back up, but I'm happy to report that she's wet and clean, just like I like 'em.

I even pitched in on Sunday when it was time to pull all of the pool and patio furniture out and give it a vigorous scrubbing. So now she's all ready for this week's soiree. Keep your fingers crossed that the weather holds out and then maybe Hot Lips will have one less thing to worry about.

The newest addition...

I think this is where I complain about what an expensive pain in my ass this ladies night is turning out to be, but you've heard it all before so I'll instead tell you how I've got a little crush on my florist.

Big Daddy sent me flowers a few weeks ago and in the bouquet were several lilies. And when those things bloomed, they filled my house so aggressively with their lovely fragrance I instantly became smitten. So when that arrangement died, I headed out to the local floral shop and purchased a dozen lilies (stargazers, natch). And for the past six or so weeks this has become a routine of mine. Usually on Thursday or Friday, I've learned that the lily shelf life is approximately one week, I run on over and grab a handful of lilies and let them perfume my house for the next six to eight days. And somehow throughout this process I decided I am truly, madly, deeply in love with the girl that sells me my lilies every week. She's so fucking cute and tan and blonde and her boobies are always in plain view and she brings her dog to work and she has a tongue ring and she makes me laugh. The thing is, I don't want to have sex with her per se, maybe just stare at her all day. And that makes me a creepy old man, doesn't it?

I thought so.

Fabio and Harry, Both Missing

2007-04-20T09:00:00.000-05:00

I had another night full of long intricate dreams. No Fabio this time, though. The dreams consisted of anything from losing one of my gorgeous front teeth, to working at a kiosk in the mall selling knock off designer purses. But the final dream of the night was my favorite. In said dream I bought a house directly across the street from Pissy. Yep, I got me a vacation home in Enterprise, Alabama, the Boll Weevil capital of the world. Holla!

I'm overjoyed to announce that the opening of the pool didn't go so well. Lurking under the spring loaded pool cover were a few pool problems. And of course dealing with crazy Harry is just as impossible as ever. I can't be convinced that that man doesn't have schizophrenia. And I am sure by the time I get done dealing with him I'll either be incarcerated or committed. At one point yesterday I decided that money was no object and I would just call another pool company to come and fix my problems so I would never have to deal with Harry again. Until I started calling the other pool companies and found out that not only could they not get to me until late next month, but they want to charge me $1,500. And see, when I said money was no object, what I really meant was, I'll spend upwards of $500 to fix my problem, not well over a grand to fix something that's under warranty and I shouldn't be paying for anyway. I am, however, on my way to the pool store to pick up a new chlorinator to the tune of $150 even though mine is supposedly under warranty for the next 4 years and 3 months. But I refuse to sit around and wait for Harry's sorry, crazy ass. Time is money, people, and Hot Lips likes to float. Fortunately the $1,500 problem doesn't render the pool unusable, so I'll still be frolicking in the pool while I arm wrestle with Harry about fixing the damn thing all summer.

A show of hands, please. Who else is just totally creeped out by Dr. Robert Rey when they watch Dr. 90210? There is just something not quite right about that man. And his poor, poor wife. Oy vey.

And because I'm a giver, I am gifting you with a photo of my lawn. I know it isn't exactly on the same level as Bok Choy Scissorhands next door, but of all the white people on the street, I've got the best lawn. Not bad for someone who employs two different landscaping companies, eh?

If you look closely you will see the line where Bok Choy Scissorhands' lush emerald green carpet of superhuman Asian grass starts and were my well-manicured normal person lawn ends.

2007-04-19T09:03:00.000-05:00

Last night I had the longest most intricate dream that I was fucking Fabio.

2007-04-15T18:07:00.001-05:00

It's Been 8 Days

2007-04-10T11:30:00.001-05:00

Is there really any point in updating this blog anymore? I mean, when I only do it like once every nine months it just doesn't seem worth it at that point.

So I'm in the midst of a strange week. I took the week off of work. But this time it is different from any other time I took off of work. I closed the office for the week, too. So instead of being off in the sense that I have no appointments scheduled but I'm on the phone with the office 7 hours a day, I am really, truly am off of work. Spring Break if you will. Along those same lines all the usual suspects are either out of town for the week or stuck at home with their bratty kids, which as far as I'm concerned is just like being out of town. Big Daddy didn't take any time off of work so it is just me. I can't say I've ever been in this position before. I'm torn between coming up with a thousand projects for myself and being productive and just not doing a god damned thing and recharging. So far I've been leaning towards the latter. For the last two days I have done nothing but wake up at 11 and then masturbate for an hour.

On Friday I bought Big Daddy a gift certificate to a new store in town for $500. I had heard about this new place and it seemed right up his alley, so at the last minute I decided to purchase him a gift certificate as an Easter present. Then on Easter I reached into my purse to hand him the white envelope with the gift certificate in it, and what do you know, it wasn't there. I lost it. We were out of town at the time so I didn't panic. But when we got home and I looked everywhere and couldn't find it, I did start to panic a little bit. I mean, this was an old fashioned gift certificate, not a gift card, and I hadn't even filled out the To and From yet so I was starting to realize that I was out $500. I called the store and said I had bought the gc on Friday and had subsequently lost it and was just wondering if anyone had turned it in to them or called about it or anything. And the guy who answered the phone said, "Don't worry about it, we'll get you a new one. It was for $500, right? It had to have been, it was the only one we sold that day. We'll just give you a new one." And I was shocked and delighted and strangely humbled all at once. And I felt like an asshole for ever shopping at the likes of Walmart or Target or any other bullshit big corporate store where if you lost a $500 (or a $5) gift certificate they would tell you, Tough shit, Honey. So there you have it, costumer service is not, in fact, dead, just on the endangered species list.

I'm going back to Atlantic City next month. I hit up Barnes and Noble's last night and bought a stack of books on how to gamble. Is that super dorky or what? But I thought maybe if I just read a book or two I might come home with some money this time. Maybe. Of course the chances of me actually reading the books are incredibly slim.

I don't have anything good to say anymore.

Disturbing

2007-04-02T14:20:00.000-05:00

I'm a total and complete mess. I pretty much spend all day either pulling my falling bra straps up or carefully removing pieces of hair from my lipstick. I've gotten to the point where I am totally shameless and no matter the time, place or circumstance will plunge my hands into my shirt to place my bra straps back on my shoulders where (I think) they belong. What the fuck does a girl have to do to keep her fucking over the shoulder boulder holder over the shoulder for chrissakes?? Am I shrinking? What the fuck is going on?

And the other thing is, yes, I'm heavy on the lipstick or lipgloss, whichever the day may bring, but does that mean that I am just locked into a life of my hair blowing around and sticking to my lips? Every day? Every time I leave the house? For the rest of my life? So. Not. Hot.

Poor, poor me.

And today I saw the most disturbing thing.

So, so disturbing. So disturbing, in fact, after seeing it I had to clench my chest and blink wildly and try to regain my composure. Seriously, I was incredibly disturbed by this sighting. I can think of no other word for it than disturbed.

So I'm driving down the road today, starting to slow down as I approach a stop sign when I barely notice this string or rope or branch blowing around in the road in front of me. It is a fairly windy day, just ask all the lipgloss in my fucking hair, so to see trash or whatever blowing around in the road isn't such a big deal. But then as I get closer I start to notice that it is blowing around a little too much to be fueled by the wind. That's when I notice that it is not blowing around at all. Nope. It is slithering. It's a goddamned, motherfucking SNAKE!

