Shoes & Tackle

My woes have been eased, the cruel wounds rent in my soul temporarily patched with material goods! I'm sooooo cheap!
In the space of one day I've been gifted with a new fishing rod and purchased enchanting new shoes.
I defiantly do not know how to fly fish, but I have a long-standing desire to learn how. I chatted with one of my elderly gents who has spent many hours toward perfecting the skill, then whatdaya know? next day he brought me a rod of my own (don't try to make this dirty).

I think it could be a nice outdoor hobby because unlike golf, one is not required to socialize or wear bad pants.
As much as I love to run, I can't count on my knees holding up forever, so it's good to have a backup. This type of fishing also has special shoe requirements which is always something with which I can happily comply, even if they are waders.
Now all I need is a stream; chances are I can outfit myself almost entirely by sifting through the contents of Mr. Bunkers treasure troves.

I clawed my way into Neiman's on the last day of the sale, busted out the St. John's saleslady's teefs with my elbow when she tried telling me that the new pieces in her line were "hip and young" and that when she wears them to travel she often gets first class upgrades. They upgrade you if you're wearing St. John because they want you to be close to the crapper in case the Depends don't hold up and there is a dribble problem.

Anyway, the shoes (Chloe) are sort of practical; I could still chase down a purse snatcher or beat down an errant child in them, all while still looking like the classy broad that I am. Hooray for me.

Something to Ponder

What's up with the shoes here? If you must have it all out there with the skanarina flytrap shorts, don't be inconsistent and go wearing granny lace-up S.A.S. shoes. This is criminal! The shoes absolutely wreck the entire ensemble! The only acceptable shoe gear would be towering Lucite heels, or au natural, (barefoot).
The true beauty in this picture is the couple strolling arm-in-arm in the background; nothing says "I Love You Forever" better than matching back leather cowboy hats. Magnificent!

Teamwork

I've been known to have a few unkind words to say about that asshole, Mr. Bunker, I think... but all in good fun, right?
Today Mr. Bunker has agreed to take the kids away so that I can do the laundry in peace while watching Peyton Manning smackdown The Jets & their dirty Sanchez. Later this evening I anticipate having a good cry with that big baby Brett Favre.

I just read the above paragraph back and I'm worried that I may be turning into a man, this looming role reversal thing is getting to me.
Wait...if there really was a role reversal going on would I be doing the laundry? Hail to the no, Snoop, I'd be sitting here with one hand in my pants and the other around a beer whilst shouting at somebody to bring me a burger.

The only way to know for sure will be to hit Last Call tomorrow at Neiman's and see if Manolo still makes my heart skip a beat. I'll do this after I fix the garbage disposal but before I take the trash out, scratch my nuts and skim this month's issue of "Motor Trend".

Thanks peedee!

My fearless perseverance in trashing my husband and my thoughtless social commentary has earned me recognition from my fellow blogger & friend, peedee, Queen of the Dogs. She has previously shown her many talents by finding a home for the frog lamp and posting the grossest video (don't even) ever.
She's the best!

In order to properly accept this I'm meant to pass it on, but it would mostly be a repeat of what is listed on peedee's blog anyway. I defer until another date.
THANK YOU!

My own Ginger Caliente!

In the midst of personal turmoil (chronic), one problem has come to a happy although temporary resolution.

Apparently there is not one single capable medical assistant available to work in the city of Chicago. We have extended two offers and this has served only to obtain raises for the candidates as their current employers match our offers; I'm happy they got raises and all, but how does this help ME?

How to fix this problem: exploit someone who's way overqualified, of course! Such as our young Dr. Ginger who has recently relocated to our fine state where it takes FOREVER to obtain licensure and credentialing.

Dr. Ginger was known to both me & Dr. P.A., as we did subject him to mild abuse during his residency training where we found him to be capable and tolerant. I had a little concern initially, mostly because it is a well known fact that redheads (aka Gingers) do not have souls. But the fact that he has a charming southern accent and knows how to make coffee is quite enough for me to overlook this small flaw.

Now all we have to do is start some evil rumor in order to thwart his effort to be a full fledged practioner...problem is that here in Illinois evil rumors would probably serve to expedite this process.

The Worst News EVER

So then, here it is: Mr. Bunker is off of work indefinitely on disability. Good Lord, what have I done??

Can you imagine the horror of your stupid husband "working from home"? NO. No, one thousand times no. Trust me on this. Please run to church, light a candle, splash yourself with some holy water and pray that if the man in the house quits working that he at least has the decency to leave the house every day. This is a disaster.
OK so maybe it's not quite as bad as say, a massive devastating earthquake, and it's not like my kids have been diagnosed with some awful condition leading to chronic unibrows or hammertoes, but it's pretty bad. This can also serve as my excuse for slacking lately on posts, as the dude's all up in my grill ALL DAY LONG, even when I'm at work where he's driving my sweet receptionist to distraction.

That is, when he's not out stealing napkins from Chipotle or relieving CVS of all clearance items. I can't even smuggle the stupid blue towels out of the house to send them out to someone who might actually like to have them.


