The nasty title is to compensate for the rather bland content which lies herein. I really have nothing to report. The testosterone has left the building, with the exception of the little fucker, and he's a poodle, so how much testosterone can a little girly dog like that really have?
The father/son journey is underway. They are shopping the Florida swampland to follow Nick's dream of a major land development. If he purchases this particular parcel, the best he'll do is be the proud owner of a nice big trailer park. I guess he's trying to assure that I can retire with some of my hometown kinfolk.
I attempted to go on a retaliatory shopping spree, but when it came down to actually handing my credit card to the wispy wacko at Barney's I choked and ended up just buying a second hand Kors top from eBay. Let's just hope it's been to the cleaners.
Other than that, I've been delighted to use the garbage facilities with complete abandon, secure in the knowledge that the garbage cans will not be getting inspected. If someone told me twenty years ago that a high point in life would come when I could throw something away without an act of congress, maybe I would have pursued that exotic dancing career after all.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
911 Emergency
How come the dang movie stars get to go to the hospital when they get tired? As in "so-and-so big hot titty woman was hospitalized for exhaustion" (I'm reading the waiting room magazines again).
Well, I know that my ass has really been dragging a few times. I expect that if I fell over, mostly people would just steal the Prada bag and the iPhone, then stay far away, leaving me face down, in the event that I was having some kind of dangerous fit. At the end of the day I'd just end up with extra laundry and missing credit cards.
What about all the single mothers out there with 2 crappy jobs and 3 little kids, do they get to go to the hospital for exhaustion? Is there such a diagnosis? Is it covered by insurance? Can you bring your own jammies to avoid those hang-me-loose open air gowns? I wonder what the doctor visit would be like for exhaustion. Maybe something like this (pay attention, FK):
Me: I'm just so tired, I can barely get my mascara on.
Dr: Oh you poor dear, you work so hard and you have that asshole husband.
Me: Sooo tired.
Dr: well those dark circles under your eyes aren't just unattractive, they are potentially lethal, they could puff your eyes shut while you're driving, or cause a deadly clot to your brain if you sneeze too hard.
Me: But the WHOLE WORLD is dependant upon me. I have a beef and vegetable stew in the crockpot, and I'm worried about the parsnips getting mushy.
Dr. You must go to the hospital and rest for a few days, I'm calling an ambulance right now.
Me: but.....
Dr. No buts, this is an order.
Only in hollywood. I guess we mere mortals don't have to deal with the overwhelming pressures of having personal assistants who can't properly interpret our chakras, and housekeepers that dick up the feng shui. Do we need to have a fund raiser & increase awareness?
Well, I know that my ass has really been dragging a few times. I expect that if I fell over, mostly people would just steal the Prada bag and the iPhone, then stay far away, leaving me face down, in the event that I was having some kind of dangerous fit. At the end of the day I'd just end up with extra laundry and missing credit cards.
What about all the single mothers out there with 2 crappy jobs and 3 little kids, do they get to go to the hospital for exhaustion? Is there such a diagnosis? Is it covered by insurance? Can you bring your own jammies to avoid those hang-me-loose open air gowns? I wonder what the doctor visit would be like for exhaustion. Maybe something like this (pay attention, FK):
Me: I'm just so tired, I can barely get my mascara on.
Dr: Oh you poor dear, you work so hard and you have that asshole husband.
Me: Sooo tired.
Dr: well those dark circles under your eyes aren't just unattractive, they are potentially lethal, they could puff your eyes shut while you're driving, or cause a deadly clot to your brain if you sneeze too hard.
Me: But the WHOLE WORLD is dependant upon me. I have a beef and vegetable stew in the crockpot, and I'm worried about the parsnips getting mushy.
Dr. You must go to the hospital and rest for a few days, I'm calling an ambulance right now.
Me: but.....
Dr. No buts, this is an order.
Only in hollywood. I guess we mere mortals don't have to deal with the overwhelming pressures of having personal assistants who can't properly interpret our chakras, and housekeepers that dick up the feng shui. Do we need to have a fund raiser & increase awareness?
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Hagetha/bad hair
Let's face it, sometimes a brown paper bag is the best accessory. It's cheap, eco-friendly and covers a myriad of flaws. Just cut out some eye holes, slap it on, and off you go; no need to even touch up the lipstick. It can be problematic though, say if you want to go to the bank or get on a train. It may also degrade in a heavy rain. This is why I have opted instead for hubcap sized sunglasses and a ball cap. Why shield my disarming good looks, you're wondering? Well it's just the next chapter in the never ending hair drama.
