Mrs. Bunker's Chainsaw Emporium

Happy ValentiNe's Day

2011-02-13T09:05:00.004-06:00

It's Sunday, I'm skipping church because my prayers have too many swear words, so instead I will give thanks here today.

First: It's above freezing!!! Time to remove the 17 layers of long johns and strut that ass! (please see photo). Of course with the thaw comes the odors which have been frozen into submission; it is hard to pick up after a dog when the warm nuggets melt a hole into the snowbank. Nobody really knows how much is piling up until the big thaw.

Also, there is no better way to find out if your roof is leaky than during a thaw occuring when there may be 2 feet of snow up top.

Next: The first Valentine's in recent memory sans Mr. Bunker! This is excellent news on a number of levels; most importantly of course that I don't have to listen to him say "Happy Valentimes". This tends to grate on the ears, maybe worse that a drunken crackhead having a yodeling contest with a pack of stray cats. Additionally, I don't have to swoon over a box of cheap chocolates and a gas station rose, nor do I have to even pretend that the leopard-print whatever in the wrong size that he usually picks up someplace off of a clearance table makes me want to do anything over than have a nice long vomit.

And: A few boxes of very fine chocolates which were given to me by a patient whose bit of asperity over a little amputation a few years ago seems to have faded. I also love the stupid little candy hearts with the stamped-on dumb sayings. I enjoy them almost as much as the fine chocolate; the kids will bring me a good supply of them which will spare me the embarrassment of having to buy them for myself.

No pestilence, rodent infestations, bedbugs, catastrophic events or eminent utility shut off due to non-payment of bills. Life is good!

except...one small problem that's hanging me up, preying upon my mind. Do leggings go in the hosiery drawer or do they go in the closet with the pants? I don't know, and I keep changing my mind. This issue is so draining.

Fairy Tale, True Love, etc.

2011-02-05T16:50:00.007-06:00

Pay attention at the newsstand! The next issue of "Shit Parenting" magazine will contain a feature article about my soon to be ex lovah. The excitement about the forthcoming publication is nearly unbearable; I guess a little teaser is in order, so...
My shameless poor-excuse-for-a-hominid former mate has found the lowest-rent attorney in town; she's apparently hard-up for cash, and and even though they have about as much chemistry as Mr. Bunker and full time employment, they are gettin' ready to take this "rich doctor" down a notch. I'm sure they will continue to make a stunning pair until she figures out that he's got a major case of the crazies and that he is never ever going to pay her. He & this dollar tree advocate are really becoming about as irritating as a sandpaper thong during a long run on a hot day.

Here are a few things you might NOT want to do during a divorce as it may turn on you later in life when your sweet children morph into serial killers:

Do not tell your children that mommy will probably be going to prison.
Do not tell your 7 y/o son that his asthma meds are bad for him and are going to stunt his growth, just because your so fucking stupid you think steroids mean that he's going to sprout tits & menstruate.
Do not bring your kids with you on your 10pm-on-a-school-night grocery store run because you ran out of beer.
Do not tell your children that you're broke, and that Mommy has all the money when you call them during your European Vacation.
If you wish to continue bragging about your daughter's stellar academic performance, try to understand that a science fair project takes more than an hour to complete (unless your hypothesis is that it takes your daddy roughly one hour to locate his ass after he is rotated 180 degrees in either direction).
"Having a spare kidney" does not constitute a college savings plan.

I, of course, will continue to be polite, patient, and gracious as I do the stroll along the high road (high as in lofty elevation, not high as in stoned). I won't even make a crack about how retarded he sounds when he tells people that the "gloves are comin' on". See? Nary even a chuckle or smirk.

Pink-Slipping the Spouse

2011-02-02T14:46:00.003-06:00

To summarize the last several months:

Mrs. Bunker and her chainsaw emporium have receded into the past. This not-so-sad demise was due to her ability to locate her long lost spine; this led to the abrupt dismissal of Mr. Archie Bunker, from whom the sad beat-down known Mrs. Edith Bunker drew her identity.

So then. After a 14 year relationship (married 11, 2 children) I finally yanked the stick out of my ass, packed up my clothes, and fled the family home with the kids as Mr. Bunker chased me down the street with a fistful of insanity. He soon came to his senses, and to my immense relief, it turned out he was going to be just fine with a divorce (I had been holding him back in so many ways) and he wanted to have an amicable spit; maybe we could even save on legal fees and use the same attorney...

The problem turns out to be that his idea of an amicable split involves him keeping everything and me getting out with my clothes (the other problem, of course is that he is an obsessive-compulsive, eating-the-paint-off-the-walls, sniffing-his-own-ass crazy person). This in some ways doesn't seem like that bad of a deal, being that it includes the vital provision of me no longer having to be married to his stupid ass, AND I got to take my shoes; shoes are important to me. Still, I was prepared to walk away holding my nose and my dignity until I discovered that you can't just walk away from a $2M house if you're on the deed and your spouse has taken $1.9M out in equity on said house. DRAT!

That was the first bit of bad news, followed-up quickly by his demonstration that he did not even pause for one nanosecond to decide whether or not throwing the kids into the middle of our dispute would be an appropriate strategy. Turns out, he does not find that sort of thing at all distasteful. The kids are old enough to understand that I am not actually out peddlin ' poon to the gals, but still. Their recent expansion in vocabulary is not going to be of any use to them in any academic sense; maybe if they have to to go to prison it'll be helpful but really not for a while; "carpet mucher" is just confusing to them, and personally I think it's a little out dated as far as slang is concerned; how about "dykenator" or "vagatarian"? much more interesting.

No longer having Mrs. Bunker to shoulder the brunt of my bitching has left a bit of a void in my life, but I have been advised to abandon her as she could cause me some divorce-type problems. So here I am, snowed into my cozy little apartment by the big blizzard of 2011, casting about for a new identity. All this while I have to spend time fending off charges of being the drug addicted, drunken, lesbian, child abusing, suicidal wreck being leveled by that baby daddy of mine.

The Big Day for Dr. P.A.

2010-09-17T10:48:00.004-05:00

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:

Status Changes

2010-09-07T22:14:00.007-05:00

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.

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

2010-09-06T19:48:00.008-05:00

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.

Vomit, Curse, Hate

2010-08-18T08:36:00.003-05:00

Because in real life that's what you do in a divorce. The Eat Pray Love blahblahblah is a very sweet concept, but sadly mere mortals cannot take a year off to go "find themselves" by visiting exotic locations and humping a few foreign hotties. Not to say it's necessarily a bad idea, it's just not terribly practical.

So.
To sum up the past couple of months: Mr. Bunker has officially been kicked to the curb.
At long last I took the kids and left him alone in the family castle with his busted up hoarders collection of old clocks, spittoons, and giant shitloads of other junk which he can sort through and rearrange to his heart's content as he continues to milk his "disability".

I am missing having things like, um, a bed, and a dresser and sheets and dishes and salt and pepper shakers, but it appears that I have excaped with my sanity and ma bebbies, so fuck you Mr. Bunker.

And that's MS. Bunker, thankyouverymuch.

Edith's beauty tips

2010-06-16T14:10:00.002-05:00

Suppose you go for a semi-long run in some shitty shoes that are a little past their prime and you mangle your toenails all to hell. What are you going to do, sacrifice the whole sandal season??? I hardly think so. Since Chicago's sandal season is only like 2 weeks long, we can't trifle with limitations.

So if cosmetics are meant to enhance our natural beauty, drain the blisters, glue those bitches back on, and work with your natural palette.

Yes my toes are long and bony. I can swing through the trees and pick up the soap.

Cubs Win!!

2010-06-14T14:40:00.007-05:00

There is really no excuse to turn down tickets to a Cubs game. Sure the team sucks, and I can't honestly say I'm a Cubs fan, but I'm a huge Wrigley Field fan. I lucked into some rooftop seats and for the crosstown classic, no less. I checked to see which hat suited me better; looked like it was going to be Sox black & white for a little while, but I went with Cubbie blue at the end because it matched my outfit better. I know. Call me names, I'll live. Below is a picture of the ONE pennant they won, and if you can't read it or don't know, it says 1906.

This is not a sports blog so I will not dwell on the details of the game. The important part is that the Cubs won, which means I made a good hat choice.

Now, for the salacious fun.

The main reason I was invited was because a civic minded congregant at my church wanted me to meet the hottie above. He's a member of our sister congregation out in the 'burbs.

He just sold his business for 2 billion, yes "B"-billion dollars. He wants to do some philanthropic type business, so our mutual friend thought it would be good for us to meet so I could find a benefactor for our little charity clinic. I think the toddler on his left could have been his date. If I hadn't had the beer I wouldn't have snickered, but well....what are you going to do? give her some graham crackers & set up a play date with my kids ?? heh heh. snort.

Stanley Cup and Other Sporting News

2010-06-11T22:06:00.004-05:00

Apparently everyone on the entire planet gives a shit about the World Cup. My interest level thus far been wavering somewhere between miniscule and non-existent; this despite Dr. Ginger's overwrought ebullience.

The good news is that after a brief perusal of this month's Vanity Fair I'm beginning to experience a glimmer of interest. I'll have to review the article in it's entirely before I decide for sure. I guess it will depend largely on the degree of illustration.

Moving on to the other sporting news:

Thankfully our hometown Hawks spanked those friggin' annoying Flyers, the manners of their fans are abysmal. The ENTIRE CITY of big babies blamed everyone but Darth Vadar and Voldemort for their loss. The even booed our hero, No Teef Keef (six of his choppers were pulverized in an earlier game). Rude!

As pleased as I was with their victory, I would appreciate if they could conduct any future melees in the street on someone else's block.

Almost every single patient on my schedule canceled today, which is good because it was nearly impossible to get in the front door. A sweet little granny with a bad hip and a cane was one of the three patients who kept their appointments. Apparently she's been firmly beneath a rock and was unaware that the parade was scheduled to iterfere with her appointed time. She did manage to enlist the help of two young men (which means that they were less than 70) who gallantly escorted her through the crowd.

These pictures were taken from my office window, out of which I was hanging while wearing my fair-weather-fan jersey and throwing ticker tape. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Summertime

2010-06-08T15:15:00.004-05:00

Graduations, weddings, birfdays, gardening, summer camps, wardrobe changes, insect bites, poison ivy, school's out, fishing trips, family visits to the hillbilly kinfolk, all contingent on shaking the money maker to finance so much activity. I sat down with my calendar, stared for a while, and walked away feeling like I've been slapped on both sides of the head.
So much to cram into a few short months.

The fishing trip is the most exciting prospect, and I'm pretty sure I can piggyback it with a Seattle conference and call it business travel. Of course I'll have to round up my psychic, my brow tweezer, my shrink, my chakra fluffer and my sherpa because I don't go anywhere without them; who does, really?

OK, I admit that my inspiration for the last paragraph came from eavesdropping on the parents that one encounters at the local skating rink. This particular rink offers lessons to the many young, academically gifted (whether they want to be or not), all-round completely talented, beautiful and privileged young girls in preparation for their upcoming eating disorders. The mother involved in said conversation was distraught about how many nannies she could take on the European vacation; just one for the twins and the french tutor? or both twin nannies? Oh the painful dilemmas. If there is going to be casting for "The Real Housewives of Chicago" I would recommend they start their search at the skating rink or the nearby dance studio where the moms can also participate in the recital. What is up with all those giganto lips anyway? Do they have to plump up everything so that their geriatric husbands can find them?
bitchy catty me. sorry.

Chicago Architecture/Field Trip

2010-06-04T17:08:00.007-05:00

I was the designated mommybot charged with chaperoning the third grade on their final field trip, which was a double-decker bus ride through our own fair city.

This means that I arrived drunk and passed a bottle of Jack around on the bus, and if one of the little tykes hesitated I said "shut up you baby, all the cool kids are doing it". Then I shank-eyed the teacher and told her she needed to learn how to control the little monsters, whacked her with my Gucci bag and passed out in the back seat with a lit cigarette. HAHA. Kidding. I gave up cigarettes long ago.

It is fun to be a tourist in your own town, because usually we're all too busy plotting our next crime to look up and enjoy the architecture, which in Chicago is truly magnificent. We had a perfect day to have both third grade classes trapped on one vehicle. This makes chaperoning relatively easy as they cannot escape.

If the kids were assigned to share the most memorable part of the tour it would be what is depicted in the photo below. And no, it's not the Aon building, nor is it the striking bandshell in Millennium Park. Try to guess.

Ok, I'll tell. It's the lack of the hat on the tour-guide's head.

Much to the delight of the third grade, his ball-cap blew off while he was in the middle of a Mies van der Rohe anecdote, those crazy German architects will getcha every time!

Of course the kids couldn't give a shit less about the architect story, but dude's Cubs had flew off and it was JOYFUL. Of course the fact that he demanded that the bus pull over and that he then proceeded to chase his hat in the wind through four lanes of traffic did not serve to quell the enthusiasm.

That is the part that will be remembered by the children of the third grade.

Just to share a little, here's the Hancock building, right next to Water Tower Place, aka "Where Oprah Lives".

The driver of the bus was obviously somewhat new to the job, because on the way back to the school (about 3 blocks from the Hancock) he managed to take a swing through the scenic projects. Maybe he was just trying to maintain some balance, I dunno. We did get a couple of salutes from the good folks in the Cabrini projects, fortunately firearms were not involved. Could have been bad for me, what being the chaperone I should have worn my kevlar after all, I guess

Why Chaz, Why?

2010-06-01T16:15:00.006-05:00

I get it that she wanted to be a he; she had some gender issues and apparently always had a hankerin' for the ladies. She wanted to wear menswear with ties and big watches with altimeters and use aftershave. After she shaved. Her face.

I can live with all that; deep down she was a dude. My question, then is this: Why go through the whole reassignment thing then call yourself "Chaz"??? Chaz is the gayest gay name a gay ever had. Ever. To my knowledge, there is no straight man on planet earth named Chaz.

So is he a gay man now? That would take it to a new level of confusion for me.

The Clean Garage

2010-06-01T08:50:00.009-05:00

t may not look clean, not exactly.

According to Mr. g.d. Bunker, standing there with his chest all puffed out, proud as an Amish kid with his first bong, it is all taken care of, cleaned up and sorted out. So rejoice &" just quit bitching"already.

