*You may have noticed a recurring theme here...on Fridays, I find it difficult to form any cohesive topic so I'm thinking about making this a regular Friday thingy. Just a little spot where I can put down my random thoughts that intrigued me during the week but weren't enough for me to spin a whole post out of. So just bear with me on Fridays.
Have you ever...
...had a sex dream about Chandler from Friends and when he gets to the naked part he has a mangina? How 'bout a mangina with teeth?
...watched Extreme Makeover and thought "wow, I'm tons uglier than her....this can't be good"?
...wondered if your current drinking habits scare other people? if they scare college kids, does this mean your death is imminent?
...convinced a client that the "court" is requiring a document late in the game as opposed to the truth being you forgot to give it to them in the first place?
...found yourself really, really captivated by Kelly Rippa?
...thought to yourself "man, I could totally do Dr. Phil's job"?
...considered ordering a cookie cake all for yourself? one that you can just bring home and eat all the icing off of without anyone else knowing?
...looked a person doing a really, really menial job and thought "sheesh, that guy looks way happier than me" and then forgot about such thought as soon as you sped off in your Lexus?
...wanted to get into a car accident for just...you know...a little time off?
...just enjoyed saying the words "ben-wa balls"? (please note - not USING ben-wa balls just saying the words...keep it clean, people, keep it clean)
Ummm....yeah....me neither.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
If You Believe, We Put a Man on the Moon
Explain this to me, gentle readers. We can develop heat resistant tiles to protect the underbelly of the space shuttle during re-entry into our atmosphere. We can devise a protective suit for an astronaut to take a meandering stroll through space and repair said tiles when they run amuck. Hell, we can even figure out how to crap in zero gravitiy without getting yourself all mussy. So we can conquer outer space but are you trying to tell me we can't conquer butt sweat?
We have anti-perspirants and we have deodorants for the old pits. But what does the butt crack have? What does the shelf beneath the boobies have? What does the cleavage running down your spine have? (And don't even getting me started on the general groin area)
Some brainiac invented protection for the old armpits but then apparently decided - "Hey, good enough. I've done my part for humanity." He surely expected some olfactory genius to continue his good work and invent some miraculous products to leave us all high and dry. Well, his grand social experiment failed. Failed miserably.
And don't you dare write to me expounding on the virutes of baby powder. Been there, done that. I've gone out of this house looking like I just had a cocaine bender with Tony Montana but it has done nothing to staunch the flow of sweat down my back boobies.
In fear of dire repercussions, I won't discuss my theories regarding the giant Johnson&Johnson/Proctor&Gamble conspiracy - you know the one where they all get together the most effective ways to increase global warming so that we sweat more and then buy more of their ineffective products. Somewhere in Battle Creek, Michigan, there is gleeful laughter in the boardrooms. (and yes, I know Battle Creek is the home of cereal and not sweat products but trust me, Snap, Crackle & Pop are probably in on this too - never trust three midgets in weird little hats)
I call on modern science to get their collective heads out of their collective ass cracks (sweaty ones, I'm sure) and develop some all-over body non-sweatner. Cancer will cure itself but sweat is never-ending.
We have anti-perspirants and we have deodorants for the old pits. But what does the butt crack have? What does the shelf beneath the boobies have? What does the cleavage running down your spine have? (And don't even getting me started on the general groin area)
Some brainiac invented protection for the old armpits but then apparently decided - "Hey, good enough. I've done my part for humanity." He surely expected some olfactory genius to continue his good work and invent some miraculous products to leave us all high and dry. Well, his grand social experiment failed. Failed miserably.
And don't you dare write to me expounding on the virutes of baby powder. Been there, done that. I've gone out of this house looking like I just had a cocaine bender with Tony Montana but it has done nothing to staunch the flow of sweat down my back boobies.
In fear of dire repercussions, I won't discuss my theories regarding the giant Johnson&Johnson/Proctor&Gamble conspiracy - you know the one where they all get together the most effective ways to increase global warming so that we sweat more and then buy more of their ineffective products. Somewhere in Battle Creek, Michigan, there is gleeful laughter in the boardrooms. (and yes, I know Battle Creek is the home of cereal and not sweat products but trust me, Snap, Crackle & Pop are probably in on this too - never trust three midgets in weird little hats)
I call on modern science to get their collective heads out of their collective ass cracks (sweaty ones, I'm sure) and develop some all-over body non-sweatner. Cancer will cure itself but sweat is never-ending.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Have You Ever...Part Two
Have you ever...
...seriously, seriously considered eating at the "Happy Happy China 100 Super Super Buffet" restaurant?
