You know that Facebook thing where people post 25 things about themselves and then tag a bunch of their Facebook Friends to do the same? Well, nobody tagged me or if they did, I never saw it. But since US Weekly now has a celebrity doing "25 Things" each week, I figured I'd jump in as well. So, here's 25 Things about Me:
1. The smell of crayons makes me gag. Same goes for the smell of honey.
2. My oldest sister Jamie and I wrote a "Gilligan's Island" episode quiz book. If we had submitted it for publication, we'd be Millionaires right now! Or not.
3. I can twirl a baton.
4. I've been to the movies one time in the last decade.
5. I'm a Deadhead.
6. I have never locked my keys in my car.
7. I've never read any of the "Harry Potter" books.
8. I will happily pay cash money to tour the homes of strangers.
9. Clowns are the stuff nightmares are made of.
10. I was bitten by a lion and had the scar for years.
11. I'm disgusted by boxing and Ultimate Fighting but I will raise holy hell if they try and take fighting out of the NHL.
12. My parents had a tendency to drive off because they forgot about me which lasted from the time I was an infant until my late teens.
13. If I could pick any other language to speak fluently, I'd pick Yiddish. No reason.
14. The greatest car ever made is the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile. EVER.
15. I'm terrified of heights. Just climbing a ladder gives me palpitations.
16. I've tried and tried but I just can't get "into" the Bible.
17. If I don't read the newspaper every morning, I get "twitchy."
18. I BEGGED to take piano lessons as a kid. Denied.
19. I'm utterly fascinated by the paranormal.
20. And I've had numerous paranormal experiences.
21. I can (and do) hold a grudge for years.
22. The word "empower" irritates me. It's too "Oprah."
23. I have no interest in "Reality TV."
24. I am quite smug at how good my kids have turned out. So far.
25. I am in absolute awe at my husband's talent at building/making/fixing/creating anything.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
There's one born every minute
So, I've had my Ralph Lauren sunglasses (as seen in my profile photo) for well over five years and they're so scratched up I don't know how I'm able to see out of them but I haven't been able to find anything that I like and that keeps the glare from rendering me blind so I just keep wearing them and waiting for the day when I find the perfect stylish sunglasses that keep the sun and glare out of my baby blues and I'll gladly pay $$$ for them because I justify the expense on a cost-per-use basis which means sunglasses that cost $$$ end up costing pennies per day and will have paid for themselves in a year of wear. And I pride myself on the fact that the last time I actually lost a pair of expensive sunglasses was 18 years ago and I didn't exactly lose them because I know exactly where they are: at the bottom of the Colorado River in Parker, AZ where they sank when I had an unfortunate (and terrifying) boating accident.
Anyway. I'm on the lookout for new sunglasses and since I do watch TV, I would often see commercials for these neat-o "HD Vision Sunglasses." The paid participants would rhapsodize about how fabulous and wonderful these sunglasses are and how they make everything so much sharper and better and blah blah blah. Yeah yeah yeah, I thought. These people are being PAID cash money to trill on and on about these glasses. Whatever.
Well then the commercial offered a "how can you pass it up?" deal: Buy one pair, get one pair free! Two pairs of these wonderful, fabulous High Definition sunglasses for only $10.00! American money! And I'm all, "What a deal! How can I pass that up? I'd be INSANE not to take advantage of that offer!"
A month and a half later, they finally arrive. And I understood why they're five buck specs.
We're talking cheep here, people. These glasses aren't good enough to be "cheap." They don't deserve that "a." Stylish they ain't. I've seen nicer sunglasses for sale on the counter at Drunky McDrunkster's Liquor and Bait Shoppe.
All these do is change how you view the world to a yellowish-amber. Nothing looks sharper or clearer; just yellow.
It's bad enough I fell for the spiel but where I REALLY got screwed, and without even dinner and a movie, is when I saw the invoice and discovered that the shipping and handling for my Five Buck Specs was almost $30.00. THIRTY DOLLARS. In American Money. I felt so used and ashamed. I felt like a coed who woke up in some strange bed with 2 other people and wearing someone else's underwear after a night of doing both shots of tequila AND jello shooters.
