Christmas Card Roulette

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This is my real address book.  It is not a joke.

It’s left over from 10 years ago from my baby shower invite list.  It’s evolved over time as people have moved and/or died and/or turned into assholes or whatever, but here it is in all it’s glory.

The list lives in a drawer full of other junk I have no idea about and gets smooshed, crunched, ,moved and mashed all year until it’s Christmas time again and I am forced to face it for real to get the cards done.

If you don’t get a card from me, it’s probably because my address book is a pile of ripped up papers.  Please, take no offence.

It’s not you, it’s me.

Organizing this is not really high on my list of priorities, ya know?  It just makes Christmas card sending a real buttfuck of a task, but it’s the only time I think about it, so does it matter that it looks like this?

Meh.

Mister is the most disorganized person in the universe and even he judges me for it, so it must be really terrible.  I’m failing to see the major impact this has on my life, so I make only the most feeble attempts at organizing it. Last year,  I put a clip on it to keep it all together. That was progress the list had not seen since about March of 2005.  Maybe this year I’ll put it in an envelope?

No I won’t.

Don’t anybody suggest sitting and typing them all in because that is a hilarious.

I have a genius system where, if somebody moves, I rip the return addresses off of the envelope and put it in the clip on top of the  messy pile. Sometimes I just keep the whole envelope because I’m too lazy to rip the new address off. Maybe I cross off the old address, maybe I don’t.  It’s exactly like Christmas card roulette, and I’m ok with it because I like my cards to go on an adventure.  See the old house, perhaps get forwarded to the new place.  Maybe make some friends on the road?

That sort of thing.

So yeah.  If you get a card from us this year, you’d better shit your dick because you are one lucky and special motherfucker (who has probably not moved in ten years.)

Merry Christmas (maybe).

 

You Know that Bad Dream You Have Where You’re Standing Naked in Front of a Classroom Full of People?

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Except I’m considering getting paid to do it for art students.

Monica the Ninjarapist thinks it could be very good for me in terms of making a mind/body connection, so we got the go-ahead there from the head lady.

I figure I look decent naked and although they take any shape/size/or age and nobody is there to judge, I think I’d make a fine candidate and at $16 an hour, I think I can sit still for 20 minutes at a stretch.

In fact, please god give me the chance to sit still and do nothing.

Getting paid is a bonus. I should be paying them just for the chance to sit my ass down and not do anything.  It would be a blessing, plus I don’t even have to wear a bra (hate those fuckers).

Only problem is, can I really do this?

Can I really be naked in front of a  room full of strangers and not DIE TO DEATH OF HUMILIATION?

Everyone I have talked to from both sides as drawer and draw-ee both agree that it is NOT weird. Like, at all. They’re there to draw shapes, not stuff grants or benjamins in your ass crack (although, if they felt moved to do so, I would not be opposed).

But let’s say that I can get past the “being naked in front of a room full of people” thing, I have a few practical concerns as well.

What if I’m sweaty and my pits start dripping? Do I shove kleenex up there and keep my arms firmly at my sides?  I’m gonna be a little nervous so the likelihood of my having a pit incident is quite high.

In fact, it’s a guarantee.

Maybe it will just roll down my body and pool up on the table or whatever?  I can then be a model posing in a swimming pool of perspiration.  Throw some lilly pads and Koi in there and we’ve got something really special going on.

“Farcical aquatic nude in repose”

Also, what if I have my special lady times?

Not only is there bloating and acne to consider, but there’s also the small matter of a string. Sure, you can tuck that sucker way up in there ,but what if if works it’s way back out?

WHAT THEN?

32 students with a lovely drawing of my tampon string.

“Vaginal Marionette, sitting in contemplation”

And what if I have a Rite Aide type incident?  There’s no clothing to act as a filter or muffler.  It’s just gonna be out there and depending on what I’m sitting on, there may even be reverberation.

I’m not sure if there’s anything more humiliating than farting in front of a room full of people whilst naked.

