Bucket List Antithesis

There’s not a bucket big enough to hold all I want to do. But here are a few things I never want to do again:

  • Get stuck in small space with overserved man who has just inhaled a handful of chocolates: Don’t shake your head and wonder how this happened. It did. And the space was immediately filled with overwhelmingly heinous fumage. Would have fainted dead away, but space too small and I’m too polite (ha!). Had no choice but to stop, drop, and roll into a ditch. Still gagging.
  • Eat green peas and/or liver: More gagging. If I am on a desert island and all there is to eat are green peas and/or liver, I take this back. Note to self: no boat rides.
  • Register for “Do Not Call” lists: What a total waste of time. You crafty telemarketers and your “anonymous” and “private caller” handles! And for the managers of all “Do Not Call” lists, YOU’RE FIRED!
  • Reply to comment, “What country are you from because you don’t look like an American.”: Final answer: “I am a conehead. From France. Merde!
  • Work for people who are missing several teeth in the front of their mouths: If you have a “thriving” business, you can afford to go to the dentist and get some chompers. My experience with you tells me your business is anything but thriving because my paycheck bounced AND you don’t have a mirror. Basta!

Off to mind my own business.

What are your “never agains”?

Later.

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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.

Here’s to You, and You, and You

Just getting it off my chesticles:

  • To 32-year-old civil rights lawyer with really long hair: love your job, long hair is cool, dancing at event is fun but anything else, NO CAN DO! Not a fan of Harold and Maude situations. Give Demi Moore a jingle when she gets to feeling better. Caio!
  • To woman who asks me my name despite the fact we’ve met 346 times: none of your business, obviously. Get off the meds, you’ve lost whatever mind you had.
  • To the waiter from hell on his first night: bless your heart. You got a 20% tip because we felt sorry for you. Please, in the name of all diners, seek a new occupation. Art school? Banjo player in Vegas? Anything BUT waiting tables.  Thank you.
  • To the woman who thinks she knows it all: oh no you don’t! Go to the hardware store, buy some duct tape and put it over your mouth. Then go to the compassion store and clear the shelves. Haven’t the faintest where you can get a conscience, but wouldn’t be a bad idea to look into that, either.
  • To my dog: yes, I love you to the moon and back. I take better care of you than I do myself.  But you must stop creeping around eating God knows what in the middle of the night. Waking up to the sound of gagging does not put a festive spin on the day. Thank you.
  • To the woman who used to tidy up my house and empty my liquor cabinet: all is forgiven, it is a heinous job. I would get drunk, too, but alas … you drank me dry. Nevermind.
  • To all the nice friends we ran into at the “no one goes there” restaurant: that was not me in the baseball cap. Evil twin. Swear.
  • To Amazon, Kindle, Nook and other businesses selling/delivering books to iPad, etc.: stop blaming “the publishers” for the inflated book prices. You could do something about this if you wanted to, but you know how lazy we are. Stop It. While the product is convenient, it is usually riddled with weirdo spaces and funky words. STOP IT. Note to self: get up and go to the bookstore. Stop the madness. You should be ashamed of yourself. I am. Over.
  • To the Food Channel: I became an addict a few days after 9/11 … because your spot was all happiness and recipes and a total escape. Please lose “Fat Chef”. No disrespect meant to the plight of the obese but sad doesn’t look good on you. Make a deal with Lifetime or Bravo. Thank you.

Enough ranting.

Off to find my happy pants!

Later.

If It’s Tuesday, I Am Freaky

75 and feeling fine

What freaks you out?

After reading a post about hotels by domermom, I was immediately reminded of things that go ick in the night. Starting with hotels – five-star or no star – hotel rooms freak me out. When I enter one, there are activities I am forced to perform. First, get hanger out of closet and remove bedspread using hanger. Toss anywhere out of view. Not a fan of gizz monsters/leftovers. Unpack socks. Lots of socks. Which come in handy when I need to walk on hotel room floor. There is no way in hell I would put my bare foot down on the carpet. See “leftovers”. Unpack flip-flops – for shower. Flush toilet with foot. I’m freaky that way.