My latest cut: The wannabe Katie Holmes after Katie got her wannabe Posh Spice cut. Katie probably just got the shorter cut so she could look a little mannish for her little twink Tommy. Posh was probably going short to demonstrate sympathy for beleaguered baldy Brittney who removed all her body hair, most likely to foil drug testing attempts.
This train of thought is the unfortunate result of me reading the waiting room magazines. Today I look exactly like Katie Holmes except not brunette, not tall, and not beautiful...whoops, I'm headed right back to the paper sack. The color looks good at least. Well, it looks good to me; apparently there is a large spot in the back that I missed during my recent home touch-up, but since I can't see it it really isn't bothering me.
Fortunately, amid the latest hair crisis, my weight status has been downgraded from eminent obese blow-out to scarecrow. All within a 3 day period. Why is it that although Nick's the crazy nutball, I'm the one who will ultimately end up medicated?
Nick Nicety (currently an optional exercise): good hair.
My latest cut: The wannabe Katie Holmes after Katie got her wannabe Posh Spice cut. Katie probably just got the shorter cut so she could look a little mannish for her little twink Tommy. Posh was probably going short to demonstrate sympathy for beleaguered baldy Brittney who removed all her body hair, most likely to foil drug testing attempts.
This train of thought is the unfortunate result of me reading the waiting room magazines. Today I look exactly like Katie Holmes except not brunette, not tall, and not beautiful...whoops, I'm headed right back to the paper sack. The color looks good at least. Well, it looks good to me; apparently there is a large spot in the back that I missed during my recent home touch-up, but since I can't see it it really isn't bothering me.
Fortunately, amid the latest hair crisis, my weight status has been downgraded from eminent obese blow-out to scarecrow. All within a 3 day period. Why is it that although Nick's the crazy nutball, I'm the one who will ultimately end up medicated?
Nick Nicety (currently an optional exercise): good hair.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Livin' The Dream
H.is still home sick with the flu today, thankfully no other victims as yet. Staying home today has given me the opportunity to catch up on my ironing, and I am certainly pleased. The two pressing questions I have today are:
1. how do you properly iron a pleated blouse and
2. how long do you wait before beginning daily lengthening after an exfix has been placed for brachymet?
Insight on either topic would be greatly appreciated.
One good thing about being a hillbilly in a fancy neighborhood these days is that nobody can really scowl at you because they have been rendered virtually expressionless by their plastic surgeons. I noticed that this morning while I was walking the ragged looking little fucker while still in my pajama bottoms. One of my fabulous neighbors was surely trying to give me a bit of a glower as the dogs got acquainted in a sniffing kind of way, but really the best she could do was wrinkle her nose a little. That's me, just always looking on the bright side of things.
1. how do you properly iron a pleated blouse and
2. how long do you wait before beginning daily lengthening after an exfix has been placed for brachymet?
Insight on either topic would be greatly appreciated.
One good thing about being a hillbilly in a fancy neighborhood these days is that nobody can really scowl at you because they have been rendered virtually expressionless by their plastic surgeons. I noticed that this morning while I was walking the ragged looking little fucker while still in my pajama bottoms. One of my fabulous neighbors was surely trying to give me a bit of a glower as the dogs got acquainted in a sniffing kind of way, but really the best she could do was wrinkle her nose a little. That's me, just always looking on the bright side of things.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Asshole
Remember a few years back when Oprah said "enough of the ugliness and freak show, let's start being nice"?
Well I'm never going to do that. I'm going to continue bitching and sniping and whining and trashing Nick forever and ever, as long as he's an asshole and my fingers can move, at least.
Happily, we got a new cleaning lady 3 weeks ago (because I am a spoiled princess who thinks she's above cleaning floors). And my helpmate was SO mad because she's going to be here on one of my office days, and she might steal the good china and look at his dirty underwear & put pictures of his closet on you tube. Apparently, if I want to have help, I should be by her side supervising and making sure she doesn't miss a spot or steal a spittoon.
