...For my friend, Jujetta...

('Cuz I know you would've enjoyed such an observation...)

At a party on Saturday evening (first time out for me & my husband in eons!), I bellied up to the bar and soaked in everything going on around me. I took particular delight in the discussion taking place between "the guys." It was quite amusing... especially at one point:

Our host, Jack Daniels (no kidding - that was the guy's name!) made a point of finding out where he had left his drink. Upon finding it, he returned to his discussion with my husband, who asked, "What are you drinking?" Jack answers, "Champagne!" To which my husband responds, "Aaahhh... you like the 'Champipple!' and chuckles to himself. Not knowing my husband all too well, nor what he was even talking about, Jack thinks that Dan is asking for a specific brand, year, what-have-you of champagne or wine. Nervously giggling, he looks at Dan and says, "Uh, n-n-o-o-o-o... don't have that one... but I DO have a Chateau d'eau vin meaureaumont (something-or-other-blah-blah-blah) if you want. I can get that out?!?!?" hoping he can appease my "conniseur of wine" husband. . . NOT! (he's a pure Bud-man!). Much to Jack's relief, Dan 'fesses up, "No. . . CHAMPIPPLE! Part champagne, part Ripple... you know, from Sanford & Son!!!" Relieved that he didn't fail to come through for a fellow fine-wine lover, Jack immediately loses it, recognizing the line from the sitcom. The whole gaggle of men proceed to bust chops with laughter. Dan, going even further, with his Woody (Aunt Esther's husband) impersonation, "Now Fr-r-r-r-e-e-e-e-d... you know I don't drink..."

Wished you were there to share. Soon...

All in a day's work

Another late night. I figured this one would be a 'bust'. "Scholarship Nite" at a local car dealership. In year's past, I would've tossed the invitation in the garbage and not give it a second thought. But, when your numbers are down, and you have a new boss, etc., you worry that your absence will be duly noted at such events. What if all the other colleges show but us? That'll look reeeeeeeeeeal bad. Okay, I'll go. At the very least, I won't have to stay all the way 'til the end. . . 8:30 pm.

A bust, for sure. Nobody official to greet me. In fact, when I approached one of the employees and told him what college I was from, he replied jokingly(?), "You are??? Well then get outta heeeeere..." Not laughing, I said, "Okay. No arguement here." But then he directed me to set up my stuff at a table. Well, only one other college bothered to show up. One of our major competitors, so I guess it was good that I came along. Nah... it wouldn't have mattered. Of the few people who came, nobody cared about us colleges, they just wanted the money from the scholarship contest (screwiest rules I've ever seen, by the way!).

Having decided I would put up with this for 1-hour max, I settled in at my table and tried to get comfortable with my surroundings. I think that all the salesmen's wives were in there with their little rugrats (shoulda been my first clue). Lotsa balloons, popcorn (second clue?), and appetizers. Yeah, I chatted with one or two potential prospective students/parents... but who knows?

I suffered the ticking minute-hand by making idle chit-chat with my colleague, I'll call her Ms. Brown ('cuz she was decked out in brown clothing) who was standing in front of my table. She was a little rough around the edges. Not your typical college rep --- which makes her a perfect fit for the school she recruits for. But, who am I to judge? She was at least nice enough to pass the time with, I guess... and we both shared giggles about our wasted evening.

Suddenly, Ms. Brown stopped in the middle of her sentence. She was no longer looking at me, but beyond me. Her jaw dropped as she said, "I don't believe this..." I turn my head only to see an organ grinder wheeling in his GIANT organ apparatus... complete with a monkey (in diapers) on his shoulder. Immediatley the wailing circus music began (do-do-doodle-loodo-do-do-do-do!) The rugrats went NUTS! The organ grinder, decked out in leider-hosen(sp) looked like the Jim Carey character from Dumb & Dumber... with "summer" teeth! I snapped my head around to Ms. Brown and proclaimed, "I'm SO outta here!" and stood up and immediately began packin' up my wares.

