tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105660792024-03-23T13:55:56.381-04:00Floyd's TailgateFloydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.comBlogger141125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-11379425015005756132009-03-30T09:29:00.002-04:002009-03-30T09:51:17.911-04:00Freaking MondaysUgh. Ever sense a bad day on the horizon? I'm thinking this may be it. Nothing concrete telling me that - just my usual optimistic outlook on a Monday.<br /><br />I just ate a brownie for breakfast. Is it possible to have PMS 3 weeks out of 4? <br /><br />What fast food restaurants do you think get robbed more than the others? I think it's Taco Bell. I have no basis for this - I just envision Taco Bells getting more than their fair share of theft hijinks than other establishments. It's truly nothing against Taco Bell - I love a gordita as much as the next girl. But I'm thinking Taco Bells are targets for banditos.<br /><br />I know none of this makes any sense but this is what goes through my brain on a regular basis. Pity me.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-90146936382384252882009-03-24T20:33:00.002-04:002009-03-24T21:09:29.264-04:00Just When You Thought It Was Safe...I'm back. <br /><br />And I know you didn't miss me. Don't lie to me. You haven't even thought about me these last 300 some odd days. Well, fine. I didn't think about you. Not one bit. <br /><br />Okay, I lied. I missed you. I missed you all. I doubt you're still here but if you are, I love you and promise not to leave you again, (please note: see above remarks about me being a liar and such)<br /><br />Considering my excessive absence, I think we'll have to break this down a bit into general refresher topics. (Look at me what with the all the organization and such! It's like a grown up Floyd!)<br /><br />We'll start with me cause I'm really the most simple update.<br /><br />I'm still the same. Next topic.<br /><br />Eh. Maybe a few changes.<br /><br />I'm back with a law firm. The solo trip just wasn't cutting it anymore as my cheapass clients went from simply being cheapasses to non-paying cheapasses. Amazing how many crazy people can save their money for bullets to kill the ex-spouse but can't seem to come up with a couple of bucks for their fearless representation. So I joined a firm in November but I'm still doing family law which is always oodles of fun and joy. And let's be clear, it's a hell of a lot easier to blog on someone else's time than on your own.<br /><br />The POD moved out (more about her in next post or two) and I moved too. I moved in with a boy (and yes, I'm using the term "boy" very loosely but not in a "he's not masculine" sense but in a "he hasn't seen boyhood in many years" way). We'll call him Mr. Crankypants. We will do our best not to discuss Mr. Crankypants here as he is not exactly "blogger friendly". I think the widespread discussion of his particular traits and habits violates the ninja stealth code he lives by (ooops.....wasn't supposed to let his ninjaness out of the bag!). For those of you who know Mr. Crankypants in real life, keep your damn pie hole shut! He knows nothing, he sees nothing.....and that's how I'll stay alive.<br /><br />One last little nuggett. Kitty got married. Kitty got married to a guy we'll call Judge a mere 3 weeks ago. <br /><br />What does this mean, dear reader?<br /><br />It means I'm the last single girl in my entire social world. Now who's the cranky one?<br /><br />Fucking typical.<br /><br />Coming soon: Top Ten Things Learned at Kitty's WeddingFloydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-76179315045478993062008-04-27T14:47:00.004-04:002008-04-27T15:58:12.178-04:00In the Church of My CaptainOne hardly knows where to begin. However, due to my excessive absences of late, it is probably necessary to back up a bit.<br /><br />Captain Nutty, my mother, has been spending a lot of time down here lately. As the Princess of Darkness (the POD, my sister) has been rapidly approaching her high school graduation day, the plan for "reintegration" has focussed on the Captain spending more time down here to assist me and to "bond" with her precious youngest child. <br /><br />And, yes, it HAS been as much fun as it sounds! I'm making nightly checks of the POD's room to remove any weapons with which she may extract her revenge upon our beloved matriarch. So far, only the parakeets have been harmed.<br /><br />When the POD graduates, she will be moving back to the Great White North of Chicago to resume her previously interrupted life. She, of course, has mixed feelings about this. The Captain has only one feeling about this - pure unadulterated terror. But them's the breaks. She's going. I'm done. Job over. Time for me to remember what it's like to pee with the door open again. Time to walk around my house in the nude without hearing "EEEEWWWW! GROSS!" .<br /><br />After the POD moves on to the next stage of her life, I will be moving as well. I will be moving back down to the area in Atlanta where I used to live as opposed to the suburb where I moved for the POD to attend a school to address her "special needs" (and by "special needs", I mean her general insanity). Since I'm moving, I'm downsizing as well.<br /><br />My point? Why waste your time with all this back story?<br /><br />I've two words for you. The most feared words in all of Floydom.<br /><br />Garage Sale.<br /><br />For the unenlightened, the Captain fancies herself an "antiques dealer" (and by "antiques dealer", I mean someone who buys crap from garage sales and then resells it in her own garage sale for triple the price). <br /><br />Now, gentle reader, I know better. I KNOW BETTER. I have had garage sales with the Captain before and it always ends up with my blood pressure doing it's Mount Vesuvius impression. But the Captain begged. She pleaded. She annoyed the ever-living crap out of me. I caved. I caved with the caveat that I could not help her get ready for it and that the goal was simply to get rid of crap - the goal was NOT to make money. You have to make these things very clear to the Captain. <br /><br />Did the Captain listen? Did the Captain grasp the need to have a laid-back garage sale? Does bear crap stick to their fur?<br /><br />We made it through Friday as the Captain convinced various unsuspecting neighbors that the cut glass paperweight my Dead Aunt Charlotte picked up at T.J. Maxx was really an expensive piece of pre-industrial crystal preciously chiseled out of a Mayan mine and lovingly carried across the Alps in the Von Trapp family's knapsack to eventually find its way to my lowly garage. Thankfully, no one spotted the Made in Korea sticker on the bottom.