Ugh. 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.
I just ate a brownie for breakfast. Is it possible to have PMS 3 weeks out of 4?
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.
I know none of this makes any sense but this is what goes through my brain on a regular basis. Pity me.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Just When You Thought It Was Safe...
I'm back.
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.
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)
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!)
We'll start with me cause I'm really the most simple update.
I'm still the same. Next topic.
Eh. Maybe a few changes.
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.
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.
One last little nuggett. Kitty got married. Kitty got married to a guy we'll call Judge a mere 3 weeks ago.
What does this mean, dear reader?
It means I'm the last single girl in my entire social world. Now who's the cranky one?
Fucking typical.
Coming soon: Top Ten Things Learned at Kitty's Wedding
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.
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)
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!)
We'll start with me cause I'm really the most simple update.
I'm still the same. Next topic.
Eh. Maybe a few changes.
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.
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.
One last little nuggett. Kitty got married. Kitty got married to a guy we'll call Judge a mere 3 weeks ago.
What does this mean, dear reader?
It means I'm the last single girl in my entire social world. Now who's the cranky one?
Fucking typical.
Coming soon: Top Ten Things Learned at Kitty's Wedding
Sunday, April 27, 2008
In the Church of My Captain
One hardly knows where to begin. However, due to my excessive absences of late, it is probably necessary to back up a bit.
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.
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.
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!" .
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.
My point? Why waste your time with all this back story?
I've two words for you. The most feared words in all of Floydom.
Garage Sale.
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).
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.
Did the Captain listen? Did the Captain grasp the need to have a laid-back garage sale? Does bear crap stick to their fur?
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.
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.
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.
Well, the Captain lost it. And frankly, after enough pain killers to put down a yak, who came blame her.
She storms back to the house all the while yelling, "Fuck you, Floyd! Just fuck you!" (and no, she doesn't call me Floyd).
I told her to get in the house.
She then turned around and said "Damn you for this, Floyd! Damn you!" (and no, she still doesn't call me Floyd).
Well, and here is where I might have gone a bit too far.
I look at her and go "What? Can you speak up? I can't hear you!".
Hehehehehe..... a bit too far but extremely satisfying.
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.
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".
I reply, "Have a great trip! See ya!".
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).
My point?
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.
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.
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.
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!" .
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.
My point? Why waste your time with all this back story?
I've two words for you. The most feared words in all of Floydom.
Garage Sale.
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).
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.
Did the Captain listen? Did the Captain grasp the need to have a laid-back garage sale? Does bear crap stick to their fur?
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.
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.
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.
Well, the Captain lost it. And frankly, after enough pain killers to put down a yak, who came blame her.
She storms back to the house all the while yelling, "Fuck you, Floyd! Just fuck you!" (and no, she doesn't call me Floyd).
I told her to get in the house.
She then turned around and said "Damn you for this, Floyd! Damn you!" (and no, she still doesn't call me Floyd).
Well, and here is where I might have gone a bit too far.
I look at her and go "What? Can you speak up? I can't hear you!".
Hehehehehe..... a bit too far but extremely satisfying.
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.
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".
I reply, "Have a great trip! See ya!".
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).
My point?
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.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Lord Deliver Me
I'm watching the movie Atonement. It sucks. Completely sucks. Bored out of my skull.
Ick.
Ick.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Twitter Twiddle
For 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!
Wait.
Please don't run screaming.
I'll try to utilize some manner of self editing. (Please ignore today's post about spending time in the courthouse bathroom).
Speaking of which....I could totally Twitter you from a bathroom stall!
This could be so, so bad.
But so, so good.
Wait.
Please don't run screaming.
I'll try to utilize some manner of self editing. (Please ignore today's post about spending time in the courthouse bathroom).
Speaking of which....I could totally Twitter you from a bathroom stall!
This could be so, so bad.
But so, so good.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
So....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.
Anyhooooo....if anybody is still there, I'll guess I'll give you an update.
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).
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.
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 "one less! one less! I want to be one less!" commercial). And when I say "going on and on", I mean the damn Captain wouldn't shut her pie hole about it.