So anyway, this person, deemed untrustworthy by The Master, was at our house today. H. was home sick with the flu, and Nick, who has paid sick days, stayed home with her; that is until he decided he had to go out, and told the the woman whom he does not trust alone in our house to watch our sick child for a few hours. Did she understand? well no, she doesn't speak English, and Nick does not speak Polish.
Maybe next time he'll grab one of the neighborhood dog walkers, or one of the regulars by the dumpsters; we've known them for a while, and as far as we know they are not murderers or pedophiles. So like I said before, asshole, asshole, and also douchebag.
So I had to ditch out on my last few patients and head home just to make sure I wouldn't have to be buying her back on ebay. yeesh. did I say asshole?
Well I'm never going to do that. I'm going to continue bitching and sniping and whining and trashing Nick forever and ever, as long as he's an asshole and my fingers can move, at least.
Happily, we got a new cleaning lady 3 weeks ago (because I am a spoiled princess who thinks she's above cleaning floors). And my helpmate was SO mad because she's going to be here on one of my office days, and she might steal the good china and look at his dirty underwear & put pictures of his closet on you tube. Apparently, if I want to have help, I should be by her side supervising and making sure she doesn't miss a spot or steal a spittoon.
So anyway, this person, deemed untrustworthy by The Master, was at our house today. H. was home sick with the flu, and Nick, who has paid sick days, stayed home with her; that is until he decided he had to go out, and told the the woman whom he does not trust alone in our house to watch our sick child for a few hours. Did she understand? well no, she doesn't speak English, and Nick does not speak Polish.
Maybe next time he'll grab one of the neighborhood dog walkers, or one of the regulars by the dumpsters; we've known them for a while, and as far as we know they are not murderers or pedophiles. So like I said before, asshole, asshole, and also douchebag.
So I had to ditch out on my last few patients and head home just to make sure I wouldn't have to be buying her back on ebay. yeesh. did I say asshole?
Monday, April 14, 2008
Perma-snot and sticky hands
Permasnot is the stuff that dwells on the kid's upper lips just below their nostrils from October until April. It leads directly to crusty shirt sleeves and juicy hugs, particularly evident if one is wearing black and/or headed to the office.
I don't know the origin of the sticky hands. I just know that they are always that way. It doesn't seem to matter how vigorously or frequently hand washing occurs.
Part of the current bedtime ritual is the "quiet contest". They both say prayers and tell me about their day at school. Then I announce that there will be a quiet contest and say "ready, set, go!"
They strive to be noiseless, hardly breathing until they fall asleep, unless they have a rare irrepressible urge to make me check under the bed for monsters, or to rat the other out for audibly adjusting the bedsheets. The mystery to me is, why play? There is no prize. Usually there is no announced winner because they both fall asleep. But night after night they are willing and excited to play. They are so easy to con, I figure I better make use of it now because in a few years they'll be running the con and I'll be the chump.
I guess I also deserve payback for the time when they were really little and they said "mommy mommy will you take us to the park?" and I said " no honey, it's raining" when it really wasn't.
I don't know the origin of the sticky hands. I just know that they are always that way. It doesn't seem to matter how vigorously or frequently hand washing occurs.
Part of the current bedtime ritual is the "quiet contest". They both say prayers and tell me about their day at school. Then I announce that there will be a quiet contest and say "ready, set, go!"
They strive to be noiseless, hardly breathing until they fall asleep, unless they have a rare irrepressible urge to make me check under the bed for monsters, or to rat the other out for audibly adjusting the bedsheets. The mystery to me is, why play? There is no prize. Usually there is no announced winner because they both fall asleep. But night after night they are willing and excited to play. They are so easy to con, I figure I better make use of it now because in a few years they'll be running the con and I'll be the chump.
I guess I also deserve payback for the time when they were really little and they said "mommy mommy will you take us to the park?" and I said " no honey, it's raining" when it really wasn't.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Fatty King Malapropism
How, during last post's tirade about the Nictionary, could I have left out the prostrate exam?
I guess it's my old-timers acting up.
I additionally omitted "obeast". This was recently uttered by my ever charming mate when he suggested that I stop keeping chocolates in my desk drawer because any day now I may "blow out" and become obeast. Never mind that he is sort of a fat guy that gets winded from walking up a flight of stairs.
It wouldn't really bother me that much that he's overweight were it not for the fact that he blames me for it.