Other Stuff that Gags Me

  • Food troughs, as in all-you-can-eat establishments
  • Sitting in traffic and looking over at the car next to me. The driver is digging for nose gold.
  • My dog trying to cozy up to my minimal chesticles. I didn’t breastfeed my babies; he is freaking me out.
  • Smells: scrambled eggs, wet puppies, ground beef cooking, chicken boiling, cig smoke in cars, b.o., Asiago cheese
  • People scratching their privates in public – get a room
  • Chaos – some people love an environment filled with ringing phones, slamming doors, loud convos – all fine, but not for me
  • Borrowing from Peter to pay Paul (I do this regularly)
  • Intentional disrespect – i.e. ugly scuffle on DWTS last night, Bitches Housewives of Beverly Hills always ganging up on one woman

Enough! Let’s end this on a positive note! Playing Words With Friends the other night, Lady Di used “ergo“; I LOVE that word. Other faves include scathing, magical, lilting, and – when strung together – you have just won 100 billion dollars. Haven’t heard that last one yet. Ergo, I’d best get back to work.

Later.

Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got A Lovely ……

 

If you are easily offended, please do not read this post; come back another day. You have been warned. 🙂

Got an email a couple of weeks ago that promised to make me laugh. All I had to do was watch the You Tube video. It features part of a BBC show, apparently about the Brown family. When the title is, “Mrs. Brown Gets A Bikini Wax“. I love British humor; despite the fact that “bikini wax” in the title is a bit much, of course I looked it up and watched. And laughed my self silly. Should you need a good laugh and are a bit twisty, please watch it to the very end. You can find it here:

I’m a link loser so just go straight to You Tube and type in the show title. Oh, don’t complain, like that’s a bunch of trouble.

Speaking of losing, since I have taken on the odious chore of cleaning my house, I have found lots of surprises. Each day I discover something amiss. Today, it was the shower door.  Most of the time, I shower downstairs. My shower exerts as much pressure as a new-born baby. But I was in a hurry. Have worn glasses for about a month. Looked at the shower door, which is all glass, as I got in. It had been cleaned with a Brillo pad and looks like a cat with metal claws went into a glass-slashing frenzy. Who in their right mind would do that?

Delving into my kitchen cabinets, I found all sorts of cutlery and dishes that were obviously removed from the dishwasher and put away – but the dishwasher was never used. GROSS.

Later, I went to my liquor cabinet. Never go there unless I’m having company … and happy pills treat me much better than moonshine. When I opened the door, I saw a slew of empty bottles: tequila, scotch, bourbon, gin, vodka. Of course, my first thought went to my girls. Wrong. They are of age and live elsewhere. Who in the world drained all the liquor bottles?

I pondered these mysteries while walking Cooper earlier. And ran into my friend, E. We chatted and I complained about house cleaning, glass slashing and the missing adult beverage material. She gave me a look that said, “HELLO!” I always wondered why my former house helper had a hard time getting to her car at the end of the day. And that also explains the glass door mess, the dishwasher that wasn’t allowed to do its job, and all the gouges in my walls and woodwork.  There was a cocktail party, attended by one, every week at mi casa. God knows, house cleaning is wretched, but get drunk after work, like everybody else.

Dumber than a bag of hammers, I am was. I once was blind but now I have glasses. Which I accidentally wore into the shower today. Whatev.

Off to bed now as I must get up at three a.m. to attend the Royal Wedding. I wonder if Mrs. Brown was invited?

 Nighty Noodles.

Later.

*Not a peep from Ms. DeGeneres … yet. 😦

You are the Reason I’m on Medication

 

Good Grief! Bear with me here – the three “situations” I attribute my need for medication to – are not the only reason(s) – I own my kookiness. Nevertheless, I was already thinking I needed to up my dosage after the last week. As of today, I know that’s right! Yikes!

