Freaking Ridiculous

My brain blew into a million little pieces because:

  • Bill from idiotic doctor: Just got a bill from Doogie Howser; he charged me $28 to walk through his office to the lab. Which he doesn’t own. The independent lab bill has been paid. Have always “walked” free. Times may be tough, dude, but you aren’t getting a penny from me. <sticking tongue out at dumb doc>
  • Liar, liar, magazine on fire: Waiting for another appointment, I thumbed through a recent fashion magazine. One feature focused on how make up can make you look so rested. Then I saw the before/after of the woman in the photos. I knew her. She had everything from the shoulders up “redone” by a plastic surgeon before the photo shoot. Of course, the magazine failed to mention that , instead crediting her bright mug to new lipstick and blush. What a bunch of crapola! If you choose to believe it, the make up will cost you $30,000.
  • Running into old boyfriends: In the past few months, I’ve run into an unreasonable number of one of my friend’s old boyfriends. Better hers than mine, but this is getting ridiculous. Note to friend: run into your own old boyfriends. Thank you.
  • “So all you are going to do is work the rest of your life?” and “We are worried about you, financially”: Two comments, different friends. Note to friends: Here’s my bank account number; feel free to make large deposits frequently. Then I will be able to sashay about the planet and you won’t worry. Win-win.
  • Lose weight by watching tv:  If you want to lose your appetite, turn on Strange Addictions. I’m sorry these people do what they do. Even if you have a stomach of steel, five minutes into this show will, at the very least, produce some serious gagging and an aversion to snacking between meals. Wretched.
  • “Your wait will be 18 seconds.”: Groovy! Got this customer service message yesterday when calling about insurance. Change that message! Waited 20 minutes and then instructed to leave a voice message. Yeah, right. Customer service, my ass.
  • Phone rings. “Hello?”:  “What are you doing?” Oh, accepting the Nobel Peace Prize, building a rocket in the kitchen, rotating my tires …. I am answering the damn phone. And I thought it was obvious. Meh!

Enough! Ranting is no way to start the day. Better go check my bank account for large deposits.

Cockeyed optimist, I am!

Later.

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Crazy Soup: Stir Often

There must be a sign somewhere on my bod that says, “Say anything to me, especially if I don’t know you.” I am a magnet for unsolicited information. My ears are physically diminutive,  but I guess they work really well. And my momma raised me to be polite, so ear plugs and/or stink eyes are not an option. The tales from this week:

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  • The first words out of her mouth were, “I don’t like people.” The stranger was talking to me, so I just nodded my head and let her roll.  An hour later – and yes, she talked to me for an hour – I just couldn’t give her a hall pass. She was happy, attractive, socially active, had a big girl job, and was married. She even showed me her serious tattoo-in-progress (not my request, but wth). How does she think she got here? Via at least one person and turkey baster. And she’s married to a person. She works with and for a lot of people. And she said she was so glad to meet me. I’m a people. Sheesh!
  • “I called the lady a “bitch” so the church is kicking me out for not giving money.” This, from a very agitated, sweetly challenged woman pacing the grounds where I walk my dog. I tried to calm her down, telling her it wasn’t much of a church if she gets kicked out for not giving money but it might behoove her not to yell “bitch” thereUsing the word “behoove” distracted her, she ran off to find a dictionary. She was calmer. And I have no idea who the church lady/bitch is.
  • “How was your weekend?”. Feeling snarky, I replied, “Well, got robbed, beaten,  and fell in a hole.” The reply was, “That’s nice.” That happens a lot. Not the rob, beat, fall but the response. Don’t ask someone a question if you don’t want to hear the answer. Really.
  • “These squirrels really like the peanuts I give them”.  This, from my neighbor who has dementia and leaves “styrofoam peanuts” around all the trees in the area. “Yep, they seem to love them but too many might kill them.” The landscapers are forever collecting squirrel carcasses after a styro binge. “Nope, the squirrels like to nap after eating my peanuts”. Nap my ass.

Good grief!

Later.

Weirdos and Words: Get Your Freak On

I love words. Which means I am a logophile. Have used this as my defense every time I get a message from WWF player calling bs on my submission. Bam! I love words. Sue me.