Because:
1. I'm SUCH a good cook.
2. Not enough sex.
3. I run in the morning thereby hogging the only time slot during which he could ride his bike.
It wouldn't matter if I serverd bean sprouts and cabbage soup for dinner every night; if you consume 2 donuts and a hot chocolate for breakfast, a dripping beef sammich with fries for lunch, and a few beers in the evening, its bound to catch up with you sooner or later.
I have also given up my to coveted a.m. running hour due to my busted ass, and he has not exactly jumped at the opportunity. In fact, I'm pretty sure the only thing that would get him out of bed an hour earlier in the morning would be a terrorist attack or notification that free monster tuck rally tickets were being distributed.
Nick nicety: deferred (again)
I guess it's my old-timers acting up.
I additionally omitted "obeast". This was recently uttered by my ever charming mate when he suggested that I stop keeping chocolates in my desk drawer because any day now I may "blow out" and become obeast. Never mind that he is sort of a fat guy that gets winded from walking up a flight of stairs.
It wouldn't really bother me that much that he's overweight were it not for the fact that he blames me for it.
Because:
1. I'm SUCH a good cook.
2. Not enough sex.
3. I run in the morning thereby hogging the only time slot during which he could ride his bike.
It wouldn't matter if I serverd bean sprouts and cabbage soup for dinner every night; if you consume 2 donuts and a hot chocolate for breakfast, a dripping beef sammich with fries for lunch, and a few beers in the evening, its bound to catch up with you sooner or later.
I have also given up my to coveted a.m. running hour due to my busted ass, and he has not exactly jumped at the opportunity. In fact, I'm pretty sure the only thing that would get him out of bed an hour earlier in the morning would be a terrorist attack or notification that free monster tuck rally tickets were being distributed.
Nick nicety: deferred (again)
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Dees Dem and Does
With all my fancy education, I married a man who murders grammar and invents new words at will. These words are known by me as "Nictionary" words. The Nictionary includes words like "intunative", as in " women are more intunative than men." Another one that really, really annoys everyone, even if they are deaf, is "old timers" in place of Alzheimer's (" he got forgetful because he had old-timers disease"). He knows this bugs me so he says it slowly and frequently. He pronounces debris like debreeze, which was once corrected in court by a judge. He starts sentences with the word "Them", or rather "Dem". He asks me how to de-pluralize and proununciate. And THE WORST: "in the rear" for "in arrears". Honestly.
I can sit here and bitch all day about his poor grammar, but really, who's the moron here? After all, I did say yes (a few times). The clock was tickin' so loud I couldn't hear his knuckles dragging across the floor.
Also, Johnny Depp is making his movie by my office today. Looks like he's stalking me, that creep.
I can sit here and bitch all day about his poor grammar, but really, who's the moron here? After all, I did say yes (a few times). The clock was tickin' so loud I couldn't hear his knuckles dragging across the floor.
Also, Johnny Depp is making his movie by my office today. Looks like he's stalking me, that creep.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
shorts & cowboy boots
A sunny day!? The kids clearly have some dim recollection of such. It's only just in the mid-fifties but the sun is out, so the kids are dressed like they are going to the beach; well, except for the cowboy boots. It's cute if you're in the 6 and under age group. H. has grown about 4 inches since summer, so unfortunately she looks a tad Brittany Spears-ish.
Sadly, I am trapped indoors wallowing in the swill which is a result of the stepped down housekeeping vigilance which occurred due to my efforts to compile my board exam materials. Nick seems to have managed to sneak in some oddities resulting from his dumpster diving while I wasn't looking. One of these treasures is a spittoon. What the hell... a spittoon. The really disturbing thing is that he already has one . I've tried tossing it a few times and it seems to work its way back in, along side of the broken scoreboard and the traffic signal. Who knows, maybe with all the smoking bans people will start to chew tobacco and there will be a great demand for spittoons.
Finally, the big bad national board exam package is mailed. I will attempt to block the entire topic from my thoughts for at least a week. I suppose I can contemplate the spittoon situation instead. Also I should tidy the kids up a bit. At least they're not looking too ragged thanks to the visit from my mother; were it not for her they would have probably been going to school in their pajamas and have potatoes growing in their ears.
While I was painfully compiling that big bastard of a binder, I took a moment to asses the priorities in my life, given a hypothetical situation:
Supposing that the house caught on fire, all it's inhabitants were inside, along with my completed Board package, and I was naked. What would I do?