<br /><br />However, on Saturday (cause did you know that garage sales now have to go on for TWO fucking days????), we were not so fortunate. I suppose the pressure of convincing that unsuspecting old woman that she NEEDED a used George Foreman grill became to much for her. But I guess to be honest, the final straw was me calling her out in front of her customer for trying to sell an old blue water bottle for 5 bucks and waxing poetically about its ancient use as a geisha girl bidet instrument. <br /><br />I pulled the Captain aside and had a few words with her about settling the fuck down. I also expressed my growing frustration with her inability to hear anything. The woman's consistent use of painkillers over the past few years has destroyed her hearing. And she of course refuses to acknowledge such hearing loss....or maybe she just didn't hear me...who the fuck knows.<br /><br />Well, the Captain lost it. And frankly, after enough pain killers to put down a yak, who came blame her.<br /><br />She storms back to the house all the while yelling, "Fuck you, Floyd! Just fuck you!" (and no, she doesn't call me Floyd). <br /><br />I told her to get in the house.<br /><br />She then turned around and said "Damn you for this, Floyd! Damn you!" (and no, she still doesn't call me Floyd).<br /><br />Well, and here is where I might have gone a bit too far.<br /><br />I look at her and go "What? Can you speak up? I can't hear you!".<br /><br />Hehehehehe..... a bit too far but extremely satisfying.<br /><br />She disappears into the house and fifteen minutes later, I see perhaps the most beautiful and hilarious sight ever to meet my garage sale weary eyes.<br /><br />The Captain comes storming out of the house with her little dog on his leash and her overnight case. And in her most Scarlet O'Hara fashion, she announces she's leaving and "not to try and stop her".<br /><br />I reply, "Have a great trip! See ya!".<br /><br />She disappears for two days. (and by disappear, I mean went to my Aunt's house to cry and bitch and paint me as the evil, ungrateful spawn of Satan that left her to do a garage sale all by herself with no help from me whatsoever).<br /><br />My point?<br /><br />I did a lot of damn work for a little bit of a break. And therefore, this time for henceforth shall be known as the Blessed Pilgrimage of the Captain and the Holy Communion of the Garage Sale from whence we have all been saved and reborn without evil parentage. Praise be to the garage.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-35771694473350318942008-04-26T15:57:00.000-04:002008-04-26T15:58:27.063-04:00Lord Deliver MeI'm watching the movie Atonement. It sucks. Completely sucks. Bored out of my skull.<br /><br />Ick.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-31832724184809702102008-03-31T20:37:00.003-04:002008-03-31T20:40:54.730-04:00Twitter TwiddleFor those of you who are as unconnected to the blogging world as I, I must draw your attention to the top little thingie at the top of the right hand column. It's Twitter! It means I can shoot one liners from my cell phone and the blog is instantly updated! I can totally bring you along with me on my day! <br /><br />Wait.<br /><br />Please don't run screaming.<br /><br />I'll try to utilize some manner of self editing. (Please ignore today's post about spending time in the courthouse bathroom).<br /><br />Speaking of which....I could totally Twitter you from a bathroom stall!<br /><br />This could be so, so bad.<br /><br />But so, so good.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-20147895083725895062008-03-29T13:49:00.003-04:002008-03-29T14:20:16.689-04:00So....Where Was I?Boy. Time sure flies when you're doing nothing. I guess I'm not really good at telling time or something as it seems it's been....well....a few eons since my last post. What can I say...I suck.<br /><br />Anyhooooo....if anybody is still there, I'll guess I'll give you an update.<br /><br />The POD is still alive and turned 18 yesterday. We are rapidly moving toward high school graduation this year and what I like to call the "Emancipation of Floyd" (not to be confused with the Emancipation of Mimi because Mariah Carey is way skankier than me). She will be returning to the Windy City to harass my parents until such time as she no longer has interest in the Disney Channel (she may have a slight maturity issue).<br /><br />Speaking of the rents, Captain Nutty is as nutty as ever. To celebrate the POD's big day, both she and the Consort (isn't that what I used to call my stepfather?) are here to ensure big time birthday celebrations. They foolishly agreed to take about 10 hepped up on Moutain Dew teenagers to Six Flags and then back to my house for a cookout and sleepover. I will have no part of it. I'm in hiding.<br /><br />Here's a fun little tidbit for you. So the Captain comes down to visit and keeps going on and on about wanting to get the POD the new HPV vaccine (you know that annoying "<a href="http://www.gardasil.com/">one less! one less! I want to be one less</a>!" commercial). And when I say "going on and on", I mean the damn Captain wouldn't shut her pie hole about it. <br /><br />So I finally say "What the hell? We'll ask her doctor about it when we get a chance!"<br /><br />Captain Nutty immediately starts crying as I have now raised my voice in an angry-like fashion which is unacceptable. <br /><br />She cries out to me, "BUT I DON'T WANT HER GETTING AIDS!"<br /><br />That's right.<br /><br />The Captain thought it was a vaccine against HIV. Yep. The world had discovered a vaccine against the most horrifying disease of modern times but we were simply going to let the world know through a commercial with jump roping girls. <br /><br />Yep. Can't make this shit up.<br /><br />Wait? You want more? You say I owe you more due to my long absence? Well, if my public demands it! (and by my public, I surely mean the voices in my head as no one is left to read my pathetic drivel)<br /><br />Last trip, Captain Nutty and I went out to a nice dinner to "discuss" the POD situation. I order a lovely pasta dish. Now, this restaurant apparently makes their own sausage which they served as a side dish to my pasta. I'm generally not a sausage fan as you never really know what they put in it and it tends to disagree with my delicate sensibilities. But what the hell. It's a nice restaurant.<br /><br />I take a bite and it's quite good. So, I offer the Captain a bite.<br /><br />She takes a bite. Her response?<br /><br />"Wow! You can really taste the anus in it!"<br /><br />Yep. <br /><br />"Mom, do you possibly mean "anise"?"