I don't think I can even begin to describe the way a snake makes me feel. I am the queen of irrational fears and phobias, but snakes top that list. I can't even look at a picture of one without peeing on myself just a little bit. And this motherfucker was huge. And it was right there in front of me. In a residential neighborhood, nary a pond in sight, and a mere 5 to 7 miles from my house. I swear that was my first thought, Oh, my God! A snake sighting within 50 miles of my house! I'm moving!

But it doesn't end there, hotties, oh no it doesn't. Apparently a car that had reached this particular stretch of road just mere moments before me had run over the latter half of said snake. Remember, this is a big 'un. And that fucking thing was split open with bloody snake guts spread out over the roadway as the top half of it was slithering with all it had. By now I had passed it and was watching it try to pull itself to the side of the road in vain because the smooshed half was embedded in the black top, through my rear-view mirror.

Now, you would think that seeing that helpless creature fighting for its life, which would no doubt soon be over thanks to a bloody violent death, might give me pause to rethink my hatered for all things scalely. Or at least feel the tiniest bit of compassion for another living thing that was suffering.

But not Hot Lips.

There's an icebox where my heart used to be.

I felt my time and efforts would be better served throwing my car into reverse and cackling like a mad scientist than feeling compassion towards a humongous copperhead.

(Trust me. My actual dead snake was way grosser.)

And the only thing more disgusting than the above photograph, ladies and gentlemen, is the current smell of my sweaty feet.

Thank you.

I need a Ginkgo

2007-03-29T09:51:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-03-28T18:50:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-03-26T18:20:00.001-05:00

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

2007-03-22T23:14:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-21T10:14:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-19T14:04:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-13T19:42:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-12T12:01:00.000-05:00

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?!

2007-03-11T17:09:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-01T21:27:00.000-05:00

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.

CREATIVE LICENSE

2007-02-28T10:18:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I saw a little blue VW Bug on the back of a tow truck and I thought to myself, Well, Pissy must have not paid her car payment again.

And then I saw a Honda Odyssey with license plates that said MOMBUS and I threw up in my mouth a little.

And while we are on the topic of license plates, I saw a Jeep this morning with license plates that said BLUMPKN

For those of your not in the know:

blumpkin
English

Noun
When fellatio is performed while the recipient is defecating on a toilet.
So there you have it. It is taken in Virginia, but for my out of state readers, you might want to see if it is available where you live.

Holla at your girl!

Why don't I have anything to blog about anymore? I am so boring and lame. I need to have an affair and develop a drug problem. Or hit the lottery. Depending on the jackpot amount that would make for some pretty interesting blog entries.

So today I will do some accounting type stuff, get a pedicure, eat a piece of chocolate cake, watch some Tivo'd nonsense (I can't get enough of Discovery Health these days) and spend inordinate amounts of time in front of the mirror marveling at how my new hairstyle makes me look younger. And let me tell ya, as an old 30-year-old battle axe, I'll take take all the help I can get.

Battle Axe, I like that. I might have to change my name. Or at least get that on my license plate.

Picture it: BATL AX or BTTL AXE or BATTL AX, so many possibilities, really.

An Odyssey Of Stereotypes

2007-02-20T20:54:00.000-05:00

I just got lucky enough to hear good music everywhere I went today, all day long. I even had the good fortune to shake my bon bon to a little Samantha Fox I Want To Have Some Fun.

Now, you guys know that I don't like to brag, but I've got to toot my own horn for a minute. I'm a pretty open minded gal, accepting and loving of all God's creatures no matter their size, shape or color. I try very hard not to make sweeping over generalizations about a certain group of people based on their race, color or creed. Even though my beloved family dog was viciously run over by a car full of Ukrainian midgets, I in no way hold that against the Ukrains or our smaller statured friends.

But I'm afraid nobody is perfect. Not even Hot Lipz (ya'll might want to do a screen cap of that last sentence because I can't imagine I'll leave it up for long). And even though I am open to those around me, I have to admit that I do hold a couple of broad stereotypes and will go to my grave vowing that truer words were never spoken. The first is that all Russian women are whores and the second is that all doctors are arrogant bastards.

And then today as I'm driving down the street being cut off by some cunt in a Honda Odyssey minivan with a George W. Bush bumper sticker, I quickly added a third to that list. Everyone who drives a Honda Odyssey minivan is a fucker.

Ya'll can quote me on that.

I'm serious as a heart attack. I quickly started thinking of everyone I knew that drove a stupid Odyssey and I soon realized that I had a deep seated hatred for all of them. And they all had something in common. They all take themselves way too seriously, which is mighty awful when you are already a great big douchebag.

Quick. Do it. It is like Six Degrees To Kevin Bacon, once you start, you won't be able to stop. Think of everyone you know who drives a gay Odyssey. They are fuckers, aren't they?

I knew it.

And for those of you who still don't believe me, I found photographic proof of this theory.

See, all fuckers.

The Ides Of February

2007-02-15T19:46:00.000-05:00

First and foremost, I think it is crucial that you know that I am suffering from salmonella poisoning. I wish I were just trying to be funny. The source: peanut butter. Delicious, creamy Peter Pan.

I had big plans to do a little Stacey Loves Me Two Year Anniversary Retrospective yesterday, but alas, I failed you. The good news, you should be getting used to it by now.

I think the fact that I started my blog on Valentines Day is a tiny little indication of how I'm the least romantic lady on earth. I'm such a guy in that department. I really can't even remember celebrating a Valentine's Day before.

But now, as a married woman, it isn't just about me anymore. I have a husband to take care of. So I wrote a little poem (Here's a little excerpt:
Dear honey,
I love you more than money,
Even if you were poor,
I'd still be your whore.
I love your sexy body,
Even when you are sitting on the potty,
I still think you are a hottie)
I filled the bathtub with bubbles and rose petals, made chocolate covered strawberries, and then somehow got stuck babysitting Dee's two bad kids all evening. Now that's Romance!

Try not to be jealous.

And if any of you have any birthdays, anniversaries or special occasions coming up and you want me to write a romantic poem for you, just let me know!

As it seems, celebrating Valentine's Day is not the only change that matrimony will bring to Hot Lips' life. There are a few more changes coming our way, including but not limited to: the building of a new house (so if any of you have any swamp land you want to sell me, now's the time), extrication from my job (just as soon as I learn how to quit a job when you own the company, until then, I'll just have to cut back my hours) and maybe, if I play my cards right, the adoption of a disadvantaged, black youth.

God Damn Motherfucking Son of a Bitch

2007-02-13T20:15:00.000-05:00

My internet has been down for almost two days. At the office. And. At home.

God damn. It is driving me to drink.

It took me until almost 9 o'clock at night to figure out to just break out the laptop and jump on a neighbor's unsecured wireless connection.

I was really going to write you a long post telling Monk how Artie sucked and telling Echo my 6 weird things and telling Pissy about my impromptu wedding to Wayne Newton.

But instead I've lost my vigor.

And my vim, too.

I've got a busy day tomorrow and none of it involves cupid or chocolate or rose petals or Halmark. Whaaaa. It does involve stupid people, though.

All righty then.

I love ya'll.

What Happens In Vegas...

2007-02-11T18:52:00.000-05:00

I'm back.

Thank God.

Of course I had a great time, but I learned that nine days in Las Vegas is about four or five days too many. But all of that time allowed me to sleep a lot, eat a lot, see a lot of good shows, drink a lot, gamble a lot and shop a lot. I wasn't prepared for the shopping in Vegas to be so good. I found a Coach outlet that brought me to tears. The poor little gay sales boy had to help me to my feet when I fell to my knees sobbing and clutching half-price designer purses and wallets like a crazed lunatic.