....wondered if your ovaries were fed up with the lack of activity and were currently hatching a plan in which they tunnel their way out through your belly button?
...really, really regretted buying the cheap toilet paper at a really, really bad moment?
...enjoyed cleaning out your dog's infected ear with q-tips?
...had to call your best friend in another state with a really, really moronic filing question cause you never do any real litigation work even though you tell your clients that you're "in court" ALL the time?
...been looking a client right in the eyes and spewing forth all kinds of sympathy while in your head, the little voices are saying, "man, this guy is sooooo screwed"?
...recommend a client seek professional help and then realize while the words are coming out of your mouth, "oh yeah, I AM the professional help"?
...wondered exactly how fat you have to be before you become unable to wipe your own ass?
...wondered how close you were to having to recruit some ass-wiping help?
...felt like you needed a beer even though it was only 9 am?
Ummmm...yeah....me neither.
...seriously, seriously considered eating at the "Happy Happy China 100 Super Super Buffet" restaurant?
....wondered if your ovaries were fed up with the lack of activity and were currently hatching a plan in which they tunnel their way out through your belly button?
...really, really regretted buying the cheap toilet paper at a really, really bad moment?
...enjoyed cleaning out your dog's infected ear with q-tips?
...had to call your best friend in another state with a really, really moronic filing question cause you never do any real litigation work even though you tell your clients that you're "in court" ALL the time?
...been looking a client right in the eyes and spewing forth all kinds of sympathy while in your head, the little voices are saying, "man, this guy is sooooo screwed"?
...recommend a client seek professional help and then realize while the words are coming out of your mouth, "oh yeah, I AM the professional help"?
...wondered exactly how fat you have to be before you become unable to wipe your own ass?
...wondered how close you were to having to recruit some ass-wiping help?
...felt like you needed a beer even though it was only 9 am?
Ummmm...yeah....me neither.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Sign of the Apocalypse, Part Deux
Well, gentle readers, it's happened. As all things in the blogworld turn, my idiot friends have collectively decided, "Fuck Floyd! We're worlds funnier than her and why should she be the only one seeking internet fame and fortune!". And frankly, we all know they're right.
That's right, gentle reader. My pals and chums have decided to join us here in blogland. So without further ado, I introduce you to the following:
Me Wonders - the ramblings and musings of our very own Cowboy Dan
Team Endura - and of course, Kitty is not to outdone
Mandals - my good pal, the Dutch Porn Star has also taking his turn as a wordsmith.
Enjoy. And be kind - I don't want to be the evil bitch that sent the forces of darkness upon them....or maybe I do...hmmmmm.
That's right, gentle reader. My pals and chums have decided to join us here in blogland. So without further ado, I introduce you to the following:
Me Wonders - the ramblings and musings of our very own Cowboy Dan
Team Endura - and of course, Kitty is not to outdone
Mandals - my good pal, the Dutch Porn Star has also taking his turn as a wordsmith.
Enjoy. And be kind - I don't want to be the evil bitch that sent the forces of darkness upon them....or maybe I do...hmmmmm.
Penis Times Two*
*Who are we kidding - I just love any excuse to work the word "penis" into a title
Word through the grapevine is that Big Fat Twin Mamma (hereinafter Mamma) gave birth to happy, healthy baby boys last night. The new boys came in at a whopping 4 lbs., 12 oz. and 4 lbs., 9 oz. - I say whopping cause poor old Mamma has been on bed rest trying to keep those rambunctious rascals in utero until such time as they were big enough to whoop some ass upon arrival.
I also have it on good authority that said babies are being named Floyd, Jr. and Floyd, II - of course to be called "Junior" and "Deuce". I'm greatly looking forward to the days when the boys are older and start sporting their matching mullets which if they inherit their mother's beautiful curly hair might seem a little "Welcom Back, Kotter" but the twins will be style setters - I have no doubt about that. I'm sure they'll spend their teenage years driving around town in their tricked out truck mooning the local girls. Mamma will certainly have her hands full but they will know early on not to cross Mamma - Mamma is NOT to be trifled with - especially not after she's had a couple of martinis and with twin boys, me thinks Mamma's drinking is about to increase dramatically.
And they will of course be spending quality time with their Auntie Kitty who really has a magical way with children. Per the course for Kitty, she will wait until after their first tee-ball practice and say, "Hey Junior! Hey, Deuce! Mamma said you're playing tee-ball. Do you swing the bat like a girl?" At which point Mamma will have to remove the twins from Auntie Kitty's presence and immediately enroll them in gender identification therapy.
