Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Just Hop On The Bu$ Gus

Someone asked my husband what his reaction was the other night when Crazy Bus Riding Guy was following me around.

They questioned, "Paul, so were you mad or jealous that some guy was hitting on you wife?"

His response was, "Nope. I knew that he couldn't afford her."

Nice.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Weekend Update

Things I Learned This Weekend:

*You know how some companies offer sign up bonuses when wooing prospective new employees? In an attempt to increase vocations, they should do that in seminaries. Every seminarian who is less than six months away from being ordained a priest should get a shiny new Apple IPhone, complete with monthly service.

*You might think that a $250.00 restaurant gift certificate would be plenty to cover dinner for three women. Um...NO....You'd be wrong.....and my belly still hurts. More about this another day.

*I sat a table and shared lunch and stimulating conversation with the hubby and three priests (one is a very good friend) after a funeral on Saturday afternoon. When I told them how long hubby and I had been married (almost 17 years), they all came to a consensus stating that the secret to all lasting marriages is that at some point, all husbands develop a survival mechanism called "selective hearing." Apparently, they use this to "tune out" their wives and hold on to their sanity. I asked the hubby, "Is that true?" His response was, "WHAT?"
Smart ass.

*My friend, the priest, told me that he couldn't get me into heaven. Basically, he said that I am responsible for getting myself there...You know...by the way I live my life in the here and now. I asked him, "Well, how am I doing so far?" He shrugged and said, "Eh...pretty good." Hmmm.....not very convincing if you ask me. Maybe I should start being a little nicer to people. Anybody need to borrow any money??

*And on a more serious note, the last lesson of the weekend is: It doesn't matter how old you are, how old they are, or how sick they've been. To lose a parent is a terrible thing. If you still have one or both of yours in your life, be grateful.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

I Don't Want No Scrubs

It's been awhile, but it happened again.

I was hit on.

I think some women would have been flattered to find themselves in this situation.

Not me. I was annoyed.

Here's why:


* Never was, never will be, attracted to men whose hair is a homemade shade of "Big Bird" yellow.

* More often than not, I attract men who put the "tappy" in tapioca. This guy = NO EXCEPTION.

* Middle aged men who take the bus....Hmmmm. In the words of Shania Twain, "That don't impress me much."

* Unless you want to go home to Jesus way before your time, don't hit on a woman when you know (A) that she has a
husband and (B) that her husband is sitting six feet away. That just proves that you are as dumb as a stump. Really.

* I HAVE STANDARDS, DAMMIT!!!

* AND I DO NOT LOOK LIKE A HOBBIT!!!

* AND WHAT THE HELL??? WHY ARE MY ADMIRERS ALWAYS BAT-SHIT CRAZY??

* AND WHY, FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, DO THEY NEVER LOOK LIKE GEORGE CLOONEY??



Jeez, I swear. If I wasn't already married, the stress would drive me to join a convent!
Um...Does anyone know of a convent that incorporates high heeled shoes, designer bags, and five star dining as part of their regimen? Never mind.....BAD idea.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Do You Want An Eggroll With That?

I want a new job. I don't know if the specific job that I want is currently available, but I'm certainly going to look into it. Why do I want a new job, you ask? Well, do you know that saying, "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself?" Yeah, well that's pretty much why.

And specifically, what is the job that I'm SO sure that I can do better than anyone else?

Simple......I want be a FORTUNE COOKIE WRITER......Because lately, every crappy fortune cookie that I've gotten contains a message that has apparently been written by a big, honkin dumb ass.

Case in point.....Here is the fortune that I got today at a Chinese restaurant near work: "You will be showered with good luch."

I'm not a "luch" expert, but it sounds to me like it might be pretty damn STICKY....and I have really thick Portuguese hair. I'm convinced that it would take me an awful long time to rinse that shit out of my tresses. No thank you, Chinese people. You can pretty much shove that "luch" where the sun don't shine.

And, last week, I got a fortune that said: "If you can't beat em, join em."