Is it so horribly wrong for me to question why, if it's all cleaned out, can I still not park a car in there (four years and counting), or, for that matter, walk through it? In fact the only passage would be by using the ceiling joists like monkey bars & swinging through. Fortunately, I can do that with my toes; one of my more attractive attributes, although difficult if I'm wearing a skirt or carrying groceries. And the damn kids keep falling on their heads, those little assholes.

This is a minor detail which only the harshest of critics would notice, of course. You see, it's not that it's all completely cleaned out and finished, what do I expect a miracle?? However, it may as well be finished and clean, because he has gotten enough boxes and other types of containers that it could easily all be packed up and put neatly away. Duh! Problem solved.

The issue is, of course, that now in addition to all the shit that was in there in the first place there is also a tower of moldy moving crates, cookie tins, and hat boxes, so nothing has really changed. That is unless you're looking through eyes that are supplied by crazy brains, then you can see a beautiful transformation. I guess I've got some serious glue huffing to do.

Here is a random mother with her two glorious children in front of Soldier Field. This was for a little Saturday morning run. The weather was perfect, the course was along the spectacular lakefront, but that didn't help me with the last couple of miles. I was really only (hardly even) ready to run 6 miles, the extra four were some kind of cruel joke.

Unfortunately Mr. Bunker showed up to cheer us on and to reassure me that it's not so much that I'm out of shape, more just that I'm getting old. asshole.

He only came because he heard that they give away a lot of free stuff at the finish line; now he's got some Cliff bars and massage coupons which may now be added to his ever increasing heap-o-shit. He also grabbed up a few t-shirts even though they were not available in fat man sizes; he's planning on loosing a few pounds (so he can find a girlfriend) & expects that they will fit him soon enough.

I finished the dumb race and my legs still feel like they're on backwards. At least my kids were impressed--enough to fight about who got to wear my medal to school today, anyway.

Catching up!

2010-05-25T22:08:00.006-05:00

This is one hazmat situation which occurred when Mr. Bunker attempted to demonstrate his culinary prowess. It looks like the semi-digested stomach contents of a mother swine post slop hork-down. Or maybe something that would contain possum or perhaps even a freshly killed pigeon still containing the BBs that felled it.
I tell him to pack up and get out and he tries to win me back with this mess? If you think it looks bad from this view, just imagine cutting into it and finding big lumps of hot greasy baked avocado. If the thought doesn't make the back of your mouth taste like you just puked a tiny bit then you're a stronger person than I.

Also, lets don't overlook the recent passage of Mother's day, when as usual, I got a brand spankin' new vacuum cleaner. Naturally I've been so overwhelmed with excitement that I've been rendered mute for almost a month. So many attachments, so little time!
This sort of feels like having someone shit on your head without even buying you a drink. Not that I would know, all wild speculation of course.

So anyway, whip my marriage with your pimp cane and kick it out a high window onto the ho stroll, because this stinky old trick needs to be put out of it's misery.
Outside of that everything's GREAT!

A Little Good News About the Recession

2010-04-28T18:53:00.003-05:00

Probably you're wondering what possible good news could exist in this entire epic financial clustertaxbooblation. Well, leave it to me friend. I can hone in on a nugget of happiness (of the schadenfreude variety) faster that a starving feral cat can disembowel a soft fluffy baby bunny.

So then, here it is, the good news:
Most of the "Real Housewives of Atlanta" are broke!
Yes, it comes as a shock. This includes the radiant natural beauty Kim Zolciak (above). I don't know which is worse, her behavior or the fact that a I know about it.

She's a wretched home wrecking bimbo who was engaged to her sugar daddy. He financed all her excesses in shopping, shit parenting, cellulite vacuuming, and wig wearing. One bit of a problem with their engagement was that her intended was already married, and when the wedding plans fell through she announced that it was OK, really because it turns out that she prefers the company of women over men after all. Particularly in that way. Fancy that!

Her utterly vain & vapid existence makes me feel deeply intellectual and introspective; I suppose that's why I like her. It did always piss me off though, that she had so much money to piss away. This even though she had to quit beauty school as she couldn't keep up with the academic portion because there was to0 much chemistry to learn (truth! season two).

Anyway, the party's over, and I guess she'll resume her walk of shame to her hostess job at TGI Friday's, and maybe even score a few day shifts at a gentleman's club. She'll surely have to start shopping at Payless Shoe Source instead of Neiman's, smoke some generic smokes, and even wear the same wig for more than one week. Perhaps she'll have to fire her nanny so that she may more directly ignore her children.

Hard times have fallen on others as well; specifically all those ridiculous punks who scored bogus marketing positions after dropping out of the Public Relations program or the Criminal Justice Associate's degree at the local community college. How was it that they were making so much money anyway?? I know that this is getting to be long and I'm fully embracing my embitterment, but how is it that there were so many 200K jobs to be had by people who's main accomplishment seemed to be mastery of a TiVo? My Garsh!

With the temporary restoration of a more proper earning order, I can look down my nose, sip daintily from my china teacup, gently pat my lips dry with a crisp linen napkin, put on airs of superiority, all while I continue to pay for unemployment benefits of indefinite duration. And haul around a certain deadbeat collecting "disability".

In keeping with this glut of glad tidings, behold my new shoes!
Probably liquidated from Kim Z's collection, these are made by Jil Sanders and sparkle a little bit. They are a tiny bit uncomfortable, but we must suffer for our art.

This second picture was taken by someone (no names here) on my payroll with instructions to photograph the shoes. THE SHOES. Are there shoes in the picture? This is digital photography. Where are the shoes?? Yes my skirt is hiked up to prevent shadows on the shoes. So inapproprite, I know. Despite the glaring lack of shoes, I have opted to include it out of pure vanity because it looks like I have some mean kankles in the first picture.

Oahu Stairway to Heaven Hike & other nice things

2010-04-22T15:11:00.018-05:00

This is Sandy Beach on Oahu, which is where you should go if you want to know what it feels like to go through a spin cycle in a Maytag. The beach is beautiful, the surfer boys who frequent the beach are also beautiful. The waves are a little too big, and even though I'm a good swimmer I was pretty sure I was going to drown a couple of times. The price of survival included having sea water drip out of my nose for the following day or so, and some sand which became so lodged upon my person that I could probably produce a grain or two right now if you give me a minute. My hosts found this tremendously amusing.

Next is Kailua beach. The warm water is some impossible shade of blue (not accurately represented by this photo) that I previously thought was restricted to interior designer's vocabularies and towels in fancy spas.
The sand is white and smooth, and it is rather awe inspiring to see it all in nature. The waves are small enough that the kids were allowed to frolic even though Mr. Bunker was certain an attack of sharks, jellyfish, killer whales or rouge waves was eminent; well almost certain enough to get off his ass instead of just shouting, but not quite (the sea breeze was noted to dampen noise in most appealing way).

We did several great hikes, but certainly the most memorable was the one known as "Stairway to Heaven".
This is closed to the public but I was permitted to participate because I'm sooo fab. Not really, but my friends who live there know the people you need to know.

"It's a great climb with amazing views, everyone wants to do this climb, you have to be in pretty good shape to do it, just grown-ups, no kids no dogs", "blah blah blah" and so on.

Most of the focus seemed to be on who had adequate cardio fitness to make it; I guess it's my own fault that I failed to mention that I'm afraid of heights which can come in to play if you are climbing ladders up the side of a fucking mountain.

The climb is almost four thousand steps up to the summit. The stairs were built by the Coast Guard for the purpose of sacrificing virgins during wartime. It starts pretty gently, and by the time I figured out that I was going to be scared, my stomach had already turned into a tight ball and fallen right out of my ass. This helped in that I did not need a snack for the duration of the climb.

When I got to the first landing I realized that I had made a terrible mistake and requested helicopter rescue. My very excellent guide, Joe, gently told me that I was acting like a giant pussy and would regret it for the rest of my life on earth if I didn't finish.
Not exactly those words you know, but that was what my ears heard. So I proceeded upward and soon found myself in a cloud which was helpful because I couldn't see how far up I was, however it made me so cold that I started to shiver and my hands got numb which made it hard to cling to the rungs. I made it to the top and scrawled my name in the book with my numb hands, so there is actual proof.

I survived and will probably be somewhat boastful, and act as if I just trotted up there instead of whimpering like a freshly Simonized American Idol contestant.

You can see everything from up there, even the "Swan" site from "Lost".

Where were you Sawyer, when I needed to be rescued?

The Episode where Edith Throws Archie out

2010-04-22T08:45:00.006-05:00

OR does she shank him in the night and sweetly whisper,"it'll only hurt for a minute, and don't worry these aren't the good sheets?"

OR maybe she chops off his noodle, stews it with garlic and bay leaves, lovingly & deftly cuisinarts it with roasted garlic and cilantro, and passes it off as humus served on whole grain crackers?

OR they go to a romantic island, ceremoniously renew their wedding vows and begin a new chapter of their lives as soul mates? (that one made me throw up just a little)

Anyway.

I guess it's better to have all the drama at once, why drag things out? Boot the bonehead during my office start-up, then when it's done my home and office will be in strict adherence with feng shui and Zen and I'll hum a happy working song while enjoying my home which will be devoid of the mountains of clearance table shit which are the current bane of my existence. That and the being that continues to procure these goods during hours of the day that should be occupied by some (any) type of gainful employment. Please note that there is absolutely nothing appealing about a man home lounging in his boxers at noon on a weekday. NOTHING. Unless, I suppose, the man is Johnny Depp.

Vacation

2010-03-26T09:06:00.007-05:00

Sorry, no provocative pics of Dr. Ginger. Not yet anyway. I think he's waiting for the big moving day to bare his chest while lifting those heavy boxes as Dr. PA and I get our manicures. I will be ready with the camera, and I'm not sure about his shoe size.

For a brief and shining moment it looked as if Mr. Bunker could be staying in chilly Chicago while me & the chirruns would kick back in the sun and surf. This nearly came to pass because his reverse business acumen, specifically, his failure to notice that one of his tenants (one of the two commercial tenants, the ones with the big rents) had not paid rent for an entire year.

How do you not notice that? More importantly, how do you not notice that and then proceed to endlessly and loudly impart your advice upon your spouse about how she should run HER business? bugger off already.

For one glorious night I went to sleep with some kind of weird tic that was later diagnosed as a tiny smile.My face didn't really have time to get used to it and I think I was scaring my kids. The scowl has now returned; at least people recognize me now. Mr. Bunker has dealt with his pressing business issues and is busy packing his mankini. yuck.

We are going to be visiting friends who happen to be vegetarians, which means that Mr. Bunker will probably be packing 23 pounds of beef jerky and salami, lest he go into some sort of beef and garlic withdrawal. I wonder if this will be noticed by the drug sniffing dogs at the airport.

The airport should be interesting because there will probably be some TSA agents jamming ice-picks into theirs eyes so they have an excuse to get away from that full body scanner when mah boo comes through.

Nothing like looking sexy on the beach!

The sad Troof about the menfolk

2010-03-20T21:26:00.008-05:00

The hot dude who looks like he's bathed this month and recently groomed himself, and not let himself go entirely while his wife pays the bills, is most assuredly a great big homosexual.

Alternatively, the gent below is the one who will hone in on me every time. Guaranteed. He'll follow me around like a stray pup and send me flowers.

I'll spend time & money to go shopping with beefcake gay hottie that so that I look nice with the end result of appealing to someone I'd rather cross the continent to avoid. Why do I bother trying to look good again?

New World Order

2010-03-16T20:03:00.006-05:00

Before
and
After

Now that Dr. P.A. is scheduled for marriage, she's at long last figured out how use hosiery for good instead of evil. Not that the white cotton gym socks weren't sexy in their own way, like, in some alternate frat-boy dirty-laundry parallel universe type of way, but look now-- You so so fancy!

Since her days of being the token fashion eyesore are apparently on the dwindle, AND we have the high-end luxe Dr. Ginger on the payroll, we're moving our show to a dazzling new office.
We've outgrown our current space and besides, Ginger's all, like, "well where's my desk" and "I need a window with a view of the park" blah blah blah.
(Maybe save some of those old gym socks P.A., just in case we ever need to muffle the Ginger)

After a few grueling months of looking at office space & listening to whining realtors, we've found our happy place. This is extremely exciting; we are now poised to take over the world.

The ink's almost dry, the deal is finally proceeding since we sort of ditched the devil's spawn realtors who were killing us slowly while they quibbled over the commission. Yes, I know times are tough, and I appreciate you learning my kid's names, Mr. Gucci shoes, but time to quit being such a giant frenulum (not the one on the tongue) already.

On the first of May we move to our new office where Dr. PA won't have to sit on my lap and Dr. Ginger will be allowed to have a chair of his very own (sorry to have to represent you with a picture of a femme, Ginger, but it's in keeping with the theme).

First Chicago, then the world!

So I'll take my current viable practice, borrow myself out for equipment, sign a long lease, mire myself in debt, then have Obamacare descend on me like a ton of bricks. YAY!

Trollops! Everywhere!

2010-03-10T17:27:00.008-06:00

All these awful tramps after my sweet baby boy. What's a mother to do? How can a six year-old be expected to hold up against their trashy womanly wiles?? The current offender is nearly 3 full months older than he! I'm sure there are laws prohibiting this sort of outrage.

Last year it was that promiscuous little JAP Syndey; not in an exotic Asian "Jap" way, but rather the "I wanna got to Miami" and Bat Mitzva type JAP (that would be "Jewish American Princess" for anyone who is reading in Indiana and truly stumped). In order to correct this awkward situation I explained all about how, if he married Sydney, he would be forced to go to medical school AND he'd never have Christmas, AND the joys of bacon sandwiches would be a sweet gustatory memory of the past. In addition, we went and observed behavior and services rendered at some of the high-end salons up on the north shore until he fully understood that he would never, ever, be able to afford her.

The year before it was the Spanish diplomat's strumpet, Maria. A few carefully thought-out calls to the embassy about the obvious FACT that the trick was some kind of Jr. Al Qaeda operative-in-training...why else the olive skin and the long jet black hair? And come to think of it, her chair was always facing east. Coincidence?? I think not. Well anyway, that particular little running sore finally retreated back to her own land.

