June 26, 2008

You’ve missed me, I know it. I apologize for being away for so long - 2 weeks is way too long for you, and I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. You can send me cash to help ease the pain. Yes, your pain. Giving makes you feel better. Nothing lower than a $20 please.

I was going to make up something really fun, like that I was away on a “secret” mission but that’s dumb, and I’m way too tired to think of something fun, so instead, I’ll tell you the truth. For once.

We bought a new house! Yes, we just bought one last year right around this time but we like to keep things interesting, by interesting, I mean complicated. I’m going to post photos once we get settled - we’re mostly done but I like things just right before I show people my lair.

Our two grown sons are staying at the other house (YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!), Oh, did I sound too enthusiastic? I meant (BOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOO), but they’re about a 4 minute drive from us, so we can lock the doors and hide in plenty of time visit anytime and vise versa.

I must say it’s a very nice house, our nicest to date and big. We like big. Well not everything should be big, because ass pimples are not pretty. Nevermind. (OMG no, I don’t really have one of those - purely for comedic purposes).

We stayed up until 2 a.m. working, putting stuff away because I can’t handle living out of boxes. It drives the ANALish tendencies in me, crazy. And we can’t have crazy.

There’s a techy dude from the security systems place here right now, installing his shiznat. We’ve never had a security system before, but I decided that we need one - uh, not because we have super valuable things (hear that crooks? We got nothin’!), but our new home is a two-story with a walk-out basement, so that makes me paranoid to be sleeping waaaaay upstairs and knowing that waaaay downstairs, there’s an entrance that someone could break into while we’re sleeping (or, um, awake) and maybe I wouldn’t hear it and then they’d try to harm us and then I’d have to get into mama bear mode to protect my young’ens, karate chop the bad guy in the balls (that’s for you Karen), and what if there’s blood after I kick him and then he’d bleed on my white-ish carpet….yuck. See? Way too much to give myself ulcers over, so why not just buy a security system? I highly recommend it if you’re even the slightest bit of a freak worrier such as myself.

Hopefully I pay attention to the security guy and remember the instructions. I certainly don’t need the cops running here every day when I go to water my flowers and forget to unarm (de-arm?) the alarm. That might not be a good situation. I don’t look that nice in handcuffs. Well, there was that one time…….never mind.

Okay, must run and go make up a security code…what about 3456? That’s easy enough right? Thought so!

September 6, 2007

I’ve been MIA because I was on a drunken celebration binge secret mission for the government, which because it’s secret and it’s for the government, I cannot speak about it. Shucks.

You’re wondering what I’ve been doing right? Of course. You cry when I don’t speak to you from this internet world. You weep greatly when I’m not around and for that, I’m so super sorry. Oh let me tell you about my grocery store situation. It’s been awhile since I had one and I want to make your life complete.

My children and I decided to walk to the grocery store last week. It was a beautiful summer day, slight breeze and we wanted to pick up a few items. My husband had given me some ‘Superbucks’. He gets them when he gets gas from the grocery store gas station. They’re basically like ‘grocery store money’ and you can use them for anything with the exception of alcohol or tobacco products. I had about $25 dollars in Superbucks. My purchase came to $22 bucks and some change. Now, the only thing with Superbucks, is if your purchase is under the amount you give them in Superbucks, they don’t give you change back. But usually people will grab some gum or a candy bar to make the purchase amount as close to the amount of Superbucks as possible. However, it’s usually some change, so noone is going to be upset that they’re not getting back a few cents.

Clerk: Ah you purchase is $22.64 and you are giving me $23.00 in Superbucks and I no make change.

Me: That’s fine. It’s 36 cents, so I’m not worried about it. I understand that I don’t get change back.

Clerk: I take one of them off k?

Me: Why?

Clerk: ‘Cause then it will be not me owe you money.

Me: It’s 36 cents, I’m cool with that. I won’t go bankrupt because I’m not getting my change back. Honestly, it’s fine.

Clerk: No I take one off.

So she proceeds to take one of the Superbucks off and now I OWE her $2.67. Ummmm what?

Me: Umm, I now owe you $2.67. Why would I want to pay you in cash when I can pay for my WHOLE purchase with the Superbucks? Please put that back on.

