My Gouty Romeo

Mr. G. has been with me longer than my kids. He was one of my first surgical patients in private practice. That's when I was fresh out of residency, and he has faithfully accompanied me as I have changed office locations and hair color.

During the history and physical at his initial visit, he told me that he had retired from a career as some kind of spook for "a government agency". Naturally, I thought he was a nut job and called his primary doc, because surgery on crazy people is fraught with risk. His primary confirmed that it was actually true, indeed he had done some kind of cloak and dagger shit.
Mr. G. was then 72 and had the worst case of gout that I have ever seen. Soon after I repaired a couple of his partially ruined joints, he declared his love for me and proposed marriage. He thought that he had at least 6 or 7 good years left, a nice pension and excellent benefits; he also informed me (verbally, get your mind out of the gutter) the he did not need Viagra. Since I was married and pregnant at the time, I demurred.

All and all, he's a fine old gentleman, except for the gout and one eye that's a little wonky. He's just turned 80 and now he's pulling the "last wish" crap, as in "it may be your last chance to have dinner with me" etc, etc. That horny old goat will probably outlive Archie Bunker, and still be able to deliver a bitch slap when he's 102. Anyhow, after all the years I finally took him out for dinner. MY TREAT!
He told me he'd been officially retired because his trigger finger was gouty, but still I'm nervous about making any disparaging comments about Archie Bunker, because of the remote possibility the Mr. G would want to be gallant and come out of retirement; what with that wonky eye and all he'd probably shoot the dog.

Reality Faves

I don't watch the shows. Really! I just, um, hear about them from others. Well... maybe I watch a little; one way to feel better about yourself is to find someone who, despite having more stuff, is a bigger loser. The three stars of reality TV pictured here have served me well, and I am grateful.

Pictured above is Kim from "The Real Housewives of Atlanta". Kim says that she is 29. I also say that I am 29 sometimes, so I get it girl! She spells cat like this: "k-a-t".She likes to sang and warbles like a baby seal that has been halfway clubbed to death. She thanks the Lord for her gifts, including her sangin' ability and her sugar daddy, to whom she is not married, so how can she be a "housewife" anyway? Let's don't press that too hard because I need her back next season.
Next is Bret Michaels who is a former member of the hair band Poison. He hosts a show with some pole dancers and their Tupperware Tittays. I have not actually made it through an entire episode because I'm afraid the kids may get a glimpse and end up scarred for life. What is troubling to me is that I used to think he was hot. In my defense, it was a very long time ago, and I liked Bon Jovi better. Now Brett has a little wattle and a weave, and probably eats Valtrex like jellybeans.

Next is Gretchen. She's from "The Real Housewives of Orange County". Her claim to fame is REAL BREASTS. She too has a sugar daddy and is unmarried, again a little inconsistent with the whole housewife thing, again I'm willing to overlook because she's such a wreck. According to Gretchen's bio on the "housewives" website, she studied psychiatry at Baylor and then went onto a full-time career in gold digging, or retail or something. Well Gretchen, maybe they made a special exception for you because your boobies are the real deal or something, because generally the study of psychiatry is not undertaken until residency training, which occurs after medical school and internship. I'm just sayin...maybe she took a few classes in psychology but didn't take that many notes & is honestly confused. Anyway, keep it comin' sister! Love it when you were humping the teenage boy in the crapper & got busted by his mom!

Fatty

Just imagine the money that gals #1 and #3 save; they don't even have to buy bottoms, and just imagine the space they save in their luggage when they travel, not having to pack 'dat shit.
I'm feeling a little chubby because I haven't been running for a while and my diet is composed mostly of chocolate and pretzels (see FK, I'm a VEGAN! ...saving the beef jerky for my emergency kit).
I'm getting love handles, and I does just hates them. To offset this horror, I have a new haircut that is so marvelous it will distract the eye from my midsection. I think a guy was flirting with me on the train after my visit to the salon; either that or trying to borrow a few bucks, who can tell anymore?
Since it's been quite a while, let's review anatomical terms to describe the above phenomena:

1. Front butt: the old school classic.
2. Biff: sorta acronym for "but in front", one may employ the use of "biffalo" to fancy it up.
3. Bootydo- As in " yo belly hangs down lower that yo booty do (fat in the 'hood).
4. Foopa- "fat over pubic area" gay or hispster I think. My new favorite as I am very very cool and up to the moment on anatomical insults.

Impending Doom

It seems to me that over the past few weeks there has been a sudden deluge of radio and TV ads courtesy of the Department of Homeland Security and The Red Cross. They are reminders of the essentials of disaster preparedness. What are we worried about here? A dirty bomb? Rouge waves? Tainted peanut butter? The upcoming switch to digital TV? Another glimpse at Paris Hilton's junk?