<br /><br />"Oh."<br /><br />Needless to say, my sausage munching was done for the evening.<br /><br />Well, folks, I will leave you now but hopefully I'm back. Hopefully, I'll be better this time. Hopefully, there will be wine.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-31609154745403931702007-08-14T16:11:00.000-04:002007-08-14T16:27:54.292-04:00Welcome to the Captain Nutty ShowSo as I mentioned, my Captain is here (again, my mother for you new folks - ha!). As usual, chaos and turmoil has followed her here. Though I cannot scientifically prove a link, one day prior to her arrival the POD fell off a horse and broke the ever loving crap out of her right hand (specifically - the joint connecting her thumb to her wrist). Not one to do things in a half-assed manner, the POD broke it in a T type fashion which will involve big time hand surgery on Thursday. <br /><br />Oh yeah. I'm having fun. And no, the POD is freakishly not in any pain - AT ALL. She's a little off. Even the doctor was slightly unnerved by her lack of pain.<br /><br />Anyhoooooo.....this has evolved into my mother insisting that she is staying for the surgery as opposed to playing in the scheduled golf tournament in North Carolina this weekend. Luckily, I calmly (<span style="font-style:italic;">read: hysterically</span>) suggested (<span style="font-style:italic;">read: demanded in petulant manner</span>) that she go on said golf weekend for her own good (read: <span style="font-style:italic;">I threatened to kill her if she stayed</span>). Probably not my finest moment as a daughter but definitely the thing that needed to be done in order to preserve what little sanity the POD and I have left.<br /><br />In attempt to get in a little mothering while she's here, she has engaged in some sort of 20 Questions game assuming that 20 Questions game was played by people on crack.<br /><br />In the last hour, I have answered the following:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I see you're working - Should I pack a lunch for POD?<br /><br />Does she want strawberries or pineapple in her lunch? (Perhaps one should ask the POD!)<br /><br />Where are your ziploc bags?<br /><br />Is it cold in here?<br /><br />Did you here the dryer go off?<br /><br />Did you know vinegar has a lot of uses around the house? I read that in Real Simple.<br /><br />Did I tell you that my friends took me out early for my birthday? (yes, at least 8 times but please tell me again!)<br /><br />Did I tell you Susan's daughter is going to have a baby? (yes, at least 17 times but please tell me again! It doesn't make my ovaries hurt at all that a kid I used to babysit is married and pregnant and I all have to show for it is a dog that pees all over the dining room floor)<br /><br />Do you want some ice cream?<br /><br />Did you want some ice cream?<br /><br />Are you sure you don't want some ice cream?<br /><br />Do you want some ice cream - I'll make it for you?<br /><br />Come on - you want some ice cream?<br /><br />See? Why didn't you say you wanted some ice cream?<br /><br />Has the POD done her homework?<br /><br />Has the POD had her shower?<br /><br />Do you want me to take POD to school tomorrow?<br /><br />Does the POD love me?<br /><br />Do you love me?<br /><br />Do you think your father hates me?<br /><br />Is the dog allowed to chew that?<br /><br />Oh. Are you still working? (YES! YES, I AM STILL WORKING...I AM STILL TRYING TO WORK SO THAT I DO NOT LOSE ALL SEMBLANCE OF MONETARY INCOME.)<br /><br /><br /></span><br /><br />Yep. I hereby honestly swear or affirm that all above is a true and correct representation of the past 30 minutes of my life.<br /><br />She's a keeper.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-47097145135520034752007-08-11T11:57:00.000-04:002007-08-11T12:10:32.781-04:00InvasionSo Captain Nutty is here (that's my mother for the uninitiated).<br /><br />I will try to keep you updated as to the various lunacy that ensues. <br /><br />Oh...and important note...the POD has broken her hand by falling off a horse. And by broke, I mean BROKE. Surgery with plates, pins and screws (Oh my!) to follow on Thursday.<br /><br />Am going shopping with the Captain today as the POD needs school clothes (i.e. 6 plain black t-shirts from Target and two new pairs of jeans). <br /><br />Poop.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">P.S. This entry brought to you by the fine makers of Yellowtail Shiraz-Cabernet mix red wine. Such a fine product helped me endure the Captain on not one, but TWO vodka tonics (not to count the endless supply of DEA controlled narcotics that course through her body at any given time). Gox loves you, you lovely Yellowtail bastards.</span>Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-16812321290825878492007-08-02T13:17:00.000-04:002007-08-02T13:24:40.229-04:00Header? Who Needs a Stinking Header?Clearly I have not figured out what happened to my header but if you're here, you know this is Floyd's Tailgate. Poop.<br /><br />Anyhooooo, things are chumming along swimmingly. Same shit, different year.<br /><br />Let's see....what haven't I told you....<br /><br />Oh! The POD gave our house key away to some runaway kid that needed a place to stay. I shit you not. She knew the kid for about 24 hours and decided that he was fine to come stay at our house. She's an excellent judge of character - witness Krystal with K, the latin lesbian gang banger the POD loved or the pot smoking juvenile enemy number 1 that she allowed into the rents' house who stole my mother's wedding ring. Yeah. Her judgment is top notch.<br /><br />Captain Nutty is coming to visit. Contain your excitement, everyone! Just settle the hell down! <br /><br />Frankly, the only things that really make these visits tolerable is her purchasing power. I know - super shallow - but the truth's a bitch. POD needs school clothes and I need every product currently sold by Sephora. Course Captain Nutty called crying and saying she has no money. So I'm thinking a well-timed return phone call saying "no money, no visity" is in order. <br /><br />If you hear a high pitch wailing, you'll know that's my mother doing her best dying cat impression.<br /><br />Other than that...same old, same old. Anybody still there? Anything going on with you? Do you know how I recover my masthead thingie?Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-60247901367809079242007-06-17T16:41:00.002-04:002007-06-17T16:57:42.613-04:00So Where Was I?Hi. My name is Floyd. And I'm a slack ass blogger.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hi Floyd!