Of course, Auntie Floyd will only be allowed limited access considering her propensity to randomly use the word "penis" at highly inopportune moments. But Auntie Floyd understands. Just knowing her namesakes are healthy, thriving little buggers is enough for her.
Congratulations to the entire Big Fat Twin Mamma clan! And welcome to the world Junior and Deuce!
Word through the grapevine is that Big Fat Twin Mamma (hereinafter Mamma) gave birth to happy, healthy baby boys last night. The new boys came in at a whopping 4 lbs., 12 oz. and 4 lbs., 9 oz. - I say whopping cause poor old Mamma has been on bed rest trying to keep those rambunctious rascals in utero until such time as they were big enough to whoop some ass upon arrival.
I also have it on good authority that said babies are being named Floyd, Jr. and Floyd, II - of course to be called "Junior" and "Deuce". I'm greatly looking forward to the days when the boys are older and start sporting their matching mullets which if they inherit their mother's beautiful curly hair might seem a little "Welcom Back, Kotter" but the twins will be style setters - I have no doubt about that. I'm sure they'll spend their teenage years driving around town in their tricked out truck mooning the local girls. Mamma will certainly have her hands full but they will know early on not to cross Mamma - Mamma is NOT to be trifled with - especially not after she's had a couple of martinis and with twin boys, me thinks Mamma's drinking is about to increase dramatically.
And they will of course be spending quality time with their Auntie Kitty who really has a magical way with children. Per the course for Kitty, she will wait until after their first tee-ball practice and say, "Hey Junior! Hey, Deuce! Mamma said you're playing tee-ball. Do you swing the bat like a girl?" At which point Mamma will have to remove the twins from Auntie Kitty's presence and immediately enroll them in gender identification therapy.
Of course, Auntie Floyd will only be allowed limited access considering her propensity to randomly use the word "penis" at highly inopportune moments. But Auntie Floyd understands. Just knowing her namesakes are healthy, thriving little buggers is enough for her.
Congratulations to the entire Big Fat Twin Mamma clan! And welcome to the world Junior and Deuce!
Friday, July 22, 2005
Have You Ever...
So gentle readers, have you ever...
...plucked your eyebrows with the same tweezers you just used to remove a tick of your dog's ass?
...based solely on the smell of a fart, thought, "Wow...I must surely be dying?"
...told clients that you couldn't meet with them because you were caught up in court when actually you were sitting around in your pajamas watching Oprah while eating a big bowl of ice cream?
Ummmmm...yeah....me neither.
...plucked your eyebrows with the same tweezers you just used to remove a tick of your dog's ass?
...based solely on the smell of a fart, thought, "Wow...I must surely be dying?"
...told clients that you couldn't meet with them because you were caught up in court when actually you were sitting around in your pajamas watching Oprah while eating a big bowl of ice cream?
Ummmmm...yeah....me neither.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Hey Jackass...I'm Charging By the Hour
Dear Asswipe Client,
I realize that you may or may not have some legal issues which you would like dealt with in a professional and successful manner. I realize that you are probably truly stressed by the rough hand some big, bad meanie out there has dealt you. I realize that under ALL that turmoil you have found it very difficult to reach out to the dreaded and evil lawyer for help. I realize that all lawyers should be in the bottom of the ocean or that according to Shakespeare, we should all be killed first.
But guees what, Jackass?
NONE OF THIS GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO SHOW UP TWO HOURS LATE.
That's right, Dick Smoke. Despite what thoughts might be floating around in the little pea brain of yours, my time is valuable. I do not sit at my desk all day merely waiting for you to appear so that I can listen to you whine and bitch about how society is either - a) racist; b) sexist; c) ageist; or d) simply cruel and out to get you. Cause really unless you show up with a certified check and hand it to me before you even open your yapper, I could really give a rat's ass.
Despite what you see on t.v., the world doesn't owe you shit - and neither do I. Matter of fact, it is YOU who owe me - that's right, you're harshing my buzz. You are sucking up my oxygen and ruining precious hours in which I could be drunk.
So the next time you think you need a little legal shoulder to cry on, call the People's Court cause I'm heading to the bar.
Sincerely,
Your Devoted Legal Counsel
I realize that you may or may not have some legal issues which you would like dealt with in a professional and successful manner. I realize that you are probably truly stressed by the rough hand some big, bad meanie out there has dealt you. I realize that under ALL that turmoil you have found it very difficult to reach out to the dreaded and evil lawyer for help. I realize that all lawyers should be in the bottom of the ocean or that according to Shakespeare, we should all be killed first.
But guees what, Jackass?
NONE OF THIS GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO SHOW UP TWO HOURS LATE.