Ms. Brown was seething with envy at my decision. For, unfortunately, her table was right in front of the carnival act. The rugrats had set down their McDonald's Hi-C cups on top of her school banner, along with plates of cheese cubes and diced pepperoni, and bags of popcorn. "I'm trapped!" she freaked, looking at me helplessly. I said to her, "Watch this!" I turned around and started moving all the little kids stuff off of the banner while the mom's stood there taking pictures of the 'freak show.' Nobody noticed a thing. Tossed Ms. Brown her banner and said, "Let's go!" The gentleman coordinating the scholarship contest came up to me and jests, "Okay, ladies... you're the next act! Whaddya gonna do?" I replied, "We're gonna do a "disappearing act!" And with that, we were gone.

I'm so afraid to go to sleep tonight. I just know I'm giong to be visited by chattering, diapered monkeys in my dreams. Where's the 'window pane' when you need it?!?!?! SO creepy!

"Everything BY the Kitchen Sink"

OK... here goes (deep breath).

One late summer's eve, just after dinner, I was winding down the day by doing the dishes. It was warm, I recall, because I didn't have much on. Just my bum-around-the-house tank-sleeve dress. That's all. No socks. No shoes. No bra. No paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanties. Hey! What the hell. It was just me and my husband. No need to be presentable. Plus, it was HOT!

Who can remember what was for dinner that evening? Not I. But it must not have been something that agreed with me. I'm pluggin' away at the dishes, humming a l'il tune to make the time pass. And, to entertain myself even further (so EASY to do), I start adding a little TOOTIN' to my song. Every song needs a rhythm section, no? Before long, I'm just lettin' some good ones r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-i-i-i-i-i-i-p. Did Dick Goddard predict a good ol' fashioned thunderstorm for that evening? "Winds aloft!"

"Winds of change" was more like it. For my last 'blast' delivered a shock to my body as I immediately froze in standing position in front of the kitchen sink... dinner towel and plate in hand. A wave of terror spread throughout my bloodstream. Something had gone very... very wrong.

I looked down at my big toe. There was a brown spot on it. I looked at the cotton-rag rug I was standing on in front of the kitchen sink. An even larger brown stain... and one to match on the kitchen floor right next to the rug! Inside my head I screamed: "OMIGOD!!! I JUST SHIT MYSELF!!!" Still paralyzed with fear, and embarrassed -- my husband was nearby in the living room -- I just stood there thinking, "What the HELL do I do NOW?!?!?!?!?!" I was afraid to move for fear that more would leak out. Then, the smell... the horror. It began to waft up into my nostrils. Something had to be done now. Soon, the smell would drift into the living room. I couldn't have Dan smell it. I began to wonder if he noticed that my humming and "whistling while I worked" came to an abrupt halt, only to be met with immediate silence.

I scrunched my buttocks together as tight as I could and shuffled my feet to the left a few steps so I could grab hold of the paper towel roll. I just started yanking and yanking the roll, as if grabbing for a life preserver tossed from boat. I wadded up a BUNCH of towels and shoved 'em between by legs. PHEW! That'll hold... for awhile, at least. What now?

I looked down at the cotton-rag braided rug. No savin' that thing. Fortunately, a Wal-Mart find that didn't even total $2. I chucked it out the door into the garage, hoping Dan wouldn't find the need to go outside for about the next 15minutes. Next... the kitchen floor. Fortunately my bleach wipes were nearby. Took care of business with that. This was all happening at lightning speed, mind you, as I felt another wave of evil coming on. I fought it until the last spot was wiped off the floor. I could hold back no longer. I ran (if you could call it that) past the living room, down the hallway, holding the wad of paper towels between my legs, whining something to the tune of "Ooooooooohhhh Noooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!" Only to hear my husband yell from the living room: "DID YOU SHITCHER SELF?!?!?!?!?!"

It was only then that my fear turned to laughter. I collapsed onto the throne and busted out in laughter. Thinking to myself, that's what I get for being an imbecilic, immature, moron!!! Next time, I'll make sure to keep it to just whistling... and save the rest for the rhythm section!

I AM TECHTARD

...hear me r-r-r-r-o-a-rrrrrrr!!!

I just tried a half-dozen times to get online. I then looked down and reaized that I forgot to turn on the motem switch. uh-DUH!