Not quite sure who "em" is. Let's see....maybe be a group of topless pole dancers? Or, perhaps a group of hippie rebels who grow marijuana for "medicinal" purposes? Um... I thinking that I'd better leave em' to their own devises as I am pretty sure that hubby would be pissed off if he had to bail my 39 year old ass out of the pokey because I've taken to hanging out with the "wrong" crowd.

Anyway, to combat my fortune cookie frustration, here's my attempt at creating some philosophical and original fortunes that I'm planning to submit to the CFCPA (Chinese Fortune Cookie Publishers of America):


Fortune 1: If you don't put the fork down, you will have a fatter ass than you already do.

Fortune 2: Don't be fooled by a deep fried cat in chicken's clothing.

Fortune 3: Don't talk to the horse's ass, talk to the horse's mouth (actual quote from my father-in-law).

Fortune 4: Problems are only opportunities to drink like the beast that you really are.

Fortune 5: If you can't beat em, beat em up with an ice pick.



Hmmm.....I don't know about you, but I'm feeling P-R-E-T-T-Y confident in my fortune writing abilities. I really think I've finally found my calling.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Because I'm Worth It

There's this man from my town that is missing. Apparently, he left for work twelve days ago and never returned home. Some people, like his wife, speculate that foul play was involved. Others, who have no clue what really happened to him, like to make crap up about how he must have skipped town for one crazy reason or another.

I have no opinion either way. But I do know this. If I was him, and I was safely hiding away somewhere, I would be pissed.

Why? Because his family and friends are offering a $1,000.00 reward to anyone who gives them information about his whereabouts.

One thousand dollars? Really? What is he, on CLEARANCE?

Do me a favor, people. If, God forbid, I take a wrong turn on my way to.....oh....let's say, THE MALL.....and you haven't heard from me in awhile. And, the hubby and my Mother call out the SWAT team (because I am so damn important to them, I KNOW that this would be their definitive course of action). And they decide to post a monetary reward to insure that I am found quickly and safely. For the love of Pete, fork over some damn cash and act like you friggin want me back!

I KNOW I am worth SIX figures.

But, in these difficult economic times, I'll have mercy on you all and SETTLE for at least twenty-five grand.

Consider this my contribution to the economic stimulus plan.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Do You Know The Muffin Man?


Hi y'all. I don't know why I'm suddenly turning all "southern" on you. So, please just amuse me and go along, would ya?

Today, I have no philosophical revelations to share. I'm just going to be a very bad influence here. So, in advance, I'll ask you to please forgive me. OK. Here goes.

This morning, the hubby and I were running around like loons trying to get ready for work. In an effort to save time, I decided that we should forgo the Cheerios and grab breakfast on the run. Strike One.

We ended up at Dunkin Donuts. Strike Two.

I bypassed the low fat everything, glanced briefly at the bagels, and finally settled on : The Triple Chocolate Muffin. Strike Friggin Three.

I should be flogged.

Now, I HAVE to say that here is where the apology to all of you fine people will be inserted (so sorry). Because, I am going to admit to the world that the DD Triple Chocolate Muffin was the best damn muffin I have EVER eaten. I'm telling you that if you are a chocolate whore, like me, you will think you have died and gone to heaven. There, I said it.

Now, I'm not saying that I didn't feel guilty after eating it. I did. I thought to my self, "Self? Why didn't you make a healthier breakfast choice?" Self wasn't interested in answering. She was on a sugar high. I'll try her again later.

Anyhow, I decided to do a little research to see just how much damage I did to my arteries. And here it is, people....the nutritional information for my "heavenly" muffin. Read em' and weep (like I am right now):



Dunkin Donuts Triple Chocolate Muffin
Nutrition Facts
Serving Size 1 muffin

Amount Per Serving
Calories from Fat 300 Calories 660

% Daily Values*
Total Fat 33g 51%
Saturated Fat 7g 35%
Trans Fat 0g
Cholesterol 10mg 3%
Sodium 460mg 19%
Total Carbohydrate 84g 28%
Dietary Fiber 4g 16%
Sugars 47g
Protein 7g

Vitamin A 0% Vitamin C 0%

Calcium 6% Iron 40%

* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2000 calorie diet. Your daily values may be higher or lower depending on your calorie needs.