Clerk: But I owe you .36 and I can’t give you that back.

Me: I realize that. I’m totally fine with that. It’s T.H.I.R.T.Y. S.I.X. C.E.N.T.S. I can handle that.

Clerk: I take another one off instead.

Me: What???????????

Now the amount I owe her is $5.83. There are people behind me, waiting to be served and this chick is making a mountain out of a mole hill.

Me: What are you doing? I don’t want to OWE $5.83! Get it? I don’t care if I will lose THIRTY…..SIX…..CENTS. Said through clenched teeth. Please put that coupon back on so I can move on with my life.

Cashier reluctantly scans the coupon again and now she’s back to ‘owing’ me thirty six cents. Then she just stands there looking all confused, while the people behind us are looking all, you know, PISSED OFF.

Clerk: I call my supervisor.

Me: Ah why?

Clerk: ‘Cause I owe you money.

Me: OH.MY.GAWD. No you don’t. Can I just have my receipt and then I will be on my merry way? Please?

That can’t happen though can it? Nope. She calls her supervisor over, who explains to me, like I’m a retarded ass monkey, that I don’t get my change back. To which, I explain right back to her like she’s the retarded ass monkey, that I’m aware that I don’t get my change back but hey, it’s THIRTY SIX CENTS and I will totally survive not having it. I’ll still be able to afford to get myself a strawberries n’ cream from Starbucks AND get my kids a treat. See how happy I am? Okay, now complete the transaction, so I can have my receipt and I can get going because I have dirty, sharp knives to drive into my skull later. Thanks.

Supervisor explains to cashier that she just opens the till to complete the sale and it will then print my receipt and then she just leaves the .36 cents in the cash register. Supervisor smiles at me and leaves. Great. Things are happenin’ now. Cashier opens the till and counts out thirty six cents and proceeds to hand it to me. I stare at her blankly, envisioning myself throwing jelly beans at her and then happily punching her in the neck.

Me: What are you doing?

Clerk: I owe you thirty six cents.

Me: Your supervisor just told you what to do. You DO NOT give me the change, just give me the receipt and you can give the change to the very angry lady behind me if you like.

Clerk: I owe you .36 cents.

Me: I don’t want it. I’m allergic to money. Take it away. OH MY GAWD I’m blind now. Can I have my receipt please? Please? My head is about to explode and you’ll have a huge mess on your hands because I’m so filled with brains, it’s not even funny.

Clerk: I owe you thirty six cents.

Me: Give. me. my. receipt.

She hands me my receipt, while still holding onto the change, unsure of what to do with it. I have a few ideas that come to mind. I watch her as I’m walking away and she’s putting the change onto the top of her cash register, then she picks it up and puts it in her pocket, then takes it out and puts it back on top of her cash register. At that point, I stop looking before I self destruct and run over and smack her upside the head, give her a wedgie and scream in her ear. Oh please remind me to use Superbucks again when making a purchase at the grocery store. I need more excitement in my life.

There you have it, my awesome grocery store experience. No need to thank me, you reading it and not killing yourself from boredom means alot.

August 23, 2007

…I’m hardly modeling material either. However, someone named ‘Francesca’ seems to think I’d have a great career at modeling and is insisting I send ‘her’ a photo of myself. First off, I think ‘her’ is probably ‘he’ and not just any ‘he’ but a big, fat, greasy slob, at home, sitting in his skid marked undies, a huge beer gut covered in blackish-grayish hair, belly button lint overflowing, smelly pits, a piece of KFC in one hand and obviously typing with the other hand as all of this conversation is taking place on messenger. Unless he’s typing with his penis. Oh God, I just threw up a little in my mouth.

F: Hello, how are you?

Me: I’m fine, thanks

F:You remember me?

Me: Umm no, not really, sorry. Where do I know you from?

F: I find girls for modeling agency

Me: Umm oh. Well I’ve never been to a modeling agency so I highly doubt we’ve met.

F: You want model?

Me: Do I want to model? Sure if you’re looking for a 5ft 2in forty twenty-five year old who may look demented sweet for her age but I’m thinking I’m past modeling career status. Plus, really, I could be an ugly troll who lives under bridges and eats people.

