Catching up!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!