1. grab the kids, bring them to safety
2. get my board materials and the little fucker (dog)
3. find clothing
4. call the fire department
5. tell them Nick may be inside.
Nick Nicety # 8: He does not chew tobacco
Sadly, I am trapped indoors wallowing in the swill which is a result of the stepped down housekeeping vigilance which occurred due to my efforts to compile my board exam materials. Nick seems to have managed to sneak in some oddities resulting from his dumpster diving while I wasn't looking. One of these treasures is a spittoon. What the hell... a spittoon. The really disturbing thing is that he already has one . I've tried tossing it a few times and it seems to work its way back in, along side of the broken scoreboard and the traffic signal. Who knows, maybe with all the smoking bans people will start to chew tobacco and there will be a great demand for spittoons.
Finally, the big bad national board exam package is mailed. I will attempt to block the entire topic from my thoughts for at least a week. I suppose I can contemplate the spittoon situation instead. Also I should tidy the kids up a bit. At least they're not looking too ragged thanks to the visit from my mother; were it not for her they would have probably been going to school in their pajamas and have potatoes growing in their ears.
While I was painfully compiling that big bastard of a binder, I took a moment to asses the priorities in my life, given a hypothetical situation:
Supposing that the house caught on fire, all it's inhabitants were inside, along with my completed Board package, and I was naked. What would I do?
1. grab the kids, bring them to safety
2. get my board materials and the little fucker (dog)
3. find clothing
4. call the fire department
5. tell them Nick may be inside.
Nick Nicety # 8: He does not chew tobacco
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
friggin' boards & Johnny Depp
Goddamn boards.
Hours and hours and hours & days & hours spent compiling cases spanning the last 7 years which were TOTALLY devoted to my professional development...Well, that and birthing children, feeding children, clothing & feeding & educating children. they always want something, little assholes. Oh, and seeing my mom to death's door and back; twice. Of course all with the full and loving support of my darling Nick; let's face it, his help is an advantage akin to a swimmer having a lead-lined granite speedo with iron flippers swimming through a pool of magnets.
OK, so I finally got my case list together despite the near death-blow of being denied most of my charts by my first employer of 4 + years. The vile practice owner didn't let the fact that he wasn't giving me my paychecks get in the way of making constant revolting passes at me. Then he proceeded to deny me my charts. I guess he ended up screwing me after all. bleck.
Anyway, so now I have (hopefully) all the shit together. One giant binder, each page neatly numbered at the top right hand corner with red ink. Off it goes tomorrow for the Friday deadline, so it may be reviewed by the members of the board after they have their smoothies made from puppy hearts and children's tears. If things go well they will notify me that I may write them another $600.00 check and report for 2 days of torture in June for orals.
On the brighter side, Johnny Depp will be on my street this week making a movie. I expect that he will spot me, know me immediately for my deep inner beauty, and demand that I fix his hammertoes. I hope he has good insurance.
Nick nicetly # 7: deferred for board material preparation (I can always come back once I think of something)
Hours and hours and hours & days & hours spent compiling cases spanning the last 7 years which were TOTALLY devoted to my professional development...Well, that and birthing children, feeding children, clothing & feeding & educating children. they always want something, little assholes. Oh, and seeing my mom to death's door and back; twice. Of course all with the full and loving support of my darling Nick; let's face it, his help is an advantage akin to a swimmer having a lead-lined granite speedo with iron flippers swimming through a pool of magnets.
OK, so I finally got my case list together despite the near death-blow of being denied most of my charts by my first employer of 4 + years. The vile practice owner didn't let the fact that he wasn't giving me my paychecks get in the way of making constant revolting passes at me. Then he proceeded to deny me my charts. I guess he ended up screwing me after all. bleck.
Anyway, so now I have (hopefully) all the shit together. One giant binder, each page neatly numbered at the top right hand corner with red ink. Off it goes tomorrow for the Friday deadline, so it may be reviewed by the members of the board after they have their smoothies made from puppy hearts and children's tears. If things go well they will notify me that I may write them another $600.00 check and report for 2 days of torture in June for orals.
On the brighter side, Johnny Depp will be on my street this week making a movie. I expect that he will spot me, know me immediately for my deep inner beauty, and demand that I fix his hammertoes. I hope he has good insurance.
Nick nicetly # 7: deferred for board material preparation (I can always come back once I think of something)
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