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></span></span>It's been 2 1/2 months or so since my last blog. And I'm a blogaholic.<br /><br />Bah.<br /><br />Anyhooooo......<br /><br />All's right with the world. Well. Except for the following.<br /><br /><br />1. The POD is going to visit Martha's Vineyard. with her buddy. She asked me exactly where that was and I responded "New England".<br /><br />Her response? "I DON'T HAVE A PASSPORT!"<br /><br />American education at its best.<br /><br />2. At Target this morning, I purchased some underwear (yes, I bought some underwear at Target....suck it). And they were normal underwear....nice....not up-thE-butt, wild print, screw me panties.<br /><br />So checkout lady goes, "YOU KNOW! I don't usually say this....buuuuut.....(inner warning bells now going off in Floyd's head).....I really like to wear thongs! You should try them! They are soooo comfortable!"<br /><br />Now, Ms. SharesTooMuchForTargetCheckoutLady is a big boned gal. I'm no small potato but she's got at least 100 lbs on me. I smile and nod politely - cause really what the fuck else do you do?<br /><br />And just when I thought it couldn't get more awkward...<br /><br />Ms. CrossEyedSoICan'tSeeHowUncomforableMyCustomerIs says, "You know how it is! Us BIG gals gotta stick together! We like to feel sexy too, right?"<br /><br />Um. Yeah.<br /><br />Discuss my underwear and then call me fat. Great marketing. And seriously, lady? I realize I got a few extra pounds on me but I've also lost a few recently and was feeling pretty good this Sunday morning but thanks for bringing me into your fat folds. And by the way? All fat people are not created equal. I'm still hotter than you - thong or no thong.<br /><br />You missing link whore.<br /><br />3. I'm taking the POD to Universal Studios this week. Captain Nutty and the Consort are paying for our trip in honor of my birthday (which was last week - bah.). To commemorate the occasion, Captain Nutty sent me a little gift to go along with it. She sent me a bottle of Beautiful perfume lotion....which is nice. BUT I haven't worn that perfume in about 20 years. One wonders why she just didn't break out the Love's Baby Soft while she was at it. <br /><br />OH! And she also included a card. But not a birthday card. A thank you card. Yeah. I don't get it either.<br /><br /><br />Anyhooooo.....glad to be back will try to be better but bah. You know how I am.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">P.S. What the hell happened to my title/masthead thingie? Dammit.</span>Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-85975152033732215082007-03-28T21:16:00.000-04:002007-03-28T21:19:25.620-04:00Another Point of OrderAre you freaking kidding me? Pony boy goes on to torment another week?<br /><br />Someone's gots some 'splaining to do.<br /><br />And for that matter, why the hell is Gwen Stefani performing in a body suit and tie? <br /><br />Good gox. Time to hit the tequilla in the middle of the week.<br /><br />I guess we all knew it would come to this.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-53475027438724071522007-03-27T21:19:00.000-04:002007-03-27T21:20:45.353-04:00Point of OrderIf any of you vote for that pony tressed freak Sanjaya, you are dead to me.<br /><br />Do you hear me?<br /><br />Dead.<br /><br />To.<br /><br />Me.<br /><br />Consider yourself forewarned.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-82923648346822310192007-03-12T20:31:00.000-04:002007-03-13T20:15:38.082-04:00Goodnight, Sweet Girl<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhueSTzj8Ib912f9eLG63uUmcQF29WwPTmSDiAP8aZ43o6V7Rwq3kYWwLYoanyJ-wjxYKIuTTPZuyRn7h4IK5CkCH1Ot-ITgE9oeDb2AX5vFwMLuIlUyAMGvay6IwGIo6x5Muc/s1600-h/007_003.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhueSTzj8Ib912f9eLG63uUmcQF29WwPTmSDiAP8aZ43o6V7Rwq3kYWwLYoanyJ-wjxYKIuTTPZuyRn7h4IK5CkCH1Ot-ITgE9oeDb2AX5vFwMLuIlUyAMGvay6IwGIo6x5Muc/s320/007_003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5041201392602304210" /></a><br /><br />Well, I think I've been here before. Today, I had to put my dog Stella down. For those of you who were around last year (like there's anyone still reading - bah), you may remember that I had to put <a href="http://floydstailgate.blogspot.com/2006/02/farewell-old-buddy.html">my Ben</a> to sleep last year. Well, good old Stella managed to hang around and keep me company for an entire year longer. <br /><br />Stella and I didn’t have as long together as Ben and I did. When I lived in Chicago, I got involved with a lab rescue group and began fostering labs. I went through about 35 labs (give or take) – some of them were fantastic dogs…..and some of them made me want to make little lab fur slippers out of them.<br /><br />And then, there was Stella. Stella came into rescue at about 12 years of age. She had been running around south Illinois as a stray for at least a year before the local vet’s office could corral her. I picked her up and pretty quickly thereafter decided that she was the only foster that I just HAD to adopt. She had scars all over her. We don’t really know from what but it was clear she’d had a rough road and I decided she needed me.<br /><br />When she came into my house, she was known to be a “breast cancer survivor” and probably only had a little while longer to live. So I figured I would provide a nice, safe home for her passing. I was all warm and fuzzy from my magnanimous gesture as I saved yet another “poor” dog. <br /><br />Well, bah. Stella was from the hood and she wasn’t down with that. She came into the house and immediately scared the ever-loving shit out of Ben. She took no crap from nobody. She taught the cat that he was a lower life form and let Ben know that his penis didn’t impress her (and considering the whole neuter issue, she wasn’t far wrong). She’d seen tough times and living in suburbia wasn’t it. She was top canine and the house better come to accept it. <br /><br />She insisted on sleeping on the bed with me and Ben. So, of course, I had to get a king size. She and Ben would sleep on either side of me and end up stretching the covers so tight that I couldn’t move. God forbid, they ever tough each other and sleep on the same side. I was uncomfortable but the two of them provided a lovely snoring, chainsaw chorus.<br /><br />A few weeks after I adopted Stella, I was at a Pet Fair with Stella and the lab rescue’s booth was right next to a pet psychic. (Yes, I know – pet psychic – but it was cool and it was free – so bah on you). Ms. Pet Psychic did a little reading on Stella and asked if there was anything I wanted to know. I asked her to Stella to stop chasing the cat. Stella responded that she “thought she was doing pretty good since she hadn’t eaten him yet”.