Friday, September 17, 2010

The Big Day for Dr. P.A.

Grab your black-tie pasties and your top-hat, make sure everything's been waxed, plucked and bleached, and don't be late to the church! Today is the day!
That guy on the left who thought it was a clown/Elvis theme is feeling pretty awkward, I just know it. DUH. People can be so inappropriate.

Anyhow, this is the date upon which Dr. PA and her chosen purse-holder enter into the horror of joint checking. I still don't understand how she could decline my fine offer of a life partnership of collecting stray cats while wearing disco fab naphthalene scented designer clothes, but I tried. I put myself out there despite my heartbreak. I coulda been the one.

As a consolation prize, I am participating as a reader. Not just any reader either, HEAD reader. The boss of the readers, and mind you I will be keeping that other bitch in line.

Also, just kidding with that raunchy assemblage above, Dr. PA is far to refined and sophisticated to be hosting that tattooed gaggle of harlots. She is a petite little flower, not the more-to-love type picture above. So for real:

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Status Changes

For Dr. P.A., "dressing up" involves wearing clean scrubs and her formal Crocs. It is therefore a stunning event to see her in shoes that look they should be paired with tassels and a thong accommodating bills of varying denomination.
And why all this glitter and glam? bitch is getting married, of course. I guess we have to maintain some cosmic balance in the universe regarding the misery index. I get unmarried, she gets married. Meanwhile Dr. Ginger's chosen one is preparing to birth the messiah. I'm nearly certain that they will be calling her/him Edith.

All these major occurrences within our office, and still people keep coming in to whine about their ridiculous aches and pains, as if we have time! so thoughtless.

But back to the wedding. Who thinks that having me as a reader of verse is a good idea? What if I throw back too much of the blue drank and start some kind on meandering soliloquy on my own experiences with the blessed nuptials?
Should I invite my lawyer to be my date? He is currently one of my favorite people, after all.
Naw. He'd charge me for the time, plus I've already got the outfit all picked out & pressed for Felix, the only man I'll ever love again. When I have him all dressed up & I'm bored and home alone, I'll make some sophisticated cocktails with White Zinfandel from a box mixed with 7up, then waltz around with him to some John Tesh tunes. Or Michael Bolten. No grinding though, that would be in poor taste.

Monday, September 6, 2010

No more "adult services"? Why Craigslist, Why??

Cripes, and just when I've found myself in need of some adult services! You know you can't count on those pathetic whippersnapper punk-ass kids if you're looking for something done well, such as, say, fine embroidery, quality typesetting, or refurbishment of the reliable old family sawed-off shotgun. These are services that absolutely must be provided by an adult.

But really. I'm no dummy. I do know that those aren't the services that were advertised in that section of Craigslist. That section was for peddlin' the poon, and I'm still upset, because as the current provider for ma bebbies, it only makes sense to have a back-up plan in place; a momma's gotta do what a momma's gotta do, those Xboxes aren't going to be buying themselves!

Clearly my life goes on as I continue to try to beat Mr. Bunker back into that giant Summer's Eve box from whence he lurched, knuckles dragging and so on. Who knew that when you peel back each layer of Mr. Bunker craziness, there's another layer of crazier? How can this be? How many layers are there anyway?? Isn't there some kind of reality show for him??? hello TLC, I'm talking to you. Or Bravo. PBS? Animal Planet??

I'm happy to relate that I now have all the basics that would be required for comfort in a college dorm room. I finally have a bed, and even wireless internet, (thank you Jacob) and a very fancy 22" flat screen TV. Soon I will have a dresser and my underthings will no longer be stored in milk crates.
It is ever so much more comfortable than my previous elegantly appointed domicile. So for all you cynics out there, behold, a happy ending.