It snowed here. Again. This makes a total of about 15 inches of snow on the ground right now. If I ever want to leave the house, I’m going to have to dig my car out.
I’ve got on my thermals, ski pants over them, two pairs of socks, boots so stiff and heavy that I could traverse the Arctic in them, a shirt and two sweatshirts, a puffy jacket, a hat, gloves, and a scarf. I am the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Woman.
And now I have to pee.
Hate. Winter.
For the safety of all involved, I considered not going to the Staff Development and Appreciation day at all. Then I remembered that food would be served. So, I risked a possible homicide and went for the food. Here’s the verdict:
Understanding Body Language Seminar: Total and utter waste of time. I didn’t need some PhD. to come and take two hours of my life to tell me that if someone is charging at me with a hunting rifle that they are tense about something. I knew that. Thanks. There wasn’t even anything interesting enough to make fun of. I learned nothing and perhaps even forgot a few things. Thankfully, I wasn’t chosen to participate in any role playing nonsense. That would have been trouble with a capital “You’re FIRED!”
I don’t think our Director and Assistant Director enjoyed the presentation either as they promptly stuffed the presenter into her coat and carried her equipment out to her car themselves. They even wrapped up her bagel for her. Buh-bye.
Food served at seminar: Bagels as big as your head that you had to risk a digit to cut into a more reasonable size. I hoped that the mayor would have something better to eat at the luncheon event to follow.
Town Employee Appreciation Holiday Luncheon with the Mayor: Decent food. The sweet potatoes were so good I wanted to bring them home, dump them into my bed, strip naked and roll around in them. The mayor came to the table to thank us for our hard work this year. It was very clear he’s never been into the library as he hadn’t the first clue what sort of work we actually did. The High School choir came to sing for us which made it impossible to talk. I guess they figured we talk to each other enough while we’re at work…
Having to go back to work after 2 hours of glassy eyed boredom and then stuffing myself Thanksgiving style: Freaking sucked ass.
Total number of calories consumed before 2:00 pm: 5,000 as a conservative guesstimate.
Body count: 0
Verdict on the day as a whole: Total success as my only goal was to get through it without killing anyone.
Ugh. Dreading today intensely.
We’re having a staff development day at work: Understanding Body Language.
Right now, my body language is not saying nice things.
Maybe I’m just a giant bitch, but being forced to spend hours of intimate time with people you wouldn’t normally associate with is just not my thing. It’s fucking painful. To make it even more torturous, it’s almost guaranteed that at some point we’re going to be split up into groups to do the ever popular role play and/or brainstorming. We’ll have to shout out numbers so that we can be paired randomly into groups with people we do not know or think are fucktards. I sit with certain people for a reason: I can tolerate them.
To make matters worse, I’ve got a pretty raging case of PMS and am fully capable of taking multiple human lives at the slightest provocation. On days like this I repeat to myself “murder is wrong, every human life has value.” If I say it enough times, it will become true.
I’m thinking that I can only get into trouble today.
Just in case anyone thinks that Wal-Mart has the market on hideousness, I want you to know that the opposite end of the spectrum is not without it’s atrocities either. Here are some tasteful little numbers that struck my fancy from the Brooks Brother’s catalog. Click the pictures for a closer look.
Santa Embroidered Corduroy Pants, $118: Meet Chauncy. Chauncy is piss drunk (which is why he’s wearing these pants).
Wool Flannel Fun Pants, $198: Sharing in his dad’s fashion sense, this is Chauncy’s son Ted, and his dog Boomer. Ted is a Yale grad and the heir to Chauncy’s Wizzpride Urinal Cake fortune. Ted enjoys water skiing, volleyball, and doing Boomer in the bum.
Blackwatch Windowpane Sport Coat, $548: Here’s Stephan. Even though he’s married to Buffy, Stephan is a giant whore and will do anything with a pulse (including poor ol’ Boomer).
Sterling Silver and Pearl Classic Strand Necklace, $198: Buffy is smiling like this because last night her husband’s business partner gave her the pearl necklace she’s always wanted (not shown in picture).
Cashmere Jacket, $598: “Don’t you wish your girlfriend was Hot. Like. Me?… Oh wait! What the? Where am I? What the hell am I wearing?” Meet Monique. She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing in this catalog.
Country Club Egyptian Cotton Sweaters, $125: This is Stephan and his “business partner” Jared together in the Hamptons this past fall. Don’t they look spiffy?
Wool Jacquard Black Watch Dress, $498/ Boy’s Tuxedo Jacket, $228: And here’s little Bryson, Buffy and Stephan’s adorable 6 year old son. Bryson wonders why Daddy and Uncle Jared are always going on “business trips” together. He also wonders why Mommy is wearing Boomer around her neck.