<br /><br />That cracked me up. Still does frankly. <br /> <br />She loved tennis balls but was too good to chase them for you. You threw it once; she caught it and then proceeded to shred the crap out of it in 5 minutes flat. The only ball that could stand her destructive tendencies was a soccer ball. She would carry soccer balls around with her everywhere – each of them in various states of decomposition. Ben hated the fact that she would dare destroy a perfectly good ball but if she could have formed the one finger salute with her paw and flicked him off, she would have.<br /><br />Eventually, she and Ben became friends. She mourned quite a bit when he died. Somehow, that made me feel better to know she missed him too. The POD and I focused all our attention on her, hoping to make her a just a bit happier. In turn, she kept us jumping as well. Over the past few months, she trained me to get up and get her treat anytime she wanted it. I kid you not. She would whine and paw at me until I got up to let her out. Well, she wouldn’t need to go out and since I was “standing by the treats anyway”, I might as well give her one. It took me a while to figure out that her entire intention was simply to manipulate me to the treat jar. Well played, biyatch, well played.<br /><br />My little “going to peacefully die in my do-gooder home within a few months” baby lasted for an entire 4 years with me. She developed a body that closely resembled an ottoman and banged her food dish if I was ever a little too late with breakfast. She developed a cough which quickly became accompanied with a trumpet that blew out of her ass each and every time she hacked. It was both deadly and deadly funny.<br /> She was probably around 16 years old which is freaking ancient for a lab. When Ben died, I asked her to not to leave me for a while. I told her I couldn’t lose them both in one year. Well, my sweet girl kept her promise and lasted one more year and one month. <br /> <br />And for that, I will always be grateful. Good night, baby girl.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-8906473468162330392007-01-26T12:32:00.000-05:002007-01-26T13:11:55.751-05:00Peace Be With YouSo guess what I did on New Years Eve? Go on, guess!<br /><br />Did you say "marry two of your best friends"? Then you're right!<br /><br />I am pleased to announce that Cowboy Dan and Dutch were joined in holy matrimony by your's truly.<br /><br />That's right, you heathens, I am now an official minister of the Universal Life Church & Monastery (<span style="font-style:italic;">both a church AND a monastery</span>!). It was free to be indoctrinated but I paid the extra $30 for the parking pass and plastic badge.<br /><br />This of course means that THIS:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzVXI8RXGYQO8csU8tsxlZMGdK6w_Gvn8qR2Jox6NRJQfKw_QB0Rsk3P2jROFAPFNg8PRxrrjZNqe9ajCieE-uZLnnlIGSsAXJf92y5fXuZCnieh0mB9xzN8JjwMHvzpwGTiM/s1600-h/cowboy+dan.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzVXI8RXGYQO8csU8tsxlZMGdK6w_Gvn8qR2Jox6NRJQfKw_QB0Rsk3P2jROFAPFNg8PRxrrjZNqe9ajCieE-uZLnnlIGSsAXJf92y5fXuZCnieh0mB9xzN8JjwMHvzpwGTiM/s320/cowboy+dan.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024401544060893666" /></a><br /><br />Was married to THAT:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipNFwULN6muFMG88sw4PSPd4WHK3_j3gQnxyTu_rMepw-hb890sF29G4y_0WuQstK-FkUo731rN7SrgPe-Yp5Xe-rpTROigMSSCTWyBkIFSpkk3K-1EBmG9qoxnStjoq9NNX0/s1600-h/dutch.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipNFwULN6muFMG88sw4PSPd4WHK3_j3gQnxyTu_rMepw-hb890sF29G4y_0WuQstK-FkUo731rN7SrgPe-Yp5Xe-rpTROigMSSCTWyBkIFSpkk3K-1EBmG9qoxnStjoq9NNX0/s320/dutch.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024401123154098642" /></a><br /><br />By THIS:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0T1AV8bEpzzwEP4wJkE_mk3m2sAY5MFcXKFBJp2pqysnT-1o0DCwcbFElGDWXHqnX5czeJ5NJto8pJDXN4IdEKh-bpf87Jiu2qlMB-ZCgxcBN5nox0H52WYbO676Uu2ocRFs/s1600-h/reverend+floyd.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0T1AV8bEpzzwEP4wJkE_mk3m2sAY5MFcXKFBJp2pqysnT-1o0DCwcbFElGDWXHqnX5czeJ5NJto8pJDXN4IdEKh-bpf87Jiu2qlMB-ZCgxcBN5nox0H52WYbO676Uu2ocRFs/s320/reverend+floyd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024399826073975234" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />I'm also avialable for funerals, baptisms and "love unions". Fees include a case of a beer and a ride home. I'm just saying.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1169397284467666452007-01-21T11:25:00.000-05:002007-01-21T11:34:44.486-05:00Sunday SmellsA couple of issues I'm pondering this gray Sunday morning:<br /><br />1. What is the absolute time limit for when you have to get out of your pajamas on a Sunday? Does it change your opinion if it's a rainy, overcast Sunday? Does it change your opinion if you know I don't wear underwear with my pajamas? <br /><br />2. If you end up working all day Saturday and Sunday, does that make working on Monday optional? If you are own boss and you give yourself Monday off, does that make you a slack-ass? Does being a slack-ass shock absolutely anyone that knows you?<br /><br />3. If you POD is going on a 4 day ski trip, is it wrong to simulataneously look forward to it and dread it cause you know you're going to sleep with the lights and tv on? (<span style="font-style: italic;">Note to readers: found out my house is haunted over the holidays...I shit you not....really....HAUNTED....more later</span>)<br /><br />4. If your best friend, Fat Baby's Mamma, has a new baby and scares the shit out of you by having a difficult labor and birth, do you still have to send her a baby gift? Cause really, is it fair that just because she has managed to reproduce, she has the right to make your heart stop and begin to worry about what you say at funerals? (<span style="font-style: italic;">And yes, I know I'm overreacting but that's the way my brain works</span>)<br /><br />All in all, the most important part of this Sunday is to say "Welcome to world, Baby Girl!". And yes, I know your name is Saylor but I will be calling you Fat Betty. And just wait to you hear the stories I have to tell you about your mamma. Your Aunt Kitty and I are already planning on getting you drunk on your 18th birthday. Rock on, DaLisa! You are much loved ( but if you ever scare your Aunt Floyd like that again, she will beat your ass....I'm just saying).Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1168348996288045982007-01-09T07:53:00.000-05:002007-01-09T08:28:00.073-05:00Mistletoe, MistleHOIt appears that there have been some sort of holidays since I last blogged. Well, bah. I owe you some updating.