Now if you'll excuse me, my Five Buck Specs and I have to do the Walk of Shame. Straight to the trashcan.
Anyway. I'm on the lookout for new sunglasses and since I do watch TV, I would often see commercials for these neat-o "HD Vision Sunglasses." The paid participants would rhapsodize about how fabulous and wonderful these sunglasses are and how they make everything so much sharper and better and blah blah blah. Yeah yeah yeah, I thought. These people are being PAID cash money to trill on and on about these glasses. Whatever.
Well then the commercial offered a "how can you pass it up?" deal: Buy one pair, get one pair free! Two pairs of these wonderful, fabulous High Definition sunglasses for only $10.00! American money! And I'm all, "What a deal! How can I pass that up? I'd be INSANE not to take advantage of that offer!"
A month and a half later, they finally arrive. And I understood why they're five buck specs.
We're talking cheep here, people. These glasses aren't good enough to be "cheap." They don't deserve that "a." Stylish they ain't. I've seen nicer sunglasses for sale on the counter at Drunky McDrunkster's Liquor and Bait Shoppe.
All these do is change how you view the world to a yellowish-amber. Nothing looks sharper or clearer; just yellow.
It's bad enough I fell for the spiel but where I REALLY got screwed, and without even dinner and a movie, is when I saw the invoice and discovered that the shipping and handling for my Five Buck Specs was almost $30.00. THIRTY DOLLARS. In American Money. I felt so used and ashamed. I felt like a coed who woke up in some strange bed with 2 other people and wearing someone else's underwear after a night of doing both shots of tequila AND jello shooters.
Now if you'll excuse me, my Five Buck Specs and I have to do the Walk of Shame. Straight to the trashcan.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
I got Nuthin'
All I can say is I'm glad that I don't have to come up with a new blog entry every day because sometimes, I have a whole lot of nuthin' worth blogging about. Like yesterday. And today.
There just isn't anything interesting or exciting going on in my little world right now. The Summer hockey season ended and the Fall Season hasn't started yet. TheManTheMyth hasn't had much work for the last few months so he's been home WAY too much and is totally screwing up my daily routine. TheManTheMyth has this alien idea that I should be doing something at all times and his idea of "doing something" and MY idea of "doing something" are two entirely different things.
Does he not realize that I can spend HOURS on the computer, being entertained by websites like this? Or this? And let's not forget this. And if that's not enough, I also have a 100 level game of Shanghai that is totally addicting. I'm on Level 84 and I don't know what's going to happen when I conquer Level 100. Guess I'll find out. Wait a minute. Yesterday, I was on Level 80. How the hell am I on Level 84? Oh yeah, Thing 1 is hooked too (along with Thing 2. Drives TheManTheMyth crazy) and he probably got his fix last night when I was watching "Big Bang Theory" (funniest show in the world right now).
TheManTheMyth's idea of "doing something" involves labor, cleaning products, some sort of tools and actually using these items. I don't know how many times I hear, "Get off that goddamn computer and DO SOMETHING!" It's really, really working my last nerve, I tell you.
So yesterday, I decided to "do something" to shut him up and went to work on cleaning out my office, which needs to be done quarterly because it fills up with everyone else's crap that they don't want to keep in their rooms but won't throw away because they *might* need it so they just drag it in my office and then complain that my office is a mess and why don't I get off my ass and clean it or something instead of spending all day on that goddamn computer.
And it was while I was cleaning out my office that I found a locked box (no key) and I felt that I would not continue to function until I found out what was in that locked asbestos-insulated, fire-retardant box. There was stuff in there; I could hear it when I shook the box. So I asked TheManTheMyth if he could drill out the lock:
We opened it up and there were a bunch of papers and a couple of boxes. The papers were mostly receipts and letters regarding my great-grandmother's estate but it was the boxes that were the interesting stuff.
Yeah, it's a bit fuzzy but that first word on the bottom line says "Morphine." There were 20 ampules of morphine in that box:
50 year old ampules of morphine but morphine nonetheless. Where's Jacqueline Bisset in her wet t-shirt is what TheManTheMyth wanted to know.