The real disaster would be me & the kids trapped in lock-down with Archie Bunker for an unspecified period of time. Crikey. What would he do? He'd have no Mexican workers to berate, and I expect that the cable would be out of service. He couldn't work on his memoirs because he wouldn't have anyone to transcribe the pearls of wisdom that would be leaking out of him like snot out of a toddler.
No matter how thorough our preparation, he'd eventually run out of salami and beer. He'd be so devastated when those basic supplies became depleted that I could probably trick him into going out into the Sarin gas laden air for a stock-up expedition. Then I could take the kids & snacks down to the extra-secret hiding place under the sidewalk and cleverly do some MacGyver shit with duct tape so he couldn't get in. I wouldn't feel guilty because he could take refuge in the garage where there are probably plenty of rodents he could eat and maybe he'd start cleaning; that would definitely signal the end of days.

Absolutly Fabulous

In order to assuage my peckishness over not receiving a Christmas gift from my significant other, the above handbag has been obtained. After using it for one day, I am quite certain that it will improve the overall quality of my life, and next time I go to Dallas I'll feel like I'm part of the club.
I think the glamor bestowed upon me by way of the spectacular green Epi bag may be the reason that the handsome man was flirting with me at Starbucks this morning; either that or he was homosexual and enamored with my stunning accoutrement. I think it may be the latter, as he was far to handsome and well-mannered to be straight. Anyway, I'm not actually the first owner of this fabulous bag so it has a few tiny flaws. This is fine with me because I'm not really that picky; please review any post referring to my husband if there is any doubt about that.

In other news, The Boy has started playing chess, and it is his new favorite game. I think that this is because he believes that the game is called "chest", that's my 'lil perv.

100th Post Celebration!

This is an historic date, and not just because of the inauguration; it's my 100th post! I've been cranking out potty-reading drivel which draws a few people like a puppy to dirty undies for more than a year. I'm not sure if it's actually a crowning achievement, but it is momentous.

Fashion Advice

Even the dog looks offended by this total wardrobe fuckery. That's Archie Bunker, trying to fix my broken oven. He managed determine that it was indeed not working properly. Now it sits with the door removed and it's sad guts hanging out, and it will likely stay that way for many months. Mr. Bunker will probably make a space grab and begin using my vacant oven for storage of old batteries and busted up lamps to deal with the overflow from the garage. Will I ever have my oven back?

As for the view, this is the same man who was giving me advice about the proper fit of bluejeans and shirts just last week, after he was offended that my back showed when I was bending over to get something out of the oven......guess that won't happen again for a while. Hopefuly he will be able to contact Michelle with his sage style advice in time to make sure that she doesn't jack things up for the inaguration.

Resolutions?

Above is a picture of my morning coffee which clearly demonstrates my failure to keep my black coffee resolution. Turns out, black coffee tastes like shit. who knew? Still trying to dump the Archie Bunker mess though, I just know it's gunna happen.


I heard some twink in Atlanta on the radio this morning complaining about the" bone chilling" 29 degree low temp, MAN UP, you baby.
Here's a picture of my neighbor's dryer vent. The Boy is trying to figure out how he can eat the whole thing without getting his tongue stuck. why??

It's so dang cold that the dog won't even go out. He prefers to piss on the bathroom rug where it's nice and warm. When I try to take him out he starts shaking and making a noise like a Phil Collins song just came on or something. What now? Garage for him too?

A Mother's Loving Gift

When the high temperature is less than zero it's pretty hard to drag their little asses out for that walk to school. I told them to not even think about crying because it'll only make their scrunched up little faces freeze.

Although they don't appreciate it now, I'm doing them a huge favor. I'm arming them with nuggets to lob at their own children. After today they will be able to preach that when they were little, they had to walk miles too and from school in blizzard conditions in sub-zero temps. See, it's a gift!! so stop whining already! Maybe tomorrow well discuss snotcicles.

I don't make them walk because I think it's character building, and please don't neglect that my frozen ass is out there twice as long because I have to come back home. Motherfuckin garage is still so full of shit (including a scoreboard and a giant popcorn machine--like the ones they have at the circus) that I can't even walk through there, much less park a car in there. This is winter #3 with no garage, but I hardly think about it at all!! And I NEVER GET MAD ABOUT IT!! NEVER, because all that scowling would give me wrinkles that a truckload of botox couldn't fix.
As a big surprise for Crazy McCrazy, this week I am getting an estimate on the cost of hauling all that shit away. I'm sure his screams of anguish will be heard on every continent, and I'll probably have to pack the kids up and leave town for a few days to allow him to grieve and find someone else to blame.

Resolutions

It was so easy to make a resolution when I was a smoker, every year I said I was going to quit, right up until I actually did. Now I have to give it some thought. OK:

1. Start drinking my coffee black. All those whores in my office keep stealing my cream, so I'll show them! I'll learn to like it that way!! damn it!

2. Loose the 300 lbs I've been dragging around for the last 10 years or so. There. It's done. I've resolved to do it. Maybe I'll ship him to Mexico and just let him stay drunk down there.
Feel free to advise, you freaking mutes. Can we maybe set him up with someone's sister or cousin that we don't like that much to begin with??

