Monday, June 27, 2005

Still Breathing...Barely But Breathing Nonetheless

I'm not dead yet. Despite trying to throw my body into some sort of alcohol induced coma, the old ticker keeps ticking. I did manage to sober up for a day or two last week and I've even managed to conduct a tiny bit of business (gotta make money for booze, after all).

I am currently planning on fleeing the state in order to continue my bender. So of course I will be attending the Pepsi 400 at the lovely Daytona International Speedway. I will be taking good old Cowboy Dan with me as it seems like I'm unable to bring forth a good puke-inducing-booze-related drunken rambling without her. Plus, I usually make her drink a 12 pack on the drive down to Daytona merely for my amusement - and trust me, it's amusing.

We will be meeting Kitty at the track and she drives her 38 foot motor coach up for our recreational pleasure. Yes, the motor coach is Kitty's - I told you the only thing keeping her from being a guy is the penis.

Anyhoooooo, I'll try to fill you in a little more later but for now I'm off to meet some new client who is so foreign that I can't understand a single word he says over the phone. Hopefully, I'll develop the ability to read lips in the next 10 minutes and I'll be able to comprehend what kind of help this fella needs. But frankly, who are we kidding - between my non-existent-been-drinking-for-two-weeks voice and his innate foreigness - we're screwed.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Wanted - One New Liver

I suppose I managed to stretch my birthday celebrations for as long as I possibly could. So what the fuck do we talk about now?

I've been sober now for 26.8 hours and frankly, it's making me cranky. And hell, you think I'm cranky, you oughta talk to Cowboy Dan - Ms. Cranky Pants, indeed.

Cowboy Dan paid me a return visit on Friday night where we proceeded to get highly inebriated once again. This resulted with us being on the phone with various friends until approximately 2 am (Please note: time is approximated because I have no clue what time it was and I became unable to read the clock at approximately midnight). (Also please note: do NOT put me on the phone while I'm all up in the drunk and ask for advice - I tend to inwardly fancy myself a hot-looking Dr. Joyce Brothers (hey, it's my fantasy - I can do whatever I want)- with that in mind, all apologies to those who had to sit on the phone with my drunken ass - especially you, Gas Man - I know you got way more than bargained for.)

Phone conversations were conducted in the backyard (not including a short trip to the Paradise to inhale at least 4 Diva shots) and thankfully, I have not introduced myself to my new neighbors - and me thinks me won't be doing this at all.

We were also joined for a significant part of the evening by Skank Ass Cousin. Skank Ass Cousin has been woefully neglected by this blogger and I do heretofore apologize for such oversight. Skank Ass Cousin is like her name says - my cousin, however, unlike her name says, she's really not that skanky (except when wearing purple running shorts but that perhaps is a vision for another time). Skank Ass Cousin and I were really kinda raised together so she's more than just a cousin - more like a sister (minus the gothic tendecies and general insanity currently present in the POD). Skank Ass Cousin lives around the corner from me and is generally my partner in crime, i.e. a good 80% of my drunken adventures involved Skank Ass Cousin. I really don't know why she hasn't been mentioned before but perhaps it's just that I take her presence for granted. Well, no more! Rise up, Skank Ass Cousin and take your rightful place in Floyd's hell! (Please note: Skank Ass Cousin has it way worse than the rest of you as she is real kin and has to really deal with POD and Captain Nutty - may the force be with her)

Anyhoooo, the drunken evening progressed. The POD was deeply impressed by my ability to hold my alcohol until I found her online talking about "licking pussy" at which point I began to scream like a banshee and banish her from all technology until she turns 32 or can spell "pussy" correctly, whichever comes first. I think Cowboy Dan became a little less frightened of the POD over the weekend - well, at least up until the pussy thing - now, I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Sooooo, that's about it. And frankly, unless I keep drinking, I'm probably going to need some topical assistance - and I think we all know that my liver needs a little rest. That being said - I have received some reader email with some questions which I plan on answering - some with questions that I don't plan on answering. If you have any questions, shoot 'em to me. I may or may not answer them truthfully.