Sweet Justice

My husband is a creature of habit, rarely straying from his daily routine. When he comes home from work, the first thing he does is peel off his work uniform. Wait - let me back up. FIRST, he takes his wallet out of his pants, puts it on top of the dresser, then takes off his security badge and puts it on top of the wallet. ALWAYS!

5:30AM - his ETD for work, I'm still in bed, but am half-awake, listening to him prepare to leave, waiting for my good-bye kiss. I hear more rustling of objects than usual... then, a few cuss words. *SIGH* Okay, apparently there's a crisis afoot. The overhead light snaps on (more cussing) and I finally come to, calmly asking, "What's wrong?" "CAN'T FIND MY BADGE!!!"
OK - that's a big deal. He's tearing apart all the crap on top of his dresser, frantic! I, to no avail, am trying to help. "IT'S ALWAYS ON TOP OF MY WALLET!" Translation: You must have moved it! Now, I remember dusting the top of that dresser drawer yesterday, seeing the wallet, and NOT seeing any badge on top of it. It simply wasn't there. I, of course, attempt to tell him this in his state of frenzy, but nothing is helping. "I CAN'T EVEN GET INTO THE BUILDING WITHOUT IT!!!" Now, he's on his knees, trying to look underneath the dresser drawer. "I THINK I HEARD SOMETHING FALL!!!" Now I'M on the floor looking. We see nothing. I'm exasperated, because I'm now thinking that somehow, this is all going to be MY fault! I start digging through the hamper, checking worn shirts from last week to see if the badge is still clipped on. I suggested he check his coat pocket??? I DUNNO?!?!?!?!?! He storms down the hall, ripipng through his coat pockets... then cheerily announces, "HERE IT IS!!!! O yea, I took it off when I went to my doctor's appointment and put it in my pocket!"

After all this commotion, he remembers to come back and give me my good-bye kiss. I oblige, and look forward to our phone conversation when he has to 'come clean' and admit that I had absolutely nothing to do w/this one. Yep... aaaaaaaall his doing! Thank YOU! And now, I am going to commence with MY morning routine, hopefully in a more calm manner!

FuckBumble

There's this guy that I (wish I didn't) know. For the purposes of this blog, I shall call him 'FuckBumble'. Actually, I call him that blog or no blog. You have a FuckBumble in your life. Everybody does. He's that big, over-grown, OAF of a man (and you use the term 'man' loosely - 'cuz he lacks the confidence that makes a man a 'man') who, with his constant and incessant, and annoying BANTER, likes to let people know he's around. Starting to get a clear picture? See...I told you you had a 'FuckBumble' in your world. My 'FuckBumble' walks funny too. In fact, that's sorta how I developed the FB monniker... by watching him walk one day. My soft breath quietly exhaled, "F-u-u-u-u-u-u-c-k-B-u-u-u-u-u-m-b-l-e..." and it stuck. It's quite fitting. FuckBumble thinks he's SMART too! O boy does he ever! And, he probably is...but his 100% assoholic demeanor completely washes out that trait. It's like, if he ever came up with the idea to have peace on Earth, for example, he wouldn't be able to deliver the solution without making you walk away thinking, "Boy, what a Jack-Hole! What the hell was he babbling about anyway?!??!" While FuckBumble watches your retreat, thinking that he just floored and impressed the hell outta you by sharing his God-given knowledge. I hate FuckBumble. In fact, the only reason I choose to write about FuckBumble is that, while online today, I found a picutre that reminded me of him. You see, the other notable thing about FuckBumble...he needs new shirts. The shirts donned by FuckBumble have CAKED YELLOW STAINS in the armpits!!! ALL OF THEM! It is the grossest thing!!! There is nothing worse than when you find yourself in a situation where your FORCED to talk to FuckBumble, and he leans back, puts his arms up and interlaces his fingers behind his head... CAKESTAINS - 12:00! You'd think FuckBumble's wife would know better. But then again, maybe she does! Does your FuckBumble look like my FuckBumble?

Starting a new roll...

So...as I reviewed my past blog entries, I thought to myself, "Surely there is something to talk about other than POOP?!?!?!?" Fear not, I'll come back to it. But I must differentiate my topics. Hell...who cares if it's a total bore. Whose blog ISN'T boring (is that the correct usage...'whose'? Again, who cares). OK...I be back...