So I'm like, "Whoa" and TheManTheMyth is like, "Dude" and Thing 1 is all, "I need money!" which is his mantra, and Lucy is all, "Hello?! Who's taking me to the park?" and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with this stuff. I'm allergic to morphine so sampling the wares is out (I kid! Not about being allergic to morphine but the sampling the wares part).
So not only do I need to find out how to properly dispose of antique morphine but also an asbestos-insulated lockbox that is now sans lock because it's not like I can just toss everything in the recycling bin. Because that would be wrong.
Anyone know the street value of antique morphine?
I kid! I kid!
Sheesh!
There just isn't anything interesting or exciting going on in my little world right now. The Summer hockey season ended and the Fall Season hasn't started yet. TheManTheMyth hasn't had much work for the last few months so he's been home WAY too much and is totally screwing up my daily routine. TheManTheMyth has this alien idea that I should be doing something at all times and his idea of "doing something" and MY idea of "doing something" are two entirely different things.
Does he not realize that I can spend HOURS on the computer, being entertained by websites like this? Or this? And let's not forget this. And if that's not enough, I also have a 100 level game of Shanghai that is totally addicting. I'm on Level 84 and I don't know what's going to happen when I conquer Level 100. Guess I'll find out. Wait a minute. Yesterday, I was on Level 80. How the hell am I on Level 84? Oh yeah, Thing 1 is hooked too (along with Thing 2. Drives TheManTheMyth crazy) and he probably got his fix last night when I was watching "Big Bang Theory" (funniest show in the world right now).
TheManTheMyth's idea of "doing something" involves labor, cleaning products, some sort of tools and actually using these items. I don't know how many times I hear, "Get off that goddamn computer and DO SOMETHING!" It's really, really working my last nerve, I tell you.
So yesterday, I decided to "do something" to shut him up and went to work on cleaning out my office, which needs to be done quarterly because it fills up with everyone else's crap that they don't want to keep in their rooms but won't throw away because they *might* need it so they just drag it in my office and then complain that my office is a mess and why don't I get off my ass and clean it or something instead of spending all day on that goddamn computer.
And it was while I was cleaning out my office that I found a locked box (no key) and I felt that I would not continue to function until I found out what was in that locked asbestos-insulated, fire-retardant box. There was stuff in there; I could hear it when I shook the box. So I asked TheManTheMyth if he could drill out the lock:
We opened it up and there were a bunch of papers and a couple of boxes. The papers were mostly receipts and letters regarding my great-grandmother's estate but it was the boxes that were the interesting stuff.
Yeah, it's a bit fuzzy but that first word on the bottom line says "Morphine." There were 20 ampules of morphine in that box:
50 year old ampules of morphine but morphine nonetheless. Where's Jacqueline Bisset in her wet t-shirt is what TheManTheMyth wanted to know.
So I'm like, "Whoa" and TheManTheMyth is like, "Dude" and Thing 1 is all, "I need money!" which is his mantra, and Lucy is all, "Hello?! Who's taking me to the park?" and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with this stuff. I'm allergic to morphine so sampling the wares is out (I kid! Not about being allergic to morphine but the sampling the wares part).
So not only do I need to find out how to properly dispose of antique morphine but also an asbestos-insulated lockbox that is now sans lock because it's not like I can just toss everything in the recycling bin. Because that would be wrong.
Anyone know the street value of antique morphine?
I kid! I kid!
Sheesh!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
It's Wacky Wednesday
Why is it "wacky" you ask? I'll tell you. This morning I did something wacky and so Not Me. I went on a 4 mile walk this morning! I know you're thinking, "No way!" And I'm like "Way!" And you probably want to know what possessed me to do a 4 mile walk this morning and I'll tell you. Stupidity.
After dropping of Thing 2 at the Designated Drop-Off spot for school (Sizzler parking lot), I get to the park 1/2 hour before the Nature Center, my walking spot of Choice, is open. Because I'm already about 1500 miles over on my 12K miles a year stupid-ass lease, I'm not going to drive home and then drive back to the park. So I had decided I'd walk the flat concrete path at the park as a warm-up and then cross the street to the Nature Center.