P.S. Cowboy Dan - notice how I didn't mention that you threw a cell phone at me or didn't know how to cook a frozen pizza? Thought that was very kind of me.

Friday, June 17, 2005

The Stars Are Murky

So I've emerged from my 4 day drunken binger for a brief respite. I pick up the paper this moring to reconnect with the "real world". I of course flip right to the comics and horroscope section.

Where I am met with the little tidbit:

Gemini: "Buy something beautiful to please your lover." Well, smack my ass and call me Sally! I'm going to have a lover!

Holy shit. What do I do now? "BUY SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL"! What the hell does that mean? I don't even know my lover yet - how do I know what they want? Shit, shit, shit. Such pressure.

Is this one of those buy your fella a big present? Or is it one of those buy yourself something sexy and THAT is the present? And if THAT is the present, how do I know if he's a silk thingy kinda guy or a leather chaps and whip sorta guy?

I mean this HAS to mean that I'm getting a LOVER right? I mean what does my vibrator need with something beautiful? Right?

And holy crap, who exactly is this lover? (Please note: all references to "lover" should be read with the sound of some slick latin dude saying looooooooover cause that's how I'm saying it)

I mean I guess I'm going to have to leave the house if I'm to get a new lover today - cause you know I really don't want the new lover to be the exterminator guy (though I did see that once in a porn and it seemed to work out pretty well).

Who could this guy possibly be? And does he know he's all set up for a beautiful present?

Could it be the movers next door? They looked pretty hot. Perhaps I should go do the kindly neighbor routine and offer them a lemonade. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink - a LEMONADE.

Could it be my doctor? I'm trying to get in to see him and see if he can rectify this hacking "cough up a lung" illness that seems to be lingering worse than a case of syphillis. There's nothing hotter than a chick with voice like sandpaper and a cough like a coal miner. I think he's gay but maybe I'm supposed to turn him. I mean if Krystal with a K can take the POD maybe I'm supposed to recruit one for my team to even out the universe.

Could it be Gas Man? I mean it's quite clear that despite his protests to the contrary - he's clearly enamored of me. It truly makes no sense to keep denying his overwhelming love for me. It's a power bigger than the both of us, Gas Man, stop trying to fight nature. The quicker you surrender to the force, the happier you'll be.

Well, I suppose it's going to be a big day for old Floyd here. Perhaps I should take a shower. And of course, a waxing is in order - oh, what the hell, a little tops and tails spit bath could be enough. I'm overdue for my morning beer.

Wish me luck.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Can't Talk...Coming Down

Well, gentle readers, I would love to enthrall you with birthday debauchery tales but alcohol is a funny thing - makes you do things you wouldn't normally do but mercifully makes you forget most of them.

With that in mind, I'll try to hit the highlights of my 2 day bender.

On Tuesday, I hit my home bar of the Paradise to ingest several shots which were generously sent my direction. My pals also plied me with gifts and hors d'oeuvres (which really is the way to my heart - just in case you wanted to know - I love me some mini corndogs). As you can well imagine, Wednesday was a little difficult. It seems all the brain fluid in my cranium had clearly been replaced with alcohol and therefore me head hurt a wee bit. I want even go into the nausea.

After some greasy food, I recovered enough to welcome Cowboy Dan to my little abode where the whole vicious cycle started up all over again. We hit my other local hot spot where well-wishers plied us with chocolate martinis. Now, I think we all know that I'm pretty much a straight-forward Bud Light gal but I suppose one has to break out of one's rut occassionally. Cowboy Dan would also like me to mention that she beat out Fat Baby's Mamma and Kitty in actually delivering a birthday gift to me closest to my actual birthday. Said gift is a bottle of tequilla and some margaritta mix - does she know me or what?

So here it is at 11:33 on Thursday and I'm still in my pajamas. God, I love working for myself.

