A Star is Born/ Hoarding update

Suddenly Hollywood loves a hoarder. If you doubt this, please consult your TV listings and tune in to "Hoarders" and "Intervention". Between Mr. Bunker and his sibs, we have enough craziness for an entire mini-series; I think I ought to be looking for an agent.
We could probably even get some endorsements, like maybe The Container Store, eBay, Zoloft, Streets & Sanitation; probably even the Taliban; they're always on the lookout for the perfect hideout, no?

Pictured above is our garage, into which a car has not fit for the past 4 years. I am aware that many sort-of-normal people fill their garages up with junk, hence displacing the vehicle to the driveway or street, but this strategy does not work for me. Being an urbanite I don't really have a driveway, and street parking is not a viable option. Renting a nearby garage spot runs about $250.00 per month.

Of course if you're batshit crazy, it makes perfect sense to pay that kind of money so that you may house moldy throw pillows and busted baskets from a clearance table, because these are potentially of GREAT VALUE. Alternatively, some of this treasure could be donated to a needy person who might smell worse than the pillow, and that same needy person would also probably be very thankful for a busted-up basket to help organize the shopping cart in which most of their personal belongings are kept.

Maybe he's not a giant CRAZY ASSHOLE after all, it could be that he's a humanitarian, just trying to help his fellow children of the LORD (help me). He also provides the neighborhood wags with some nice gossip material. The busy-bodies may disparage my garage when they tire of yammering about how so-and-so was spotted feeding her vulnerable offspring processed food instead of organic barley water. See, my thoughtful husband is providing this nice diversion to help the beleaguered working moms in the 'hood, he's a SAINT!

AND if the shit that you're tripping over is a valuable antique, then it's not really hoarding, it's just great wisdom and a good eye for value.

For an example, if you see that bandaids are on the clearance table for a good price, why buy just one box when you could buy fifty boxes? WTF am I going to do with FIFTY BOXES of band aids?? Maybe I can create a beautiful sculpture, in which the bandaids will support and seamlessly connect the 35 fucking containers of stale cotton candy which were also on the clearance table.

Should I drink, cry or shoot?? I just don't know.


Cotton Candy:
On the brighter side, my little fall garden is looking very cute. I need to do a little bit more planting because if Archie sees those bare spots, he'll probably try to stack some asbestos tile or store a rebuilt lawnmower engine out there.

Vlad the Impaler

SORRY! Next picture will be of my fall mums & ornamental cabbage. They are very pretty and tasteful.

Once a week I'm a teacher's helper. Being at the school makes me privy to all kinds of useful information. One such valuable nugget involves the the new kid in my son's class. His name is Vlad, and Vlad truly picks his nose ALL DAY LONG. Every other sentence by the teacher is "fingers out Vlad".
There is also a kid who's name is "Wedge". This translates in grammar school language to "please kick my ass on the playground". I wonder if his granny calls him "Little Wedgie".

My accountant (against my wishes) calculated what it costs me to quit doctoring to perform my valuable school services. It made me feel bad for a quick minute, but what could make me feel richer than being able to relate important information such as is supplied above?

Homesick

My new favorite blog, which I can visit whenever I'm feeling homesick: Peopleofwalmart.com.

I expect that next time I'm home and shopping in my pajamas & slippers while enjoying some delicious KFC, that maybe I'll see if I can make the cut.

I haven't spotted any of my actual kin posted there yet, but give it some time, it's sure to happen. That handsome devil up there with the attractive mullet is making me weak kneed, look out Archie Bunker, there may be an new man in my life!

And why the exquisite creature below is wallowing in obscurity instead of gracing the cover of fashion magazines is surely one of the great mysteries of our time, never mind that a strong breeze may initiate a Hazmat situation, she must suffer for her art!

Things are tough all over

First the cigarettes, and now the whiskey. How the hell ahm spozed to git myseff ready to deal with Mr. Bunker? Or prepare for surgery? Shit. Blood & guts without boozin' up a little first? no way, I'm sure I'll faint.
At least the paint and glue's not locked up yet, and of course there's always NyQuil.

KIDDING! Just joshin' of course, in an attempt to ward off the generalized despair now that my baby's off in kindygarten and my husband's purchsing industiral sized shredders. That, along with the general wretched state of the world has gotten me into a funk and now I'm thinking that maybe I ought to sell off my material possessions and move to a mud hut in the Andes..or it could be that I just need a haircut with a bit of a shoulder massage by a flitty queen.

I suppose I'll try the haircut first, it would be heartbreaking to part with my splendid shoes without exhausting all other conservative options.

Haircut such as:
And, shoes! How could I part with them?

The New Etiquette

Admirable creativity, and very considerate to help deter an awkward moment that could occur if the wrong name is spoken. Not that I would know.

Don't Look a This!! Really!

I'm sorry, I tried warning you! This is in such bad taste that I must share it so that we may be offended together.
Why is it that after someone has a little bodily enhancement done, they loose all inhibitions about sharing the enhanced area ?
I've suffered through flashing of augmented chesticles more often than I really like to think about, usually in answer to an inquiry about surgical history.
Sheesh.... "No ma'm, I can trust you that they feel natural, honestly I don't need to touch them."

I've also been mooned once to show off reshaping via lipo, and I guess that is even less appealing than the boobie thing.
That is one very creepy mom up there. She's not even a cheetah, she's some kind of child warper. If she were male she's have scary sideburns and bad teeth, the sure signs of a pedophile.

Still Bitter!

2 weeks? has it been that long? A review of current events:

1. Mr. Bunker is an asshole. His latest OCD/hoarding acquisition is pictured above. They are a total of 6 giant paper shredders which were acquired at the Goodwill store because "they were such bargain", and can be resold by YOU TROY for vast coinage. Dayumm. They are the size of a washing machine and very very old, like made for that computer paper that was one continuous sheet. Guess I won't be getting my car in the garage anytime soon.

2. First day of school! Took the kids into the projects, dropped em off. Miss H. couldn't wait. The Boy however, was stuck to me like hair on bar soap. We all survived, thank you waterproof mascara. That first day of kindergarten is traumatic.

3. Archie Bunker is a CRAZY asshole.

4. My sister-in-law, Trashie, added a new word to her vocabulary, and that word is irregardless. That is some sort of non-standard non-word which is a double negative, and when I hear it I suffer brain convulsions and swoon (on the inside).
She needed another four syllable word because she's used up "evidently", another word that makes my ass hurt, perhaps from the repeated overuse of it by Trashie. I know we're not supposed to tell others how to push our buttons, but here's how to make me want to roll up in a corner:

• use the word irregardless
• misspell separate (I always have to check, it's some kind of tic)

• jack up possessives. I guess I'm getting over this, as there is much poetic license, Frank Drackman, in the blogesphere.
  

So now you know. Please do not use this against me.

5. Da Bears. So sad.

6. Still waiting to become a stoner, or at least get long eyelashes from my glaucoma drops, which thankfully, I can still see.

So...Anybody need a shredder?