These are all I had time for today, but I highly encourage you to visit www.BrooksBrothers.com to view the rest of their winter line. Who knew knickers were back in style for men this winter? I particularly like them paired with the fur-lined houndstooth cape. It’s $10,000 on sale for $7,500–a bargain!
Honey? Now you know what you’re getting from me this year!
Dear Grinch kitty,
Your recent behavior has put you in quite the compromised position. You’ve become blog fodder, my friend. Not a good place to be. I know you read this because while I’m writing, you’re head butting the screen and pacing back and forth across the keyboard. (Thanks for standing on the backspace button by the way…I didn’t need that paragraph.)
There are certain issues that need to be addressed if you want to remain a cat and not, say, a luxurious pair of slippers. I’m giving you fair warning here because you are not totally evil–you are good about not shredding the kid to ribbons when she tries to put a tiara on you, and you always use your kitty box. Thanks for that. I think you just need a little reminder that you do not run the show around here. I do.
First off, I’d like to address your total lack of holiday spirit. You refused to wear the Santa hat I bought for you, and now you have completely destroyed my poinsettia plant. First, I notice little kitty teeth marks in the leaves. Next, there’s huge chunks of the plant missing. Finally, you knocked the whole damn thing off the mantle!
Dirt!
Everywhere!
What the fuck, man?
If that wasn’t enough, just to be a total freaking douche, you ralphed up what was left of the leaves on my dining room table, my kitchen floor, my kitchen counter, and in my hallway (where I stepped in it, all cold and slimy).
After calling poison control, I learned that unfortunately, contrary to popular belief, poinsettia is not poisonous. You can put ketchup on it and eat the shit and nothing will happen to you. Next time, I’m spraying the leaves with anti-freeze.
These are only some of your recent behaviors that I am finding problematic. This is your final warning before the following consequences will be carried out:
1. Say goodbye to the Iams. If you continue on your current tack, I’m downgrading you to Ghetto Kitty. I think it’s made of mouse assholes.
2. This year, if you eat another piece of Christmas ribbon and require yet another $5,000 surgery, you can forget it. I won’t be saving your sorry fat ass a second time. Find a rehab program for your ribbon addiction or suffer and die.
3. I’m telling the cat out on the porch that you scream at at 2am that you’re really a big pansy who’s scared to go outside. Even though you may scream a good game, you’re really never going to go out there and kick his ass. I’ll also tell him that you cuddle with the dog.
I thought I’d get all this out into the open before we put up the Christmas tree as I’m certain you had an evil plan for that as well. I trust that since we’re all clear on things now that it will not go the way of the poinsettia.
I’m looking forward to enjoying the holidays without any further kitty Grinchery.
Love,
Mommy
PS: For the love of all that is decent in this world, please stop coming to show me your butt when I’m in Downward Dog pose. Actually, quit showing me your butt full stop.
Warning to my male readers: unless your wife has had a baby, or you’ve actually, in some bizarre turn of events, found yourself in stirrups, you have no idea what in the hell a stirrup cozy is. Prepare to be schooled.
I had an appointment with the wookie doctor this morning.
While waiting for my turn, I couldn’t help but notice an often overlooked, but very important part of the gynecological exam table–the stirrup cozy. My doctor has cheerful little hand-knit ones on there. It’s a strange thing, the stirrup cozy. I’ve seen all sorts of them–sometimes they’re just sweat socks stuck over the stirrups, sometimes little felt booties with the name of a birth control pill printed on them, and sometimes there’s nothing at all, but I’ve never seen hand-knit ones before! Who makes them? Are little old ladies in nursing homes making them and sending them in, or did my doctor make them himself? After a day of delivering babies and diagnosing genital herpes, I imagine that he likes to go home, kick back, and do a little knitting while Dancing with the Stars is on. The thing about these little cuties is that they make the whole trip so much more comfortable. You’re totally naked under a paper dress in a fifty degree room. A man with the largest hands you’ve ever seen comes in, snaps on his rubber gloves, busts out the lube, and says “scoot forward a little bit for me, dear.” It goes without saying that this is the most uncomfortable situation, but thank Jesus my feet are comfy in the stirrups! This is delightful! Can I come again tomorrow?
This is what I’m thinking while waiting for him to come in. It makes me giggle to picture him in his jammies, knitting away, perhaps enjoying a nice cup of tea as well. Needless to say, when he finally comes into the room I’m in a rather jovial mood. We had a pleasant visit, I felt properly violated, and I came home to mop off.
Let’s all take a moment to say thank Jesus for the stirrup cozy. I don’t know about yours, but my vagina is happier knowing my feet are comfortable.
I don’t know what makes me love you so.
Is it your shape or your milky glow?
I do not know.
I love you in your festive garb,
even though you’re not low carb.
When I put you to my chin, I grin.
When I lick your silky skin, I begin
to shiver with anticipation.
My teeth, your tender flesh will crush
and soon there will be a rush
of wonderful white liquid gush
that I will lick from my lips.