That's right, Dick Smoke. Despite what thoughts might be floating around in the little pea brain of yours, my time is valuable. I do not sit at my desk all day merely waiting for you to appear so that I can listen to you whine and bitch about how society is either - a) racist; b) sexist; c) ageist; or d) simply cruel and out to get you. Cause really unless you show up with a certified check and hand it to me before you even open your yapper, I could really give a rat's ass.
Despite what you see on t.v., the world doesn't owe you shit - and neither do I. Matter of fact, it is YOU who owe me - that's right, you're harshing my buzz. You are sucking up my oxygen and ruining precious hours in which I could be drunk.
So the next time you think you need a little legal shoulder to cry on, call the People's Court cause I'm heading to the bar.
Sincerely,
Your Devoted Legal Counsel
Monday, July 18, 2005
And Now....A Little Something About Me
Well, gentle readers, I've managed to subdue my liver after some careful bribing with a Bourbon and a Big Mac. He says he'll stick around a little longer if I promise to drink one glass of water per week. It's a hard bargain but I suppose one must do what one must do.
As I am currently wrapped up in full Harry Potter mania and therefore do not have a single original thought in my head that doesn't involve muggles or pensives, I thought it prime time to turn to you, gentle reader. That's right! It's time for Reader Email! (If you could please hear some sort of trumpet fanfare or perhaps Spanish Flea playing in the background, I would greatly appreciate it)
So, let's get right to it...
1. Exactly how many medications are you on?
Weeeelllll, hard to say, hard to say. On a daily basis? None. However, I would say that about weekly some guys in white coats hold me down and administer a few shots. I think that's just for the rabies though.
2. Is the POD (the Princess of Darkness) really all that dark?
No, she's blond. HA! But she does have a fondness for the color black and a general hatred toward all things pink. And I mean, HATRED - the color pink has been somewhat demonized by the POD. We are a pink-free zone.
3. So really, how much are you drinking and should I be concerned?
Ummmmm...I'm probably drinking a lot in YOUR book but in my book, I'm just drinking up to a "colorful" or perhaps "eccentric" level. No need for an intervention. (But if you are planning an intervention I do NOT want to be on that A&E show "Intervention" - their makeup person clearly sucks)
4. How's the new business going?
Well, I suppose okay...I'm broke...but people still call and I'm able to bullshit my way through their issues (ummmm...except for any clients that may be reading right now - your stuff I've got handled, no worries!)
5. Holy crap, does your family know you write about them this way?
Hell no! What kind of moron do you take me for? Well, actually Daddy and Skank Ass Cousin know about it but that's about it. POD would find it amusing but would probably devise new antics to be included in my commentary more often - and my heart (or heck, my liver) couldn't take that. If Captain Nutty knew, she would be forced into years more intensive therapy and I would be subjected to at least 2 more weepy phone calls per day over the 2 daily hand wringing episodes I already receive.
6. So is Captain Nutty really all that nutty?
Yes.....oh god, yes. You people have no idea. NO IDEA.
7. Are you as hot looking in person as you are in your pictures?
Yes....oh god, yes. You people have no idea. NO IDEA.
8. Aren't you concerned that with sharing all this information someone is going to steal your identity?
HAHAHAHAHAHA....GOOOD LUCK. If someone goes through all that trouble, I hope they take that $20 worth of credit and run with it. Party on me. Hell, here's my social security number - 334-58-0092 - have fun.
9. What's with all the weird names of your friends? Can a fella get a little helping hand or a decoder ring?
Okay, I realize those that newly pop in may become confused by the nicknames. However, I would like to inform all that I really call these people by these names. Per your request, decoder ring coordinates follow:
Kitty and Cowboy Dan = best pals - both chicks (and no, I don't know why I call her Cowboy Dan, I just do)
Fat Baby family = other best friend - all spoken of in relation to Fat Baby because he is the center of our universe
POD = Princess of Darkness who is 15 year old little sister who lives with me during the school year
Captain Nutty = my mother...nuf sed.
Skank Ass Cousin = rather self-explanatory, I would think. Also serves as best friend and compatriot in many adventures (read: drunkenness)
I have other pals who comment that I do know in my personal life - Paradise Lesbian, Magoozie, Big Fat Twin Mamma and many more.
10. Should I be calling for help?
Yes...yes, you should. Matter of fact, what the fuck are you still doing here? Get me some help!
11. Are you really a lawyer? Cause seriously, your spelling and grammar really kinda suck...
No, but I play one on the Internet....and in my office, but don't tell anyone. I'm actually a 12 year-old repeating the 4th grade for the third time.