2nd grade affairs of the heart

Not to be outdone by her younger sib, Miss H. also has a love interest, or perhaps even two.

One she openly admits to liking (under the sacred vow to never tell her brother, sealed with a pinky promise). He was her kindergarten sweetheart, and despite his departure to the greener pastures of home schooling, the flame is still alive. Why homeschooling? So that that his somewhat non-traditional family can spend half the year in their other home in Hawaii. YAHOO!! She'll always need a chaperone! KEEP IT GOIN' BABY!

Boy of interst #2 is referred to by Miss H. as her "arch enemy". His name is Magnus. If you're going to have an arch enemy, he might as well be called Magnus, it is much more menacing than say, Triston. Miss H. grumbles about him daily, with complaints like "he makes me chase him". " So if you can't stand him, why do you chase him?" I ask. "Well, he just makes me!" Duh! And for all of their grand enmity, they still insist on inviting the other to their parties, even when the hammer comes down for abbreviated guest lists.

Kindergarten Skank

Just as soon I learned to be open minded and accepting of Maria, the holder of "Preschool Skank" label, here comes the new little ho, Sidney.
The Boy no longer fancies Maria because she snitched on him for playing Pokemon at nap time, and now its all about Sidney, Sidney, blah blah blah.
"Sidney likes to play Legos and blocks, not all that girly stuff" says The Boy. Yea, right. I know your tricks 'lil Miss Sidney! you stole him away from Maria, and soon you'll probably invite him over for a playdate and try to woo him further with some macceroni and cheese, and next thing you know, you'll be swaping more than pokemon cards. Well just know I'm watching you, little Skeezer Sidney!!

Wrestling Midgets

Once upon a time in darkest Indiana:

When I was in undergrad a few years ago (shut up Whale, it wasn't' that long ago) I worked as a waitress at the Hilton hotel. Every New Year's Eve there was some big pro wrestling show at The Dome. The wrestlers stayed either at the Hilton or at the nearby Hyatt, which was on the other side of the expressway.
After their show, the wrestlers would usually drink tequila shots in the lounge at Hilton until they were very drunk, all of them from Andre The Giant to the littlest little person.
One year, about 8 of the midgets got stuck without transportation from the Hilton to the Hyatt. Since I was the only sober person with a car, the manager asked me to give them a lift, because they were starting to run through their routine in the lobby. He promised me preferential scheduling through all eternity if I would grant this one small favor.
Well. It's pretty hard for a waitress in a tux shirt and bow tie to heard and jam 8 drunken midgets into a crappy college student's Honda, but since they are small, they all eventually fit into my piece-o-shit zero-to-sixty-in-10-minutes chariot. Soon after our departure, I rolled through a stop sign and was subsequently pulled over by a vigilant state trooper.
The officer shone his light into my car, then he was quiet for a pretty long time. Next he asked me what I was doing, and I told him "I'm just driving these midgets back to their hotel, sir". Then he asked me if I had been drinking, and I said "no but the midgets are pretty drunk". Then he stood there staring for a bit longer before telling me to go on my way.
I wonder if he ever shared his experience with anybody, or did he decide it was all in his head? Also, it ought to be noted that the bit about "preferential scheduling" was about as much bullshit as "of course I'll still respect you in the morning".

Happy New Year

See what you can do when you vacation someplace warm? If I tried this at home I'd have a hangover and frostbite. Believe it or not, that's not actually me in the above photo, I'd never get caught looking like that. My thong is made of diamond chips and platinum, and is much more elegant. Additionally, I only drink single malt scotch from crystal highball glasses, not that swill that my idol above consumed.

Texas was our holiday destination. I did feel a little left out in Dallas, in that I don't have a Louis Vuitton handbag, and apparently everyone else in the metropolitan area does. The precious bags are transported in hulking SUVs or club-cab pick-up trucks from one massive shopping mecca to the next.

It would have been a nearly perfect holiday but for that asshole I accidentally married. I'm pretty sure he's got mad cow disease, because he's got the serious crazy in the brains, which seems to be getting progressively worse. I am awaiting notification that my own Archie Bunker has been banned from the home of yet another relative for his general rudeness and otherwise unacceptable behavior. That's getting as routine as unpacking after a trip involving being a houseguest. Oh well....better that a swarm of locusts.

In order to keep his suitcase from being overweight, my man opted to not get me a Christmas gift. On Christmas Eve he thoughtfully informed me that since he had gotten me a fugly suit appropriate for an octogenarian twice my size back in October, that he had met his gift giving obligation. asshole. How about like, a candle or something?? anything. A tube of toothpaste even--wrap something and put it under the tree you giant scrotum.

I did manage to find material happiness by buying myself a cowboy hat which is quite fetching, as well as the iphone application called "ifart", the later making me immensely popular with the nephews.