They say that hindsight is 20/20. I say that the CEO of Dunkin Donuts should be arrested for attempted murder.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Just Call Me Mrs. Roper

Today, I decided to take a stand. Let me set the background.

On Friday, my Mother called me. She was all in a tizzy because there was a large leak in one of her tenant's apartments. Now, if you don't already know this, my Mother is in her late seventies and is a force to be reckoned with. I don't know how I got stuck with the job of being her property manager, but it is what it is. So, I just deal with the bullshit the best way I can (so far, I'm not a boozer but anything can happen).

Anyhow, I called a friend of mine who used to be a plumber (but is now a politico) to ask him if he could give me the name of a reputable man for the job. He gave me two. So, I called them both and left the following message:

"Hi. My name is Sally and I got your name and number from John Smith. I'm having a bit of a plumbing emergency and John thought that you may be able to help me. Please call me at your earliest convenience. And, if you can't do the job, I would appreciate it if you would let me know as soon a possible. That way I can make other arrangements. You can reach me at ##########. Thanks so much."

That was Friday. Today is Monday. Neither douche bag called me back.

Of course, I am an educated, resourceful woman who has been dealing with this apartment maintenance /landlady bullshit for most of my life. So, you know that I wasn't going to stop until I found a plumber who could and would do the job. And I did. But that's not the point here.

The point is that those two dudes that I called on Friday didn't think that I was important enough to acknowledge. So, I let their unprofessionalism (not a real word according to spellcheck) bug me all weekend. Then today, I called them again. Here's what I left on their voicemail:

"Hi. This is Sally, John Smith's friend. Remember I called you on Friday about a plumbing emergency that I needed assistance with? Yeah, well I found someone else to do the job. But, I wanted to call you one more time to let you know that when you don't return phone calls, people like me will think you're an asshole." CLICK.

Yes. I really did.

Seems the older I get, the less I can control myself.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

To Pee Or Not To Pee? That Is The Question.

Today at work, I discovered a bad habit that I really didn't know I had.

On four different occasions, as I made my way to the bathroom, I stated to at least one person en route, " I have to pee."

Let me enlighten you further with one of today's episodes:

My friend Heather works for a company in the next suite over from mine. Both businesses share the restrooms. I also happen to do some work for her company. So, on one of my trips to the terlet (that's hillbilly speak for TOILET), Heather was going to ask me a question. As she commenced her inquiry, I said, "Wait a minute. I have to pee." And, I went a running.

What the hell is up with this behavior? I mean, really. Did I get my manners from the Junk Yard Dog School of Etiquette?

I realize that I only do this with people that I'm comfortable around. I mean, come on. You have to know that if I were having dinner with...um.....let's say.....President Barack Obama....and suddenly DOODY called, you can bet your arse that I would be refined enough to excuse myself without announcing my urge to pee or.....God forbid, pitch a loaf (nobody's classier than me).

In my more REFINED moments, I usually use one of the following terms:

1. Pardon me. I need to freshen up.

TRANSLATION: I need to check my teeth for spinach chunks, fluff up my hair, and reapply my lipstick.

2. Excuse me. I need to use the facilities.

TRANSLATION: I need to pee...and reapply my lipstick.

3. Anybody know where the hell the bathroom is?

TRANSLATION: I HAVE TO PEE/POO (OR COMBO) RIGHT FRIGGIN NOW OR IT IS NOT GOING TO BE PRETTY! Screw the &$#@%? lipstick!

One thing I never, ever say is, "I need to use the restroom." I hate that phrase. As far as I know, nobody goes into a public bathroom to REST. It's not like your going to waltz in there and find a nice puffy Lazy Boy recliner to sit in while you enjoy the FRESH air and sip an expensive glass of vintage port. People go in there to UNLOAD......Resting, NO......Pooping, YES.

Do yourself a favor. Rest when you get home...in your bedroom...where it doesn't smell like sewerage (um...hopefully).

OK. I've probably spoiled your dinner. I guess my work here is done.

Plus, I need to pee....

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The Devil Made Me Do It

You've heard me mention that my doctor wants me to lose weight, right? Well guess what? I gained two pounds.... since last week.