I love to exploit those with insecurities about their financial status, especially those who are clawing their way to upperclassdom from regularclassdom. Case in point, one of Big Daddy's friends that flew up from Arizona to play with us for a few days. I had never met him before and didn't particularly love him once I did. He's a young guy and nice enough, but still apparently reveling in the newness of his recent business successes so that you have to hear about it every five seconds. If you see a car you like and point it out, he, of course, is just about to buy one. If you mention an exotic tropical island that you would like to visit, he, of course has been there a thousand times before. You know the type. So anyway, unfortunately for him, I had about four margaritas in the hotel bar while waiting for him to arrive from the airport, and then a couple more while listening to him regale us with stories of being wooed by various pit bosses to come back and stay at their hotel/casinos the next time he was in town. Hot Lips had heard enough.

If nothing else, my one gift in this world (other than my great hair, tits and sense of humor) is I can read (most) people like open books. It is really more a curse than a gift, but in this instance let's call it a gift, mkay? It doesn't take me more than a minute or two from meeting someone before I can basically read their minds, which is what makes me such a personality snob, but I digress. This little gift comes in handy in my job, and it comes in handy on a daily basis when I need to relate to people and make them like me. But other than that, I try to be a responsible superhero and keep it tucked away where it can't hurt anybody. Unless of course I've been drinking, then I can't be held responsible for the ways in which this little gift rears its ugly head. You see, when you can read someone's mind, it is very, very easy to manipulate them into doing whatever you want them to do.

So yeah, Mr. Jim started a little business about five years ago that's now worth a couple of million bucks and I'm assuming he grew up poor, because it was very, very important to him to make sure everyone knew he was sitting on a little cash. I truly believe that he didn't mean to brag, he just very obviously drew his self worth from his bank statement.

When you can read people's minds it is very annoying most of the time. But you know what's even more annoying? When your dumb boyfriend just totally feeds into it. So, so annoying. And then drunk Hot Lips has to entertain herself at others' expense (excuse the pun).

So I had Mr. Jim take us to one of the casinos that was supposedly romancing him for his business, where I made several new friends, all funny little men that were in town for one business reason or another. So as Big Daddy and Mr. Jim were off doing "rich" man things in the casino, I was floating from table to table collecting friends. When I finally met back up with them, I had five new male friends in tow, and I was demanding we go to a titty bar.

Mr. Jim was, after all, a self proclaimed Mr. Vegas, so certainly he would not only be up for it, but know the best place to go. So I told Mr. Jim to go get us a car while we all cashed in our chips (this was one of the few nights I didn't lose everything I came with). And when we met him out front, just as I knew he would, Mr. Jim had secured us the biggest stretch Hummer limo I had ever seen. My five new friends, who are apparently easily impressed, kept oohing and ahhing and profusely thanking Mr. Jim, meanwhile, I just tried to stifle my evil laugh.

When we arrived at the gentlemen's club, my five new friends all started to reach in their pockets for their wallets, and I just did a little covert hand motion telling them to leave their wallets in their pockets, while, you guessed it, Mr. Jim paid the $30 cover charge for the 8 of us. I had a great time with my new friends, Rick, Eric, John, Ben and Matt in the $600 an hour VIP room running up a four-digit bar tab that Mr. Jim was more than happy to whip out his AMEX and pay for. And as the sun was starting to come up, we all climbed back in the same stretch Hummer and were dropped off at our respective hotels. I'm no mathematician, but I'd have to estimate that Mr. Jim dropped a minimum of $5,000 on me and my new friends that night.

The next morning (or afternoon as it were) Big Daddy said to me, You know, that really wasn't nice what you did to Mr. Jim. My response, Whatever, he had something to prove, so I let him prove it.

So you see, I'm not manipulative, I was just performing a public service.

I just so happened to fall in love with a stripper that night, like real, true love. But I'll save that story for another time.

So yeah, I had fun in Vegas, but I'm happy to be back.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I also accidentally got married in Vegas, too.

Love ya!

Today Is The Day Is The Day Is The Day

2007-02-06T11:52:00.000-05:00

Last night I got stuck at a formal dinner with a bunch of people who aren't as cool as me and the only way I knew how to deal was to drink too much and make fun of them in my head. So that's exactly what I did.

Of course a couple more drinks and the making fun of wouldn't have been contained solely in my head. So I gotta predict I got out of there in the nick of time. (Is that how you spell that? Nick of time? It doesn't seem right, but what do I know?)

On a scale of 1 to 10, my hair was a 78.

If I had to guess, I'd say I'm only down somewhere in the $500 - $700 range, which if you'll recall the little algebraic equation down below, ain't too shabby.

We've got some more friends flying in today to spend the last few days with us.

Celebrity sightings:
Artie Lange
Todd Newton
MC Hammer

Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go shave my legs so I can take over the world.

Where's My French Toast?

2007-02-03T12:03:00.000-05:00

Although I brought my laptop with me, it has refused to sign on the internet while I'm here, so I've been doing all my internetting from a friend's computer. As such, I've been hesitant to blog for fear that the blog's address will remain in the history and so the next time they go to type in something starting with an S- T my lovely blog will pop up. Ya'll know I'm in hiding. But I'm throwing caution to the wind to update my hotties on my daily goings on.

Due to prior engagements and obligations, I'm on my own today. I was on my own for half of yesterday as well and I used the time wisely to wander around Ceasar's Palace completely lost while alternately text messaging Joe and Sarah. I managed to find the mall in Ceasar's and ultimately purchased 4 more pairs of shoes. One of which I'm taking back if I can ever find my way back to that god damned store again because apparently they cost $395. Those sneaky devils at the shoe store never told me my total, it never even came up on the cash register. They are just a pair of Donna Karan flip flops that never occurred to me would be more than $100 so I never bothered to flip them over and look at the price tag. So imagine my surprise when I ran across the receipt last night. Those fuckers are crazy. This is Vegas Baby and $395 means approximately 2.5 hours at the $10 roulette table.

I have many activities for tonight and I'm half inclined to just sit around the room being slothlike and saving my energy for tonight. As it is, I'm sitting here waiting for my French toast to arrive via room service. Holla! And a side of bacon, so there. But I digress. I am flip flopping between thinking there is so much to do and see and I've got to get out there and pack it all in and whatever, I've still got 6 more days to see all that shit. The time change is starting to fuck with me because no matter how late I stay up the night before, my body is still getting me up around 5 or 6 a.m. because as far as it is concerned, it is like 9 in the morning. And west coast, east coast, Pacific, Eastern, Hot Lips just does not do 6 a.m. very well.

Where's my French toast?

So I'm thinking I need to go to the Palms if I want to see any celebrities. But I think I'd rather go to Mandalay Bay and see the shark exhibit. And I'll buy some postcards today. Raise your hand if you want a postcard.

Who can tell me how to erase a computer's history?

Seriously, Where's my French toast?

UPDATE:

There it is

Taking Over The World, Fuckers

2007-02-01T00:23:00.000-05:00

I finally picked up a pair of red shoes today. They aren't exactly what I had in mind, but eventually my laziness won out over my desire to find the perfect pair of red shoes. But for what it's worth, I did find the perfect red sweater as a consolation prize. I also submitted myself to several beautifying procedures so that I can look my very best while taking over of the world.

So I guess since I leave to take over the world first thing tomorrow morning, I should finally break down and tell you what exactly I'll be doing.