To all friends, thanks for all the good wishes and nice comments - you all my birthday simply grand.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

16 Candles*

*Give or take a candle or two

Soooooo, I'm 35....and I have no words of wisdom. So please click on link below to see random racing pics of my life.

Me and My Pals

FloydsTailgate's photosMore of FloydsTailgate's photos

Monday, June 13, 2005

Random for Random's Sake*

*Otherwise known as "No real cohesive topic here"

Some random thoughts submitted for your consideration, gentle readers.

1. From some reader emails regarding my last post about my client meeting in my home, I have come to realize something. A lot of y'all don't know that I'm not a complete moron. Seriously, I'm not...despite all appearances to the contrary. I really have done nothing, however, to dissuade you from the impression that my posts give to you, Internet Total Strangers. My posts are a reflection of my life but also really my reflections of my internal dialogue, i.e. the constantly running commentary that the little man in my head provides me. His commentary can get distracting but often I manage to function. But I've never really told you that I'm not crazy. So really you have no way of knowing that I'm not quite as incompetent as I may lead to you believe....well, hold on...maybe I am....okay, correction...I can fake normalcy pretty well.

2. So my birthday is tomorrow. I will be 35. 35 and single. 35 and childless. 35 and overweight. 35, single, childless, overweight, raising my semi-psychotic little sister. Yep. I'm putting alllll that into a personal ad. Come and get me! (the poor need not apply)

3. Speaking of the semi-psychotic, the POD has returned. Apparently, a "D" in World History is not sufficient for the ultra-snotty private school the POD is attending, so she is back for a two week run at summer school. Yep. She's realllly happy about it. Not as happy as me, of course, who enjoyed what? A one week vacation from parental duties? Yep. NIIIIIIICCEEE. (Please note: POD will be returning to Chicago at the end of the 2 weeks to harass our parental units for the rest of the summer)

4. So the POD and I went to see the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Mindless summer entertainment that was quite enjoyable. However, it has led me to a surprising conclusion. Now, I love Brad Pitt - he is just easy on the eyes. Not so surprsing. However, I think if I was to start playing for the other team I would go for Angelina Jolie. I mean - holy crap. It's just not natural to be that good-looking AND good with weapons.

5. So tomorrow is my birthday. Cowboy Dan always gets me nice gifts. And always gifts that are totally unexpected. Therefore, around my birthday time, I usually get random conversations with Cowboy Dan. Therefore, I submit the following:

Cowboy Dan: "Where did you go to elementary school?"

Me: "Our Lady of Assumption"

Cowboy Dan: "Was that Catholic?"

Me: "Is the Pope catholic? Of course, it was Catholic. What public school would have a name like that?"

Cowboy Dan: "Who was your fifth grade teacher?"

Me: "I think Mrs. Fischer."

Cowboy Dan: "Was she a nun?"

Me: "No. Thus the 'Mrs' part."

Cowboy Dan: "Were there nuns?"

Me: "A few."

Cowboy Dan: "Okay. Bye."

Me: "Bye"

The first person to guess what relevance this conversation has to anything will win some sort of prize.

6. Please observe that in the last comments "Anonymous" submitted some commentary on the smell of my house and Bob's piss room. "Anonymous", my ass. That is Kitty. Kitty has a cat named Bob. Bob had a piss room. A piss room that she asked us to sleep in. That was not possible. I have smelled some bad things - and I mean BAD "NOT FOUND IN NATURE" things but none as bad as Bob's piss room. Kitty spent oodles of cash correcting said piss room to become a more hospitable part of her home. And so, while she makes fun of me, I have nothing, I repeat, NOTHING that could rival the smell of Bob's piss room.

7. Cowboy Dan has complained that she and Kitty are never mentioned anymore. Well, now there you go - got you both in one post. How ya' like them apples?