F: Show me your looks.

Me: Show you my looks? Damn, I just packed them away. Ah, well, my picture is in the display box of my messenger, so you can see what I look like.

F: Oh you beauty

Me: Well thanks but I’m still pretty certain I’m not what you’re looking for.

F: You send me?

Me: Send you what? A donut?

F: You send me photo.

Me: Ya sure, I’m going to send you a photo. I’ll get right on that. And by right on that, I mean, when it becomes fashionable to pee on total strangers. Wait, how about when pigs fly?

F: I’m in Milan, you in Milan?

Me: Oh ya, I go to Milan all the time. I just got back this morning actually. I was on a modeling job.

F: You making fun?

Me: Making fun of you? No. That’s not my style. Like I would be sarcastic. Like ever. Especially with someone who says they are Francesca looking for ‘girls’ for ‘modeling’ from ‘Milan’, which all sounds totally plausible. And certainly since you think I’m modeling quality, why would I make fun of you? That would be fun rude of me.

F:I get back to you

Me: Oh I’ll be waiting with baited breath by the messenger! Be still my heart.

So betches, I might not be writing for awhile, you know, since I’m going to be in Milan posing n’ shit, while people take my photo while I look all pouty and stuff. Hey don’t be jealous, we can’t all be models.

July 19, 2007

That was my look when I opened my mailbox today and saw that I was a millionaire. Well according to the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes people. However, after reading the fine print, I think they’re big, fat liars. I might sue them. We’ll see how the rest of my week goes.

Did I tell you it’s still hot here? It’s still hot here. Although today wasn’t quite as bad as it has been and I do have my ac in now, so really I shouldn’t complain about the heat, but since I feel like complaining about it, I’m complaining. Confused? Me too.

I think I have to walk to the bank tomorrow. How exciting is that? I don’t have a vehicle anymore….well, I mean I do but it doesn’t work. At all. So that’s just like not having one, therefore I must walk everywhere I want to go and since it’s summer break, I must bring my children along. You know, children, those small humans that you love with all of your heart and soul, the same ones who can annoy the shit out of you in 5 minutes flat. Ya those ones. I’ll let you know what kind of embarrassment they bring me, because you can bet your last dollar, they will bring it. It’s been broughten. Many times over.

I found out the other day that I have another photograph published in a new book. The name of the book escapes my frazzled brain but when I remember it or get the gumption to look it up, I’ll let you know. I’m sure you’ve got chills waiting. I know how to get you going. Oh ya baby.

It’s 10:38pm and my kids are still up. I’m not quite certain why but I know I must get off of this contraption and place them in their beds. We’ve been together for 14 hours and I think that’s my limit for the day. They’re driving me insane darlings and need their beauty rest and mama needs a stiff drink and a massage to watch her toenail paint dry.

June 5, 2007

….that some crazy lady would run into the back of my heel with her shopping cart and then she’d laugh and point and half walk, half run away? Who knew? Not me. Lotsa nutjobbies out there people.

Also, who knew that the very short lady at the grocery store would be yelling, ‘hey you’ a whole bunch of times and low and behold she was yelling at me? I didn’t know. When I finally clued in that she was motioning for me to come over to the end of the isle where the faceclothes and towels are, I walk over, while pushing my shopping cart because, hello? I’m a CUSTOMER not an employee. Ya, and I WASN’T wearing a name badge OR a uniform but sure, I can see why she’d mistake me for that ‘hey you employee’ in my denim capris and pink tee shirt and hair in a ponytail. I guess I can’t help it if I look knowledgable about everything. The price I pay.