But this morning, something wacky came over me and I ended up walking all of both Areas II and III, which is a good 4 miles. And let me tell you it was Not Fun. There wasn't anybody in Area III which made it kind of eerie because I was alone and it was pretty foggy and Area III is a very large area. And it's flat. And boring. And since all I had eaten was one Activia yogurt (gotta keep things "regular" if ya know what I mean) so at about Mile 3, I started dragging and getting what I call "woogly legs." About the only thing that kept me going was the songs on my iPod. "Sheena is a Punk Rocker" does have a tendency to perk one up.
I was so pooped that I couldn't even stop to chat with the squirrels because I knew if I stopped walking, I wouldn't be able to move again. I just wanted to get back to my car and collapse.
So by now you're thinking, "You walked. Big whoop. You're such a wacky gal."
But wait. There's more.
Guess what I did next? Of COURSE I went to the Crack House (duh!) but get this: I did NOT get My Usual. Instead, I got just a teeny-tiny Breakfast Burrito! And a Medium Diet Coke. And the Hashbrown Sticks but my point is that I got something DIFFERENT than my usual Bacon & Egg Quesadilla! How Whack is That?
Filed under "Nothing to do with the topic at hand:" Did you know that the harmonica is the most-sold musical instrument in the country? I was not aware of that useful tidbit of trivia until Mr. Bob Zimmerman Dylan Zimmerman Dylan informed me this morning.
And my Wednesday Earworm is "The Jean Genie" by David Bowie.
And now, I'm going to do something else wacky. I'm going to go and clean my house.
Because it's Wacky Wednesday, folks.
After dropping of Thing 2 at the Designated Drop-Off spot for school (Sizzler parking lot), I get to the park 1/2 hour before the Nature Center, my walking spot of Choice, is open. Because I'm already about 1500 miles over on my 12K miles a year stupid-ass lease, I'm not going to drive home and then drive back to the park. So I had decided I'd walk the flat concrete path at the park as a warm-up and then cross the street to the Nature Center.
But this morning, something wacky came over me and I ended up walking all of both Areas II and III, which is a good 4 miles. And let me tell you it was Not Fun. There wasn't anybody in Area III which made it kind of eerie because I was alone and it was pretty foggy and Area III is a very large area. And it's flat. And boring. And since all I had eaten was one Activia yogurt (gotta keep things "regular" if ya know what I mean) so at about Mile 3, I started dragging and getting what I call "woogly legs." About the only thing that kept me going was the songs on my iPod. "Sheena is a Punk Rocker" does have a tendency to perk one up.
I was so pooped that I couldn't even stop to chat with the squirrels because I knew if I stopped walking, I wouldn't be able to move again. I just wanted to get back to my car and collapse.
So by now you're thinking, "You walked. Big whoop. You're such a wacky gal."
But wait. There's more.
Guess what I did next? Of COURSE I went to the Crack House (duh!) but get this: I did NOT get My Usual. Instead, I got just a teeny-tiny Breakfast Burrito! And a Medium Diet Coke. And the Hashbrown Sticks but my point is that I got something DIFFERENT than my usual Bacon & Egg Quesadilla! How Whack is That?
Filed under "Nothing to do with the topic at hand:" Did you know that the harmonica is the most-sold musical instrument in the country? I was not aware of that useful tidbit of trivia until Mr. Bob Zimmerman Dylan Zimmerman Dylan informed me this morning.
And my Wednesday Earworm is "The Jean Genie" by David Bowie.
And now, I'm going to do something else wacky. I'm going to go and clean my house.
Because it's Wacky Wednesday, folks.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
5 Things
Ok, another blog asked readers "What 5 things will you NEVER do again?" And I had to laugh because just about anything and everything I did in my late teens and early twenties qualifies for this. And it's a helluva lot more than just 5 things. I won't go into what I did in my Wild Misspent Youth but let's just say some of what I did could have been entries here.
But ok, I'll play along.
1. I won't ever enter a wet t-shirt contest again. Hey, I was young, I was wild, I was free and I had the magic power of the music in me. Don't you judge me.