That’s a dual fecta of embarrassment.

“Nude with buttocks issue”

But you know what?

Fuck it.

This is real life.

Draw that shit motherfuckers because this is what you’re parents are paying hard earned money for. You bring your pictures home and you show them what you did at school today!

Have any of you done this?  What was your experience?

What did you do about your tampon string?

 

Facial Blindness: A True Story

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Almost every day at lunch break, my friend Pam and I go for a power walk. We go up and down and all over the east side of Providence wearing our work dresses, statement necklaces, tights with boot socks still pulled up to the knee with our sporty shoes on.

We are fancy.

We almost always end up at Rite Aid for somethingorother; many times it’s chocolate and tampons.

The same cashier is always there. Her name is Joanne. We see her every single day and she never gives any indication that she’s seen us before. It’s been nearly four years. There should be some sort of rapport by now, but nope. Nothing.

We’re just two more customers to get out of her way so she can go back to sticking orange clearance stickers on hideous bottles of nail polish and expired boxes of Cheeze-Its.

At first, Pam and I were hurt that Joanne doesn’t want to be friends with us, but then Pam had a revelation and diagnosed her with Facial Blindness which we thought was a thing that only existed on Arrested Development, but turns out it’s the real deal and Joanne’s got it.

This works out for Pam and me because most of our purchases are embarrassing–especially the purchase I made last week.

You see, I’ve been having some irregularity issues because: 40.

And I have a friend who’s a doctor and she is kind enough to humor my hypochondriacical tendencies. She instructed me that 1) it’s not colon cancer and 2) to take a probiotic and some Citrucel. So, I had the probiotics and had already started taking them, but had to pop into Rite Aid to get the Citrucel.

Whilst purchasing said Citrucel, I had an incident.  It was loud, proud and quickly filled Rite Aid with the smell of probiotics doing noble work.

I was the only customer in line.

It was undeniable.

Oh god.

Pam wasn’t with me that day, so I had to endure the entire walk back to work choking on my own laughter to the point of sputtering and gagging, bag of Citrucel swinging expectantly at my side.

So, this is why I’m actually glad that Pam had diagnosed Joanne with Facial Blindness because I can still go into Rite Aid and know that Joanne has no idea I’m the one who did it.  In fact, she may not remember it at all because who knows what’s she’s got going on upstairs?

She’s somewhere in her 50’s and she’s a cashier at Rite Aid. ‘Nuff said.

College ain’t for everybody, guys.

If Joanne were able to recognize us, I would ask her to sign a HIPPA because the things Pam and I purchase would certainly warrant such a thing.  Pam and her husband, Ethan, are on the baby train and Joanne was very helpful in determining if the buy one get one free sale applied to both ovulation predictor kits AND pregnancy tests.  It did.  Hooray for Pam!

And since Pam is still not with child (sad face here), Joanne won’t think anything of it when we go in for tampons and chocolate (for the one billionth time).

Only Joanne knows how much chocolate Pam and I consume in one week. It would disturb anyone except her because she doesn’t remember we just bought three bags of M&M’s yesterday and we’re back for more a mere 24 hours later.

Even Monica the ninjarapist (that’s ninja-therapist not ninja rapist, although she’s badass enough to rape a ninja and get away with it) knows Joanne since her office is across the street.  We talked about it in therapy and she agrees.  Facial blindness is the only answer.  We also considered professionalism but quickly ruled it out because sometimes we like to be mean because sometimes being mean in private therapy is very therapeutic.

Anyway, my only regret from that day is that I didn’t say: “I hope that’s the last asshole you hear from today.”

Hindsight is a bitch.

 

Crissy makes a video!

Tomorrow, you guys are gonna get a treat!

We made a video at work just for funzies and I’m gonna share it with you because it’s about my glamorous life as a Mrs. Fancypants.

Plus, you get to see Crissy, plus her work environment, plus her co-workers, plus you get to laugh because I’m ridiculous and that’s why you come here.

Wait for it…