In an effort to take over the world, I will be leaving tomorrow for a minimum of 4 weeks while I compete in the upcoming season of Survivor: Pulua Islands.

Just kidding.

Really I'll be tying the knot in what has recently become the hottest thing in matrimony: a destination wedding.

Um, kidding again.

I'm actually going to Malawi to adopt a little orphanage-bound boy, so that I can finally fill this big empty house with the laughter and love of a child.

Tee Hee Hee.

Would you believe a yoga retreat?

No?

Okay, how about a scrapbooking weekend in the mountains?

You aren't buying that either, huh?

How about if I tell you people that you mean so god damned much to me, that despite having several hours of packing to do and only 6 hours before I leave for the airport to go to Las Vegas for the next 9 days while I stay in a suite overlooking the strip, front row seats to Artie Lange, UFC 67 and Cirque de Soleil, an invite to an invitation only party at Pure Nightclub (and for those of you not intimately familiar with pinkisthenewblog or Perez Hilton, Pure is where Britney Spears passed out on New Year's Eve, duh) and because I'm a baller and limos are cheap in Vegas, going everywhere not in walking distance in the backseat of a black stretch limo for the entire 9 days, I'm sitting here updating this silly blog to entertain the 4 of you instead of preparing for the next 9 days of drinks, gambling, sex, gambling, partying, gambling and new shoes.

So there. I must really love you guys.

Arcturus, you are smart, maybe you can help me with this algebraic equation that I've been working on...

Solve for Y

If 4 Days x Atlantic City = $4,000 gambled away into oblivion

then

9 days x Las Vegas x Super Bowl weekend = Y

I keep coming up with $983,230,831 gambled away into oblivion. That can't be right, can it?

Big Daddy bought me this cute little (emphasis on little) Kate Spade for my birthday. His reasoning was that I wouldn't, couldn't or shouldn't lug around my huge behemoth of a Coach ~~overnight bag~~ purse while flitting about the casinos. I needed something more practical and compact. He was very, very proud of himself for actually thinking a gift out and not just calling up Circuit City and having them deliver whatever they had just gotten in that morning. But now I'm used to lugging around a purse that could easily fit two contortionist midgets and a litter of puppies. Even after scaling down, I need at least two of those damn things. So then I just got this bright idea. I would just put tiny little micro purse inside of giant big mama purse and take them both. And when I need to go flit around the casino, I can leave giant big mama purse in the room and just carry tiny little micro purse.

But then I made the mistake of reading the airline baggage policy. Holy mother of Jesus are we going to have an interesting time. First of all I can only take 2 checked suitcase?!?!! Da fuck? So far I've got one packed and I've only scratched the surface. It doesn't stop there. Nope, not only can I only take two, but apparently they can't weigh over 50 lbs. I put my one measly packed bag on the scale and it weighed, I shit you not, 49.5 pounds. Then there is the little issue of the carry ons. You are allowed one carry on and one personal item, ie, diaper bag, purse, briefcase, laptop. Well, I've got a carry on, a laptop and a purse. I'm pretty sure that I can get away with that if I just take tiny little micro purse, but there is no way I'll get away with it if I try to take giant big mama purse. Oh the trials and tribulations of being a woman with accessories aplenty.

Odds are I'll have to buy an extra ticket so I can check two more suitcases and carry one extra carry on.

You know I'll do it.

I Suck And I'm Boring, Sue Me

2007-01-30T22:40:00.000-05:00

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.

Footwear, Etc

2007-01-28T14:53:00.000-05:00

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.

Choose Your Own Blog Title

2007-01-25T15:32:00.001-05:00

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.

Who Got A Lot Of Flowers For Her Birthday?

2007-01-20T12:22:00.000-05:00

Me, that's who.

It Was Bound To Happen Sooner Or Later

2007-01-18T10:03:00.000-05:00

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

Happy MLK Day, Fuckers

2007-01-15T10:29:00.000-05:00

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.

Tight Lipped

2007-01-13T19:07:00.001-05:00

My nipples have rug burn.

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

9 Days

2007-01-09T10:23:00.000-05:00

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.

I Piss Excellence

2007-01-08T10:13:00.000-05:00

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.

I Put The F - U In Fun

2007-01-03T17:37:00.001-05:00

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.

Now That's Clean Livin' Right There

2006-12-29T13:15:00.000-05:00

I just went out to get a Coke from the fridge in the garage and for some reason when I opened the door to the fridge I chuckled. So I decided to take a picture of the contents of my garage fridge and post it for my Hotties. It is just a thousand drinks of all kinds and a huge thing of mushrooms, but god damn I think it's funny. Who's thirsty?

I've Decided

2006-12-29T12:32:00.001-05:00

I've decided no resolutions this year.

I've also decided that as long and lovely as my hair is, it is time to chop it all off. I'm even pondering the switch back to redheadeddom.

And finally, I've decided that Lasik surgery is in my near future.

Oh all right, one more.

I have also decided that I will no longer harbor any hostility towards my mother. I woke up in the middle of the night with this realization. Around 2 a.m. this morning I attributed this decision to my impending birthday and growing older and wiser. But now that I am fully awake I think it was more a combination of reading One More Day yesterday and the handful of narcotics I took before bed. Whichever reason, I've decided to let that bird fly the coop.

So yeah, new hair and new eyes in '07.

I've been very slothlike this past week, lounging on the couch and watching dozens upon dozens of movies. I think I've spent a combined total of about 287 hours bubble bathing. It has been great. I haven't been this relaxed in a long time.

Last night I was reading through the old blog looking for a particular post I wanted to show Arcturus. I couldn't remember what month or even season I had posted it in, so I just had to read through a bunch of shit and I came to the conclusion that this time last year I was a much better blogger. What a difference a year makes. My poor, poor reader.

PS - What are the chances that I could get all of you fuckers to switch to the new blogger so I could once again resume leaving comments? And just say no to word verification, it's for pussies.

Just A Little Holiday Message From Me To You

2006-12-26T22:48:00.000-05:00

I'm swear, I'm updating very, very soon.

The Mail Man Was Kind

2006-12-22T15:59:00.000-05:00

He just delivered a sack of bills, Christmas cards and gift cards from relatives from the W-V who won't see me this year. They include Sears, Gap and Lands End. What the fuck is Lands End? It sounds lame. Who wants it? Tomorrow we'll give away Sears.

Ricky Bobby

2006-12-22T13:26:00.000-05:00

Yesterday began my 6 day vacation. At the end of said 6 days, I will return to work for 2 days and then begin a 5 day vacation. At least that's the way it is planned, whether or not it works out that way has yet to be seen.

Meanwhile Stacey is off somewhere having lots of sex with some man who is not her husband. And since unfortunately Snarls is her husband, we shall not condemn her.

I've got a new cleaningperson scheduled to arrive tomorrow. And get this, he's a he. I just hope he cleans as well as he talks dirty.

As such I'm spending my second day of vacation furiously cleaning in preparation for his arrival. We must put our best foot forward after all.

Last night I treated myself to a new winter coat (40% off, bitches), a new suit, and handful of new jeans, sweaters and blouses. Today I think Hot Santa Lips will bring me new shoes. It just feels like a new shoes day to me. I have a couple of last minute Christmas gifts to buy, but I know exactly what they are and where to get them so it is no biggie.

My family will arrive late tomorrow and then the fun begins.