8. I ventured to Costco's yesterday. And you may be asking yourself what would drive a semi-sane person to venture forth into that den of suburban families all hepped up on free samples and 75 cent hot dogs on a freaking Sunday? Well, I'll tell you what - Jimmy Spencer. That thundering dunderhead that the powers-that-be feel is a quality commentator on NASCAR This Morning. I've seen people with drool running down their chins conduct more coherent conversations than this alcoholic blow-hard. Seriously, the man looks like someone pulled the gin and juice out of his hands about 20 seconds prior to air time and told him to form a sentence or two. Jimmy was more fun when he was beating the crap out of Kurt Busch. Let him return to the jungle and roam free with the other gorillas.

Well, that's all I have for today, gentle readers. Stayed tuned to see what whackiness ensues tomorrow. (I just wanted to say "whackiness ensues" - forgive me).

P.S. A small side note, our friend Macek's mom is apparently pretty ill so I know you join me in sending good thoughts, vibes and prayers their way.

Friday, June 10, 2005

Riddle Me This

Gentle readers, what is the proper decorum and etiquette of the home office? I'm meeting a client in my home for the first time and this has raised some puzzling issues.

Are candles unprofessional? Even when used to cover the smell of wet dog?

How 'bout capris pants? Wrong in the home office setting? Old Nave tshirts are appropriate anywhere, right?

Surely, if not capris pants, then sandals? Toes are polished so it's okay, right?

I mean who really wants to see me sitting in my own house in heels and dress slacks? Clearly, not the dog who keeps rubbing his molting skin all over me!

And what about background noise? Is it wrong that they can hear the dog licking his empty nut sack through the bedroom door?

Is it wrong to have the Foo Fighters quitely playing in the background?

So I have injection needles laying about the kitchen, need I explain that the dog is diabetic or just let them come to their own conclusions?

If there is a bad smell, is it appropriate to mention the dog's flatulence issues?

Will they notice that the hand towels in the guest bath arenn't exactly clean?

Can I charge them for parking in the driveway?

You know - they really don't tackle these issues in law school.

Monday, June 06, 2005

Things Contemplated

Well, let’s talk a little more about my trip minus the POD discussion. The full title of this post is Things Contemplated Whilst Traveling Through the Black Hole Commonly Referred to as the State of Indiana (And Other Adjoining Locales). It’s a 12 hour trip folks, and I think none of us are surprised that long solo car trips make me a little slap happy. You should also note that I read all billboards (often out loud which annoys Kitty to no end – thus why I do it of course) and I often simply scan the radio stations to get a feel for what is on without stopping on any particular one. You should also know that I’m not so much an “aggressive” driver as I am a “competitive” one – just keep that in mind.

1. Hey, asswipe on the motorcycle, you have 2 wheels… I have 4, I win, get the fuck out my way before I make you regret not wearing a helmet.
2. Dear Backstreet Boys, I know it’s an old song but let me remind you of this little lyrical poetry – “Loneliness is tragical”…..guess what, you dick licks? TRAGICAL IS NOT A WORD! I’m all for creative language but this just don’t fly. (wow…just looked it up….”tragical” is a word…I now have to face the realization that someone in the Backstreet Boys is more literary than I am….I need a drink).
3. I laugh at you, o guy that hits his brakes when I fly up behind him. Sure, I’m flicking you off at the same time but I’m laughing nonetheless.
4. God help me but I like that Kelly Clarkson….she’s got spunk.
5. Hmmmmm….sign for Spencer County, Indiana reads “Home of the Famous” and they show a picture of good old Abe Lincoln…..and Santa Claus. Do they know that Santa isn’t a real guy? And even if he was, Santa sooooo lives in the North Pole and NOT Indiana!
6. Take me down to Paradise City, Axel, you plastic-faced motherfucker! ( Please read while picturing me flashing the devil horns sign and rocking head back and forth in appropriate rocking out manner)
7. Billboard reads: “Dino World. You missed us!”….ummmm, yeah, by a couple of million years.
8. I wonder if I trademarked the phrase “Fuckity McFuck Fuck” if McDonald’s would sue me? (Please note: you cannot trademark profanity but it’s an interesting legal query anyway, don’t you think?)
9. Okay, hey, country dudes that sing that Mr. Mom song…. your lyric “sweet potatoes in my lazy chair” bugs me. It’s either a Lazy Boy or an Easy Chair, no such thing as a “lazy chair”, you backwoods jackasses.
10. There’s a rattle in my right speaker…. what are the odds I blew a speaker? What are the odds I’m the only one to bring in a Lexus into the soccer mom land dealer with a blown bass thingy?
11. Passing a truck that reads “Purnell’s Old Folks Sausage”…. so clearly their product is made from the decrepit bodies of old people. Truly recycling run amuck.
12. Excuse me, nice Mr. Black Man, I’m going 80 and you’re flying past me, which means you taking a nice clip through Kentucky and frankly that might not be a good idea. Oh! You’re from Georgia…you clearly know what you’re doing – carry on. (Please read: with smart ass girl raising her black power fist who deserves to have the white elitist sassiness smacked right out of her by said Nice Black MAn)
13. Interesting…if you drive fast enough the raindrops don’t come in through the open sunroof.
14. Hmmm….it’s 5:00 and I’m in Chattanooga…time for cocktail hour with the Fat Baby clan.