12. Seriously, for the love of all that's holy, please, please tell me you make this stuff up?
No. I wish I could tell you that I'm that creative but everything here is true....well, except for a little creative license here and there. OKAY! You busted me - in the Daytona post, I mentioned that Kitty and Cowboy Dan rode around in a little red wagon....it was yellow. So sue me.
Sooooo, that ought to help you out a little bit. Feel free to keep the questions coming. I'll feel free to bullshit my way through them.
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
P.S. Before you ask, Vladimir Poopshoot is one my many aliases and a key proponent in the fight to make A.S.S. a national holiday.
P.S.S. No, I haven't forgotten you, Dutch Porn Star. You will have your debut very soon.
P.S.S.S. Special shout out to Big Fat Twin Mamma - you keep those kids in there, you hear me! If you let them start calling the shots now, you'll never get the upper hand again! Sure, now they just want out of the womb a little early, but the next thing you know they're stealing your car, smoking the whacky weed and blaming each other for knocking up the neighbor's daughter. Keep your legs crossed and your ass on the couch, Mamma!
P.S.S.S.S. Another shout out to Big Fat Twin Mamma - Floyd is a great name for a boy...no really...I'm just saying.
As I am currently wrapped up in full Harry Potter mania and therefore do not have a single original thought in my head that doesn't involve muggles or pensives, I thought it prime time to turn to you, gentle reader. That's right! It's time for Reader Email! (If you could please hear some sort of trumpet fanfare or perhaps Spanish Flea playing in the background, I would greatly appreciate it)
So, let's get right to it...
1. Exactly how many medications are you on?
Weeeelllll, hard to say, hard to say. On a daily basis? None. However, I would say that about weekly some guys in white coats hold me down and administer a few shots. I think that's just for the rabies though.
2. Is the POD (the Princess of Darkness) really all that dark?
No, she's blond. HA! But she does have a fondness for the color black and a general hatred toward all things pink. And I mean, HATRED - the color pink has been somewhat demonized by the POD. We are a pink-free zone.
3. So really, how much are you drinking and should I be concerned?
Ummmmm...I'm probably drinking a lot in YOUR book but in my book, I'm just drinking up to a "colorful" or perhaps "eccentric" level. No need for an intervention. (But if you are planning an intervention I do NOT want to be on that A&E show "Intervention" - their makeup person clearly sucks)
4. How's the new business going?
Well, I suppose okay...I'm broke...but people still call and I'm able to bullshit my way through their issues (ummmm...except for any clients that may be reading right now - your stuff I've got handled, no worries!)
5. Holy crap, does your family know you write about them this way?
Hell no! What kind of moron do you take me for? Well, actually Daddy and Skank Ass Cousin know about it but that's about it. POD would find it amusing but would probably devise new antics to be included in my commentary more often - and my heart (or heck, my liver) couldn't take that. If Captain Nutty knew, she would be forced into years more intensive therapy and I would be subjected to at least 2 more weepy phone calls per day over the 2 daily hand wringing episodes I already receive.
6. So is Captain Nutty really all that nutty?
Yes.....oh god, yes. You people have no idea. NO IDEA.
7. Are you as hot looking in person as you are in your pictures?
Yes....oh god, yes. You people have no idea. NO IDEA.
8. Aren't you concerned that with sharing all this information someone is going to steal your identity?
HAHAHAHAHAHA....GOOOD LUCK. If someone goes through all that trouble, I hope they take that $20 worth of credit and run with it. Party on me. Hell, here's my social security number - 334-58-0092 - have fun.
9. What's with all the weird names of your friends? Can a fella get a little helping hand or a decoder ring?
Okay, I realize those that newly pop in may become confused by the nicknames. However, I would like to inform all that I really call these people by these names. Per your request, decoder ring coordinates follow:
Kitty and Cowboy Dan = best pals - both chicks (and no, I don't know why I call her Cowboy Dan, I just do)
Fat Baby family = other best friend - all spoken of in relation to Fat Baby because he is the center of our universe
POD = Princess of Darkness who is 15 year old little sister who lives with me during the school year
Captain Nutty = my mother...nuf sed.
Skank Ass Cousin = rather self-explanatory, I would think. Also serves as best friend and compatriot in many adventures (read: drunkenness)
I have other pals who comment that I do know in my personal life - Paradise Lesbian, Magoozie, Big Fat Twin Mamma and many more.
10. Should I be calling for help?
Yes...yes, you should. Matter of fact, what the fuck are you still doing here? Get me some help!
