Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Than God He's Not A Librarian

On Saturday, my husband offered to take me to an outdoor book sale at the Chase-Cory House, not far from where I live.  I usually attend this book sale every year, but this year, I was so super busy and crunched for time---overseeing a huge construction project at Sophia Petrillo's house (the Mama)---that I decided I wasn't in the mood to browse.  Actually, I had a stress induced migraine and the thought of looking through old books in the hot sun, made me want to vomit.

As we drove to Sophia's together, to witness what looked like a bunch of dudes testing missiles on her house, the following conversation ensued...

Hubby:  Why don't we go to the book sale for a little while?

Me:  Not into it today.  I need to be at my mother's.

Hubby:  How about just an hour?

Me:  No, thanks.  I really need to get to my mother's.  It's raining tar shingles over there.

Hubby:  Are you sure?  You love that book sale!

Me:  Yeah.  I'm sure.  Thanks, anyway.

Hubby:  I don't know.....I think we should go for just a little while.  It'll make you feel better.

Me:  Seriously, dude. My mother's house is a disaster.  I need to get there ASAP so I can be the buffer between her and the contractors.  She.Will.Drive.Them.Nuts.

Hubby:  Fine. But, when you miss out on finding a first edition of The Man and the Whale, you'll be SORRYYYY!

Me:  A first edition of THE WHAT? 

Hubby:  THE MAN AND THE WHALE...You always hear about people scoring first editions of old classics at book sales and yard sales for wicked cheap money.

Me:  The Old Man and The Sea?

Hubby:  NO. THE MAN AND THE WHALE. You must've read it.  You went to college.

Me:  Ummm.....Moby Dick?

Hubby:  Oh, wait.....Is that what it is?


Hubby:  Oh, Jesus. Here we go....


*In related news, if you'd like to purchase a copy of Paul Costa's The Man and the Whale, you won't find it at Amazon.com, cuz that shit don't exist, y'all.

**In even more related news, I went to a bridal shower on Sunday (more about that later).  While there, I was asked to write down--on a 3x5 index card (A) my name and how many years I've been married and (B) some advice on what makes a successful marriage.  Easily, I filled out both sides of the card.  But the first thing I wrote was:

"Make each other laugh."

My husband does that for me all the time....even when he's not trying to. 

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Gifts That Suck: The Birthday Edition

A week and a half ago, I celebrated my forty-fourth birthday.

Ugh.  Where the hell has the friggin time gone?

I swear, it seems like just yesterday, I was whining over turning forty and grumbling about my sisters posting my picture on the obituary page of the local paper (bitches).

Crooked bangs courtesy of my sister, Natty, and her madshitty hairdressing skills.

Anyway, because I received such an overabundance of f*cking lame unique gifts, I thought I would share my wares with you, my imaginary internet friends.  Read em', weep, and control your jealousy, people.

Gift #1---Redneck Book Bag (I mean, really?)

Okay.  I'll say one thing.  My name is Sally Costa and I am a book addict. Seriously, there are books in EVERY.SINGLE.ROOM. of my house.  I love, love, love, them.  That being said, I wouldn't carry anything is this queer book bag, let alone my beloved livros, because (A) I have standards...and (B) I have teeth.

Gift #2---Doobage Cookies (for real)
Now, some of you questionable people (READ: Dead Heads) might be saying, "Hey, duuuuuude.  Those cookies are bossssss."  (Um...Is that what the cool kids are saying these days?  I wouldn't know because I am a dork.)

To you I say, thisgirl's not interested in pot cookies because (A) I'm already high on life and (B) Coconut is effin disgusting (One of the only foods that I will not eat). Blech....

BUT NO WORRIES, OFFICER.  Rest assured that I have properly disposed of said assumingly illegal cookies in an appropriate manner.  ALSO, as the president of the company that I co-own with Hubby, I've made an executive decision to temporarily SUSPEND all random drug testing.  *ahem*

Gift #3---Every gal wants a pretty journal, no?

Um. NO.

Frieda Kahlo's been shanked, y'all...by a shit ton of nails.

I understand that in her paintings, she often depicted herself in these kinds of morbid situations (being stabbed, having her heart ripped out, etc...).

I'm no expert in art interpretation, but if I had to guess, I'd say that Frieda probably could have benefited from some Coconut Ganja Cookies (and extensive laser hair removal). Geesh....

To conclude this post, I'd like to point out that because I feel like I've grown so much--emotionally--since turning forty-four, I've decided that I'm not going to out the jackass "friend" who gave me these f*cking tasteless gifts.

As a matter of fact, I think the best course of action is to not be wasteful, utilize what I can, and give away the rest. 

On that note, THIS is the first entry in my Frieda Kahlo journal: 

 Feel free to form your own hypothesis.