I've arranged for a small, teeny, tiny little meet and greet of the family with some of my more intimate friends on Christmas Eve where there will be finger foods, and depending on the weather, a fire in the outdoor fire pit. I've already warned all the invitees that I will not be myself. There will be no cussing, no dirty stories, no drunkenness. In other words, no fun. But we mustn't give my fragile grandparents a heart attack.

Also in preparation for my grandparents arrival I have been raiding all the local home health supply stores. Those of you who have been paying attention know that my poor little grandpa is an amputee and doesn't get around very well. Which sort of make me a shithead for insisting that he leave his comfortable, well-equipped home to spend the holidays in a non-handicap accessible place. But those of you who have been paying attention also know that it is all about me so that doesn't really matter. But in order to make his stay a little more comfortable I have become the new owner (at least for the next week) of a potty chair, a power scooter and a lift chair. I've even rented a minivan for the week so as to transport the whole family and the power scooter around.

Now, if you don't mind, I've got a linen closet to organize.

I Put The Ass In Class

2006-12-20T22:16:00.000-05:00

And I put the Cuervo Gold in these margaritas.

I've recently decided to try new shit, which so far has only resulted in menu selections i.e. the talapia I got the other night.

Tonight it meant margaritas instead of diet coke per usual.

Which is a strange choice for a girl like me. And now I think I need to get my tonsils removed.

I think my date was a little embarrassed when I told our waitress to get my lobster entree away from me because it smelled like fried ocean ass.

But then I tipped her $28 so I'm sure she doesn't give a shit what I said to her. Or that I stuck my tongue in her ear.

Next I think I'll conquer Merlot.

To Apease The Masses

2006-12-20T10:33:00.000-05:00

One - Two

These are both real, 10 foot spruce trees. Or are they Douglas Firs? What the hell do I know? Anyway, they are both decorated in beach themed ornaments, glass flip flops, Hawaiian shirts, margarita glasses, flamingos, seashells, you get the idea.

In keeping with the beach theme...we have tree number three

What? It has lights and ornaments so it counts.

Four

This is the most pitiful, but it has the most room under it so it gets the majority of gifts beneath it.

Five and Six are on the front porch (remember my QVC impulse buy?) but I couldn't get them in the same picture so you are just going to have to take my word for it. Here, see if you can find them in this pic, they are sort of hidden behind the columns.

As a consolation prize I give you my more traditionally decorated foyer.

Merry Christmas, Kids.

Deck the Halls, Homies

2006-12-19T11:37:00.000-05:00

Where the hell have I been? Sheesh.

I'm happy as a clam with the weather, or lack thereof as Arcturus would say. And surprisingly, despite the utter lack of frigid temps and snow, I've never been more in the Christmas spirit.

Well, let me back up a little. I'm not sure I even know what the Christmas spirit is. And if Jesus really is the Reason for the Season, then I'm not in the Christmas spirit. So I guess I should say I've never been less of a grinch. Yes, much better.

This year rates lowest on the grinchometer than any previous year.

I would like to attribute this to two facts...

1) the weather. I'm sorry, but these mild, sunny, mid-70 degree days have put a spring in my step and a calmness and patience dealing with all these Christmas crazies the likes of which Hot Lips has never experienced before.

and

2) the fact that I dug in my heels and refused with more gumption than I have ever refused anything before to go to hell's armpit for Christmas.

This will be the first time in my whole entire life that I have not traveled to West Virginia to spend Christmas with my family at my grandparents' house. I'm not sure what took me so long to take this stand. And honestly, between me and all three of you, I would have given in if they had refused more vigorously than I refused. But I talked my family into coming here, at least a few key members, and I will be the Christmas hostess with the mostess.

It seems that with this undertaking I would be more stressed than normal, but nay, this is not the case. First of all, I'm using this as the perfect excuse to cross about 20 nogoods off my list. If you ain't coming to my house and breaking bread with me this holiday season, then I'm not buying you a damn thing. My money will stay snug in my bank account exactly where God intended it to be and not in the cash registers at Target, or Dillards, or Costco, etc etc.

I am also not buying for Big Daddy's family this year. I just decided not to. No hard feelings, but well, Hot Lips doesn't want to.

I even sent my dad an email and said let's skip the gifts this year. A few years ago I would have never done this because as a man with plenty of money who hates to shop, my Christmas gift was always a beautiful, fat check. But since he's remarried and my stepmonster has taken over the gift purchasing the beautiful, fat checks have turned into dumb Old Navy Sweatsuits and S'mores makers. And I'm sorry, but I'm a busy woman and it is a waste of my precious time to even sit down and take the time to open a Santa-themed dish towel set.

I even told Dee that I wasn't buying for her kids this year. Nothing personal, I just don't wanna.

So now my Christmas list looks something like this

Mother
Aunt
Grandmother
Grandfather
2 godkids
Dee's kids
All of Big Daddy's family
2 dozen random aunts, uncles and cousins I only see at Christmas

I literally eliminated a good 35 people off of my Christmas list.

And god damn I'm a happy camper.

I know you are all busy saying, But Hot Lips, you are sounding more grinchlike, not less.

And so I guess this is the point where I point out all the Christmas like things I have done. You've all been witness to the gayety of my outdoor decorations, and I assure you that the inside is no less gay. I have, count them, 6 Christmas tress. Oh yes I do! And they are all fabulous in their own little way. I finally mailed off my 75 Christmas cards. And those are all personal cards, the business cards are a whole other discussion altogether. I even hung up stockings this year.

Oh! And I finally learned the difference between a Christmas Open House and a Christmas Party. Big Difference. From here on out until the end of time, Hot Lips will only attend Open Houses from now on where she can casually come and go as she pleases.

Life's a beach, boys and girls.

And finally, Arc, I wasn't trying to be mean, per se, but you gotta admit, there is a striking resemblance.

Do Work

2006-12-18T16:28:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry, but I love, with all of my heart, Rob & Big. I've often joked that the only thing I need to add to my stable of hired help is a security guard and a driver. But seriously, I think I need to get me a Big Black. I wouldn't mind getting me a Rob either, but he would only be one time use considering he's about 5'4, 145. God damn I love them. When I die, I want to come back as Meaty.

Another One Bites The Dust

2006-12-11T19:16:00.001-05:00

What do you cats want to talk about?

I'm a little disappointed to find out from the entry and subsequent comments below that Joe is the only one buying me a Christmas gift. But if there are enough carats involved I suppose it will make up for the rest of you wankers.

And well, I think I'll have to just buy myself a Christmas present this year. A Brazilian butt lift.

And I know I am like super duper late to the game, but I bought Da Ali G show Seasons 1 and 2 on DVD and seriously laughed until my bladder exploded. If anyone out there hasn't experienced the ironic hilarity of it all, please, please I implore you to run to Target and check it out. I'll even front you the 40 clams if I need to. And of course, I like totally want to fuck Sacha Baron Cohen now.

Speaking of fucking, I partied like it was 1999 this weekend. And that's all I'm going to say about that. I think I need to start doing blow. That's rock and roll, right? Because can I really say I partied all weekend when I didn't do any drugs? I'm such a poser. I'm going to become a druggie if it is the last thing I do.

One of my oldest and dearest friends got engaged this weekend. I thought she was going to be forever single (by choice) but apparently I was wrong. And I'm totally disgusted. Like gag me with a spoon. Seeing her engaged has me convinced just about more than anything that I'm old. Old, old, old. I can't believe she said yes, that cunt.

But screw her, I've got cocaine addiction to look forward to.

Fa La La La La

2006-12-08T12:29:00.000-05:00

Because I couldn't find any brave young men to go up on my roof to string Christmas lights, it was only the lower level that got adorned. And as such, my three-story house looks like a rancher. The top half is totally ignored, neglected and naked.