<br /><br />Shall we begin?<br /><br />The POD and I survived Christmas. We drove to Tennessee where I was upgraded to a twin bed in bedroom shared with my mother, Captain Nutty, and the POD. THAT i s an upgrade, you ask? Well, yes, gentle reader, it is an upgrade because for the last 15 years, I have been on a fold-out cot in a bedroom with Captain Nutty and the Consort. And for the record, fatty don't do deal without a firm set of boxspring underneath her girth. I'm just saying.<br /><br />The day after Christmas, we all journeyed to the mountains of North Carolina where my aunt lives. My aunt is the sister of Captain Nutty and is just barely a macadamia nut short of a nutty title herself. There we celebrated 25 wonderful years of marriage for Captain Nutty and the Consort.<br /><br />Now here's where it gets to be a "Floyd Family Moment". Let's harken back a few months to when the Captain and her Consort were last in town. During that trip, they dragged me to see Harvey, the family jeweler. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Yes, we have a family jeweler and no, I have no idea why</span>). I was forced to sit there (<span style="font-style: italic;">incredibly hung over, I might add</span>) and listen to a conversation about designing a new ring for my mother. The Consort wanted one large diamond with 24 diamonds set around it (<span style="font-style: italic;">you know, for the 25 years of "marital bliss"</span>). Of course, at this point, I'm trying not to upchuck the gallon of Jaigermeister I had partaken of at the race the night before. But even so, I was in awe of the irony of me being unable to provide hot water for their visit since I didn't pay the gas bill and them designing some "equal to the gross national product of Malaysia" ring while in the same breath telling me they have no money to support the POD right now.<br /><br />Oh wait. It gets better.<br /><br />So I sit through this farce without hacking up on the jeweler's little glass cases. Time goes by. On the night of the anniversary, the Consort makes a GRAND show of giving the ring to my mother. He presents her a big box, which holds smaller and smaller boxes until she gets down to a ring size box. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Sidenote: does this little bigger box ruse really fool anyone anymore? Have it really open up to nothing but air! Now THAT would be a surprise.</span>)<br /><br />Still not to the good part. Bear with me. Trying to get there.<br /><br />So Captain opens up her ring box and acts.......surprised! And I quote, "Oh Consort, I can't believe you did this! What a surprise!"<br /><br />That's right. She pretended she didn't know a thing about it . She acted like we all didn't know she was in on it. She acted like her "two steps above food stamps" daughter wasn't sitting right the hell there as she told Family Jeweler that the 24 diamonds should not be merely chips.<br /><br />AND THEN! With all sincerity and incredulity, she goes to the Consort, "Did Harvey do this?"<br /><br />At that point, I had a coronary and passed out in the spaghetti. I'm still removing pieces of parmessan from my nostrils.<br /><br />Bah.<br /><br />Well, many more exciting holiday memories to share with you. Stay tuned cause I got me some surprises regarding New Years! I'll give you a hint....it involves a wedding.....and NO, not mine.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1165590959101923892006-12-08T10:08:00.000-05:002006-12-08T10:15:59.150-05:00Conversational WorrySo driving down the street with POD when this little gem of an exchange occurs:<br /><br />POD: "OOOO! Look a Hooters with a drive-thru!"<br /><br />Me: "Ummmm....POD.....that's not a Hooters. That's a Hardee's."<br /><br />POD: "oh."<br /><br />I don't know which is more disturbing. The fact that she gets excited at the idea of Hooters or that fact that she can't identify the fast food paragon that is Hardees.<br /><br />Probably a toss up.<br /><br />Equally disturbing but on another level entirely. I'm in a gas station in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere but somewhere in SOUUUUTH Georgia (<span style="font-style: italic;">don't ask</span>). This particular convenience store doesn't really rank up there with the nicer, newer stations but it's well lit thus I'm there.<br /><br />I go in for a Diet Mountain Dew (<span style="font-style: italic;">you get your caffeine your way, I'll get mine my way</span>) and overhear this little tidbit:<br /><br />Granny looking nicely dressed lady wandering in store: "Do you have eggnog?"<br /><br />Meth addicted store clerk: "No....not this time year."<br /><br />Again, not sure what bothers me more. What this grandma is doing looking for eggnog at a shit hole at 1:00 am or the fact that the store clerk seems to think eggnog is the appropriate drink for Easter.<br /><br />I'm just saying.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1165438390365682322006-12-06T15:23:00.000-05:002006-12-06T15:57:29.026-05:00Fa La La La, La La La LaI have a love/hate relationship with Christmas music, as I'm sure most everyone with eardrums does. As a public service announcement, I thought it best to inform you of what holiday tunage is absolutely cringe-worthy in the Floyd world.<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Feliz Navidad</span><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span> I'm all for blind guys singing (except for Stevie….really don’t like Stevie….but I’m all about Ray Charles). I got nothing against Jose Feliciano. But this latin fiesta makes me want to claw my eyes out with a taco chip.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Anything sung by Karen Carpenter.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Her voice makes me think of harvest gold kitchen appliances and bad macramé. Every time I hear one of her songs, I eat a cookie out of sympathy for her whole "I didn't eat so I died" thing. Thus, technically, I can blame any and all holiday weight gain on Karen Carpenter. Poor taste? Sure. Plausible deniability of my own responsibility for my ass size? Absolutely.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.</span></span> </span> For the love of all that's holy, it's a novelty song. Let it go, people, let it go.<br /><br />4. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Any classic sung by a skank.<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span> I don't need "hell to the no" Whitney Crack Whore Houston singing to me about the Christ child. I don't need Madonna purring her version of Santa Baby. Hey, you Angelina-Wanna-Be, we got it when you sang "Material Girl"! You like money! You like shiny things (not unlike raccoon)! Color me clued in! Now, shut the hell up.