So I finally say "What the hell? We'll ask her doctor about it when we get a chance!"
Captain Nutty immediately starts crying as I have now raised my voice in an angry-like fashion which is unacceptable.
She cries out to me, "BUT I DON'T WANT HER GETTING AIDS!"
That's right.
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.
Yep. Can't make this shit up.
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)
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.
I take a bite and it's quite good. So, I offer the Captain a bite.
She takes a bite. Her response?
"Wow! You can really taste the anus in it!"
Yep.
"Mom, do you possibly mean "anise"?"
"Oh."
Needless to say, my sausage munching was done for the evening.
Well, folks, I will leave you now but hopefully I'm back. Hopefully, I'll be better this time. Hopefully, there will be wine.
Anyhooooo....if anybody is still there, I'll guess I'll give you an update.
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).
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.
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 "one less! one less! I want to be one less!" commercial). And when I say "going on and on", I mean the damn Captain wouldn't shut her pie hole about it.
So I finally say "What the hell? We'll ask her doctor about it when we get a chance!"
Captain Nutty immediately starts crying as I have now raised my voice in an angry-like fashion which is unacceptable.
She cries out to me, "BUT I DON'T WANT HER GETTING AIDS!"
That's right.
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.
Yep. Can't make this shit up.
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)
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.
I take a bite and it's quite good. So, I offer the Captain a bite.
She takes a bite. Her response?
"Wow! You can really taste the anus in it!"
Yep.
"Mom, do you possibly mean "anise"?"
"Oh."
Needless to say, my sausage munching was done for the evening.
Well, folks, I will leave you now but hopefully I'm back. Hopefully, I'll be better this time. Hopefully, there will be wine.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Welcome to the Captain Nutty Show
So 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.
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.
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 (read: hysterically) suggested (read: demanded in petulant manner) that she go on said golf weekend for her own good (read: I threatened to kill her if she stayed). 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.
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.
In the last hour, I have answered the following:
I see you're working - Should I pack a lunch for POD?
Does she want strawberries or pineapple in her lunch? (Perhaps one should ask the POD!)
Where are your ziploc bags?
Is it cold in here?
Did you here the dryer go off?
Did you know vinegar has a lot of uses around the house? I read that in Real Simple.
Did I tell you that my friends took me out early for my birthday? (yes, at least 8 times but please tell me again!)
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)
Do you want some ice cream?
Did you want some ice cream?
Are you sure you don't want some ice cream?
Do you want some ice cream - I'll make it for you?
Come on - you want some ice cream?
See? Why didn't you say you wanted some ice cream?
Has the POD done her homework?
Has the POD had her shower?
Do you want me to take POD to school tomorrow?
Does the POD love me?
Do you love me?
Do you think your father hates me?
Is the dog allowed to chew that?
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.)
Yep. I hereby honestly swear or affirm that all above is a true and correct representation of the past 30 minutes of my life.
She's a keeper.
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.
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 (read: hysterically) suggested (read: demanded in petulant manner) that she go on said golf weekend for her own good (read: I threatened to kill her if she stayed). 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.
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.
In the last hour, I have answered the following:
I see you're working - Should I pack a lunch for POD?
Does she want strawberries or pineapple in her lunch? (Perhaps one should ask the POD!)
Where are your ziploc bags?
Is it cold in here?
Did you here the dryer go off?
Did you know vinegar has a lot of uses around the house? I read that in Real Simple.
Did I tell you that my friends took me out early for my birthday? (yes, at least 8 times but please tell me again!)
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)
Do you want some ice cream?
Did you want some ice cream?
Are you sure you don't want some ice cream?
Do you want some ice cream - I'll make it for you?
Come on - you want some ice cream?
See? Why didn't you say you wanted some ice cream?
Has the POD done her homework?
Has the POD had her shower?
Do you want me to take POD to school tomorrow?
Does the POD love me?
Do you love me?
Do you think your father hates me?
Is the dog allowed to chew that?
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.)
Yep. I hereby honestly swear or affirm that all above is a true and correct representation of the past 30 minutes of my life.
She's a keeper.
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