11. Are you really a lawyer? Cause seriously, your spelling and grammar really kinda suck...
No, but I play one on the Internet....and in my office, but don't tell anyone. I'm actually a 12 year-old repeating the 4th grade for the third time.
12. Seriously, for the love of all that's holy, please, please tell me you make this stuff up?
No. I wish I could tell you that I'm that creative but everything here is true....well, except for a little creative license here and there. OKAY! You busted me - in the Daytona post, I mentioned that Kitty and Cowboy Dan rode around in a little red wagon....it was yellow. So sue me.
Sooooo, that ought to help you out a little bit. Feel free to keep the questions coming. I'll feel free to bullshit my way through them.
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
P.S. Before you ask, Vladimir Poopshoot is one my many aliases and a key proponent in the fight to make A.S.S. a national holiday.
P.S.S. No, I haven't forgotten you, Dutch Porn Star. You will have your debut very soon.
P.S.S.S. Special shout out to Big Fat Twin Mamma - you keep those kids in there, you hear me! If you let them start calling the shots now, you'll never get the upper hand again! Sure, now they just want out of the womb a little early, but the next thing you know they're stealing your car, smoking the whacky weed and blaming each other for knocking up the neighbor's daughter. Keep your legs crossed and your ass on the couch, Mamma!
P.S.S.S.S. Another shout out to Big Fat Twin Mamma - Floyd is a great name for a boy...no really...I'm just saying.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
A Cry for Help
Dear Internet,
Hello, gentle readers,let me introduce myself - I am Floyd's liver. Floyd would like to be able to post right now but if any of you are still out there, you are well aware that her recent proclivity to drink has really dashed all hope for amusing antecdotes in recent weeks.
However, as you once found her occassionally entertaining...or at least as engaging as watching a walrus humping a rhinoceros, I turn to you in my hour of need.
For the love of all that's holy, someone give this chick a glass of water. And when she asks you to throw a little bourbon in there to make it "worth her effort", please slap the ever-loving crap out of her.
I used to be all healthy back in the day. All filled with bile and living a good life. Suuuurrre, Floyd and I have had our issues with fatty foods and a fondness for sugar. And suuuurrreee, the college and law school years were hard on us all - I mean the girl likes her Budweiser. But now, for the love of Jesus, Mary and Joseph (being a liver, i'm of course catholic), I'm pickling, folks, FLAT OUT PICKLING! I mean if you could see me now - no healthy pink glow, no filtering function, nothing. I think a piece of beef jerky could do a better job than me at this point.
After her recent ho'down at the racetrack, I tried to escape through her anus, but that butthole wouldn't cooperate. He said he had his own problems what with being fed nothing but chips and french onion dip for four days. I thought I could sneak out with that round of McDonald's but there just wasn't room.
And this just in, her kidneys aren't that damn happy either! They're threatening to go on strike and block up the whole urinary tract system. And friends, if you know Floyd at all, you know her urinary tract don't play no games. Those are some badass fuckers down there.
So, please, if you have a heart at all and if you see Floyd on the street, roll her ass out of the gutter and slap her silly. If you happen to see her with the whore dog, Cowboy Dan, tell her to head back to the rodeo and to get her own horse drunk and leave Floyd alone!
You, gentle reader, are my only hope.
Best regards,
Floyd's Liver
Hello, gentle readers,let me introduce myself - I am Floyd's liver. Floyd would like to be able to post right now but if any of you are still out there, you are well aware that her recent proclivity to drink has really dashed all hope for amusing antecdotes in recent weeks.
However, as you once found her occassionally entertaining...or at least as engaging as watching a walrus humping a rhinoceros, I turn to you in my hour of need.
For the love of all that's holy, someone give this chick a glass of water. And when she asks you to throw a little bourbon in there to make it "worth her effort", please slap the ever-loving crap out of her.
I used to be all healthy back in the day. All filled with bile and living a good life. Suuuurrre, Floyd and I have had our issues with fatty foods and a fondness for sugar. And suuuurrreee, the college and law school years were hard on us all - I mean the girl likes her Budweiser. But now, for the love of Jesus, Mary and Joseph (being a liver, i'm of course catholic), I'm pickling, folks, FLAT OUT PICKLING! I mean if you could see me now - no healthy pink glow, no filtering function, nothing. I think a piece of beef jerky could do a better job than me at this point.
After her recent ho'down at the racetrack, I tried to escape through her anus, but that butthole wouldn't cooperate. He said he had his own problems what with being fed nothing but chips and french onion dip for four days. I thought I could sneak out with that round of McDonald's but there just wasn't room.