It could be much worse. Sharing ….

alektorophilia – obsession with roosters or chickens

gynotikolobomassophile – nibbler of women’s earlobes

harpaxophilia – affinity for getting robbed

apodysophilia – “feverish desire to undress”

An apodysophiliac might want to meet a clinophiliac because the clino has a passion for beds. Ok, no more matchmaking.

labeorphily – student and collector of beer bottle labels

pogonophile – beard lover

spermophile – “member of family of seed-loving rodents”; this one is weird. I know a lot of rodents, but they are human and drive cars. Must ask if they eat seeds.

If you are a logophile, there’s a great new iPhone app, Wordy, The Logophile’s Primer. The word for today is ““grindhouse“. I thought it was maybe a mill for grits but no …. a grindhouse is a “low-budget film theater that shows primarily exploitation films”. Nevermind.

Now I’m bored. The word for that is “flighty“.

Later.

*Don’t take your kids to a grindhouse to see Mary Poppins. Not gonna happen.

So Proud, So Very Proud

Not. So. Much. The recent search terms used to find this spot are … strange. See for yourself:

piised off quotes (Spell check, anyone?)

what dose it mean if a bird poos on your head (It means you can’t spell)

pms or entitlement (Neither, thank you)

one flew over the cuckoo’s nest Martini disorder (Good excuse to stay home from work)

roll tide in the Bible (Not to my knowledge, but ask Nick Saban)

it juzz like exploded or sumfin (Drugs kill brain cells or sumfin)

yodel hostess (Where and salary info, please)

adult needlepoint (As opposed to ….?)

pantyhose in the mouth (Food Channel recipe?)

caning over girdle (Not a preference)

jack in the box meditation (Hamburger, hamburger, hamburger….)

hores writing (Get a dictionary, please)

shut up. i’m mad (Shut up, yourself)

what are scary hairies (Ask your mother)

There were others – pickle sniffers, watermelon treefox poop. My favorite, which sums up this entire “search list” …. banshee crazy.

Later. Maybe.

Should, Could, Probably Won’t

Oh My! Lent begins tomorrow and I’ve yet to figure out what to do. Am “supposed” to give up at least one thing in the spirit of sacrifice, but giving up is not an option at this point. There are too many things I could and/or should give up or do …. hmm …

  1. Do not contemplate existence at night: really am going to try this as trying to figure anything out after dark does not serve me well.
  2. Use the phone: the biggest complaint about me (to my face) is that I live in a no-phone zone. Meaning I don’t call anyone much. Not because I don’t want to talk, I do. My phone phobia is a result of a past job wherein I was required to answer my home phone, office phone, cell phone and a beeper at all hours. And no, I wasn’t a bail bondsman or bounty hunter.  Am getting a bit better … inch by inch … maybe … occasionally … not so much?
  3. Stop eating chocolate: not. going. to. happen.
  4. Stop eating fast food: this is a cheat, I don’t eat fast food.
  5. Stop flipping off idiot drivers: better do this; it’s just a matter of time until my middle finger is blown off by a driver packing heat. Note to self: turn the sass down when on road.
  6. Stop spending: oh, this could be good. Notice to mortgage company and any other business that requires me to bleed money – I’m giving up the bills for Lent. Love ya, mean it.
  7. Take dog on long walk: up for consideration … Australia, the Great Wall of China, Ohio …..
  8. Find balance: really. If you know where this is, please advise.

So much to do, so little time.

Dashing.

Be happy. It’s a choice. A hard choice for me, sometimes, but a choice nonetheless.

Plastic Surgeon FREAKED Me Out

I went to see the best plastic surgeon in town … on a lark. If you had access to my bank statements, you’d know it was a lark. I’m a cat, curious and skittish. But more curious. And I wanted to see what this man would say to me. He’s known for “Sleeping Beauties”, performing facial surgery on women who, when recovered, look like they’ve had the best rest ever. And they don’t have those crazy Jack Nicholson eyebrows – the first tipoff that somebody’s been under the knife.

Made a consultation appointment and appeared at the correct time. After very little paperwork, I was ushered into surgeon’s office. He was nice. But he’s in his seventies and had no grey hair and very few wrinkles. Oh yeah, he’s a plastic surgeon. And here’s how it went:

Doc: “What are you here for?”