2. I won't ever agree to go on trip with friends where I have to a) sleep on the floor or b) sleep 3 to a bed because the organizer of the weekend getaway conveniently "forgets" to mention that there will be 7 other people staying in one hotel room. And someone always hooks up with a guy in the bar and brings him back to the room and they claim the one bed although the guy is more than willing to have any of the other ladies "share" the bed with them because he's a giver like that.
3. I won't ever take LSD and/or go see "Laserium" again. Oh man, that was one hee-larious night. Incredible laser show. Everything was just so COLORFUL and the way the colored lights danced around and around. And that was before the show had even started. Reality was for people who couldn't handle drugs.
And speaking of Recreational Chemicals, one time my best friend Sandra, who came to a bad end a couple of years after we went separate ways, and I took some acid and spent the rest of the night sitting on the roof of a building on Main Street in Huntington Beach with some gentleman friends and laughed and laughed and laughed until the sun came up. Honestly? It was one of the funnest, funniest nights of my life. This is us on the roof that night. Notice my rockin' Def Leppard shirt and double-wrap studded belt. Yeah, I was bad-ass.
4. I won't ever see the Grateful Dead perform live again. First time I saw The Dead (I saw them a total of 11 times including a New Year's Eve show), I went with the guy I was in love with. He didn't want to take me as he didn't return my feelings at that time. I insisted. So he grudgingly allowed me to tag along and then promptly ditched me as soon as we got there. Wuddaguy. I still had a great time thanks to people who were happy to share their food, drink and "other stuff" with me since my "date" had the ice chest. Seriously? You met the nicest people at a Grateful Dead show.
Ok, check me out that day. I'm a total "Fashion Don't" with my tye-dyed t-shirt worn (clashing) with striped Dolphin shorts. Cheezus Christ on a Cracker what was I thinking with that ensemble? And see how happy my date is to have me along? I had to literally force him to smile for the camera. So maybe I was a bit pushy. But it paid off. We ended up being together for a couple of years before I ditched him for being an immature, irresponsible ass even though the tables had turned and he was madly in love with me and devastated when we broke up. Karma, dude. You shouldn't have ditched me that day.
5. Number 5. Five. What is the Fifth Thing I Will Never Do Again? Hmmmm. I gotta think. Well, I will never have another baby again because I got spayed after Thing 2 was born. Two was my limit. And I have two beautiful children that I'm very, very proud of so there ya go.
There's my Five.
But ok, I'll play along.
1. I won't ever enter a wet t-shirt contest again. Hey, I was young, I was wild, I was free and I had the magic power of the music in me. Don't you judge me.
2. I won't ever agree to go on trip with friends where I have to a) sleep on the floor or b) sleep 3 to a bed because the organizer of the weekend getaway conveniently "forgets" to mention that there will be 7 other people staying in one hotel room. And someone always hooks up with a guy in the bar and brings him back to the room and they claim the one bed although the guy is more than willing to have any of the other ladies "share" the bed with them because he's a giver like that.
3. I won't ever take LSD and/or go see "Laserium" again. Oh man, that was one hee-larious night. Incredible laser show. Everything was just so COLORFUL and the way the colored lights danced around and around. And that was before the show had even started. Reality was for people who couldn't handle drugs.
And speaking of Recreational Chemicals, one time my best friend Sandra, who came to a bad end a couple of years after we went separate ways, and I took some acid and spent the rest of the night sitting on the roof of a building on Main Street in Huntington Beach with some gentleman friends and laughed and laughed and laughed until the sun came up. Honestly? It was one of the funnest, funniest nights of my life. This is us on the roof that night. Notice my rockin' Def Leppard shirt and double-wrap studded belt. Yeah, I was bad-ass.
4. I won't ever see the Grateful Dead perform live again. First time I saw The Dead (I saw them a total of 11 times including a New Year's Eve show), I went with the guy I was in love with. He didn't want to take me as he didn't return my feelings at that time. I insisted. So he grudgingly allowed me to tag along and then promptly ditched me as soon as we got there. Wuddaguy. I still had a great time thanks to people who were happy to share their food, drink and "other stuff" with me since my "date" had the ice chest. Seriously? You met the nicest people at a Grateful Dead show.