And this just in, her kidneys aren't that damn happy either! They're threatening to go on strike and block up the whole urinary tract system. And friends, if you know Floyd at all, you know her urinary tract don't play no games. Those are some badass fuckers down there.
So, please, if you have a heart at all and if you see Floyd on the street, roll her ass out of the gutter and slap her silly. If you happen to see her with the whore dog, Cowboy Dan, tell her to head back to the rodeo and to get her own horse drunk and leave Floyd alone!
You, gentle reader, are my only hope.
Best regards,
Floyd's Liver
Sunday, July 10, 2005
In Retrospect...
I should have continued on my bender and not bothered with sobering up at all.
My deepest apologies to you, gentle readers, for my absence. It's been quite the hoot-a-nanny around here. I suppose I should start at the beginning.
After we last talked, Daddy's heart tried to leave his body the hard way, i.e. right through his chest. At least, that's what we thought at the time considering Daddy has previously gone the heart attack/bypass route. After a lovely 5 hour stint in the emergency room in which I deeply regretted having ingested Taco Bell for dinner that night, we discovered Daddy's chest cavity had managed to retain said heart but that his blood pressure was running amuck. We were sent home with a ream full of prescriptions and hardy slap on the back. At this point in order to preserve Daddy's sense of decorum, I will not mention the fact that they pumped him so full of dope that he acted like a drunk on tilt-a-whirl. I also won't mention his inability to walk or talk correctly and what he may or may not have done to my bathroom floor but I will mention my contemplated lawsuit toward said emergency room for not admitting him and leaving me to deal with his hepped-up-on-goofballs ass.
Anyhooooo, Cowboy Dan arrived on Tuesday night where we saw really no reason to delay or alter our Daytona-bound plans since Daddy was right as rain and promised me limited activity whilst I was away. Soooo, on Wednesday, we set out for the Nirvana of Redneckdom, otherwise knows as the Pepsi 400.
We met up with Kitty and other track friends and just as I was getting into a cab to hit some of Daytona Beach's fine, fine drinking establishments, I got a call from Daddy who was back in the old hospital. Luckily, Daddy is a race fan and refused to let me come home. So, I did what any reasonable daughter would do in such a situation....I got drunk.
Daddy had to stay prisoner in the hospital for a few days but was released with new drugs and feeling like he was run over by a dump truck. But he is on the mend and no permanent damage done...at least until I kill his ass if he doesn't take better care of himself (You hear me, Old Man? You're toast for cutting the grass).
I, however, continued to indulge in my worship of King Budweiser for a full 4 days with side offerings to Lord Jim Beam and Lady Kettle One. Daddy would have wanted it that way, after all.
So, let's review some Daytona debauchery, shall we?
Let's compare this recent Daytona trip to racing trips of the past...
I drank moonshine...again.
3 girls managed to consume 6 cases of beer over 4 days...again.
I managed to play piss poor poker....again.
I wrestled over whom I should marry, Dale Jr. or Elliott Sadler....again.
I rode around on a golfcart like I was the grand poobah of infield relations...again.
I did shots of some bizarro purple concotion at some pseudo bar set up by guys who were living in a tent for 4 days...again.
Kitty and Cowboy Dan were pulled around on a little red wagon throughout the infield like they were on parade...again.
I drank myself some rythym and decided I was the 21st century's answer to the Solid Gold Dancers....again.
I got my ass spanked a couple of times...again.
I enjoyed said spanking...again.
Oh, and there was some racing....saw that too...again.
A lovely time was had by all...at least from what I can remember.
OOOOOOO! Wait...here's a goood one. Soooooo, Friday morning, we all head to the Fan Zone which is a little happening spot in the middle of the infield at Daytona where one can commune with fellow racing fans and also pay $8.50 from some frozen fruity drink concoction. Me and my pals are sitting around the table enjoying the first drink of the day and Kitty suddenly gets an odd look on her face. She grabs the arm of my chair with sort of a panicked expression and begins looking around frantically. She bolts out of her chair...and WAAAAIIIIIT FOR IT....pukes right back into her glass. Right at the table. Without any warning. Filled the almost empty glass right full again. You will be proud of me though - amongst the sounds of shock and disapproval from the families sitting around us (and frankly, serves them right - the infield is no place for kids), I managed to hold in my laughter for a full 2 minutes....at least until Kitty could wipe the spittle off the tip of her nose.
True friendship? You bet your sweet ass.
My deepest apologies to you, gentle readers, for my absence. It's been quite the hoot-a-nanny around here. I suppose I should start at the beginning.