Needless to say, I didn’t make it home until Thursday.

Well, that's all for now....the good news is that POD will be back as of Thursday for a 2 week stint in summer school. God help me.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Tickle Me Sappho

* Advance apologies to the following - bisexuals, lesbians, Mexicans, goats, strippers and gangbangers - I kid cause I love!

Well, gentle readers, I survived. Physically intact? Certainly. Mentally sound? Hard to say, hard to say.

In my 12-hour drive home yesterday, I pondered several topics, which I would like to discuss with you but I will first begin with a story illustrative of my week. However, this story requires a little background so please bear with me.

Not sure if I have previously mentioned it but the POD fancies herself a bisexual at this stage in her life. Now, personally, I don’t care if she fancies girl, boy or goat but I of course am concerned that POD feels the need to declare herself at the ripe old age of 15. I mean - I think it’s kinda not fair to play for both teams – I mean – pick a freaking side and stay on it – it’s only fair to all concerned. Confusion need not be added to the dating scene - thank you very much. But whatever floats her boat is fine by me.

While playing for both teams, the POD has found herself a gal pal. Her name is Krystal – with a “K” you will notice. Apparently, Krystal’s parents wanted to prepare her for a life on the pole and gave her a proper stage name right of the gate. Now, I have a few issues with Krystal – not because she is a follower of the teachings of Sappho but because she’s a gang member. Oh, yes, you read that correctly – a member of the Latin Kings (though I have been corrected to say Latin Queens since she is a chick - apparently I'm not as up on my gang lingo as I assumed). Krystal with a “K” has several tattoos at her ripe old age of 17 and is fond of telling all of the POD’s friends that “they better not touch her fucking girlfriend or I will fucking kill you” – she’s such a little love!

Anyhooooo, you can only imagine how well this is all going over with Capt Nutty and the Consort who revel in their suburban upper-middle class life (i.e. these people are so Wonderbread white they glow in the dark). Up until this point, the main fear in the Consort’s life has been that the POD will wear denim to the country club - soyou can see that a violent gal pal is really expanding his horizons - I can only imagine how he broaches this topic on the old links with his pals.

So this being said, I get to the point of my story and why my family will probably start proceedings to disown me at any minute now.

I’m sitting around with Capt Nutty and her little dog. Her little dog starts licking the carpeting on the floor. So what do I do? Waaaaaiiiiit for it… I say “Hey look, Mom! The dog’s a lesbian too!”


Needless to say, Capt Nutty starting crying and didn’t talk to me for the rest of the afternoon. Of course, I was laughing so hard all day I doubt I could have heard her anyway.

Gooood times, good times.