I'm not proud of my behavior. And actually, I WAS planning to cut back and start eating healthier THIS WEEK, I swear. I even have proof:

Yesterday morning, I decided that I was going to defrost some chicken AND lean ground beef because I was going to march straight home after work...NO DETOURS, damn it! And, I was going to cook! Not only was I going to make dinner for that night, but I was going to be a smarty pants and make dinner for the next night, too.

Well, I am happy to say that I DID cook the aforementioned food. OH. YES. I. DID.

Here it is:
Shepard's Pie



And meal #2:
Curry Glazed Chicken with Roasted Asparagus and Baked Potatoes



But, I didn't say that I ate it. You see....I cooked this food AFTER I got home from sharing a friggin PU PU PLATTER and a TRAY OF FRIED RICE with the hubby. So much for NO DETOURS. But, I did drink Diet Coke with it so that HAS to have cancelled out some of the fat and calories that I ingested, right?

I know, I know. I have no defense for my gluttonous behavior.

So, I'll just say this: Food is a slut and the devil is it's pimp.

Hmmm....I guess this means that Weight Watchers should have me arrested for solicitation.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Wine-OH!

When I was in high school, there was an anti-drug commercial on television that I'm sure you must remember. It went like this:

Scene One: Sizzling butter in a frying pan. A voice says, "This is drugs."

Scene Two: An egg is dropped into the sizzling butter. A voice says, "This is your brain on drugs. Any questions?"

Now as an adult, I've scripted a more modern version of the above commercial as it pertains to my life. Ready? Here goes:

This is my friend Lou (second from the right):



This is my friend Lou on WINE:




ANY QUESTIONS??

Friday, March 6, 2009

Betcha My Mother Can Beat Up Your Mother

If you read my blog entry on Wednesday, you know that (A) I had a bad day at work and (B) I self-medicated myself with a big, fat cup of ice cream. I left out what happened in the time frame between both of these events.

After leaving work, hubby and I decided that a nice relaxing dinner would be a great way to unwind after a very hectic day. So, we made our way to Newport and happily took our places by the fireplace in one of our favorite Italian restaurants.

The restaurant was so cozy and all we could smell was the combination of fresh garlic bread baking in the kitchen and smoky wood burning in the fireplace. AHHH...a warm fire...a great meal...a lovely atmosphere....Nothing could ruin the end of this LONG day. Um...Did I say nothing?

Not so fast, Sally C.

Just as we were settling in with our crusty bread and dipping oil, in comes the hostess who seats an obnoxious bimbo and her associate two tables over from us. I knew from the get go that they weren't "together" because he mentioned his wife and she spoke of her fiance. But, they totally could have been having an affair because she behaved like a cheap floozy giggling at every word he said.

Apparently, they barely knew each other because all the bimbo did was brag, brag, brag about how wonderful she was (definitely debatable).

I honestly wasn't eavesdropping, but the room was so small I couldn't help but overhear her brag fest. And this is what I learned:

1. Her brother is a sociologist at Princeton.
2. Her mother is a linguist in Hungary.
3. Her mother-in-law to be is a journalist.
4. Her father-in-law to be is a cardiac surgeon.
5. She didn't mention her father, but I'm assuming he's not a truck driver from Jersey.

So, after listening to her blah, blah, blahing the night away about what overachievers she and her ENTIRE FREAKIN FAMILY WERE, and me wanting to stick pencils in my ears (and duct tape on her mouth), I told hubby I had an idea. I thought it would be funny if on the way to the bathroom, I stopped at bimbette's table and said, "OH YEAH! Well, my Mother was a seamstress in a sweatshop. And, I'll bet all the money in Vegas that she could kick your Mother's ass."

No comment from the hubby. But, he did flag the waitress down and said, "CAN WE HAVE THE CHECK PLEASE?"

WHAT? I wasn't really going to do it!

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

I've Seen Better Days

Today sucked big ones (I'm talking about LEMONS here...get your mind out of the gutter). Hubby and I were tortured at work and everything we did seemed to fall to shit. By 4:30, we were ready to commit random acts of violence, so we decided to cut out early to avoid any circumstances that might feature us on the 6 o'clock news.