After we last talked, Daddy's heart tried to leave his body the hard way, i.e. right through his chest. At least, that's what we thought at the time considering Daddy has previously gone the heart attack/bypass route. After a lovely 5 hour stint in the emergency room in which I deeply regretted having ingested Taco Bell for dinner that night, we discovered Daddy's chest cavity had managed to retain said heart but that his blood pressure was running amuck. We were sent home with a ream full of prescriptions and hardy slap on the back. At this point in order to preserve Daddy's sense of decorum, I will not mention the fact that they pumped him so full of dope that he acted like a drunk on tilt-a-whirl. I also won't mention his inability to walk or talk correctly and what he may or may not have done to my bathroom floor but I will mention my contemplated lawsuit toward said emergency room for not admitting him and leaving me to deal with his hepped-up-on-goofballs ass.
Anyhooooo, Cowboy Dan arrived on Tuesday night where we saw really no reason to delay or alter our Daytona-bound plans since Daddy was right as rain and promised me limited activity whilst I was away. Soooo, on Wednesday, we set out for the Nirvana of Redneckdom, otherwise knows as the Pepsi 400.
We met up with Kitty and other track friends and just as I was getting into a cab to hit some of Daytona Beach's fine, fine drinking establishments, I got a call from Daddy who was back in the old hospital. Luckily, Daddy is a race fan and refused to let me come home. So, I did what any reasonable daughter would do in such a situation....I got drunk.
Daddy had to stay prisoner in the hospital for a few days but was released with new drugs and feeling like he was run over by a dump truck. But he is on the mend and no permanent damage done...at least until I kill his ass if he doesn't take better care of himself (You hear me, Old Man? You're toast for cutting the grass).
I, however, continued to indulge in my worship of King Budweiser for a full 4 days with side offerings to Lord Jim Beam and Lady Kettle One. Daddy would have wanted it that way, after all.
So, let's review some Daytona debauchery, shall we?
Let's compare this recent Daytona trip to racing trips of the past...
I drank moonshine...again.
3 girls managed to consume 6 cases of beer over 4 days...again.
I managed to play piss poor poker....again.
I wrestled over whom I should marry, Dale Jr. or Elliott Sadler....again.
I rode around on a golfcart like I was the grand poobah of infield relations...again.
I did shots of some bizarro purple concotion at some pseudo bar set up by guys who were living in a tent for 4 days...again.
Kitty and Cowboy Dan were pulled around on a little red wagon throughout the infield like they were on parade...again.
I drank myself some rythym and decided I was the 21st century's answer to the Solid Gold Dancers....again.
I got my ass spanked a couple of times...again.
I enjoyed said spanking...again.
Oh, and there was some racing....saw that too...again.
A lovely time was had by all...at least from what I can remember.
OOOOOOO! Wait...here's a goood one. Soooooo, Friday morning, we all head to the Fan Zone which is a little happening spot in the middle of the infield at Daytona where one can commune with fellow racing fans and also pay $8.50 from some frozen fruity drink concoction. Me and my pals are sitting around the table enjoying the first drink of the day and Kitty suddenly gets an odd look on her face. She grabs the arm of my chair with sort of a panicked expression and begins looking around frantically. She bolts out of her chair...and WAAAAIIIIIT FOR IT....pukes right back into her glass. Right at the table. Without any warning. Filled the almost empty glass right full again. You will be proud of me though - amongst the sounds of shock and disapproval from the families sitting around us (and frankly, serves them right - the infield is no place for kids), I managed to hold in my laughter for a full 2 minutes....at least until Kitty could wipe the spittle off the tip of her nose.
True friendship? You bet your sweet ass.
Friday, July 08, 2005
I'm Here, I'm Here!
I have not disappeared...just sorta hiatus-ed. I promise I will post more today/this weekend. I promise I will try to say something witty (but no guarantees).
It's been a very eventful few weeks including trips to the emergency room and drinking in Daytona - do I have your curiostiy peaked? Yeah, I didn't think so but come back nonetheless.
More later...
It's been a very eventful few weeks including trips to the emergency room and drinking in Daytona - do I have your curiostiy peaked? Yeah, I didn't think so but come back nonetheless.
More later...
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
www.flickr.com
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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.
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.
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.
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!”
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…..GET IT “LICKING THE CARPET”? RUG MUNCHING?……..OH SHIT…..CRACK’S ME UP – I’M STILL LAUGHING SO HARD THAT I’M CRYING!
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.
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!”
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…..GET IT “LICKING THE CARPET”? RUG MUNCHING?……..OH SHIT…..CRACK’S ME UP – I’M STILL LAUGHING SO HARD THAT I’M CRYING!
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.
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