The reason for the disability?
Back pain which has probably develped because of Salami, Salami, Salami, Gyros, Beef Sammichs, burritos, beer (imagine that fragrance!... no don't unless your feeling really guilty about something and feel the need to punish yourself) combined with the activity level of a mold colony. Lastly, this whole fiasco is made possible because he is an employee of the local government (duh) with benefits which permit this bullshit.

( he is not the hot mess pictured above, but I fear that that's where we're headed)

Interview Hints

• Dude: If you're going to go with with the "Latin King From the Barrio" look, then please be bilingual (in the espanol).
• If you've worked in a doctor's office before as a medical assistant, then YOU SHOULD KNOW what kind of doctor you worked for; saying that you "think he did some wrist surgery and maybe some backs" is a bad answer.
• Don't say that you're flustered about interviewing with "lady doctors". "Lady Doctors" look at hoo-haas and we don't do hoo-haas here.
• If you say you've assisted on procedures and you know basic instrumentation, you shouldknow what a Kelly hemostat is.

• Miss: I do not need need to see your boozooms, in fact they may work against you, so keep 'em outa my face. I'm not above petty jelousy and my little boy is already warped enough without having some naughty-nurse type running around in his world.
• The fact that you used to be in some kind of recording industry job in Hollywood does not entice me, so perhaps you should tell me what you can do in my office.
• I am going to look for your facebook page, so the drunken picture of the tattoo on your ass is not going to get you to the top of my pile (you could try Dr. Frank Drackman in Atlanta, GA though, it would help with him).
• See comment above about the Kelly hemostat

What the hell are they teaching these damn kids anyway?

Today's Clearance Table Offerings

Mother is a retired mental health professional and she says calling my husband "crazy"is rude to crazy people. I mean no disrespect to anybody, but I don't know what to call him because the dude's straight up whacked. He makes Niece Nash from Clean House whimper in her sleep because of his irrational puchasing tendencies (I do not know this as a solid fact but it would make perfect sense). He's a friggin' disaster.

Note to anybody trying to clean out their garage/shed/landfill: slap some price tags on your filthy outdated craptastic junk, call it your "inventory" and invite Mr. Bunker over; your storage problems will be solved, and you'll have a few extra bucks in you pocket.

Today's photo display demonstrates the wide array of shit that that crazy (sorry Mom) asshole can find if he is left unattended for even a short period of time.

The tower of towels was the prize from a wander through Macy's. We don't need towels, the colors don't match any of our existing towels, and if I wanted to buy anything even as trivial as a pair of socks he'd clutch at his chest and hyperventilate about how we're broke, broke, broke, EXTRA BROKE! (example: don't throw those socks away! MY GOD can't you sew those holes up, my mother would have sewn those holes up, blahblahblah).
The towels that we don't need were on sale for seven dollars each, which he thought was such a grand bargain that he bought 15 of them. If anybody has a powder blue bathroom, I can hook you right up with linens, don't be shy about asking. really.
Next stop was CVS, where he picked up 8 Cubs Pez dispensers,
12 boxes of Mint Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Bites (CVS brand)
10 packets of Christmas tissue paper (to add to the 10 that he got last year)
4 packages of "butter" cookies that were not actually made with butter and look like they've been used as some sort of percussion instruments.
Finally (not pictured), one large bag of foil wrapped CVS brand Christmas chocolates of such low quality that even in the throes of a chocolate urge I will not eat them; my standards are not high but they do exist.

If anybody has the slightest wish for any of these items, please notify me. It better be soon, otherwise I'll probably be crushed under the mounting debris.

Chesticles

"What's in those things anyway, air?"
That's how my son woke me up this morning, this accompanied by a tentative poke by a tiny finger.
Then: "Does it hurt when the doctor puts those things in? Is that why you got little ones?"
"So what is it an A, a B, or a C?? what is that anyway?" "How do babies eat there?".
So many questions, so early in the morning.
He does seem a bit preoccupied with the female form for a 6 year old.
I don't know if it's good or bad that his kindergarten teacher looks like Heidi Klum; I know it has been a happy introduction to school for him, and that the daddies seem especially attentive this year.

Resolutions, 2010

Back in the good old Camel Light days it was much easier to make my resolution because I'm certain I always just resolved to quit smoking (still miss it). Here it is, the third day of the new year and I'm still not sure about this important decision which will significantly impact my life for the next week or so; perhaps this demonstrates that my life is perfect.

I'd resolve to run a marathon, but I think that this would be contradictory to a previous resolution (or ten) which involved profanity and vowing that I'd never do another. Maybe a triathlon then? There has to be a goal that will require me to obtain one of these fabulous garments. Cyndi? Lisa??


Additionally, in order to do my part for the environment I resolve to ATTEMPT to cover my husbands ass. Besides the obvious aesthetic issues, an unexpected visual confrontation can cause a sudden onset of hyperventilation and I just don't want to be responsible for the carbon emissions generated by these episodes. Where are those stanky little Greenpeace punks when you really need them?
I also resolve to bitch endlessly about the dumb star occupying my parkway, either that or take the wise advice offered by Cliff regarding the use of a chainsaw. That thang is ooglie.
Last year I resolved to shed around 300 lbs, but he's still here so I'll try to at least rephrase that particular goal. Maybe we'll re-say our vows? They'll be slightly different than the originals, who knows, maybe we could swear to live on different continents. The good news is that I've already found the perfect cake!