And this is how we decided to deal with the bullshit stress of the day:



All I can say is God bless the creator of "Peanut Butter Perfection" ice cream. May he secure a place in heaven, right between the man who invented the Johnny Rockets cheeseburger and the woman who invented Spanx (you know...the undergarments that suck in all the fat you've gained by eating "Peanut Butter Perfection" ice cream and Johnny Rockets cheeseburgers).

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Say It Ain't So!


Everywhere I turn, people are mocking me.

Apparently, that scary Wayne Newton is coming to Rhode Island THIS FRIDAY to do his girdle jig for the Ocean State seniors. I want to publicly thank all of you who have called and/or e-mailed to warn me about this (you know who you are).

And, FYI, on the day of his big local show, I'm not taking any chances. I plan to barricade myself in the house.......taser by my side. Mr. Vegas and his botoxed lips come anywhere near me and I swear, I'll melt his face off.

Dunkashane that, Figgy Newton*.

*(For those of you who don't know about my previous Wayne Newton experience, please see my archived February post entitled "Wayne, Wayne, Go Away.")

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Sophia Petrillo Strikes Again

Addendum To This Weekend's Highlights (*SEE PREVIOUS POST):

The Day: Saturday

The Scene: A really scary convenience store in a wretched part of town


The Deal:

Mama decides she wants to play the lottery in this scary store because we have never played there and she thinks it will bring us luck. I park near the door so we can make a quick getaway after her purchase because, well, it's a FREAKIN SCARY neighborhood and we are all gussied up because we are on our way to church and we look totally out of place among the junkies and the derelicts.

I am forced to go into the store with her because I am afraid that someone is going to kidnap Her Royal Senior Citizeness and hold her for ransom and thus, ruin the remainder of my weekend.

So, we go in and she sidles up to the counter to play her "quick pick." Then, she buys a couple of scratch tickets and just as we start to leave, a drunk dude who's sitting in the corner playing Keno and drinking a large miscellaneous beverage out of a paper bag, looks up and says (well, actually he slurs) to the cashier, "Man, Joe...You're soooo lucky. You get to talk to all the beautiful ladies."

Now, you've heard stories about my Mama before so I'm sure you can imagine what happened next.

Uh huh..... There I am, praying to God that we make it back into the car and away from Hoodlum Center unscathed, and my Mama stops in her tracks, looks at the drunkard/derelict/probable ax-murderer and says in her best broken English, "BEAUTIFUL LADIES? BEAUTIFUL LADIES? BEAUTIFUL LADIES NO WANNA STUPID DRUNK MANS LIKE YOU!"

Yeah. I'm totally serious.

So, then I grab her arm, pull her out the door, and shove her feisty little butt into the car.....all the while smiling at Mr. Drunky McDrunkelstein, and praying to Jesus that he doesn't decide to beat our asses with a giant Slurpy.

It's SOOO not easy being me.

I've Got Friends In Low Places



Weekend Highlight:

Friday:


Hubby and I took our niece and nephew, Jess and Jon, to see MONSTER JAM. What is Monster Jam? Well, in my opinion, it's a JYD spectator sport that involves ginormous monster trucks running over junk cars. And what exactly is a JYD spectator sport? OK, you asked for it. Again, my blog, my opinion. So, here it is:

JYD stands for JUNK YARD DOG. And basically, a JYD spectator sport is one in which its fans are....um....kind of SIMPLE. These sports include, but are not limited to, monster trucking, Nascar racing, and WWF (that would be the World Wrestling Federation).

Another prerequisite of a JYD spectator sport? It's fans are dentally challenged. Yep, I can not tell you how many people we saw at the Monster Jam gumming their cotton candy.....kind of made me want to floss my teeth right there in that dirty ass arena....ick.

Anyhow, the kids had a great time and Jon was totally thrilled to see "Grave Digger (see picture above)." So, even though hubby and I were overdressed in our unripped pants and stain free shirts, and collectively had more teeth in our mouths than the entire hillbilly crowd, we had fun because the kids had fun.

And, we left feeling like complete overachievers....

Nothing says "SUCCESS" like being able to chew your own food......YEE HA!!!