This year the offender has surfaced. LANIQUE. Draw your own conclusions. She's tall and exotic and easily the smartest girl in the class. I told The Boy that it's just fine so long as all he wants to do is copy off her paper, but now I'm seeing these little googoo eyes, and I'm just sick over it! SICK! She's been perfectly agreeable until about yesterday, now this warped seduction. Pretty soon she'll be wanting to come over so they can ride bikes together. I'm sure the moment that they're out of my sight she'll be showing him her knickers. Appalling.

Don't worry honey, momma will check out all your girlfriends for you, momma won't let anyone dirty get through (please review Pink Floyd Lyrics, "Mother")

Lanique's dad is some kind of pro-athlete type, and although I'm sure I could whip his ass, I'm not positive about my boy. I don't know if being a teacher's helper once a week is enough. It could be that I need to be there more. This motherhood thing is difficult, new challenges all the time.

Today's Clearance Offerings

2010-03-04T19:12:00.003-06:00

Yup, I've allowed Mr. Bunker out of the house with cash money again. Damn.

Eight boxes of Bayer assburns, to which Mr. Bunker is severely allergic. In the absence of such an allergy, this stuff just serves to upset everyone else's stomach (hence it's placement on the clearance table).

Two Glade air-fresheners, "Holiday Cookie" scent; vile (see parenthetic statement above).

Three bottles of shampoo that smells like congealed vomit with tones of spoiled salmon and Limburger cheese.

One wad of napkins from the coffee shop.

The astute observer is surely now puzzled and having doubts that the Advair and Ventolin (prescription only) were found on the clearance table. Well, bully for you astute observer, they were indeed not on the clearance table, but rather on top of the newspaper box outside the store in a radio shack bag; who wouldn't want to get their meds off the sidewalk??? Free! Fancy That! Now we just need someone with COPD who can use it. With the savings achieved by stealing the napkins, we'll probably be able to make the mortgage. Hawk the Advair, and we'll be sittin' purdy.

Inflicted with the SADS

2010-03-03T09:46:00.005-06:00

No, its not SADS like "Seasonal Affective Disorder Syndrome", that's for pussies. And no, it's not "Sudden Arrhythmia Death Syndrome", that's for stiffs. It's just SADS because that's what happens when you get through January and February and your fuckin' whiskey's still all frozed up. It's hard to drown your sorrows when you can't get the good stuff outa the bottle. On the bright side, it makes for a good weapon just in case someone might want to give one's deadbeat spouse an affectionate tap on his skull. Probably just as effective as that prison trick I learned involving a sock and some pennies, never discount intelligence gleaned from those prison bitches!

Anyway, I have determined that part of living in the great north is leaving for a week or so around this time of year. It is important to see the sun, otherwise you will start eating the paint off the walls while watching some crap like "Judge Judy" while clad in garments made of way too much elastic and velor.
So it's time to beg steal or borrow my way to someplace where the sun shines for more than 16 minutes a week.

Now one of the problems is that since my sandals and little halter dresses have been packed away for like, one million years, my pedicure is a little ragged. It's going to take a little grooming on a few counts for me to be "beach ready", know what I'm sayin?

Dear Dr. Divine Empress FK, are you finding the green more pleasing?

Hope springs eternal

2010-02-18T19:56:00.005-06:00

It puts the patients in the rooms. It sets up office procedures and it schedules surgeries. It stocks the rooms and orders supplies. It is punctual, polite, neat and tidy. It does not steal my prescription pad or get caught humping anyone in the lab after hours.

I will learn it's name and begin making eye contact with it after it has perfect attendance for three to four days.

Then she'll gain my trust, steal the money, sell the drugs and run off with Dr. Ginger. Or maybe Dr. P.A; that'd at least save me having to get her a wedding gift.

Stupid Valentine's Day

2010-02-15T18:59:00.003-06:00

Or Valentimes, as Mr. Bunker calls it; even the kids find this annoying. This year he managed to barf up another dress for me by my favorite granny knitwear designer. He got the size right this time, now I just have to wait about 50 years while my dowager hump fills out.

Now for the bad news. My long-term life plan has been cruelly kicked in the nether regions by the ridiculous Dr. P.A. , all as part of some stupid Valentines stunt. ENGAGED!! She's become engaged. fool.

She might have been drunk I guess, but still! I guess she envies my connubial bliss, but who wouldn't, really?

I was counting on her to be my crazy cat lady life partner after Mr. Bunker gets the boot. I figured we would grow old together in our outdated designer clothing and ratty fur coats. We'd drink whiskey & smoke camels all day long. But nooo, she's running off with some tool she's only known for 7 years! Sure he seems like a decent enough guy and he did come up with an acceptable Christmas present, but why rush in to something like this? Who even knows what he could be hiding? He may have a whole secret storage unit full of dead bodies or worse, broken lamps, random items from the clearance table and a giant collection of pez dispensers. This is madness! Marry in haste, repent in leisure, that's what I always say (as I leisurely repent).

She's even already been married once, and I'm of the mind that if one wishes for some new china and towels, one ought just to boost some money from of the kid's college fund, no need for all the pageantry.

The first marriage was quite brief, and the wedding was probably fairly inexpensive, it usually is if nobody is of drinking age. If you're thinking "shotgun" well you're just all wrong because they are not shotgun people at all. I'm guessing that they're more likely large caliber handgun or rifle type folks. So even though that coupling wasn't without its flaws, isn't once enough? She got a superb child out of the deal and.....wait a minute. Maybe it's happened again! One in the oven?? Never considered that angle.

Anyway Dr. P.A., since you liked the understated elegance of this gown when I posted a picture of it some time ago, I guess you can wear it. I was thinking I was going to wear it to the auto show, but it's all yours. See, even when I'm crushed I'm thinking about the happiness of others. I can't help it, that's just the way I am.

Back to the GD inbox

2010-02-10T21:24:00.006-06:00

That's a picture of my lovely child looking angelic during her turn as Mary in the Christmas pagent. I had to put her picture up first because the rest of this post is going to be a bit of a tirade. So take a moment, gaze upon the unsullied beauty of this sweet countenance and know that she is a normal, well adjusted child (even if her short story was entitled "The Throw-up"), and know that she likes me. For now, anyway.
Moving onward to the things that are irking me today:
That gentleman is NOT sitting on the commode in my office. Granted my office is not perfect, but it's not a complete dump; we do have indoor heat and plumbing, a splendid location, and we are somewhat flexible with the staff (they do whatever they want) who all manage to work well together. So, WHY THE FUCK CAN'T I FIND A MEDICAL ASSISTANT?? The pay is competitive, the facility is too small but decent nonetheless, and I'm losing track of the "seemingly perfect" MA's that don't manage to actually show up for work. This is annoying, and Dr. Ginger is going to be licensed pretty soon which means he won't want to tolerate being called "Mr. Bitch" or "cupcake" by me & Dr. P.A. forever.

Our last offer proffered proceeded to the point of acceptance by the candidate. A start date was agreed upon, then before that date arrived she called the office to let us know exactly which of the duties outlined during the interview she would not be able to perform. Do I need a new hire coming in telling me what she won't do? Oh, nay hussy. Seems that she answers to a higher calling which would prevent her from doing anything but direct patient care, aka, no paperwork; she is after all working on her nursing degree and we all know they don't have to do any paperwork, right?

I din't have the time or inclination to explain to her that there really is no ladder to climb to success, but rather a mountain of paperwork to scale. So she's busted back to her crappy $11.00/hour job where she can focus on patient care.

This exhausts our pool our pool of applicants about whom we have solid references, now it's time to turn to the nearly 300 resumes kicked into my in-box from our online ad. This means basically that my inbox is stuffed with resumes from more psychology and criminal justice majors than you could shake a stick at. Dang.

blog note: I fixed the comment thing so you can get back to your catty comments, P.A./anon

Big Nights Out on the Town

2010-02-06T09:23:00.009-06:00

Dalliance #1:

My very HOT construction-worker patient is an avid triathlete. He kept bugging me to go for a run with him after his surgical recovery was complete, and I waffled and whined & he kept bugging me.

Finally (because I'm such a dignified mature adult) I told him that if he'd wear a fluffy pink skirt & high heels into the office that I would acquiesce.

I think his wife was more annoyed about him wrecking her shoes than his determination to get me out for a run; seemed like a bit of harmless fun (unless he fell on his surgical site, then the fucker'd probably sue me) so I went, had a few fleeting dirty thoughts, but I don't think I'll go to hell for it.

Dalliance #2:

My Gouty Romeo. EVERY YEAR for the past 8 or so the horny old goat tells me that he's probably going to die soon, this could be his last birthday and all he wants is for me to dine with him, so he can treat me like the divine goddess that I am. OK, I made the last bit up, but you get the picture. Old men and little boys are always trying to play on your sympathies to cop free feels.

Fortunately there is a restaurant on the first floor of my office building, so I can say "OK Mr. G, we can have a quick birthday drink & a snack, but Mr. Bunker is a very jealous man, so I must not do anything outrageous like put on Lycra tights and run along the lakefront with you."

I had the obligatory birthday drink, tried to make a clean escape, then he insisted that we share a cab and then tried to lay one on me in the cab. Ewwww. I don't want him to die or anything, but I think I've celebrated enough birthdays with Mr. G.

And the Really Big Night Out:

A dinner/lecture on proper coding for durable medical equipment!! Even though I was in the electrifying company of Drs. P.A. and Ginger, I still almost crashed face first into my salad. Even though our esteemed speaker has discovered some kind of soul soothing peace through proper dispensing and coding of various compression garments, his enthusiasm was not contagious enough to keep me upright & alert.

In the midst of my scandalous behavior, we have managed to hire a (seemingly perfect) medical assistant and almost commit to our new office space, about which I'm so completely excited that prolonged discussion may cause bouts of incontinence. THRILLED!

Shoes & Tackle

2010-01-30T10:59:00.006-06:00

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

2010-01-25T14:30:00.005-06:00

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

2010-01-24T13:59:00.005-06:00

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!

2010-01-24T13:40:00.003-06:00

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!

2010-01-21T08:46:00.004-06:00

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

2010-01-21T07:59:00.003-06:00

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

2010-01-14T17:37:00.002-06:00

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

2010-01-10T19:50:00.005-06:00

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

2010-01-06T16:03:00.002-06:00

"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

2010-01-03T18:13:00.005-06:00

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!

A Christmas Story

2009-12-30T17:40:00.008-06:00

I truly have been neglectful of updating lately; this is largely because my new hobby removed me temporarily from the activities of daily life. Mr. Bunker drove me so @**%# crazy that I found solace only in watching SportsCenter. I opted to stay there with my sports-caster TV friends until I got sick of beer commercials & hearing about the kid locked in the shed. It was fun while it lasted, but now I'm all sobered up and ready to take on 2010, tumors, half wits, annoying husband, and all.

Mr. Bunker was off of work for the better part of December. This calamity allowed him time to erect the artwork below, which evokes in me the similar cringeful emotion experienced by the wife in "A Christmas Story" when her husband joyfully displayed the scandalous leg lamp above.

Archie took a month off of work because his back hurt SO MUCH that he couldn't drive around in his truck all day for his job. Of course he was unable to get his mountain of shit out of the garage due to this severe and disabling injury, however he somehow was able to muster the power to conceive of and compose (or shout at Jose and Hector while they composed) his 2x 4 opus which is the eyesore depicted below.
This is a 16 foot tall retarded looking plywood star located in my parkway. My kids make more appealing art out of Popsicle sticks and glitter even with some stay hairs thrown in. And Why?
....Because last year Archie got the church's cast-off 16 foot tree, which he put out front and trimmed in a style sparkly enough to make Carmella Soprano blush with it's glittering excess, and apparently EVERYONE who gazed upon it had some kind of epiphany (or possibly a seizure).

This year all those so profoundly touched by the great beauty of the tree were asking him what glory he would bestow upon the neighborhood this year. EVERYONE!! So you see, he felt duty-bound to present all these many souls with a suitable encore.

At some point when this project was under way, he proudly told me that he was going to create a giant star of David. I mentioned that that was kinda weird being that we're not Jewish, and he went away for a while, but apparently did not abandon the project entirely.
Would someone please come throw a match on this stupid thing??
Mr. Bunker thinks its a smashing success, because "people stop to look at it!"
So does the Bonehead not know that people also stop to look at train wrecks as well as many other types of disasters?

He did take a brief respite from his toils so he could get me my Christmas present. Or presents, depending upon whether a set of tires is considered plural or singular.

So anyway, happy New Year. This is the year that my frog will turn into a prince. I just know it!

Office Managment

2009-12-19T18:58:00.006-06:00

Behold, Mary Mother of GOD

2009-12-10T16:07:00.009-06:00

That's right, my little cupcake has landed the lead in the Christmas pagent. From Zombie Cheerleader to the Holy Virgin! Get her an agent! The Boy is a lowly shepard, but he wins at the end of the day as he was the Baby Jesus in his first year of life; hard to beat that one...even though he got a terrible crotch rash from the hay that somehow got into his swaddling diaper.
It's not even officially winter and suddenly it's become COLDER THAN A CORPSE'S CUNNY. Pardon the vulgarity, but there is really no polite way to describe these conditions. Zero degrees this cheerful AM, the inside of my freezer is warmer. Of course my car is frozen solid on the street because the garage is still full of busted up lawn ornaments (never mind our lack of a lawn) and a few skids of mismatched marble tiles slated for no apparent destination. This is probably just as well, because if I found it cleaned out at this point I would probably soil myself and ruin my fabulous hosiery.
The good news is that due to the vicious climate, I require new boots and fancy stockings to keep warm because of my delicate constitution. The weather is tiresome but the wardrobe change is good for the soul.
December is the month when chronic conditions suddenly become urgent because everyone who has met their deductible and has a few sick days left needs everything they can get NOW. Clock's tickin' baby, and I'm not too proud to glom on to what I can get before the new calendar year starts and everyone realizes that they're broke & they can live with those chronic conditions for a while longer.
The kids have runny noses and I've only baked one batch of Christmas cookies. I'm buried under paperwork, haven't shopped & my lips are chapped.

I am also the most inept office manager ever. EVER.

I Slept With Tiger Woods!