So I'm all Merry Christmas on the outside and not a stitch of holiday cheer on the inside. So this weekend it is my goal to address the holidays. I will fill out and address and mail all of my Christmas cards, purchase and decorate a tree, wrap gifts and bake a gingerbread house. Of course I'm lying about that last thing, but it just seemed to fit.

I'm having a little office Christmas cocktail party tomorrow for which a new outfit will be purchased tonight. I've got my eye on this. At least the shirt. The pants aren't really doing it for me. And of course it will look exactly like that on me as it does on that model. (Now, you guys might want to start backing up before the lightening bolts start showering down.)

I also plan on some obnoxiously big hair.

It's as cold as a witch's tit outside today. It is supposed to be more of the same tomorrow. But it is supposed to start to warm up on Sunday and be in the mid 60s all next week. And that's nice, right? If I can somehow talk Mother Nature (or should I talk to Mother Earth? Or Father Time?) into letting that trend continue through Christmas then I would dance a little jig.

Now, what are you guys buying me for Christmas?

PS - I think one of my light up reindeer is pregnant.

For Snarls

2006-12-08T09:00:00.001-05:00

To The Left

2006-12-07T11:06:00.000-05:00

This getting dark at 4:15 shit is really throwing me off my game. You here at StaceyLovesMe know how Hot Lips hates change. Or whatever.

I know that some of you may want to shoot me for saying this, but I'm really ready for summer. Fo rizzle. I want to open up that fancy swimmin' hole of mine and give my scary twisty water slide another try. I want to wear nothing but a tankini most days, and I want to get a tan, a really good, deep, golden, malignant melanoma tan. Which reminds me of a summer a couple of years ago, well, probably more like 4, when I lived at the neighborhood pool just about every day. I got so motherfucking tan. I didn't know I could get that dark, but apparently I can. I was also rocking the long black hair then, and I was mistaken for Puerto Rican more than a few times that summer.

So yeah, summer. I'm making this solemn vow to my hotties right now. From now on I will cut back my hours to part time during the summer months. I will not let another summer, my most favorite season, go by in a pissy, stressed-out blur. I promise to spend an equitable amount of pool hours to work hours. I vow to take up drinking margaritas and to throw a pool party to mark each month of summer. I also promise to see the ocean a minimum of three times each and every summer. There is absolutely no excuse to live within a stones throw of the god damn motherfucking ocean and yet never worship at its altar. And finally, I vow to dance. At the grocery store, on the side of the road, in the chair at the dentist's office, wherever the mood may strike me.

Will someone please remind me of this post around mid May? Thank you.

Is there anything more annoying than a new mother? Didn't think so.

So my new jam for the past couple of days has been Beyonce's Irreplaceable.

To the left, to the left
Everything you own in a box to the left

I listened to it over and over again on my way in to work this morning singing my little heart out each time. I dedicated all of my performances to Snarls*. On about my 33rd performance, I had choreographed a little dance sequence to go along with my beautiful vocals whereupon I would point to the where all of Snarls' boxes are over in the left corner.

The chorus:

You must not know 'bout me
You must not know 'bout me
I could have another you in a minute
Matter of fact he'll be here in a minute
You must not know 'bout me
You must not know 'bout me
I'll have another you by tomorrow
So don't you ever for a second get to thinking you're irreplaceable

But my favorite part is when she tells him
Keep talking that mess, that's fine
But could you walk and talk at the same time

He he he. That crazy Beyonce! She's so sassy!

Love ya'll.

*Snarls is Stacey's (soon to be ex, although he doesn't exactly know it yet) husband.

S'up Fuckers?

2006-12-06T11:04:00.000-05:00

I have so much shit to do. It is mostly semi fun shit, or at least not horrible shit, just do a lot of shopping, decorate for the holidays and the usual bank and post office type errands, but God damn am I feeling lazy. Well, the word "feeling" wasn't exactly necessary in that last sentence.

I just got an e-mailed invitation to a New Year's Eve party and before I considered the invite I scoured all the other e-mail recipients to see who else might be in attendance because I'm a big snob. And it is this snobbiness that will land me spending my golden years old and alone, but I'm sort of okay with that. Sometimes it can be a curse knowing that you are better than everyone else. Right, Stacey?

Today is the day of invites because I just got invited to the $1 couch Christmas party next weekend. I think I'll be skipping that this year. I did my time.

And speaking of my snobbiness, remember when I was in Atlantic City and got suckered into buying that timeshare? He he he. Well I finally sat down with the timeshare catalog and planned out '07's destinations. And I ended up booking a couple of 3 and 4 bedroom condos because, well, I apparently bought way more "points" than any normal person needs and therefore needed to burn them up on the 4 bedroom presidentials and this way I can take some people with me. Who, I don't know yet, that's the fun part. I will just spend the next 6 months secretly auditioning people. So Liz, you better be on your best behavior.

What the hell is taking so long to find that poor man lost in Oregon? I mean, my God, it is 2006, shouldn't we be like 20 years past people getting lost in the wilderness?

I've Become One Of Those People

2006-12-04T11:54:00.000-05:00

So I'm almost certain that I reached the pinnacle of crazy, nosey, boring, pathetic old ladydom on Friday night. I had that realization around 10:00 p.m. when I was not only home, but crouched in a dark room with the window cracked straining to hear the goings on at the party next door being thrown by my 16-year-old neighbor.

A wise person once told me that life is just a series of high highs and low lows and well, I guess you can guess which one I have labeled Friday night.

My neighbors to the left are very nice people. They are friendly enough and always wave and speak if we find ourselves outside together, but otherwise they mind their own business. And that's the sort of thing that I really appreciate. They are very religious and have a handful of kids, the oldest of which is in charge of babysitting all the younger ones most of the time while the parents are out working long shifts.

It is a beautiful day on Friday. It really capped off a lovely week of beautiful, sunny days in the '70s. It was quite a way to start out December, I'm telling you. So anyway, I'm enjoying gorgeous, mild temperatures Friday evening and decide to open my windows for what I'm sure will be the last time this year. I'm minding my own business trying very hard to enjoy Season 1 of Da Ali G show, but I keep getting distracted. I'm hearing voices. Unlike the other voices I routinely hear, I'm convinced that these are actually real and not just in my head so I go and investigate. Sure enough, I deduce that the religious teenager next door is having a party. And I am fairly certain that this wasn't an adult-supervised, parentally-sanctioned party by the fact that all the cars were parked about four houses down the street, all the lights were off including the HOA mandated street lamp, and all the rowdy teens were ushered into the backyard.

My curiosity is strangely piqued by this because this family is so religious and every time I see this poor girl she is strapped down by a gaggle of younger siblings and I decide to do some further investigations. And by do further investigations I mean slither on my belly over to the window in my upstairs game room because I have decided this will give me the best vantage point to the backyard and cracking the window ever so slightly so that I can eavesdrop on what's going on. I then proceed to sit in a pitch black room spying on a yard full of high schoolers for half an hour. Although they were being very loud, I couldn't really make out what anyone was saying unless they came around to the front of the house, which usually meant they were leaving (I did hear a group of guys bitching as they were leaving because, and I quote, All the girls want to do is talk, and I didn't come here to talk.) After a while I threw in the towel and went back to finish Ali G (which made my laugh harder than anything has in the last 2 to 3 years).