Me: “Well, you have an excellent reputation and I’ve admired your work. Am not loving the fine lines around my mouth and wanted to know what you would do?” (Why does he keep putting his left hand under his desk?)

Doc: “Well, you have a long neck so I would do a neck somethingorother and then a midline facelift. You don’t need body work.” (How would you know? I’m fully clothed sitting across the desk from you.)

Me: “My neck? Facelift? Draw me a picture.” (And stop putting your hand under the desk)

He proceeded to draw the scariest picture of the side of a head with stitches and scars everywhere. Enough!

Me: “That looks terrifying, not to mention the recovery would be heinous.”

Doc: “I’ll throw in the upper eyelids for $1000.”

Me: “Upper eyelids … I don’t even wear mascara. What? Forget the eyes, how much for the stuff you suggested?”

Doc: “blablablablablabla”.

Me: “So you’re talking $20,000 walking? Are you f-ing kidding me? No offense, and I realize it’s your job, but ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

Doc: “No, and you’ll probably need tweaking in about eight years. Show me your stomach.”

Like a moron, I pulled up my shirt and showed him my stomach. What in the living hell did a midline facelift+ have to do with my stomach? I must be on Candid Camera.

Me: “Thank you for your time. You’ve confirmed my intention to age gracefully = no knives near me unless eating. But good luck – for every one of me, there’s ten you”ll “fix”. Yeah, you!”

And for the record, Dr. Demento, keep your hands where I can see’em AND hahaha, my stomach is none of your business, surgically speaking.

Oh, and if I decide to take him up on his offer in the next year, my consultation fee will be deducted from the 20K. I have happily eaten $75 with my own knife and fork.

Later.

*Unlike Nora Ephron, I feel great about my neck!

I Would Marry My Dog if He Could Talk and Screw in a Light Bulb

And a few other things … but that’s the truth. And, that’s exactly what I said to the last man who asked. When I get the “I thought you’d be remarried by now!” and the “Why aren’t you remarried yet? stuff, I’m very honest. I was married for 20 years, it didn’t work out. While I’ve had relationships since, none have been worth a lifetime commitment. Doesn’t mean it won’t ever happen, just that I can’t be a nurse and won’t be purse. Kooky? Yes. Stupid? Not so much. Until then, it’s me and him …..

Get me a beer, pronto!

Onto other kooky stuff –

I was in a great shop yesterday. A cute mom and her daughter, a blonde version of Holly Golightly, came in. “Holly” wanted to try on a few things while Mom took a seat for the fashion show. Do you know what a “hanger” is? The female human version usually has broad shoulders, is thin, and can wear anything. “Holly” was a hanger, so her options were endless. While Mom told me her life story as well as those focusing on the health of her extended family, “Holly” rocked the racks.

In the middle of this personal/retail therapy situation, in blew our town’s version of Mr. Fabulous (think Martin Short as Franck inFather of the Bride and/or the enthusiastic(!) Kevin Lee on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills). But our Mr. Fab is very attractive and has better bs. Nevertheless, it was double air kisses all around and he added levity to the therapy show. Mom’s stories were getting sadder and sadder, so I was damn glad to see him. When “Holly” came out in her 47th outfit (I kid you not), Fab turned to me and said, “Your top is amazingly beautiful”. So, being the truthful sort, I announced to the whole store, “I got it at Walmart and it cost $9.” Shut it down, shut it down, SHUT IT DOWN!

At the mention of Walmart, Mr. Fab had to dash. Mom and “Holly” weren’t far behind, not because of Walmart, but because the racks were now bare and Mom was about to gnaw her left arm off as she was starving. As for me, I just chalked it up to yet another adventure, drove home and collapsed after walking and feeding Himself. He didn’t give a bone what I’d been through.

When reviewing yesterday, I’ve come to several conclusions. Mom needed to talk and I listened. Next time, I’m charging for it. Mr. Fabulous is always in a good mood. “Holly” had a big time.  I’m keeping my fashion secrets to myself. And am rethinking dog marriage; he’s like the others, just wants to be fed. Thank God, sex is not in the equation.

Some adventures aren’t all they are cracked up to be. And a lot of people are cracked.

Be happy. It’s a choice.

Later.