Anyway, she gets me to go to the end of the isle where there are stacks of faceclothes on sale for $2.34 for a bundle of 12. She points to the sign, which by the way, there were many signs up not just one and they all said 12 WASHCLOTHES FOR $2.34. Plain as day. She looks at me kinda crazy-ish and says, ‘well’? Well what lady? I shrug my shoulders and then look at my watch to let her know I’ve got way more important stuff to do than stand here and watch her be all looney. She then asks me how much these things are? The washclothes? Yes she says. I said, well it says on the GIANT bright orange sign that they are 2 fucking dollars and 34 fucking cents. I didn’t say the fucking part but I was sure THINKING it. She then asks me ‘but how much are they’? Oh Lord. Let’s try this again shall we? They’re two dollars and thirty four cents for FUCKSAKE. Again, I didn’t say the fuck part but I was thiiiiinking it. She looks at me and then at the washclothes and then back to me and says, ‘you people really need to put up better signs for prices’. Then she walks away all huffy. I know, I’m such a crappy NON EMPLOYEE for not having the proper signage up so my NON CUSTOMERS can see what they have to pay for the NON products that I don’t put out because I don’t work there. Gah. Is this like the whole my doctor isn’t my doctor but is my doctoer kinda scenerio, ‘cept I’m now considered an employee of the grocery store I shop at but I don’t get a pay cheque but I do get shit on by customers? I LOVE that.

And who knew that a certain bank which will remain nameless because I might get fired from there because I don’t work there but talked trash about them and then I’d be out a job that I don’t get paid for, and that would suck………but I digress….anyway, a certain bank can’t get their act together and keep our files straight on a certain issue which I will not mention for fear of the universe turning on it’s axis kinda deal and I would feel really guilty if I somehow turned everyone’s world upside down. Oh isn’t that punny? Get it? Ya.

Did you know that I was going to take a shower today but instead I took a bath because I wasn’t going to wash my hair because it looked kinda pretty all flat and stuff since I flat ironed it and my hair is very thick, never gets greasy so I don’t really have to shampoo it every day or it would be like straw? You didn’t know? Well I just told you BUT here’s the kicker. I decided after I got all dressed after my nice bath, that I would clean my bathroom because as some of you may know, I clean my bathroom just about every day because I really like a clean bathroom, anyhoo, as I was bending down to pick up a piece of paper on the floor, which had kinda sorta fallen in behind the toilet, so I therefore, had to sorta kinda squat down and reeeeeach in behind the said toilet to retrieve the piece of paper (I swear I WILL get to the point) and the toilet seat was up and my hair is very long. REALLY REALLY long and guess what? Some of my hair was in the toilet water, which techinally was fresh water, well as fresh as toilet water can be I suppose but still, ewwww. So that means I had to wash my hair because the thought of walking around with toilet water soaked hair ends just kinda sorta creeped me out. Now I must go finish drying it and then maybe flat ironing it if I feel like it, which I kinda sorta don’t feel like. Who knew?

May 30, 2007

I made an appointment today with my doctor, who is apparently not my doctor. Confused? Ya, join the club.

We moved here almost 4 years ago and I put my name on a waiting list to be accepted at the clinic near my home for a family doctor. I was called late in 2003 and told, indeed I would be accepted as a patient with Dr. X. He’s name really isn’t Dr. X but that sounds very mysterious, doesn’t it? I thought so. I’ve been to Dr. X a few times, not many as I’ve been relatively healthy. I do have to occasionally go get my prescription refilled (for my intense beauty, gotta combat the effects with pro-ugly pills just so I’m not sooo hot) (remember, S.A.R.C.A.S.M) and there have been times that my doctor, who apparently ISN’T my doctor has been away so I therefore, had to see another doctor, who also isn’t my doctor, to refill my pro-ugly pills. Let’s flash forward now, a few years, to today. I was told that I wasn’t in the system and that Dr. X isn’t really my doctor because I didn’t have a meet and greet kinda visit the first time. Umm okay. I did but that’s okay if you don’t remember me. I wasn’t on my pro-ugly pills back then and I probably blinded him with my gorgeous self and thus, he has blocked me out as the ‘woman who took my eye sight with her fantastic self’. I can hardly blame the man. But still, I should be in the system of being the patient of my doctor who isn’t my doctor.

I hope I’ve sufficiently confused you because it would be totally not fair to me if I were the only one in a dense state over this whole ‘he’s not your doctor but really is your doctor but we have no record of him being your doctor’ scenerio. Let’s keep the score card fair people, fair.

I go on Monday, so let’s hope I remember to take my pro-ugly pills so I don’t give the doctor who’s not really my doctor a heart attack. Making him blind was bad enough. Oh the guilt.