  • People Who Have NEVER Had A Good Day and Don’t Think You Should, Either: “Who can take a sunrise and sprinkle it with dew doo doo?” Unhappy people, that’s who! Have you never heard Abe Lincoln’s saying, Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be?”  Didn’t think so.  God knows, I’ve been one unhappy person many a time and thought that therapy throwdowns like,Happiness comes from within” and “Happiness is a choice” were pure horse shit. Am happy to say I believe those words and there is nothing horsey about them. Here’s something to chew on, Eeyores: Carlos Castaneda said,“The trick is in what one emphasizes. We either make ourselves miserable or make ourselves happy. The amount of work is the same.”

It’s no secret that I am right up there with the best of them in the Dating Hall of What The Hell? Don’t get me wrong, I have had some lovely relationships. On the other side of the coin, some have been anything but. What are the odds I would have encounters with two of the unlovely in one day? And, to quote my friend, Cowgirl, “it’s not even a full moon”?

Encounter #1:   Fueled by a need for food, I drove to Whole Foods. Got my little cart and headed to the prepared food area. I felt a presence near me at the counter, looked over, and there was one handsome man smiling at me. As I smiled back, I spotted an Ex examining the rotisserie chicken. I ducked because I know him to be a NUTJOB x 200. Last time I ran into him – at another grocery store – he grabbed me and tried to have a make out session in Aisle Two. Gross. When I instantly went from 5’7″ to 3’7″, cute guy evaporated. Had to duck walk to checkout. Checker asked me if I needed assistance. Told him I was practicing a new form of walking yoga. Totally legit in Whole Foods. Crawl into my car – feel shaken, not stirred. Woo Hoo!

Encounter #2:  Sitting at my desk, doing all sorts of things you do at your desk when you are unemployed, I hear the “zing” my phone makes when I get a text message. This is what I read: “You can run … but I will always find you!!” This, from another EX I haven’t seen or spoken to in a month of Sundays +. Read: no contact, period. Feeling shaken and stirred. Any more of those “zings” = Restraining Order. Good grief!

Is it any wonder I’ve deferred all dating decisions to Divine Intervention? And take happy pills? Off to supersize those puppies!

Later.

*Ellen DeGeneres has not contacted me about a job … yet. I still think she ‘s funny.

*Par-Tay, if you read this, please do not share with parentals or you will need to take out a restraining order on me. xo

How I Lost 250+ Lbs and a Bunch of Other Stuff in One Easy Step

Good Grief! My mom just called to rehash how lucky I am to be “unencumbered” by last year’s Cooking Partner. Tell me something I don’t know.  I was just texting my locksmith about my new safety situation. Just in case. 

Didn’t plan on writing about this, but when the inspiration presents itself, a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do. If you are expecting me to call him a big, fat, lying, creepy, tightwad con job – forget it. I’m taking the high road.

This was Round 3 with him. Round 1 ended with me thinking, “Maybe he has some serious issues“. Plus, I was in no shape to even make a grocery list, much less deal with man troubles. Round 2 was a tie; it left me thinking, “Wow. I can’t deal with his serious issues. Have enough of my own, thank you very much!” Round 3 – which lasted about 11 confusing months – ended as the holidays started. And I thought and will think forever, “HE AIN’T RIGHT IN THE HEAD”. Shoo!

Family and friends have threatened intervention AND a good, long stay in a mental ward if ever I speak to him again. AS IF. But, considering I did go three rounds with him, I understand where they are coming from. But friends and family, you have my word, I’d date a greased pig before that would happen. Correction: the similarities between mr. loser and greased pig are way too close; I’d rather date a … a … I’d rather live with 500 cats and watch Grey Gardens over and over and over again. Capice?

Back to mother, her nicest comment regarding the human lugnut included, “I think he was two-timing you.” Ya think? Crossed my mind many moons ago; also crossed recreational fun and games right off my “to do with CP” list. So sad, too bad, love dad. Gah! Gak!

Oh, meh! My high road isn’t as high as I thought. Ending this right now so I will not get ugly.

Later.

*If anyone spots a large loser with an Oriental rug, new luggage, gourmet cooking skills, and a bunch of other good stuff, please make a citizen’s arrest. He is an inventory criminal. Just look for a big old boy wearing fake topsider Crocs as dress shoes. Air-conditioned shoes …SO not cool. Oh yeah, and donate my stuff to Goodwill. Merci!

TTFN 🙂