<br /><br />5. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">George Michael's crappy Last Christmas ditty.</span> This one in particular makes me vomit. If you recall, "last Christmas he gave you his heart"...this Christmas he gave you his bizness in a men's loo in some London public park. And seriously, all the more power to him. I mean if that's your idea of a rocking good time, knock yourself out but I really can't associate you much with the whole "celebration of the birth of the messiah" thing anymore. Wham that, George.<br /><br />Now. All of that being said, I feel compelled to include Floyd's most treasured holiday tunes so that you can be in awe of my highbrowed musical taste. And for the record, I'm only going to include the funs and not the ones like Holy Night which makes me cry each and every time I hear it (Shut up. I have a soft side. And I’m going to Heaven. While y’all burn in hell.)<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch. <span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span>Stink, stank, stunk. Nuff sed.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Those Peanuts kids singing "Christmas Time is Here".<font></span></span><font> Makes me throw my head back and sing like Snoopy howls.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Santa Baby</span> by Eartha Kitt - I just like to hear her say "plat-ti-num mine". (kiss my ass, Madonna)<br /><br />4. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">All I Want for Christmas is You </span></span>by Mariah Carey (okay - so there is ONE exception to the skank rule).<br /><br />5. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas.</span> </span> Cracks my inner child up, each and every time.<br /><br />6. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Chipmunks Christmas Song.</span></span> Now, this is how a novelty song is done, you damn Grandma killers.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Wrap Song by the Waitresses.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>My inner 80s child rocks out to this one.<br /><br />8. <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">U2's version of Baby Please Come Home.<font></span></span><font> U2 could sing the ABC's and I'd probably by a version of it.<br /><br />9. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Heat Miser/Snow Miser song.</span></span> If you don't love this, then you're dead to me. DEAD.<br /><br />10. <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Elvis' Blue Christmas. </span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>I just like to sing along to the "wooooowooooo's".<br /><br />And in the words of Burle Ives, "Merry Damn Christmas".</span></span>Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1164897782066921632006-11-30T09:30:00.000-05:002006-11-30T09:43:02.203-05:00We Could So Hang OutI'm a Good Morning America girl. You can stick your Today show. Katie Couric made my teeth hurt and frankly, even though she's gone, the after taste is too sacharine for me. I like to have my morning Diet Coke with Diane Sawyer and Robin Roberts.It's how I roll.<br /><br />This brings me to this fine morning (<span style="font-style:italic;">which isn't really fine at all as it is raining and the lights on my Christmas tree mysteriously shorted out</span>).<br /><br />Robin Roberts was at the White House for a lovely tour of the Christmas decorations (<span style="font-style:italic;">bet their freaking lights didn't short out - my taxes at work and all</span>). <br /><br />Robin was joined live by the lovely first lady, Laura Bush. Now, I don't delve into politics here too much (<span style="font-style:italic;">and yes, I hear you all going "hell, you don't delve into anything lately!" - bite me</span>)but I love the first lady. She's Texan. She's nice. She's got a backbone of steel. She's got a kickin accent and rocks a pantsuit like no other. She calls her husband "Bushy" and that right there is hysterical.<br /><br />And now I love her even more.<br /><br />She's giving Robin (and ME!) the grand tour of the first crib and brings us to the red room. She explains it's one of her favorite rooms because it's so festive during the holidays.<br /><br />She then does her best Vanna White impression and points to the lovely portrait over the fireplace. <br /><br />And goes as follows, "This is the lovely portrait of Angelica Huston over the mantel.".<br /><br />Ummmm.....Angelica Huston? Daugher of acclaimed director John Huston? Oscar winner for Prizzi's Honor, Huston? <br /><br />Wow. Didn't know she was so popular with the political set.<br /><br />Mrs. Bush later rolls into saying it was Angelica Van Buren but frankly, I find Angelica Huston much more interesting.<br /><br />Rock the vote, sister friend!Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1163559457259872562006-11-14T21:53:00.001-05:002006-11-14T21:57:37.276-05:00Firmly Committed to Non-committanceStill here. Still love you. Promise I will try to write more tomorrow.<br /><br />But for now. For the love of all that's holy. Please go watch the new game show with Willaim Shatner.<br /><br />There is dancing. There is a red vest. There is a contestant that is so fabulously flaming that Liberace is rolling his eyes in disgust.<br /><br />My kind of show.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1160570822955254772006-10-11T08:46:00.000-04:002006-10-11T08:47:02.976-04:00Help Me Out, AllanisIs it ironic to be sitting on the tiolet doing your "business" and reading a cookbook at the same time?<br /><br />Just wonderin.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1160249512979568172006-10-07T15:20:00.000-04:002006-10-07T15:32:12.486-04:00Talla-SUCK-dega<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7579/822/1600/Me%20and%20Cowboy%20Dan"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7579/822/320/Me%20and%20Cowboy%20Dan%20%2704.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />In 2004, I went to the race at Talladega and was all happy with Cowboy Dan like this.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7579/822/1600/Me%20and%20Elvis"></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7579/822/1600/Me%20and%20Elvis"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7579/822/320/Me%20and%20Elvis%20%2704.2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />In 2004, I went to Talladega and met Elvis.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7579/822/1600/Me"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7579/822/320/Me%20%2705.jpg" border="0" /></a>In 2005, I added a jaunty chapeau.