2009-12-05T19:48:00.009-06:00

That there is one big honker of a tumor. It's bigger than an egg. It is attached to a patient from our free clinic. It's been bugging Dr. P.A. and me for ever; that thang has got to go. We've been poking and prodding it for months, tried needle aspiration under local which is about all we can offer at our shelter/clinic. Naturally the patient doesn't have a pot piss in, he's totally uninsured and scared to go to County because they'll likely just hack the entire limb off.

He could be mistaken for a CEO if you spotted him from across the street, but when you get a little closer you can see that the overcoat is little tattered and he smells like bung-choda. He always waits his turn very patiently, reads books about origami, and has a list of well thought out questions regarding treatment options. We're very curious about his past, but we don't generally ask too many questions at our little clinic where all you need for treatment is a signature on a consent form, and it doesn't even have to be your signature. We've had charts for Elvis, Jesus, Osama bin Laden and the Lone Ranger.

Favors were called in, and an MRI was obtained and pathology services secured. Based on the MRI it was a solid well encapsulated mass, which means it should pop out easier than boobies from a big girl's blouse, unless there is extensive investment of tendons or nerves, in which case it could take a little work.
It's difficult to set up a procedure when your patient doesn't have a phone number or a reliable address, but yesterday after much anticipation, the big day finally came. We had to do it in the procedure room in the office because no self respecting hospital or surgery center is going to donate anything to anyone.

Block, prep, drape, exsanguinate, apply tourniquet, cut and SQUIRT right onto my new school marm specs. BLOOD FOUNTAIN. This was not supposed to happen, it was not supposed to be vascular. We checked for this, and you asshole that's sniffing and saying we should have had a venous Doppler, yes you are correct, but you do it better for free. First time I ever saw a pumper with a tourniquet on, I would have been less surprised to find and ectopic pregnancy or a creepy alien. This presented a problem in that we can't have that much bleeding in an office procedure, it's against the rules, and we were flat running out of sterile gauze. It's also bad when it's under local because that means the patient is fully alert on the other side of the drape and you can't swear or even depart from a monotone. The plume of smoke produced by the cautery, the mounting pile of bloody gauze and the calls for ties, ties and more ties might have been a hint that something was amiss, but he just reclined and reviewed his origami manual. For all the ado, we ended up with a large (securely closed, hemostats achieved) incision and a 4mm punch biopsy for path. Damn. More frustrating that trying to get Mr. Bunker to put his socks in the hamper.

And yes I'm positive I slept with Tiger Woods. It was a few years back, but I'm sure it was him. Or I guess it really could have been David Letterman, hard to tell them apart. I'll just wait to see which bunch is getting the better payout and jump on the pile right after my tearful interview with TMZ.

People of Walmart: other habitats

2009-11-28T22:07:00.008-06:00

I'm a little blue because my dream of getting a real "People of Walmart" photo failed, so I have to turn to the family library, this never disappoints. Not that the Walmart wasn't ripe with potential (among other things), just that the picture of the fat man leaving the crapper with a big wet spot on his bum was of such poor quality it was of no use. Drat, foiled again!

I know just what you're thinking: "No no no Edith, the usual non-retail habitat will generally involve a trailer, double wide, or otherwise modular domicile." Presented here to prove you wrong is my voluptuous sister-in-law, previously known to this site as "Trashie".

Today I'm here to inform you that there are situations that can draw the creatures in question out into the daylight for a refreshing walk/forced march. There could be a body to bury (you cain't jess leave those thangs in the front porch fridge forever!), or you could still be seeking the mythical Twinkie Patch of childhood lore. Today's specific example involves getting forced to dance for one's dinner by way of required time with one's family...gotta trot the babies out if you're going to be asking for a cash donation; the need for diapers in so much more compelling that the need to keep the premium channels paid up.

In case you're trying to make it out, her shirt does say "I Love My Daughter". Your guess is as good as mine why any mother would find it necessary to broadcast this affirmation, particularity by way of tee shirt, but there you have it.

BLOG NOTE: Thanks to my family member (of whom I'm quite fond, see, it happens!) for my fabulous new banner. Although she may publicly deny visiting, the whole Plain Jane blog format thing was bugging her, talented artiste that she is.

Going Green

2009-11-27T20:44:00.003-06:00

Dragging out the malodorous trash bags containing evidence of the Thanksgiving feast is making my arm tired and I think some old coffee grounds contaminated my lovely hunter green pegleg corduroys. These exquisite trousers are just like the ones I had in the 8th grade and they do not need to be sullied by anybody's janky leftovers. The amount of garbage generated by one family for one meal is truly exhausting, so any forthcoming changes are born more of laziness than a bleating social conscience.

In my effort to reduce waste, I hereby declare paper napkins banned. And no, I'm not switching to cloth napkins because the necessary laundering and detergents offset any environmental gain. This is the plan which is to be implemented immediately: left sleeve, foodstuff and drink dribbles, right sleeve: snot and blood (nosebleeds).

Since I'd have to wash the dang clothes anyway, this is an elegant solution for an age old problem; think of the relief to overflowing landfills I'm a hero. I will now prepare myself for worldwide recognition and accolades.

Added benefit which has just occurred to me: death to the social hug! People will stay far away from one another and motivation for annoying hugs will diminish overnight. DOUBLE HERO!!

Safety Glasses

2009-11-18T13:53:00.004-06:00

I bin BUSY!
Mostly fending off all them mens because of my super sessy new specs, all those boys be trippin' over each other to get to me. (Also reading "PUSH" as ordered by the Mighty Oprah, therefore brushing up on my ghetto verbiage).
I actually got my way hot glasses with the notion that I would use them exclusively in surgery in order to avoid wearing that dumb mask with a shield which always fogs up. I went to the eyeglass store and said that I'd like the biggest & cheapest frames that they had. The cringing proprietor in his polite gay way attempted to steer me elsewhere, but I persevered. These are perfect for surgery, and it turns out that I like being able to see things at a distance (over 6 feet away, that is). My children are horrified and have asked me to remove them when they deign to acknowledge me, but I'm pretty happy with them overall. They give me a very Lois Lane aura.

In other news, I'm slowly working my way out of the Halloween induced candy coma, and I've been recklessly squandering cash since I managed to divest myself of the nightmare suit by way of eBay for a whopping $230.00. I guess every pot has a lid. Except for Mr. Bunker, that is. In a world where every pot has a lid, he is a lonely wok. Sad. For me, that is.

The Basscrack

2009-11-06T20:55:00.002-06:00

This unfortunate situation occurs when the ass travels on up the back, resulting in the anatomical structure known as the bass. The cleavage point is hence the basscrack.

This goes back to the First Law of Thermodynamics which deals with the conservation of energy: Energy (and therefore mater via E=mc2) may be neither created nor destroyed, no matter how much lycra is involved. You can stave off the muffin top, the biffalo (butt in front) and the FOPA (fat over pubic area) but that stuffs gunna pop out somewhere.

disclaimer: this is not patient of mine. I promise. I had complete informed consent.

Concert Review: A Fine Frenzy

2009-11-05T12:08:00.003-06:00

OK, so let's just start with the fact that I am not a harsh critic; if there's not a purple dinosaur singing and some sticky runt's not shoving an empty juice box into my hand, then you can pretty much color me happy. So in my humble opinion, the show was masterful. Almost.

"A Fine Frenzy" (Alison Sudol) was first spotted by my musically sophisticated (aka snobbish) friend when opening for Rufus "I'm wearing Lederhosen" Wainwright. At that time she was sort of an angsty little pinhead, and I loved her immediately. Someone must have really whacked her dosing, because last night she was all happy & bouncy, more consistent with someone who dots her letter i with a heart than a crabby poet. Instead of wailing along with her piano, she was skipping around to a Blondie song. She almost fell down, and believe what you will, but I KNOW that the near-fall was because the stank stare administered by my disappointed girlfriend; a stare like that can actually singe your hair or turn you into a pillar of salt, trust this!
The real musicians in my group looked as offended as a bunch of Southern Baptist ladies getting a lap dance; however, I would go again tonight if she was playing.

Halloween Recap

2009-11-04T12:42:00.005-06:00

Above is a small sampling of the impressive Halloween haul. Note the "fun size" Milky Way at the bottom which was included for the purpose of scale. What the big fat hell is going on here? Where the hell is the recession? I thought this would be a scaled back "one little Tootsie Roll per person" type Halloween, but I guess not based upon the portions dispensed; who knew there was such a thing as a KING sized Reese's bar?
I felt pretty chintzy passing out the regular trick-or-treat size candy. Possibly I resembled the old lady who passed out pennies to everyone when we were kids; pretty smart really because everyone just threw them right back into her pumpkin which somehow always seemed to be kicked in.

Also, why are all the moms dressed up like prostitutes? How's a real working girl supposed to get her game on with all the bustier-clad house fraus doing the ho stroll?

The kids are old enough now that they inventory and trade their goodies, which means I can't indiscriminately ravage the haul as usual. I surreptitiously pinched a medium sized Snickers out of The Boy's bag, and damned if he didn't figure it out in short order. Good thing it was just a trial run, as he's had expert tutelage in the apoplectic fit; this was skillfully averted.

This process has caused a minor speed bump in my usual post-Halloween candy hork; don't you worry though, just a few more Reese's cups (the tiny ones are actually better, chocolate:peanut butter ratio is higher) and I'll be throwing on my bunny ears to pose with my BBW posse!

Blog note: The Suit has been listed on eBay (starting price $0.99) and has already been bid up to an amazing $17.00!! Maybe I can start a retirement fund by selling off Archie's junk; heck, no overhead and vast amounts of rare treasure. Sorta like a winning lotto ticket! well...not really, it's just the eternal optimist in me coming out.

That Time of the Month

2009-11-02T09:05:00.003-06:00

Rent time, that is.

Rent for the garage spot that I require because I am a spoiled princess who thinks that she shouldn't have to schlep the kids and groceries a half mile which is where I could possibly find a street spot. Our one remaining spot is reserved for Mr. Bunker, lest he has to WALK anywhere, possibly squandering some of that hard-won adipose tissue.

We basically have a ritual now, occurring on the last day of the month. It starts out with him telling me that today is the day! he's going to get it all cleaned out today,followed by harsh admonitions not to write the check for my rented garage spot, because we're broke. BROKE! Sometimes I remind him that we should really be extra super rich because of all the money that he saves buying clearance items. "Those are necessities!" he shouts (really? like those 12 packs of nail polish and the 3 bottles of Stetson cologne?? the 50 boxes of bandaids? the basketball hoop?).

Next, he gets his army of Mexican laborers who stand around and smoke, getting paid while Archie organizes a bucket of drywall nails that are probably valued at about $2.00 for the lot of them. Nobody's allowed to touch anything without prior inspection, which won't happen, because that crazy asshole is too busy sorting through penny drywall nails.

Usually by the third of the month I write the check to the garage, at which point Mr. Bunker becomes unhinged, bellows about how he's really close to having it cleaned out and that WHAT DO I THINK WE'RE RICH??? Then he completely abandons the project until next the very last day of the next month.

There was a temporary void where the frog lamp once lived, and I'm going to start leaving the garage door open in hopes that some of the shopping cart people that walk through the ally will lighten the load. That is, after I search through that mess, because after my office manager saw the pic of the frog lamp, she said that she would sure like a soup tureen, and odds are that there is one in there somewhere. Anything for you, Phoebe.

My Own little Schmoe!

2009-10-31T15:51:00.003-05:00

There they are, ready to save lives putting out fires and fighting crime. One caped crusader and one vampire fireman.
What they really need to do is get their asses out there and start collecting some of the good shit. They go to sleep, I pick out the Reeses cups. It's in their best interest, really. Tooth decay, obesity risk, etc.

Zombie Cheerleader

2009-10-30T11:30:00.001-05:00

I am bursting with pride.

The Frog has Landed & other updates

2009-10-29T13:53:00.007-05:00

Once upon a time, there was a bitter housewife. She bitched and moaned and even made a blog mostly dedicated to trashing her husband because he's a crazyass hoarder who would pay money for dirty kotex if someone put 'em on the clearance table at CVS. This bitchy woman posted a picture of the mess in the garage, containing one frog lamp. Lo and behold, someone spotted it, and wanted it!! Through the power of the information age, one murder by frog lamp was thwarted, thanks be to you, Lord Google.

By now, enough time has elapsed that I'm pretty sure it's not a cruel hoax leading to my death by bludgeoning, and I could be wrong, but the new owner isn't making an icky face, so he might actually like it! or it could be gas, I guess.

This lovely situation was brokered by my buddy Peedee, Queen of the Dogs, from Northern Cuba, in Fort Liquerdale. She gave it to her frog collecting friend, Joshua to put in has garden, and there they will live happily ever after! So you see, some fairy tales do have happy endings.

In other news, I recently wrote about a my son's kindergarten classmates, one of whom is named Wedge. After further investigation, I have some fun facts about Wedge:

It is not short for anything. That's his name. WEDGE.
His last name starts with E. Long E, which means if you say his first and last name together, you can't help but say Wedgie.
His hair is cut in, of course, a wedge style.
I better get used to it as it seems that Wedge and The Boy and some little tramp (dossier in progress) are all now BFFs.

THE Pearl Neclace

2009-10-25T14:00:00.012-05:00

Not THAT kind of pearl necklace, filthy perverts.
Archie & I attended our annual charity event when we get dressed up and go hobnob with some fancy fancies (a similar version of THE SUIT was in attendance). Asshole forgot to tell me we'd be attending until the day before, hence fanning the flames of my generally churlish demeanor.

Mr. Bunker usually gets drunk and hits the silent auction to bid on a bunch of stupid shit which I usually secretly donate back to the charity. His social graces are sadly lacking, and he is typically quite offensive doing things like pushing away his dessert, looking at a chubby tablemate and saying "I don't want to end up like you!" He is also wont to giving unsolicited advice as in the case of a lactating woman with a infant at home who he reassured "not to worry that you'll probably get your figure back when you quit nursing"; why not just greet her with a good 'ol titty twister?? That would be less painful.

This time there were some nice jooories (thank you, Real Houswives of Atlanta) available for auction. Wanker was trying to get back in my good graces, at least a tiny bit because he probably feared that he would otherwise be getting disemboweled with my fork. The drunken foo proceeded the buy me this very nice set of pearls that are not the kind you find in Claire's Boutique. This largess combined with 2 glasses of plonk made me feel a bit more charitable toward him, I even allowed him to speak to me.