Ok, check me out that day. I'm a total "Fashion Don't" with my tye-dyed t-shirt worn (clashing) with striped Dolphin shorts. Cheezus Christ on a Cracker what was I thinking with that ensemble? And see how happy my date is to have me along? I had to literally force him to smile for the camera. So maybe I was a bit pushy. But it paid off. We ended up being together for a couple of years before I ditched him for being an immature, irresponsible ass even though the tables had turned and he was madly in love with me and devastated when we broke up. Karma, dude. You shouldn't have ditched me that day.
5. Number 5. Five. What is the Fifth Thing I Will Never Do Again? Hmmmm. I gotta think. Well, I will never have another baby again because I got spayed after Thing 2 was born. Two was my limit. And I have two beautiful children that I'm very, very proud of so there ya go.
There's my Five.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Her name was Joyce
Everyone in our neighborhood knew who she was. She had moved in down the street a couple of years ago, into the Alu's old house. Just her and her funny-looking dog that looks like a brindle hyena or dingo. Every morning I'd see her riding her bicycle. Then, she'd ride her bicycle while Pegasus the dog ran alongside. Then she'd walk Pegasus over to the park. Later in the day, I'd see her riding her bicycle some more. All day long, she would be riding her bicycle or walking Pegasus. I often wondered if there were times poor Pegasus was thinking, "Man, I just want to SLEEP!"
She painted the house a vivid blue. It was so bright it glowed. But she liked it. Her car would be parked in the driveway with the "PLEZLUV" license plate. Sometimes I'd see her driving off, the top down on her convertible and her blond hair covered in a leopard scarf, looking very pretty and glamorous with her bright red lipstick.
She rarely stopped to talk as she rode by. Sometimes she would stop so that we could pet Pegasus but mostly we would just wave to each other. She was "The Lady in the Blue House."
Yesterday afternoon, I found out a couple of things about the Lady in the Blue House. I found out her name was Joyce.
And I found out that on the evening of Friday, September 11, she went into the garage of her blue house and killed herself.
Her name was Joyce.
She painted the house a vivid blue. It was so bright it glowed. But she liked it. Her car would be parked in the driveway with the "PLEZLUV" license plate. Sometimes I'd see her driving off, the top down on her convertible and her blond hair covered in a leopard scarf, looking very pretty and glamorous with her bright red lipstick.
She rarely stopped to talk as she rode by. Sometimes she would stop so that we could pet Pegasus but mostly we would just wave to each other. She was "The Lady in the Blue House."
Yesterday afternoon, I found out a couple of things about the Lady in the Blue House. I found out her name was Joyce.
And I found out that on the evening of Friday, September 11, she went into the garage of her blue house and killed herself.
Her name was Joyce.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Running the Gauntlet
You know when you run out of something vital to the happiness and well-being of your sanity and that of your family? You know, stuff like "feminine products," Midol and vodka. So, you run up to the store (or drive, your choice) and head towards the front door when you stop short because you have spotted THEM. The solicitors who park themselves right at the door so they can accost customers both coming and going. And of course they're usually standing right next to or in front of the big honkin' sign that says something along the lines of "Acme Stores Does Not Condone, Support or Approve of Solicitation of its Customers by Political, Charitable and/or Religious Organizations." You gotta have a thick hide to blatantly accost people in front of the sign asking you not to do it.
Every time I go to the store, I have to run the gauntlet and it really irritates the crap outta me (so what's new, Mrs. Raging Case of PMS?). There's the guy who always has some sort of petition he's thrusting into your face while he blows smoke from the cigarettes he chain smokes. Oh yeah, dude, way to get people to stop and listen to you. And SPEAKING of cigarette smoke, don't even get me started on employees who take their smoke breaks 6 inches past the front door so all the customers have to run the gauntlet of clouds of carcinogenic smoke. Lovely.
Then there's the people who set up their little TV tray table with a painted coffee can and hand-printed signs and photos that you can't *quite* make out as to what they are photos of. As far as I know, it's photos of them with a crack pipe and they're soliciting money to further their habit. Especially when these people look like they've been awake for a week and are scratching and clawing at their faces.