Because I'm lame, by 11 o'clock I shut all the windows, turned off the tv and computer, unplugged all outdoor Christmas lights (because Hot Lips can decorate for the holidays like no one's business) and headed to bed.

So imagine my surprise the next day as I'm pulling out of my driveway and I notice that my family of light up Christmas reindeer have all been positioned in compromising sexual positions.

Fucking teenagers.

Call On Me

2006-12-01T14:25:00.000-05:00

I stole this from www.jasonmulgrew.com but it made me horny and therefore worth reposting. You are welcome, Monk.

The Biggest Angel

2006-11-30T21:23:00.000-05:00

So today while wandering the mall with a new friend who we'll discuss another day, I passed the Angel Tree. I have already bought and turned in stuff for two angels, a boy and a girl, and I had vowed that that was all I was doing this year. Last year I bought for seven of them and it got out of control. But as I passed that tree with all the names of the needy boys and girls hanging on it, I convinced myself to go for seconds. This time I decided that I didn't want to read through them and pick the ones I wanted because then I would be haunted by all the ones that I didn't get so I told the volunteers to just pick me two angels, a boy and a girl, and to make it the two oldest kids they could find. I figure everyone always picks the young kids with cute little wants and the older kids are always last picked. So they picked two for me and told me that they were both 15, I threw them in my purse and went on my way. Later tonight I pulled them out of my purse and actually looked at them for the first time. To my dismay I saw that neither one of the listed what they wanted for Christmas. Under the section where it tells you what the kid is asking for it said "Age Appropriate". What the fuck? That's fairly dangerous; isn't it? Who knows what a fifteen-year-old disadvantaged youth wants for Christmas. Not Hot Lips.

They did however have their sizes on the card. They always put the kids sizes on there so we can not only make them happy with toys, but make sure they stay warm this winter. I look at the girl's sizes and she wears a size 10 shoe and a women's size 22 clothes! Now that's a big 15 year old. Could that even be possible? I half suspect the mama put her own size down so she could rake in the free loot. But I can't think that way, I've just got to do my good deeds and keep on keeping on. So I went to the Cato Plus Fashions and tried to think like an obese afro american (at least I'm guessing by her name, it has lots of vowels) 15-year-old. And really, if anyone is up for that challenge it is Hot Lips. I got a camoflauge j lo suit (which I am most proud of) some jeans and a sweater and a dress up outfit, some tacky jewelry and an even tackier fur-lined faux leather purse with lots of buckles and furry gloves, scarf and hat. I rock! But now the question is, what do I buy as the actual gift. I hate to say toy because she's 15, but you know what I mean, something other than clothes. Help a sista out.

I bought the boy a basketball and a football and cd player and mp3 player (they came together, who knows, maybe he has a computer thanks to Blue Hippo). I figure I'll hit the Gap this weekend and get him a few outfits. Any other ideas?

Give till it hurts, people.

Future Sex

2006-11-27T22:14:00.000-05:00

Big ups to Pam and Kid for going the distance.

Speaking of going the distance, Big Daddy announced today that he would not be sleeping at my house tonight and I quickly said, Um, no. I'll be lonely. Which is really just code for I'm horny, you strawberry blond stallion. Oh! We might just have a new nickname on our hands.

So remember when I was standing aimlessly in front of those nonautomatic doors just waiting for them to open? Well, today I totally outdid myself. I stood in front of a set of doors for almost a full minute while rifling around in my purse looking for my keys. Only the doors weren't locked, and if they were, I wouldn't have had the keys because it was just some random public building, and I'm mentally disabled. There are certain inconveniences to being brain dead.

I went on a little internet shopping spree this weekend which includes but is not limited to front row seats to the Blue Man Group in March and then a week later to the Justin Timberlake concert. What? That's not all. Nope. Guess where my tickets are for. Give up? The VIP Sexy Back Dance Floor! Yes! It even said something about bar service, whatever the hell that means, and really it is so unnecessary because I'll be intoxicated by my proximity to the sexy stylings of Mr. T. Lake.

Of course there is that question as to who I will be dragging along to these two social events of the decade. I bought two tickets for each. Blue Man will be easy to pick a date for, but Justin? That's a horse of another color. Stacey, tell the boys and girls how much dancing Hot Lips will be doing on the VIP Sexy Back Dance Floor. I'm thinking of ebaying this very unique experience. Any bidders?

Allergic To Broke

2006-11-26T22:37:00.000-05:00

Push It by Rick Ross is the jam of the minute. Go download it and pretend that you are Hot Lips for three minutes and twenty-eight seconds.

I'm so happy that that dirty little boy scout delivered my chocolate popcorn today. It really rounded out a superb week of eating.

Our beloved Stacey has gotten herself into an interesting little situation and has very kindly given permission for me to blog all about it. Unfortunately for you cats I'm not quite ready. I'm not sure a hundred percent what position we here at Stacey Loves Me will be taking. I pretty much get my panties all in a wad whenever Stacey purports to love anyone but me.

I've been deep in the throws of a mid life crisis for a while now and deciding that everything I have is nothing I want. In that same vein, Big Daddy and I decided very maturely and politely last week that maybe we didn't want to spend the rest of our lives together after all and as soon as the holidays are over we would split up some intermingled assets and go our separate ways. And surprisingly, we've been fucking like wild beasts ever since. So maybe we changed our minds. Maybe we didn't. Who really knows. But it's like I tell the people that pay me $150 an hour, sometimes it is just a conscious decision to sink or swim. Unfortunately, all I seem to be able to make are unconscious decisions.

Stay tuned.

PS - I promise to be funny again real soon. Even if it kills me.

Get Ready To Give Thanks

2006-11-22T19:52:00.000-05:00

A few shots of my Thanksgiving table.

It reminded me more of a spring day in Provence than it did Thanksgiving, so I ran out to my porch and grabbed the mini pumpkins that were sitting around the base of my fall mums and threw them around. So now it looks like a fall day in Provence. (Humor me, bitches) And so what if I am expecting three times as many people as this table seats. That's neither here nor there.

My really fun friend, KT, is coming in from DC and we are planning something debaucherous for Thanksgiving night. Well, the plan has gotten as far as

Me: Hey KT, let's do something salacious Thursday night. (Salacious is my new word)

KT: I thought you'd never ask.

There's got to be one bar open on Thanksgiving, right?

Also, I've decided that my new drug addiction will be huffing grass.

I Want A New Drug

2006-11-19T21:07:00.000-05:00

My New Years Resolution for 2007:

To become a drug addict.

A fully functioning drug addict, but a drug addict nonetheless.

And I'm looking a little past alcoholism because I just don't have the digestive system for all that.

But seriously, I want to spend at least 60% of my week high on something.

I want to go to work fucked up and giggle at everyone.

Suggestions?

Guess Who

2006-11-16T22:55:00.000-05:00

Who just stumbled home drunk from ladies night after making all sorts of off color jokes about sleeping with the other women's husbands?

Hmmmmm, who could that be?

Also, I went ahead and bought those Uggs. But wait, that's not all. I wore my pants tucked into them today. Top that, bitches.

And just when you think you can't get any more embarrassed for me, I leave you with this, I have developed three new habits over the last couple of weeks...
1) Eating Cheerios
2) Watching Dr. Phil
3) Feverishing ordering things off of QVC

Now, go fuck yourselves.

And You Give Yourself Away

2006-11-16T17:37:00.000-05:00

Pity Party

2006-11-16T11:41:00.000-05:00

I guess it is time for me to finally come out of my hole and blog something. I need to put to rest the rumors that I was killed in a horrible farm equipment accident.