That is, until evening's end when he nudged me and said something along the lines of "hey hon, you got your credit card, I'm a little short". But anyway, I still got the goods and I am confident that they will look stunning on my decollete.

National Chemistry Week: Don't forget P-Chem

2009-10-24T13:54:00.006-05:00

P-chem or "Physical Chemistry" for you pusses that steered clear, mainly educated me in humility. You can find all sorts of descriptions of what is generally covered in this class, but in summary it is a demonstration that everything that you learned in 100 level chemistry is sweet fantasy.
In P-chem you learn that an ideal gas as described by PV= nRT, is as fanciful as the ideal man in that they both exist only in theory. It's sort of like the life let-down that occurs when you find out that real-life romance is more accurately represented by "Fargo" than "Cinderella".
Instead of a tidy little formula involving solving for a few variables, plug & chug, mind the units, be all done, you have to start working with "real gasses", molecular collisions, and of course, the dreaded "entropy".

The math is trying, particularly when your class (of 8) gets combined with a graduate class of biophysics PhD students, all of whom were Chinese and proceeded to make us look like monkeys pounding on HPs in reverse Polish. In spite of their seeming superiority due to their mathematical skills, those Beijing boobs could not do experimental design to save their lives, so happily partnerships were made with a tad of mutual exchange which some may refer to as CHEATING, but hey, it's all about teamwork, right?

Fortunately, I survived but I'd rather birth a hedgehog than take that class again although I'm sure I'm a better person for it. Also apparently something about entropy caught my fancy, because I am now married to it. Damn.

Honky Lopez

2009-10-20T19:47:00.004-05:00

Suppose you're a new resident, and your name is Joe Lopez. You show up to surgery and turn out to look like a member of the Aryan nation, so how can you be offended if someone calls you "Honky Lopez"? Really, how can you possibly be mad? How could someone not call you Honky Lopez? I think it would be prudent to just legally change your name so people know what to expect. How's anyone supposed to know you're from Northern Spain and not Guadalajara?
Sheesh, why so sensitive?
Also, a little crack about your Halloween costume being gay wasn't referring to you being gay, hell, how's anyone supposed to know?
Anyhoo, Dr. Honky Lopez, I'd twist Dr. P.A.'s arm till she said sorry, but lets face it, the honky things should be expected, and truly nobody cares that you're gay, but the blithering asshole thing about your expertise is unbearable, so no apology for you. In fact you are are my new depot for patients I don't like, so prepare yourself, because you have a few crazies headed your way, Dr. HONKY.

The Dowager Special

2009-10-12T17:17:00.005-05:00

This is a really nice evening suit, that is, if you were born on the Pangaea land mass during the Paleozoic era.

This nightmare was a gift for me from Mr. Bunker. Maybe he got it for me to ensure that I wouldn't attract any attention outside of the shuffleboard & prune juice set. This garment is so fugly that if I die when I'm 100 and somebody buries me in it that I promise I will be so pissed that I will come back to haunt whomever made the decision.
It is the color of a vomit covered bruise, it sparkles, and it is 2 sizes too big. BUT after posting a picture of the frog lamp, that particular atrocity has moved out of my possession, sooo....any takers?
It's made by St. John, and they are known for making suits that are very comfortable, and are especially favored by rich old ladies with elaborately styled hair and wearing so much Chanel number 5 that it's flavor may be experienced.

If I could only unearth the receipt, the refund would probably cover 2 pairs of nice hooker heels.

A Very Nice Day

2009-10-11T16:10:00.002-05:00

Today was the Chicago Marathon and sadly I did not participate. Conditions turned out to be nearly perfect with cool temps and no wind. Instead of running with the pack of 45,000 sweaty fools, I took a leisurely run along the nearly deserted lakefront path with a good friend and her camera.

First stop (above), I went and gave Mr. Bunker a good kick in the kidneys and told him to get his ass out of that sleeping bag and to go take out the trash, and that if he cleans out the G.D. garage that maybe I'll let him sleep in there. If you look hard you can see that that is a very nice down filled sleeping bag which I think reflects my general kind heartedness; I can't help it, I'm just that way!
Next, I admired the lovely fall foliage while flipping off the cab drivers and yelling "get off that cell phone and go back to Abu Dhabi you terrorist!" They love that, and I'm sure they know it's all in good fun.
My face, my face!! where did it go??? This is what can happen with too much botox, no expression at all!
And then I said "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SMILING ABOUT?" Fools. I tried to explain to them that marriage was not that great of an idea, but apparently they'd already paid for everything, so what can you do?

And the very best part of the day: packing up abomadable frog lamp to go to sunny Florida. Life is good.

Claim your Frog Lamp

2009-10-08T12:47:00.004-05:00

Good news for someone, your elegant frog lamp has been found!
Now come get it the hell out of my garage before it's used as a murder weapon. Someone surely is suffering great remorse for letting go of this object de'Art, the value of which was immediately appreciated by Mr. Bunker on his evening dumpster dive.

Anyway, rightful frog lamp owner, your fingerprints are probably ALL OVER THIS BITCH, so come get it or face up to the CSI, they will find you. That or you will be smote down by The Lord. This is in my prayers.

Autum Shopping

2009-10-05T21:42:00.005-05:00

The costume shop has opened! I just need to force a sharp right upon entry and confine our visit to one small corner of the shop. This corner being the one where they keep the scary masks and all of the 3 children's costumes; the vast majority of the "adult" costumes involve themes that I don't really want to discuss: "mommy why's she got those cones and that whip? " Awkward.
That's my handsome boy above, looking just like his old man on a Saturday morning, all fresh & perky.
Don't be fooled by the pink wig and that innocent smile, if you trifle with her she will shank your ass on the playground.
Mr. Bunker bought her a cheerleader outfit from the clearance table at the CVS (where else?), as if!
"Cheerleader??" groans Miss H., completely appalled. After being Hermione Granger last year, she has no use for the usual vapid cheerleader (her words). She has decided to make some minor alterations in order to be a Zombie Cheerleader, which I guess is better than a regular cheerleader; my girl is slightly odd.

But never mind the scary costumes, the real horror was these ass-eater jeans, I mean this makes any of the previous camel toe tarts look like pikers, someone needs to call the authorities.

Richard M. Daley is Pissed!!

2009-10-03T13:16:00.008-05:00

Time to TAKE COVER here in the Second City because Mayor Richie is sure to be as pissed-off as a priest with priapism. Ticked-off as an untucked trannie in a tutu.
OK sorry. Enough of the annoying amateur alliteration.
SORRY!
Well then, he's going to be as enraged as Kanye West, well, on a perfect Summer's Eve.

Anyone who works at City Hall should probably just call in sick on Monday, it's sure to be ugly. Mayor Daley is probably ready to lob a nuke at the South Side because if those little assholes weren't so busy having drug wars, then he'd probably have been more successful in Denmark. Oh wait... Rio has more drugs and crime than we do, anyway you slice it.
Maybe it's the "culture of corruption" we're all moaning about...but wait! Beijing makes Chicago look like a Brownie troop in terms of corruption.

So why? even with Poperah Winfrey and the Obamas?? How can this be?

This is one Chicagoan who does not care about this monumental slight. I'm just pleased that I don't have to pitch in for King Richie's hubris. Next we get to discover who will ultimately be blamed (credited) for this failure (achievement). This hot-potato toss should be every bit as riveting as any event traditionally included in the Olympic games.

KITTENS Open the Door, Save them!

2009-10-01T20:12:00.003-05:00

I'd say that this could be a nice way to deal with some of the excess lawyers, but hell, they wouldn't have an urge to save a kitten, so what am I even thinking?

Whale Tale

2009-10-01T16:32:00.005-05:00

Hell yes, that is a mantard showin' off his junk.
I wonder, did he lose a bet? Is he a bitch-boy to some dominatrix that makes him wear womens undergarments to keep him in line? Maybe he was getting dressed in the dark and accidentally grabbed undies out of the wrong drawer, I mean this can happen... Sometimes I'm at work and discover that I'm wearing Mr. Bunker's nasty skidmark skivvies under my nice Talbot's skirt. KIDDING! ha ha ha...ridiculous! Talbots!! puleeze!

Anyway, this is probably how the men dress in Copenhagen, which is where all the important O-people are currently convened; you know, Oprah & The Obamas, for Olympics. Also representative of the shape Richie Daley's mouth is stuck in from, well, maybe saying all those "O" words. Just wait, if the Chicago bid is successful Richie will flip out and either flash his own girly thong or start humping the first lady's leg. Can't wait!

A Star is Born/ Hoarding update

2009-09-29T21:57:00.004-05:00

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

2009-09-24T08:39:00.004-05:00

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

2009-09-23T13:51:00.005-05:00

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

2009-09-20T14:10:00.006-05:00

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

2009-09-19T22:43:00.006-05:00

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!

2009-09-16T17:45:00.004-05:00

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!

2009-09-16T14:40:00.004-05:00

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?

Urban Kayaking

2009-08-31T14:47:00.004-05:00

Who says you can't do outdoorsy activies downtown? We had a lovely Sunday afternoon Kayaking down the pristine waters of the Chicago river. We played "spot the 3 eyed frog" and managed to avoid getting plowed over by the distinguished gentlemen at the helm of the fancy fast boat named "Panty Puller", you classy bastards you!
Archie Bunker put the buoyancy of his craft to the test and complained most of the time (he was hoongary, needed a burger), but it was good fun. We didn't make it quite to the "Willis" tower; you can only push a group of 8 year-olds so far; hard to get a cab back if they get tired.

Yes, that is one giant condom floating in the water. The kids were playing a game trying to sink it by throwing rocks at it. I didn't feel like hosting a sex-ed chat so I told them it was a banana wrapper. Of course today in the grocery store they were intent on finding some banans that had that special wrapper. Shit.

Speaking Of Colonics.....

2009-08-27T20:55:00.005-05:00

Dear Dr. Creepy, if you ever wake up from anesthesia, look up and see the eyes above peering down at you, you can be pretty sure that your man-parts will be missing. pretty scary huh?
That's Dr. Creepy Creeperson above. He owes me a lot of money. He owes Dr. P.A. more than he owes me. I have reconciled myself with the fact that the only way he's going to pay anything to anyone is if we invoke the dirty lawyers. The lawyers then, most assuredly, will be the ones to get all the money. This is bothersome, but I think I'm ready to act out of pure spite.

Knowing that the combined free labor of his associates (me & p.a.) paid for his extravagant European vacations with his teenage girlfriend while sending his kids to private boarding school makes that vein in my forehead throb.
Based on the embarrassing pharmaceutical deliveries to the office, I'm guessing his johnson's a little, well...about as stiff as his spine I guess.

If he needs money, he could always sue that artiste that did the lipo on his prodigious front butt, because that thing is back! disgusting! How do you stay fresh all day with that thang out in front?

And to finish this cheerful post with some of the splendor provided by humanity, a little reminder to always remember your belt.

I HATE LAWYERS

2009-08-27T16:09:00.002-05:00

Look past the fancy suit and office and giant gold wristwatch. Keep looking.....this is what they all look like deep down on the inside. They are ALL more full of shit that Gwenyth Paltrow prior to her COLONIC CLEANSING diet (yuck). And don't say something stupid like "well I know Blah Blah and she donates her time to help abused puppies and incontinent women" , because if an individual is involved in the practice of law in the U.S of A. then this cheesy fucker is lurking somewhere beneath. TRUTH!

Even the ones that SEEM nice and noble are obviously just trying to pad their resumes. If you're a lawyer and you're reading this than I want you to know right now that you may not bill me for this, and that yes, I am referring to YOU. And if you're my friend and you're a lawyer, maybe you should just stay away from me for a while because I'm a little irked right now and I could opt to deliver a nice kick to your crotch bone. If a lawyer is ever nice to your, remember that the clock's tickin' baby, grab your wallet, and RUN AWAY, don't spatter anything on the fancy suit, otherwise you'll get sued for the cleaning bill, pain and suffering, loss of sexy times, and physical therapy (that's always added, right?).

Betty and Veronica: The Ultimate Travesty of Justice!

2009-08-20T18:50:00.007-05:00

If Betty can persevere and carry on with her activities of daily life after that peckerhead Archie proposed to Veronica, then it's time for me to quit moping around, follow Betty's fine example, and get on with it myself.
Oh Betty... After 50 years and 600 issues, Veronica gets the hardware. Veronica! The rich spoiled self-involved drama queen gets the guy. How can this be?? This is like picking Paris Hilton over Hannah Montana, Ginger over Maryanne, Stepsister over Cinderella, Angelina over Jennifer, Bratz over Polly Pocket. UNJUST!
Don't worry Betty, It may hurt now but it won't last. Go drink some whiskey shots, have a good womanly blubber & listen to Night Light Love Songs, then start some rumors about genital warts or something. It'll all work out in the end.

Good News/Bad News/ Marijuana / Surgery

2009-08-03T15:16:00.009-05:00

The good news: Passed the first part of the boards!

The bad news: It doesn't really matter! After my check-up with buzz-kill Dr. Glaucoma, I apparently can't do surgery anyway, since my depth perception has seemingly become so poor that it's a wonder I can negotiate my way into a bar to drown my sorrows, and even then I'd probably just end up missing my yap and pouring beer into my poor wrecked eye.
Suddenly I'm a hazard in the OR. Ive been advised to take a month off from surgery and try to get my vision back to where it's just half bad.
It's ok, I'm kind of tired of those early mornings anyway, and scrubs have never really flattered me. Also, I HATE starting the day by getting my hair squished into those hats.
More good news: Time for desperate measures. You know, mary jane, hooter, reefer, ganja, herb, chronic, blunts. All good til the 'ole random drug test at the hospital..."honest! It's for a medical condition!" this could be a little embarrassing.

Fortunately my specialty is one in which a practitioner may prosper with or without performing surgery. The with surgery option is generally the way to prosper a bit more, well, prosperously. Since I've opted to be a part-timer on account of the whole motherhood thing, the funds generated by surgery barely offset the malpractice premiums that I need to pay in order to maintain my surgical privileges.
It seemed that it would be worthwhile, -although a massive pain in the ass-to continue operating in order to maintain my skills so that when I do go back to full time I'll remember how to hold a drill and how to keep those soft & spoiled residents in line.