Or the guy in the custom motorized wheelchair and he's all blinged out (I'm cringing that I used the word "bling" but it fits) and wearing sneakers that cost triple digits and he's parked at the door asking people for money. Um, no.
One day, I was running (yes, running) into Target to get some feminine products only to have this PERSON block my path because he wanted to talk to me about some political conspiracy crap. Target is real good about kicking these people off their property but this guy felt the rules didn't apply to HIM. Now I'm a non-confrontational sort of person but this guy won't let me pass and I'm already postal and I say I'm not interested get outta my way and he starts spouting off and we're doing the dance where I'm trying to move past him and he continues to block and I finally say, loudly, "Dude I am here to buy some Goddamn Tampax and if you don't move your ass right now I WILL drop you with one punch! Now let me get my Goddamn Tampax!" Perhaps it was the way my hair was standing on end or the wild "bitch is on the rag" look in my eye but he slithered away pretty darn quick.
I paid for my Tampax and as I was walking out the door, Mr. Blocker was being hustled off by Long Beach's Finest. He was protesting about Freedom of Speech and Civil Rights yadda yadda blah blah blah until he saw me walk out and damned if he didn't shut his piehole and meekly walk away.
Yeah, that's right Scooter, NEVER come between a menstruating woman and her Tampax. You WILL lose.
Postscript:
2 hours after I wrote the above, I go out to my mailbox and there was a package with my name on it. And get this, it was a box of free samples of Feminine Products from the Nice Folks at Kimberly-Clark! I go, "No way!" and the box of tampons and napkins go "Way!"
How funny is THAT? BTW, I still haven't had a Facebook Friend request from George Parros but I'm still hoping.
Every time I go to the store, I have to run the gauntlet and it really irritates the crap outta me (so what's new, Mrs. Raging Case of PMS?). There's the guy who always has some sort of petition he's thrusting into your face while he blows smoke from the cigarettes he chain smokes. Oh yeah, dude, way to get people to stop and listen to you. And SPEAKING of cigarette smoke, don't even get me started on employees who take their smoke breaks 6 inches past the front door so all the customers have to run the gauntlet of clouds of carcinogenic smoke. Lovely.
Then there's the people who set up their little TV tray table with a painted coffee can and hand-printed signs and photos that you can't *quite* make out as to what they are photos of. As far as I know, it's photos of them with a crack pipe and they're soliciting money to further their habit. Especially when these people look like they've been awake for a week and are scratching and clawing at their faces.
Or the guy in the custom motorized wheelchair and he's all blinged out (I'm cringing that I used the word "bling" but it fits) and wearing sneakers that cost triple digits and he's parked at the door asking people for money. Um, no.
One day, I was running (yes, running) into Target to get some feminine products only to have this PERSON block my path because he wanted to talk to me about some political conspiracy crap. Target is real good about kicking these people off their property but this guy felt the rules didn't apply to HIM. Now I'm a non-confrontational sort of person but this guy won't let me pass and I'm already postal and I say I'm not interested get outta my way and he starts spouting off and we're doing the dance where I'm trying to move past him and he continues to block and I finally say, loudly, "Dude I am here to buy some Goddamn Tampax and if you don't move your ass right now I WILL drop you with one punch! Now let me get my Goddamn Tampax!" Perhaps it was the way my hair was standing on end or the wild "bitch is on the rag" look in my eye but he slithered away pretty darn quick.
I paid for my Tampax and as I was walking out the door, Mr. Blocker was being hustled off by Long Beach's Finest. He was protesting about Freedom of Speech and Civil Rights yadda yadda blah blah blah until he saw me walk out and damned if he didn't shut his piehole and meekly walk away.
Yeah, that's right Scooter, NEVER come between a menstruating woman and her Tampax. You WILL lose.
Postscript:
2 hours after I wrote the above, I go out to my mailbox and there was a package with my name on it. And get this, it was a box of free samples of Feminine Products from the Nice Folks at Kimberly-Clark! I go, "No way!" and the box of tampons and napkins go "Way!"
How funny is THAT? BTW, I still haven't had a Facebook Friend request from George Parros but I'm still hoping.
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