I took today off to attend to some very important stuff and then it all fell through at the last minute. It is a shitty, stormy day and so I'm just hiding out at my house trying to recover from the last six months. I'm thinking about locking myself in my closet for no other reason than it just seems peaceful.

I've been a miserable, horrible, insufferable bitch lately. I don't know what my problem is, but boy I'm nasty. I'm not sure how anyone can stand me. All I do is complain and whine and feel sorry for myself. I'd like to give Big Daddy some kudos, though. He's really stepped up to the plate and taken it. One day I will reward him for it.

I hate to cut this short since it has been like three weeks since I last posted, but I've got a closet that's calling my name so I've got to run. But before I go, I've got a little bit of housekeeping news.

First, it seems that the S and K relationship has run its course (again). I'm thinking (hoping) that this time is for real. It still hasn't been determined as to whether or not I'm going to end up with a roommate this go around or not.

Second, TD got engaged. Yeah, I know. He's a dumbass. But whatever.

Third and most importantly, I still love my hotties.

Cruising To The Holidays

2006-11-09T21:54:00.001-05:00

I forgot to mention in the previous post about how the lovely and vacation-prone Jo went on a cruise right in the middle of all the moving madness. She's literally been back a week and a half and she leaves again next weekend on another cruise and will be gone the rest of the month. I wish I were joking, but I'm not. That woman has balls the size of my ego. Apparently I should have married a postman because that's where all the money and vacation time is.

I really and truly need someone to please explain the principle behind revolving doors. I hate those damn things and don't see where they serve any purpose at all. And speaking of doors...just to drive the point home of how lazy I am...I was leaving a big government type building today and stood in front of the exit doors for a good 40 seconds waiting for them to open. I just stopped in my tracks and waited patiently. As a line started forming behind me, I snapped back to consciousness and realized that I had to actually lift my arm and push on the door to get it to open. It wasn't automatic. Da fuck?

As a result of white trash family drama Big Daddy and I find ourselves all alone this fine turkey day. So in a stroke of insanity I've decided to cook a Thanksgiving feast. Since I am warm and caring and generous I went ahead and extended an invitation to all of my wayward friends and relatives in similar situations. So Thanksgiving should be interesting. I'm thinking of just getting a keg and some chicken nuggets and calling it a success.

In other holiday news, Mr. Greenlawn across the street has already started decorating his house with Christmas lights. And as far as I'm concerned he's just thrown down the holiday decorating gauntlet. He might have won the greenest-lawn-on-the-planet contest, but the most-giant-inflatable-nylon-Santas-and-Frosty-the-Snowmen-in-one-yard contest is anybody's game!

Hot Lips Wins Customer Service Award

2006-11-08T22:25:00.000-05:00

S'up fuckers?

So, yeah. I accidentally failed to mention that I have been in the middle of a very stressful and arduous office move recently. But Friday we got all settled in (well, that's all relative, I guess) in the new place and I can kind of sort of breathe again. And while I had all of that going on, I just happened to be busier at work than I had ever been before. Coupled with the bizarro hormonal mid life crisis I've been dealing with about the impending milestone birthday that's lurking around the corner, and well, that all makes for Hot Lips becoming a lunatic. Which I know isn't a real good example because even under the best of circumstances Hot Lips is a lunatic, but she was a really, really looney lunatic. How's that?

So, yeah.

I did learn a few things from of it, though and well, when we stop learning we stop living. Or something like that. And the first and most important thing I learned was that I'm going to stop providing good customer service. Well, let me take that back. I'll happily (but too happily) continue to provide mediocre to good customer service. But the days of great customer service is over. Because, really, I obviously don't need the business.

And the days of me promptly returning a phone call are over. I've instituted a ban on any and all immediate phone call returning. From now on there will be a minimum of 24 hours between receiving the phone call and returning it. I've learned lately that if I just leave people to their own devices for a good day or so, whatever reason they were ringing my phone off the hook for somehow takes care of itself. I'm fortunate enough to be in a business where 93.8% of all of my phone calls are "emergencies." Please note the quotes around emergencies. Those are very, very important punctuational tools here. I've pretty much gotten to the point where I have pretty strict criteria for emergencies, and well, since I'm not an ER doctor, I don't know why anyone would be coming to me for one anyway.

Oh yeah, that's because all the dumb bullshit isn't really an emergency. Not to me anyway. That's why it is now my professional duty to give you a mandatory 24 hour cooling off period.

Also, I'm too nice and I do too good of a job and I make too many people my bestest friends. It is true, it is a bad, bad, bad habit I have of wherever I go making everyone my best friend, or at least making them believe that. It is the slacker in me. If everyone is my best friend then they won't mind doing this favor for me, or overlooking this one little thing for me, or telling me all the inside scoop about whatever. But somehow over the years it has all gotten turned around on me. And somehow these yokels are now trying to use their best friend status to get me to do them favors, to do shit for them fast and in a hurry and over the weekend and special and extra and cheap. And no, no, no, no, no, you are misunderstanding our friendship here. You do me favors, silly, not vice versa.

So yeah, no more favors, no more being extra friendly with people I don't give a shit about and no more returning emergency phone calls in a timely fashion.

Woopsie, somebody went off on a little tangent.

So, yeah.

In other news, I got the most perfect silk curtains for my new office.

I love you crazies.

Miss Me?

2006-11-07T20:48:00.000-05:00

Of course you did.

Fear not my fair followers. I'm back on the attack.

Although it wasn't Atlantic City (and my wallet is thanking me) on a whim I hopped into my car and headed south for a few days. Big Daddy was kind enough to join me for one day and one night and then headed back home like a good little workaholic.

I spent a leisurely long weekend shopping and receiving spa services and watching movies in my room and eating quite a bit. But I had to cut my little escape from reality short and get back home and vote. Although I'm fairly certain it didn't do much good because apparently the separation of church and state died with the colonists.

I just ordered two 7 - foot faux Christmas trees from QVC. Oh yes I did. One for either side of my front door. Indoor/Outdoor, baby. You are never truly 100% K-Fed until you have a QVC customer number.

Tomorrow we can talk about the root cause of my stress and why it is suddenly over and what I learned from the whole god damned circus. But right now, I've got a big ass bathtub calling my name.

Like The Butterfly Emerging From The Cocoon

2006-11-03T14:39:00.001-05:00

Today is the first day of the rest my life.

I can finally get back to living again.

I finally cleared away all this shit that has been bogging me down and making me a miserable, insufferable, pouty, tired, grumpy Hot Lips for the last two months. It all culminates with today. Technically it isn't over. But let's say around 6 p.m. EST today I'll be toasting the universe with 14 bottles of champagne.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger and all that.

I've got big muscles. I'll piggy back all you mother fuckers.

So, yeah, I woke up this morning feeling like my old self again, and whether or not that's actually a good thing is yet to be seen, but this morning it was a good thing.

I've got the next four days off to recover from the last 8 weeks and I have half a mind to zip off to Atlantic City and gamble away all the cash I killed myself earning for the last couple of months. It makes perfect sense to me.

But I'll probably stay close to home because I have a very important engagement to attend on Saturday. Wild horses couldn't keep me away from it.

And other than that, I just want to sit around the house smoking bongs and masturbating all weekend.

S'up Fuckers?

2006-11-02T11:15:00.000-05:00

Would the person who wandered here from Joe's blog and who apparenlty lives right down the street from me send me an e-mail to set my mind at ease so I don't have to pull a nowhere girl.

hotlipslovesyou@gmail.com
,
I'd be much obliged.