Now I'm weighing the pros & cons of continuing to perform surgery, this is based upon the expectation that I will not be getting to know my new "companion dog" while my kids mock me for having my shirt on backwards when I go out begging with my tin cup.
So:

CONS
Reimbursements suck, and get suckier every year. I seriously doubt that they will increase with president BHO at the helm, or that payments will increase if there is "reform". I can make more $ doing a few office procedures and not have to waste half my day drinking shitty surgery center coffee.
Insurance companies do not want to pay for ANYTHING (except for real estate), and they try really hard not to pay via many time consuming exercises with the expectation that eventually the provider will cave in or die of old age before the claim is paid.
Malpractice insurance my premium would drop by 70%, if I was non-surgical and that's a lotta shoes & Cheetos.
Global period the "global" is the amount of time that I am required to see the patient post-operatively for NO CHARGE. It's usually 30-60 days after the surgery, and even if they come in every single day following the surgery I cannot bill them for anything, even if it's not related to the surgery. Technically you may bill for issues that are not related to the surgery, but it's an audit flag so my biller told me to just suck it up, and I do. Is anyone surprised that the global periods are getting longer??
Complications, usually these become apparent in the wee hours of the morning, generally they can be dealt with over the phone. Treatment of these will usually fall into the "global coverage" category.
Lawsuits. Any outcome that is perceived to be any less that 100% splendid perfection is lawsuit fodder, even if it is proven to be the fault of the patient's through conscious and deliberate non-compliance. Somebody who is not qualified to put on a bandaid then decides that a wrong has been committed, and someone who would pimp out his own mom for a buck "educates" the jury who levy the final judgment, which means that I went to school for over a decade so that my professional judgment may be scrutinized by a body of people who's sole qualification is that they are registered to vote.

PROS

sounds good at class reunions

My Kinfolk

2009-07-30T19:17:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure if there is actually inbreeding, but there is defiantly a lot of grossness.

My parents did not spread the brains in the family around fairly, as each subsequent child has proved to be a little dimmer than the former.
My big brother is Extra Super Smart. I'm extra average smart, and my baby brother is, well...um...a very very sweet, well meaning person. Despite his good intentions, his spouse is a worse boobie prize than my own Archie Bunker, difficult as that may be to imagine.

Let's call her Trashie.

Trashie was working the cash register at the cafeteria where my baby brother was warshin' dishes. She and her crushed velvet pictures of Winter Wolves and her frizzy home perm orange-ish hair swept him clean off his feets. When they started swappin' spit, she almost immediately divorced her then-husband and kicked him out of her trailer, rendering the husband somewhat homeless.
This homeless condition was soon remedied by Trashie's sister who promptly married the ex and moved him right into her trailer.
Trashie decided that working and paying rent weren't really her thing, and she quickly wed my brother. The happy couple moved in with my (reluctant) parents, where they would have stayed forever had they not been booted at the urging of the heartless big sister. This occurred soon after Trashie announced that what she had thought was constipation turned out out to be a bebby chiel growing.
Trashie is adopted, but she is clearly related by blood to her family; it's been speculated that she is really her older sister's daughter and was adopted by her grandparents. They are a confusing clan, but they come together every year for the county fair season to run the family business, which is a rolling wiener stand. Trashie still is not really too excited about working, she mainly likes going the emergency room and wearing durable medical goods so she can moan about her aches and pains. Don't ever ask her how she's doing unless you have the afternoon free.

It has recently come to light that Trashie's first husband was actually her second husband, because the actual first husband's creepy brother has suddenly decided to start hanging out with the family. Why???
The ex-brother-in-law of husband number one is a big fat 53 year old single preacher man (retired) who has suddenly become "wealthy" which has filled him with an urge to take his former sister-in-law and her family to Disney Land. Creepy preacher man said that if the parents can't make it, he'll be happy to take their 11 year old son. Alone.
Reeeally, am I not the only one who thinks that this does not pass the smell test?? Correct me if I have become overly suspicious of the motives of others, because I cannot think of this as being anything but CREEPY. Trashie seems to think this is a normal thing, but she also seems to think that revealing a former marriage to her husband of 15 years is not a big thing, and he's probably just a kind & generous Christian man wishing to share his good fortune.

OK, so now I've written it, read it, and it all seems even creepier that it did before.

Recap of Visit Home

2009-07-30T09:48:00.005-05:00

Somehow our high school reunion was at the crappy VFW hall while our rivals from the other side of town gathered at the country club. It's probably to make up for their feeling of inadequacy from getting an ass-kicking in basketball all those years ago; alternatively, maybe we are from the wrong side of the tracks.
The geezers gave us some dirty side-eye looks for taking over bingo night, but they'll recover. Or possibly they won't.

Mr. Bunker got up from his death bed to accompany me and managed to look relatively dapper (ass crack not showing) for the big event. Fortunately he was still feeling poorly enough that he didn't start any fights, especially since My 8th grade Harvest Moon Dance date, Larry, was there and looking pretty good. It turns out I SHOULD HAVE JUST MARRIED HIM. Who knew?

The football team boys were fat, bald & drunk, the homecoming queen is twice divorced and looked a little rough. The valedictorian is a single mother of 5 with a Madagascar hissing cockroach as a pet. The queen of potheads has offspring nobody can keep track of and looks like she may be in a family way again; let her keep the drugs, someone ought to confiscate that uterus; lots of food stamps dedicated to feeding that bunch.
My vocation caused a bit of a stir, that is until everyone figured out that I can only write for controlled substances in the state in which I'm licensed. I felt really popular for a quick minute.

The really popular girl stayed true to form and snubbed me, but she'll probably have to pay attention to me if I go into the mall where she's selling shoes, OR maybe she could snub me there and I then would do that whole "Pretty Woman" scene and bawl to anyone that gives a shit "all this money and no shoes! waaboohowaaahhh" this could turn out to be good.

That is a quick summary of my visit with former classmates, the really interesting stuff is all about my family though--in laws, not a lot of branches on that family tree. Family dirty laundry, comin' right up!

What the Hell kind of GD summer is THIS?

2009-07-30T09:02:00.004-05:00

Maybe the above picture is exaggerating a little tiny bit, but come on!! It's official today, we have just experienced he coldest July on record, not one single day in the 90's. Perhaps someone could take a moment and inform the pesky Greenpeace hairy hemp little stanko's parked out in front of my building that the polar bears are disappearing from the arctic because they are on their way here.
Also please tell them that yes indeed, they have waited so long to bathe that they will brutally maim the micro-ecco system on the planet if they engage in any kind of brutality with bar soap, so the should just stay home with others emitting similar foul & biohazardous gasses.

Usually the kids have a wading pool set up out back, but it's been way too cold.
My main complaint is wardrobe related, in that it looks like I won't have the real summer wardrobe out until mid August. Then what? Two weeks then it's time to start wearing boots again?

At least I don't feel bad about my tardy garden, as the June weather probably would have done it in anyway.

Home Sweet Home

2009-07-22T21:35:00.001-05:00

I'll be making the trek to my hillbilly hometown this weekend for some kind of high school reunion gathering, the first of which I have attended. So much can change in, uh, well.. 10 years, or something like that. I will be a standout because I have all my teeth and pants will not be elastic in the waist. My kids can play with my classmate's grandkids; it'll be good fun. We can swap mac & cheese recipes and see who's wearing the best overalls. Can't wait!
On the brighter side, my garden is finally in bloom. A little late but look at those delphiniums! The climbers on my trellis are going crazy, I think the little fucker's been fertilizing, it's good for a dog to have hobby outside of chewing up shoes and dragging underwear around. I guess he's good for something (besides alerting me to the presence of nekid drunk intruders, that is).

Mr. Bunker Visits the Hospital

2009-07-22T11:06:00.004-05:00

The BEST HPI (History of present illness) ever, delivered by my very own Archie Bunker!

My super fine baby daddy got some kind of illness, felt bad for a few days and decided at 9pm Monday that the end was well-nigh upon him. This involved lots of groaning "get the gun", moaning, swearing and declarations of ever-lasting love and devotion throughout this illness which is referred to by many as "The Flu".

He was seen earlier in the day by the lovely Dr. FK ; labs were ordered and the "tincture of time" and "rest, plenty of fluids, and suck it up you baby" talks were administered. By evening he was absolutly incensed that he had not recovered and THAT NOTHING WAS BEING DONE. Hence, a trip to the ER in The Really Big Teaching Hospital was deemed necessary; thankfully an ambulance was not within his requirements.

The waiting room was, of course, full to capacity so Mr. Bunker commenced to perform his own triage, becoming irate if someone that looked less miserable than he got called for treatment during the course of our wait.

He badgered the triage nurse the same way he'd badger an IHOP hostess on a Saturday morning; always a useful tactic. I probably could have coached him to add in a little bit of chest pain with a pinch of SOB, but I wasn't feeling that kindly towards him, plus I was reading a good book ("Into Thin Air") and enjoying a big bag of cherry Twizlers. I was fairly content. Well, except for when he started demanding that I call St. Bob's and the other Big Teaching Hospital to see was their wait time was like, and then when he announced to all who would listen that he couldn't sit anymore and was going to go outside and lie in the grass (this is why it is good to stay home in bed when you don't feel good). Then he railed about the the service here being terrible and he'll soon take his business elsewhere. So what if there was a huge MVA, he was here first and he has good insurance.

Finally at 11:30 we got called, and Archie delivered his complaint to the unfortunate intern (remember, it's July, so the interns are mainly concerned about trying to not get lost when they attempt to figure out where the fuck the restrooms are. DON'T GO TO A TEACHING HOSPITAL IN JULY).

Intern: "So what brings you in tonight Mr. Bunker?"

Archie: " Well, I'm SICK, can't you tell?? I got a fever and I can't walk and my hands are swolled and I can't move them and this swellingness is in my feet won't stop and it feels like I'm gettin' stabbed by a knife in my wrist. I can't walk and my legs are numb and I think I had this same feeling about 6 months ago when I got out of my truck so maybe it's all coming from my back. I'm getting PERMANENT damage in my nerve endings because they hurt and I got bitten by a mosquito a few nights ago and I got a red rash all over my body that looked like sunburn but it's getting better now but that time I got out of my truck I almost fell down, this might all be workers comp! And my throat hurts and I can't gelp (swallow) at all! this happened once during my ute (youth) when I couldn't gelp anything and my glands got swollen and I took penicillin for a while and now I can't turn my head and look left. And I get fever and I can't sleep and my balls have really been itching and I used some cream, maybe I got some bacteria from that or an allergy."

intern goes, resident comes.

Resident: "So intern says your sick. how long has this been going on?"

Archie: 5 days or 6 months. My feet seem numb! I can't feel my baby toes, AND my son said his feet hurt the other night when we were at the movies seeing Harry Potter! he took his shoes off and said his feet hurt! This must be something contagious! we're all going to get sick! I can't walk! look at me walk! (walks). I can't walk! What's wrong with me, please tell me what's wrong with me. Don't forget the giant red rash and the fever and my ENTIRE BODY HURTS like the time I was in the bar and the bouncer told me not to go outside and I went outside and I got punched in the nose and I had to spend the night in jail. That's kind of how I feel. And my neck hurts and my back hurts like the time I was getting out of my truck and I almost fell down. Maybe I have diabetes or that Limes disease."

Resident: (to his credit) "I have no idea."

resident leaves attending comes.

Attending: "So it sounds like there's a lot going on with you. Are you feeling stressed out or anxious? Is your wife leaving your crazy ass?? (ok. a little embellishment).
Mrs. Bunker, may I speak to you in the hallway?"

Archie Bunker: "Oh so you're the real doctor? why can't you talk to me? I have to tell you everything and see if you can figure it out. WHAT? YOU BETTER TELL ME WHAT HE SAYS! I ain't making this shit up. I CAN'T WALK!! LOOK AT ME WALK!! (walks again).

Attending in the hall to me: "Vitals are fine, labs are fine, what do you want me to do with him?"

Ativan was administered along with some fluids, it got to be 4:30 am and we went home with Archie bitching about them being ignert fools and he's gotta find a Real Doctor who can figure out what's wrong with him. SHRINK. That is what we need here.

Maybe he does in fact have some dread disease, but must he whine SO MUCH?? And it would seem that he's improving. Asshole's wearing me out.

If you need a happy love story please visit Frankie's Hideout for some glittering sunshine, hearts and unicorns. The angels are humming Pachabel's cannon at the hideout today.

A Cry for Help

2009-07-14T14:38:00.010-05:00

Damn whoring c**ting bitches used up all the coffee. Been in a coma all week. Withdrawal hurts.

I have begun writing several posts about my commitment to NOT participate in the Chicago marathon this year. The last time I ran Chicago, it was during the catastrophic heat wave of 2007. After a slow and painful finish, I solemnly swore that I would never do another marathon, and if I ever got sucked in again I would wear a shirt with big letters spelling "DUMBASS". This may prove embarrassing. I doubt the person witnessing my pledge will remember, she'd forget her kid's name if she didn't write it on her hand. If she does remember I'll send her a nice fruit basket & she'll politely pretend to be appeased. RIGHT?

Anyway it's not even the Chicago marathon I'm considering, I'm done with that one. This is the New York Marathon, and I'm not officially committed. Yet. Just thinking about it. Busting out the log and the watch, JUST IN CASE. But I'm not going to do it. Every time (ten times) that I have finished a marathon I say this is fucking retarded and I will never do it again. I curl up in a ball for a little bit, get some bananas and WALK AWAY forever (maybe limp away) from that mess.
The training's not so bad; I get a little scrawny looking in the high mileage weeks but that never lasts too long. It's those last 20 miles-- I mean the first 6 are all good fun. Halfway through I start feeling like I've been running for a while, by 18 I usually want an epidural, and I still have 8.2 miles to go. REEL ME IN...Someone help, send some Marlboros, quick!! Talk me down. Save my knees.

Introducing Boy Wonder

2009-07-10T09:29:00.006-05:00

Is that some kind of tumor? or could it be a saline implant migrating south? This here's the progeny of my fine partner, Dr. PA (as in business partner, not life; dang filthy pervs). He was immaculately conceived when she was 12 or so.