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7579/822/1600/Me%20and%20Elvis"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7579/822/320/Me%20and%20Elvis%20%2705.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />In 2005, I asked that Elvis keep his shirt on.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In 2006, I'm sitting my fat ass at home while Elvis pines for me.<br /><br />Dammit.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1160156316764845782006-10-06T13:32:00.000-04:002006-10-06T13:38:36.840-04:00Any Takers?So I've been a little stressed. Nothing new about that really. And not "<em>overwhelming, pull the covers over my head and pray for the Apocalypse</em>" stress but more the "<em>would it be wrong to have wine at 9 am</em>?" stress.<br /><br />You need an example, you say?<br /><br />Well, okay.<br /><br />I was brushing my teeth this morning because despite my predilection for Nascar, I have a full mouth of teeth. <br /><br />Well, so I'm brushing away. And all is good.<br /><br />Something happens. I don't really know what. It wasn't traumatic, it was just an impulse or something.<br /><br />Result? I bit down on my toothbrush.<br /><br />I bit down on my toothbrush HARD.<br /><br />And well, I broke my toothbrush.<br /><br />That's right, I lockjawed on that fine Oral B apparatus and broke it. Broke it into a couple of pieces. With my teeth. <br /><br />So, that begs the question.....<br /><br />Who wants a blowjob?Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1158585175814860192006-09-18T08:55:00.000-04:002006-09-18T09:16:48.890-04:00So Where Was I?Oh, I know where I was...CURSING BLOGGER AFTER I LOST AN ENTIRE POST!!!! ARRRGH.<br /><br />In an effort to be more regular (without resorting to fiber therapy), I've decided I'm going to try to throw in some shorter posts to counteract my longer rants. That way maybe I can post a little more often. <br /><br />Of course, after making this decision, I stored up about 4 shorter issues and didn't post them. Oh well. Best laid plans.<br /><br />1. A call to all ladies. The spandex bicycle short should never be worn anytime your posterior is not actually on a bicycle seat. Never. Ever. And especially not in line at the post office. Especially not in line at the post office with your oversized baseball jersey (which calls for another post all its own) and white sandals. Especially not in line at the post office with your two squalling brats. I was really torn at first. I didn't know whether to give you a little hug and say, "hang in there, sister!" or give you a bitch slap upside the head. But then your darling little tot stuck her tongue out at me and when I made a face back at her, she started squalling. Loudly. And you did nothing to quell such squalling (notice - I take absolutely no responsibility for such episode). Therefore, consider yourself mentally bitch slapped upside the back of your head.<br /><br />2. Dear teenage houseguest. You are here because I really would like the POD to make new friends at her new school. You appeared like a good candidate. However, when I tell you that we will be cooking out hamburgers and hot dogs and you respond "can we get Wendy's?", you tend to set my teeth on edge. When you then proceed to preheat the oven as you help yourself to a frozen pizza, you have woken the beast. Side note - you are 15, I shouldn't have to use the phrase, "we don't rough house inside" at all. Go home and whine to your parents that you've been bitch slapped.<br /><br />3. Note to client. I do realize that you have not been privy to my previous rants on proper attire for the courtroom. However, that is no excuse. Let me make this as clear as possible. We are going into court to put forth a legal position that has no basis in the law AT ALL. We need the judge to either like you or pity you and frankly, I don't care which it is. When needing the favorable light of others, you do not wear your jorts (jeans + shorts = jorts) to court. I could go into how you probaly shouldn't wear jorts anywhere but that is probably for another rant. The mind reels when it realizes you have been waiting for this court date for an entire year so on your big morning you pulled out your nicest pressed shorts and best gold chain - brings whole new meaning to "dressed to impress". I'll be billing you extra - consider yourself bitch slapped. And I don't care if that knocks you out of your wheelchair or not.<br /><br />Well, I feel like I have righted some wrongs. Carry on.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566079.post-1156345974672234332006-08-23T11:12:00.000-04:002006-08-23T11:12:54.696-04:00And I Didn't Have To Go Through LaborThe POD is readjusting to civilian life. School has started and we are settling back into a routine. She is still the same child that I sent away to camp but there is a subtle improvement. She has matured some over the summer, which is welcome relief. However, she still wants to watch every episode of Hannah Montana on the Disney channel. What can I say? She’s a contradiction in terms.<br /><br />However, this brings us to my role in her life. I offer the following for you perusal.<br /><br />A sister feeds you mini-pizza for a nutritious well-balanced dinner.<br /><br />A mother holds your hair while you puke up said pizza a few hours later.<br /><br />A sister flees the area upon realizing the toilet is now clogged with vomit and a stench unlike any she has known before.<br /><br />A mother rolls up her pajama pants and mops the smelliest mess ever produce from the bathroom floor while mentally cussing the plumbing in the shit hole house (ummm…. a mother might not use the phrase “shit hole” but it was warranted in this particular situation).<br /><br />A sister packs a kid off to bed with a “Gee, I hope you feel better”.<br /><br />A mother tucks said kid into her own bed and then sleeps on the 2 square inches of the king size bed that the child has not commandeered in the middle of the night.<br /><br />A sister fetches Krispy Kremes for breakfast as requested by semi-recovered child this morning.<br /><br />A mother makes dry toast and prays it stays down said kid’s gullet.<br /><br />My point?<br /><br />I WANT A FUCKING MOTHER’S DAY CARD, PEOPLE! A <strong>MOTHER’S</strong> DAY CARD! AND IT NEEDS TO BE HALLMARK! AND OVERSIZED! ONE OF THOSE $5.00 CARDS WITH FLOWERS ON THE FRONT AND MUSHY WORDS INSIDE!<br /><br />A bunch of flowers wouldn’t kill you either.<br /><br />I’m just saying.Floydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11368863875515263325noreply@blogger.com5