(It will forever sit on my hips.)
When I taste your sweetness I will sigh
and feel a drip roll down my thigh–
your flavor makes me high.
In a moment, I’ll have consumed you
and our time together will be through.
But I can do this all the night
more orbs of delight are in my sight!
If loving balls is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
-An Ode to Lindt White Chocolate Truffles
by Fanny
Everyone, Fanny. Fanny, this is everyone.
Fanny is the demonic fat girl who lives inside me. She used to live inside my friend Lynne, but she got bored and migrated to me. She’s been with me for about 6 weeks now and the bitch made me gain 4lbs.
This is a picture of Fanny and Lynne together this past Halloween. Fanny isn’t wearing a costume.
She makes me do bad things. She hates it when I do yoga, pilates, or yogilates. Exercise of any kind angers her and she punishes me by making me eat chocolates. She fucking hates salad. She makes me eat cake instead. Whenever I eat my Kashi fiber cereal, she forces me to put sugar on it. I’d go on, but you get the idea. She’s the epitome of evil.
Christmas is Fanny’s favorite time of year. Right now the break room table at work contains an enormous array of treats falling under the following categories: salty shit, nutty shit, dried shit, shit covered in chocolate, dried shit covered in chocolate, shit in the form of logs and balls, shit with cheese, shit that thinks it’s cheese but isn’t, and shit with Rachel Ray’s picture on the box. Fanny loves it all and laughs her diabolical laugh every time I go near that room of horrors.
I need an exorcist or something. I tried calling The Ghost Whisperer, but then I saw on Entertainment Tonight that Jennifer Love Hewitt is having her own big butt issues. I don’t think she’ll be returning my call. And Buffy is retired…
Any suggestions as to how I can fix my little situation would be appreciated. In the meantime, as a temporary solution, every time I think about going into the break room I’m going to bash myself in the face with the nearest heavy object.
She is everywhere I am. I drive down 95, she’s there. I turn on my TV, she’s there. I go to Wal-Mart, she’s there. I have a romantic dinner out with my husband, and you guessed it, she’s there.
It was our 5th wedding anniversary and we actually went out on a real date! We got dressed up in our nicest outfits. I did the smoky eye, sheer lip and heavily sprayed up-do (I was very careful to stay away from candles), and we drove 53 minutes to the place where we got married. We sat in the room where our reception was held. We ordered what we ate on our wedding day, etc. It was a lot of fun.
To commemorate the event, we visited the gift shop to see if there was some sort of trinket to bring home with us. Well, we didn’t find anything, but right there, where I least expected to see her, there she was on a bottle of EVOO.
She’s everywhere people, and she’s out for world domination.
Be afraid.
What kind of a pathetic loser actually takes her camera to Wal-Mart?
Me. I do. I am such a loser.
Those of you who plan to stay out of the stores this shopping season are really missing out on some truly unique gift giving opportunities. Let’s stroll down the gift aisle shall we? Click on the pictures to see these products in all their glory. Really, I don’t even have to comment (even though I will anyway).
Heiress by Paris Hilton. Wow. I’m guessing that this is the closest she’s ever come to actually being inside a Wal-Mart store. What does an heiress smell like anyway? A twat full of money?
What?
Who said that?
An Arch of Beauty. An Arch? Of beauty? I think it’s safe to assume that this set will deliver anything BUT Beauty. Perhaps what it does promise is an emergency trip to the dermatologist.
His Sexiest Musks. As if men weren’t musky enough, here’s an interesting trio of fragrances: Armpit, Taint, and the ever-popular Balls.
Bod Man. According to the packaging, if you wear this cologne, chicks will “want your bod”. Uh huh. Guys out there, listen up. If you have trouble getting a little action, you’ve apparently been wearing the wrong fragrance. This is the stuff you need to have all the fly girlies on your jammie.
A camouflage grooming kit. Ideal for the hunter who likes to look his best while slaughtering innocent fuzzy woodland creatures.
A reindeer that shits jellybeans. There are no words…
Nothing says “White Trash” quite like a commemorative Elvis Pez dispenser. Actually, three says it even better.
Here’s our girl! Entertain today the Rachel way…by slipping a little cocaine into the artichoke dip.
Ahhhh…I just love a good hot cock in the morning! Maybe if I had one of these bad boys, the people at work would quit stealing my cup.
This is actually kind of cute and I wouldn’t puke if someone gave it to me, but does anyone ever actually use these things?
Meats and cheeses requiring no refrigeration whatsoever. Scares the bejeezus out of me. And, wait, does that say Ham-A-Rama on the price tag in the corner?
Huhuhuhuhuh……
These were only a few of the fantastic things I saw on my shopping adventure. I’m usually a Target kind of girl, but I found myself at Wal-Mart instead because I decided to go slumming.
I’m so glad I did!
Now you all know what you’re getting for Christmas! I don’t even have to wrap it!