As I understand it, little pigtailed Dr. PA was a sweet young girl living in the middle of a cornfield (a few states west of my cornfield). She was just skipping along with her jump rope, mooning over some Bon Jovi posters and suddenly she got into a big fight with her mean mean mom. Absolutely distraught over upsetting the tranquil harmony of her family home, she snuck out the bathroom window, and next thing you know, Whamoo!! One in the oven! (To revisit Dr. PA, kindly click here and here.)

Her guidance counselor promptly steered her toward beauty school, WIC coupons, and even hinted at a decent shot at one of the nicer section 8 apartments if she played her cards right. But No! Off the the big city, momma and her bebbeh for higher education; how great to be hacking on a cadaver and lactating?? And somehow even shaking down honors? obviously accomplished through cheating or sleeping around; how else?

My admiration of her perseverance allows me to turn a blind eye to some of her fashion faux pas; see I didn't even notice this horror with the socks!

Please note that whatever's going with Boy Wonder's arm, there happily is nary a track mark or prison tat. That little asshole became smarter than a Cray Supercomputer before he started shaving so he basically needed to be tied to a chair for a little while so he'd quit hacking into secure systems. He did this not out of criminal intent, but mostly in order to make a mockery of parental controls. Kid had to go on lockdown, Dr. PA was getting some gray hairs and starting to get this crazy look about her.

Our young hero will probably be getting his first bachelor's degree before he gets his official driver's license, but presently it looks as if his powers will be used for good rather than evil purposes. That is, unless it turns out that that thing in his arm is a three headed alien monster getting ready to break out and wreak havoc on the Earthlings; but look how cute he is in scrubs!

Coming of Age

2009-07-08T13:08:00.006-05:00

Miss H. is humming a happy song and coloring pink hearts, pretty flower gardens, butterflies, and fairies; she'll soon be turning 8.
I may as well bust out the bad news for her before she has a chance to imagine too many cheerful hopes and dreams. I'll be doing her a favor, really. She ought to know that the princess stories are a bunch of booshit, and that if there really is a Prince Charming he'll probably turn out to be more interested in either her brother or the dumb skeezer with bigger tits.

After warming up with that glad news, I'll explain the whole income tax structure to her ( after all, why even try to generate an income?? go straight to public aid! government cheese is tasty), then I'll tell her I can't really think about sending her to a good school anyhow because I spent all the money on fancy shoes, and that the shoes were a necessary expenditure to lift my spirits because her daddy is an ASSHOLE! SHOES OR VODKA??? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
Next I'll break the news about Santa, the "woman's curse" natural childbirth, acne, what boys really want, and what actually happened to her goldfish (should have been on Discovery Channel--soo gross). If her soul does not appear to be too savagely crushed, we'll go out for ice cream where I may or may not explain the relationship between ice cream and fat thighs. Happy Birthday Baby!!
OR maybe I'll just get her a new bike and we'll play some Scrabble; so many decisions.

An Intruder

2009-07-01T21:24:00.007-05:00

So much excitement at the Bunker home...

It was a dark and stormy night. We were all tucked in tight, children angelic and sweet, Mr. Bunker snoring like a wild boar having a seizure and scratching away at his.. well, never mind that. Anyway, he suddenly sits straight up in bed and says something like "Edith, what the hell are you doing down there?" I reply something like "I'm next to you in bed, bonehead".

"Someone's downstairs!" hisses Archie. The dog's hackles are up and he's doing his growl as best as a little pussy poodle dog can do. Archie gets up and starts down the stairs and says yes, someone is defiantly down there, "call the police Edith! Now! 911!! get the ball bat! bring me some pants!"

I do the 911 call and creep down the stairs where Archie is holding the bathroom door shut, and whispering "someone's in there!" I too hear noises apparently originating from the bathroom.
Soon 6 policemen show up, lights flashing, (2 cute, one smelling a little garlicky) running, flashlights, high drama. I meet them out front decked out in my sizzlin' hot wife beater and pink frog jammie pants and bravely lead them up the stairs to the haunted crapper. The door's still shut, it sort of sounds like there's water running?

The garlicky poe-leece pounds on the door and says "WHO'S IN THERE?" No answer. Guns drawn, 2 of them open the door, rush into the bathroom and interrupt a shitfaced drunk beer-calendar model girl taking a shower. Nekid. In MY bathroom.

She was so tanked that she just kind of stood there grinning and weaving all BARE ASS NAKED while the entire group (which had by then grown to 8 policemen) stood and stared. Finally someone asked her who she was, and how she had gotten into our house; hell if she knew! "Candie! I'm Candie!" was all we got.

"Do you know Justin?" Archie finally asks. "Ohhh yea, Justin!!" slurs Miss Budweiser.
Justin is our basement tenant who's some kind of money selling finance guy who was dating Jessica The Model (not the kind you'd see on a runway in Paris) until the markets tanked and she departed.
Apparently the fetching Miss Candie The Model (the kind that stands next to a beer tank in a nightclub) was helping him ease his Jessica pain. Somehow she became so disoriented that she climbed through a storage area, came up our back stairs, climbed through a window maybe having a little potty woopsie on the way, perhaps explaining why she started in her ablutions while fully clothed. I know this because I found her soaking wet clothing in the sink in a few short hours upon sunrise.

Being a gracious hostess, I got her a robe, roused Justin to come get her, saw the police force out, laundered her clothing (her top is pictured above), gave her some Advil and went back to bed. I guess we need to re-think the alarm system.

I May Survive

2009-06-30T22:32:00.005-05:00

My hair looked good. I remembered my toothbrush and lipstick. I did not hack everyone's limbs off, and I spent very little time curled up in the closet of my hotel room sucking my thumb. The entire experience was probably similar to immersion in raw sewage, but I have all my life to live and all my love to give. hey hey.
It's nice to be back home, but I hafta do something with these kids because they are somehow all over sticky and also starting to smell funny, at least no flies buzzing around them as yet. They missed me.

Mr. Bunker's brilliant idea is that if I don't pass, I quit my practice and gestate another bandaid. Baby! I meant baby. Everyone please pray hard, cause that shit ain't happening. He has also suggested that I pay back the time he spent "babysitting" while I studied by filing his friggin' crazy ass paper blizzard pack rat motherfuckin' piles which he has been collecting since childhood. Make me wear bright orange Croc's and throw me back in the sewage. fack! (that's how the Brit's say it. With their little fingers sticking whilst sipping Earl Grey tea).

Anyhoo, happy days are here again!

One Decade of Bliss

2009-06-21T09:40:00.008-05:00

A full official decade of the ball(s) and chain has come to pass...yes, our 10 year wedding anniversary was this weekend.

Seems as though we share our anniversary with another happily-wed-for-a-decade couple, namely John & Kate Gosselin. It looks as if they may be beating us to the lawyer's office; they have a major announcement tomorrow. The interwebs' assumption is that the announcement will be "splitsville" whereupon Kate will return to John his shriveled manhood as well as relinquish her hard earned title of "Grand Empress Supreme Bitch Wife"; next to her I'm positively loving and affectionate toward Archie Bunker. Hopefully, once freed from the bonds of marriage, they can really get down and dirty and fight publicly about which hair strategy is worse: reverse mullet or weird transplant-hair plugs. Meanwhile, their brood can go work in a 3rd world sweat shop where they will be exploited to a somewhat lesser extent than that which is allowed by their parents.
Alternatively, they could just be toying with us & the real announcement is that Kate is knocked up with another litter, this news delivered as she sits in John's lap nuzzling his neck and asking if she can rub his feet.

But back to the important news of MY anniversary.
I felt an obligation to get Mr. Bunker a card. Ideally it would have said something like "Thanks for the health insurance and the babies, please clean up the garage and then see if you can't find yourself a nice goomah".
Unfortunately, when I got to Walgreen's there were exactly two anniversary cards from which to choose. One contained seriously sappy drivel with endless yammering about soulmates. The other option was en Español. Which to buy?? I squandered a valuable 15 minutes of my life torn and undecided. Finally I got the lugubrious English card because who knows, the Spanish one could have been carrying on with the same crap and then I would suffer embarrassment upon translation by a third party. Painful.

6 days to boards. Dayum, get it over with already.

Drug Rep McDreamy

2009-06-15T08:28:00.004-05:00

HOT MAN!
Technically he's not a drug rep because he's selling instrumentation (big costly machine), but anyone who's spiffed up in a suit and brings lunch along with randomized multi-center placebo controlled studies may be loosely referred to as a "drug rep".

I believe that the image most often conjured of the modern day pharmaceutical rep is somewhat interchangeable with the images one may find in the Victoria's Secret catalog. Yes, some of them do actually dress like that; then they can come into the office and chat up my male colleague, and give him the ol' "oops, I was just getting some samples for you and my bosoms accidentally fell out!" routine. This method is tried and true. It doesn't matter if she's selling cyanide tabs- New!! Controlled Release Cyanide Tabs!- he's gunna start writing for that shit like a well trained monkey.
More often that not, she then will come ask me about my nail polish and sigh about the indignity of getting ogled by my male colleague; we female-bond a bit, and she gives me some cyanide samples and implores me to write for her drug so she doesn't have to lower herself by calling on the ogling men. vixen for him, victim for me. That's a typical drug rep visit. But now....

The HOT (straight!) MAN with the magic machine that fixes everything. Yup, the machine fixes everything! I'm writing a check right now, because I want to be able to call him every week with questions about my special instrument. Unfortunately it is technically so easy to use that a "Rock of Love" contestant could master it in five minutes, but I will manufacture pressing questions about the physics involved and pester him for answers in person. And how do I know he's straight? Well...I don't actually, but let's don't kill my little fantasy just yet. He's visiting Wednesday for another pitch, so I've got to get myself fixed up, and this could take a while. Studying for Boards? puleeze.

Scary Poppins

2009-06-10T18:02:00.004-05:00

Yup, that's Brit looking every inch the lady. She really has little to do with my topic today, but how could I resist this fine picture? I mean, who would be caught lookin' like that? soo tacky. When I was all preggy in Daisy Dukes smoking with my tattooed belly all out there I would have died before wearing boots like that; ugly and bad for your feet, not to mention the funk that develops after wearing them in a warm climate. sheesh, my eyes are so rolling.

Anyway, I've been a little busy with my favorite springtime activities; gardening, long runs, spring cleaning, and,... oh yeah the pesky FUCKING EXAMS.
One down! The first one was completely computer based in a mean & nasty testing center where I was stripped of my watch, my phone, and my LUCKY PENCIL which that rotten bastard had to pry out of my hand. This was much different from my previous experience 8 years ago, at which time it was written on paper with all victims sequestered in one big room. I had my own special proctor that time because I was 9 (nine!) months pregnant and I needed someone to escort me to go puke and make sure I wasn't developing kankles sitting there all day long. I did at least have my lucky pencil on that occasion.

Anyhow, the night before my exam of last Saturday, The Boy got very ill in the middle of the night, and has subsequently been dx'd with pneumonia (or ammonia, if you are seeing this Archie Bunker, in which case your lips are moving as you read -- thoroughly annoying). The child's convalescence is entirely jacking up my drankin' schedule, and has put the childcare hurt on me. Tuesday I was fortunate enough to have Hannah, the sweet & happy vegamatarian come play games and do ecco friendly art projects all day with the younguns (thanks Troy).

Next day, the man who throws extravagant parties at the Four Seasons and yammers on endlessly about his largess suddenly hunkers down into cheapass mode, and therefore Archie Bunker took it upon his ownself to find today's childcare provider for mah bebbies...hence, Scary Poppins.
I like to save a buck and I can pinch pennies with the best of them, these skills come honestly after so many years as a busted out student, however, having the cheapest childcare on the block has never been one of my goals. Sometimes you have to ante up because you get what you pay for. The sitter in question appeared a little dinged up, like maybe she spent the night passed out in a grocery cart; that's ok, hasn't everyone? Anyone?? Just trying not to judge... but when her second question to me was "where can I smoke?" (first question was if I was going to pay for her parking) I got a little concerned. I mean sure, when I was a teenage babysitter I used to grab a quick puff now & again after lights out, but unless the neighbors snitched or the kids got loose, nobody actually knew about it.

...So then, when you smoke ma'am, will the kids be coming with you, or will you be leaving them unattended? Is it going to be a leisurely type smoke or you gunna hot box that bad boy?

WHY ME? WHY NOW?
So anyway, I did some rearranging and made it a really short work day. Where are you, sweet Hannah? Grab that tofu and RUN over here. Please.

I'm SPECIAL!

2009-06-02T21:33:00.008-05:00

SPECIAL is me. And not special like I need a full time aide to explain to people why I'm blowing spit bubbles and to tell me it's medication time, but SPECIAL, as in special enough that I got a custom made birthday card. Announcing my own reality show, no less. See, they LIKE me!

Obviously they know I'm just playing a funny when I call them all whores and accuse them of stealing when I can't find cream for my coffee. Joking! And jeeze it's not like anyone would ever actually have to pay money to...well never mind that! JOKE! all jokes.

So here I am again with the birthday. Hardly a change in my sentiments about this since last year. I think I'm getting even more hunched over though, and either my hearing is going or I am getting better at filtering.

Archie Bunker had a surprise for me in that he remembered, most likely because I mentioned that I didn't really want to do anything because I'm trying to study; naturally this prompted him to plan an all day event. Oh well, at least no kitchen appliances were involved, and I did get a Spiderman cake (little mix up at the bakery).

Best of all, my gift to my ownself, fit to be displayed in Jennbird's great shoe spank bank :

Yes, indeedy doody, that's 5" total heel height in some serious Gucci Trampiness! The shoe purchase was easily justified, as I needed something to glam up my TJ Maxx $19.95 dress (which was less than the tax on the shoes). See how it all works out?

Wipe those tears away Lisa, I know I done ya proud, and yes, of course it will fit you!

Mommie Dearest

2009-05-31T21:29:00.005-05:00

No, I'm not in prison for murder, or in a shallow grave; nor have I discovered serenity thereby leaving me void of complaint. But I do have some excuses.

It ain't like I dint warn the little ingrates. I said very clearly "ANYONE WHO GETS SICK WILL BE SENT IMMEDIATELY INTO FOSTER CARE". Did they listen? Oh, haill NO. So then, there they were, in blatant defiance of a direct order, feverish eyes ablaze, baby cheeks all flushed, sad looking little creatures indeed. But did I put the little monsters out on the street?? Even though I'm BUSY?? well, No. Instead I selflessly mother-loved them until they were all better. I know, I'm way to soft, gotta follow up on my threats otherwise they'll walk all over me.
And what do I get for my gallant efforts? well, SICK of course, is what I got. So that's partially why I have been absent from delivering my daily dose of sunshine.

That in combination with feverish (literal) preparation for my fuck-fuck-fucking board certification exam (another one!) in June where I will go pay lots-o- money so I can get tortured by some twatty frankenpimp who needs to fill a time void while taking a break from squeezing baby rabbits until their eyes bleed. This has forced me into using a computer with an extensive review program and NO INTERNET access, as I have been known to occasionally become distracted.

Thank you Gia and peedee & Whale. Between boards, drunken fucktard lawsuit & all purpose fucktard Archie Bunker, June will be a busy month. Thank you for visiting and wish me luck.

Back to Reality

2009-05-20T11:34:00.002-05:00

Well, Reality TV, that is.

And the winner is:.........................

ADAM SLAMBERT!!
I'm throwin' down my prediction. I really don't care that much, I just didn't like the Gokey, he had a sound like he was all constipated or something; he just wasn't doing it for me.

Anyway, Chris Allen (boring name even) brings about as much excitement to the table as hot tea and Melba toast. Adam's more like a spicy shrimp CockTail (sorry, bad taste). And besides, anyone that can make Simon giggle and Paula lucid straight up deserves it.

Most Excellent News From Jersey!

2009-05-19T18:06:00.001-05:00

Ok, so where have I been hiding? I thought "The Real Housewives of New Jersey" was a joke on us by late night TV, but low and behold, it's fur reels! I feel like someone just handed me a warm baby puppy to rock gently to sleep, I'm so thrilled.

Yes, I could be bettering myself, reading Proust, pondering his melting Madeleine and its neuroscientific implications, but why better myself when belittling someone else is so much more fun??

I'll probably have to watch on my laptop in my closet so those dirty tramps don't poison my sweet chilluns, but I'm betting that the Jersey girls are going to make Kim, my favorite big boobie mop-head from Atlanta blush. Stand by for lots-o-lepord and glittering Lucite.

British Invasion

2009-05-18T11:19:00.003-05:00

The past weekend was spent in admiration of a bunch of pasty limeys from across the pond. Miss H. spent several hours doing a critical analysis of the Harry Potter museum display. We were supposed to call her Hermione as soon as she robed up. She was brimming with Hermione-like tidbits of information, chock full of all the aloof disgust which may be conjured from a seven-year-old Harry Potter snob.

Among these useful facts, including but not limited to (been talkin to my lawyer):

"Oh my Gosh. The stool with the sorting hat has four legs, and in the book it was defiantly a 3 legged stool." nose up, hair flip, sniff. Blasphemy!
"I'm POSITIVE that Harry wore green robes to the dance not black, and Hermione wore a blue dress with her hair up, NOT a this pink rag on display!" utter disgust, the horror.
"Dobby is nekid! He's not wearing his dirty pillow case."
gave a full tour of the Weasly twins' novelty toys to a bunch of old ladies from the burbs, I almost had to take one of those old girls out when she started yammering about one of the Weaslys kickin' in the last book cause Miss has not read that one yet.

She had a trivia contest with a curator who was wearing my favorite hairdo, the backwards mullet! Yes she stumped the little cream puff, but for what? Is there a scholarship here? I want to retire and live off my kid's labors; maybe they could have "Harry Potter Jeopardy" game?

Part II of the Brit invasion: Mrs. Bunker goes to a concert!! That's right, set yerself down, because Archie let me out for an evening of whorin' around! Actually, I kept my shirt on, didn't get carded (sad), and was tucked into my starched sheets by 11. Everyone should start listening to the band Keane immediately, because they are very good with some dreary dirges which are right up my alley. Good fun, I even had a beer which gave me a full on buzz, one more & I would've been snogging with a roadie, just like the good old days..

The Reverse Mullet

2009-05-13T13:19:00.004-05:00

This is one hairstyle that should be avoided at all costs. Trust me. What good can come of it? You will be ridiculed by generations to come. This looks like the haircut I gave myself when I was 6 because I didn't think my mom would notice so long as I left my bangs alone. I've sported some bad hair styles (yes Whale, I hear you snickering) but wisdom and maturity will steer me away from this atrocity.
It all started with that embellished clothes hanger, Victoria Beckham, and went downhill from there. This hairstyle will hold-up as well as the traditional mullet (still worn proudly in my hometown), so if you get drunk and wake up with this sad mess on your head, don't let anybody take your picture as you run to the salon for an emergency weave.
Above is the end stage, all the bad things that could happen have happened; curling, straightening, blatant product overuse. This is hurting my eyes. Make it stop! Back me up here Gia.

Overpriced Report Card

2009-05-12T19:21:00.010-05:00

The Boy's fancy private pre-kindergarten kindergarten costs more than I paid for undergrad, much more. Fortunately, he will join the dirty masses next year at public school. It's a nice charter school with lots of Indian kids, but for now I'm handing over lots and lots of shoe money (to donate to the needy, of course) in the form of tuition checks.

I'll sure miss the school, particularly attending the tedious parent gatherings where we check & compare who has the biggest stick up their ass, this immediately following the automobile and vacation home pissing match.

Tomorrow is report card day, when I have to go be shown the magical academic progress my 5 year old child has made under their costly tutelage. This will be a one hour meeting with a 5 page detailed summary of how well he can stack blocks. Considering the age group and the price tag, I think it should consist of having the teacher blow sunshine up my ass about my handsome and talented boy.

This report card day has to got to go better than last year when the teacher pretty much told me that my boy was probably destined for the short bus & prison, causing me to completely wreck my manicure; bitch wouldn't recognize true brilliance if it accidentally pissed in her fishbowl (fake fish, where's the victim??). And I still gave her a box of chocolates and a gift card.

Also, it should be noted that the lice episode was at the snobby prep school, not the public school; additionally I hope that before year's end they manage to teach him that his after school board game with horses and pawns is not called chest.

Put your Big Gay hat on!

2009-05-12T14:16:00.005-05:00

Paula's not hugging, she's leaning because she overindulged in her "special herbal tea" again and she's trying not to fall over. Simon's grinning because he's getting a free boobie feel.

Allison, my little redhead trick, is out of the running & I'm sad. All I care about now is that Gokey does not win, because he is friggin annoying. Who's keeping him alive anyway? I mean the gayelle vote is helping Adam as is his glamorous theatrical talent. Chris is a cutie but about as charismatic as uncooked macaroni, the tweenies should be voting for him, so if you own one of them, please do not restrict their texting tonight, this is IMPORTANT.

Marital Advice, For Free!

2009-05-11T18:54:00.003-05:00

Since Mother's day and our wedding anniversary are pretty closely grouped together on the calendar, Archie Bunker went ALL OUT for Mother's Day and got me the best vacuum cleaner he could find. Just in case anyone ever wonders, cleaning appliances are never, never acceptable gifts (unless you're hittin' with the cleaning lady and want to sweeten her up a little). I didn't want a new vacuum, I wanted a nice Polish girl to push the vacuum. These girls have apparently all disappeared due to immigration issues, and I feel so much safer, because you know they probably were helping to carry out some grand Fatwa.

But back to the advice. Don't go to an appliance store to buy gifts for the wife. We know you're in there checking out the plasma screen TV's, and any gift that is electronic was a hasty purchase to cover your ass because YOU FORGOT. Go to the jewelry store instead (or the joo-rey store for you southerners, as per the "Real Housewives of Atlanta"). It's hard to screw it up with the bling.

Public Transportation

2009-05-08T21:08:00.006-05:00

Dear everyone in the world, please do not eat on the bus. Why would you even want to? I usually feel like having a high pressure hose-down with Purell after rubbing up against the dirty masses, and you want to EAT in said vessel? Nastay. In addition, please refrain from clipping your nails, flossing, and filing your nails. A lipstick touch-up is fine, but let's do the rest elsewhere, please?? I hate to be in the path of someone else's bronzer.

Fine, listen to your ipod, but please, for the love of GOD don't sing along (unless it's Johnny Cash), and don't play it so loudly that I (or other riders) will be forced to whack you with my umbrella because you can't hear me saying "excuse me, wanker".
You, creepy man above, leave little doubt about were you're going to sit. It will always be right next to me!! Why? Do we have something to discuss? do I look like a skeezy pedophile with a landing-strip hair strategy going on? I don't think so, so just move along to make room for sister below, because she always thinks she's going to fit right next to me, because my ass is skinny. Still I'd rather have her squishing me than risk inappropriate touching from the perv, ain't enough Purell in the world to get that kinda stank offa you.

Also, just for fairness: IF you see someone lurking around with an iphone in a bright green case pretending to be texting, don't do anything stupid like start picking your nose, and make sure your underwear ain't showin. You've been warned.

AND Troy, would you please update your little blog thingy? I'm sick of seeing that post about your cat's nuts.

Happy Mother's day all. Remember to be kind to others & perform your grooming and personal hygiene rituals in private, or at least someplace where I don't have to watch.
Love from Mrs. Bunker,

Tulips & Shoes

2009-05-07T12:31:00.006-05:00

According to Gia, the goddess of the green earth, it's time to plant! Archie Bunker will surely be a big help, ah just knows it. Or maybe he'll just make a showing late in the day and complain about me scratching the deck by dragging the pots around. It could go either way! Well actually, if you'd put a wager on option #1 (the "big help") then you're probably busy funding those friendly Nigerian dignitaries that contacted you in an email missive that started like so: Dear kind Sir or Ma'am, etc.. So anyway, he'll probably be an asshole.

In other happenings, I wanted to freshen up the old blog, make it fancy with a spiffy black background but I don't really know how, so I just changed the title; so welcome to the brand spankin' new "Mrs. Bunker's Chainsaw Emporium."
Mary Poppins or Hookah? Yes, I've returned to the high heels, thank you Dr. FK for the encouraging words. Clearly exquisite shoes, and sooo comfortable (little tiny lie). They will help maintain my glowing chakra throughout this lawsuit drama.
Not to be worn around Mr. Bunker however, as he suddenly wants another bandaid baby! I meant Baby. did I say bandaid baby?? whoopsie, what am I thinking?? Really, all I mean is this busted oven is SHUT DOWN. Besides, I'm pretty sure you have to be touching for that sort of thing to happen, so, UNLIKELY.

A brush with the law

2009-05-07T08:58:00.006-05:00

Imagine my surprise when the po-po came to my office yesterday morning. I thought for sure someone had finally looked in my closet and I was going to get hauled off to the pokey. Kidding! just kidding, my closet's fine!! just a little flashback. Not kidding about Officer Friendly dropping by...serving me with PAPERS. That's right, someone is suing my ass, and unfortunately it's not Archie Bunker suing me for Dee-vorce. I'm here to tell ya that getting served in your waiting room is a bad way to start your day, very bad. It's makes the other patients a little nervous. However, when I saw the name of the "Injured Party", my blood pressure backed down from "stroke risk" to "mere annoyance" level.

This stupid drunken fucktard is like Crocs's, in that he just won't GO AWAY. Apparently, my stupid drunken fucktard patient has found a stupid drunken fucktard lawyer (not that difficult) willing to pursue this textbook case of the nuisance lawsuit, true 'dat.

It's been four years since loser man and his eau du hangover first blessed us with his oatmeal countenance. He looked like he'd awoken from a stupor in a puddle of his own vomit, shaken off the DTs, brushed himself off, noticed that he had hurt himself from falling down somewhere, somehow, and dammit, someone was gonna pay!!

That someone will turn out to be me, even if it's just a matter of time wasted. I sincerely believe we would have been fine if I had been more generous with the pain meds, but then I'd have the DEA to deal with, and frankly I think the drunken fucktard will be an easier battle.
We knew from the beginning that he wanted to sue somebody, he just hadn't settled (bad word choice) on whom it would be; maybe he was waiting to see if he'd have a memory work it's way into his consciousness of him falling in a government owned building or maybe (even better) a fall at the Walmart. I guess the blackout stayed blacked out, so his watery bloodshot eyes turned to me... I can't even bill him for the time & money I will have to waste on him, so I'll stop wasting time on him...Right Now!!
The sun is trying to shine, there are tulips blooming, my shoes today are spectacular, and I'm going to hire a gangsta to toss that douchebag's salad with a weedwhacker.

Time Managment via Racial Profiling

2009-05-03T13:17:00.011-05:00

We're all just too too busy right? I mean, I've only seen 2 of the 6 seasons of "The Wire" and the whole of the "Dexter" series awaits. Meanwhile my roots are frightful and I need to plant my herb garden. I know we all suffer these scheduling challenges, so here is a time saving tip on how to find a good school.

You could learn endless facts about various school's curriculum, test scores, student placement, and available activities. You could tour with numerous principals and review all kinds of tiresome education statistics, but take my advice here for this time efficient technique .

To start, check out how many Indian kids there are at the school in question, and I don't mean the "Pocahontas" kind of Indian, I mean the "Patel" kind of Indian. We all know they're smart, right? So if the Indian parents who have done all the extensive reviews mentioned above settle on a school, just follow them! If you have time, you may also consider the following:

Single black mothers from another neighborhood that look like hardasses and have kids that look like Urkel are a good sign, because the mom's probably very devoted & determined and had to bust a lot of heads to get her kid into the school, so that can be taken as a positive sign that this is a good school.

A gay (or even gay looking) principal of either gender is also a good sign, because they will be hypersensitive about any kind of sexual impropriety or shenanigans, which is good! There will be zero tolerance for any touchy-touchy games in school.

A strong showing of Asians used to be a fairly reliable academic indicator, but unless their parents are screaming at them in Mandarin or Japanese, forget it. Really only 1st or second generation counts. The Asian metric has been compromised by some low rent Koreans, and further confounded by all the Chinese girl adoptions; that's totally skewed things; those little girls are making the Jewish girls look low-maintenance.

Lots of Jews is a mixed signal; I mean we know they're smart and that education is very important (Jewish moms can opt for abortions right up til the kid graduates from med school), but if they are at the school you're checking out, you must wonder if there is something wrong with them, as in, how come they're not in Jewish City Day??

So save your valuable time. Just drop by at lunch & if it smells like Chicken Vindaloo and Nan bread, you're good! Sign 'em up and get on to that Netfix que!