Hubby got his Harley today, he’s out riding it around. I got my new mondo huge iMac yesterday and I’m test driving it. After staring at a 15 inch screen for years, the 24 inch screen takes some getting use to. Its HUGE and bright and I don’t have to lean over and squint any more. I’m guessing cartooning will be a lot easier on it, and already downloaded the trial version of Corel Painter on it to see if the expensive ultra mega mega full blown version is better than the elements version I’ve been using.
I have to say, I LOVE the new huge screen, and I’m hoping it’ll get me motivated to do more with cartooning and stuff, but generally just getting use to how bright it is is the biggest adjustment.
I’ve decided that the medium Wacom Intuos4 pad will be the way to go. I just don’t have enough desk space for the large pad, so that’ll be a cost saver right there. Actually the biggest issue is where to park the mondo huge Harley, as it won’t seem to fit under our front porch, and just parking it in the driveway is more than hubby can handle because even though he bought a cover, parking it out in the elements is akin to cruel and unusual punishment for the motorcycle. Hey, whatever, he’s happy (out riding around even as I type), and we can accommodate whatever vroomy needs to keep him happy.
Its going to be hard to keep up with the housework and stuff now that I have a cool new computer, but with hubby out on the bike cruising around, I don’t think he’ll notice, nor care. I do have a ton of laundry sitting in the bathroom right now that I should be doing, but I have a new toy, screw the laundry, besides, there’s one more day in the weekend to do all of that horrible housework stuff.
Hubby did mow the front lawn, which means I can now call the health department on the neighbors who have apparently abandoned their house. Every time I go outside I’m armed with the mosquito zapper tennis racket thing to kill the swarms that attack me and the dogs. Poor things don’t like going outside because they get attacked, and frankly I’m not too thrilled about that. We can’t even go on our deck without getting eaten alive.
So, today was good. Motorcycle, new iMac, spent some time with some friends at their engagement party, ate some good food, the only thing missing was a nap, so I need to schedule one of those for tomorrow in between loads of laundry.
That’s about it, no ranting today.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Dear Chantix, you LIAR and stumps
Ok, so the last time we talked I was begging for detachable feet or at the very least something with a bit more of a kick in it like Vicodin, because its not very adult to stand in the middle of a mall weeping because your feet hurt and you still had half a mall before you even got to the Apple store and there’s just no way you can make it back to the truck even if that’s where the Starbucks was.
What does this have to do with Dear Chantix you may ask? Well, apparently now my dearest Chantix must come with a warning label that says you shouldn’t believe the voices that Chantix plants in your head about leaping off of buildings or flinging yourself into traffic... which are very compelling. Yep, apparently the FDA, who is right on the ball with recalling tainted food products (hehehe, I wrote taint) days after hundreds are sickened, are now requiring that warning labels be affixed to the dear Chantix that warns you about suicidal thoughts and depression. Of course, you’ll have to get through the whole crapping your pants and double over stomach pains warnings before hitting that little gem of information. The thing that cracks me up the most about this article is this quote:
“The antidepressant Wellbutrin, which has the same active ingredient as GlaxoSmithKline PLC's Zyban, already carries such a warning.” AHAHAHAAAAAAA seriously? An antidepressant that makes you depressed? That’s all sorts of genius isn’t it???
Ok, back to the whole feet drama, yes I was weeping and keening in the middle of a mall because it was Apple store or abject pain in my feet and the whole stubborn “I’m not going to beg my husband to drive the car into the mall to pick me up so that I don’t have to walk any farther” drama. There’s also never a handicapped person on a scamp around when you need to hijack one. I did make it to the apple store and back, but it was touch and go.
Monday morning I sat on hold with the obnoxiously happy hold music (which needs to come with its own disclaimer that when your feet hurt you may be tempted to kill innocent people while being on hold) only to be told that my X-rays were negative. Seriously? So that’s suppose to be comforting that there’s nothing medically wrong with me that can be seen by X-ray so the agony of walking is all in my head or something??? I called the podiatrist and when they asked how severe the pain was I told them that if I didn’t get an appointment in the next few hours they needed to turn on the local news to see me holding up the local CVS for crutches and vicodin, and they kindly squeezed me into an afternoon slot.
Note to self: find new podiatrist as their office is located in a cell phone dead spot... I was seen after three games of mahjong and years of foot doctor school qualified my sadistic podiatrist to gently press on the very areas that would cause me to leap from the half chair thing and scream like a little girl. Apparently this means I hosed up my ankle and stress fractured one of those little foot bones that are integral to the whole walking without pain process. I was summarily strapped into a stylish gray ski boot and given a prescription for stronger NSAIDS (and the next day the FDA says those will make my liver explode, but between suicidal Chantix and exploding liver and feet of pain, I’m pretty sure that years of military alcohol abuse has pickled my liver to a point where nothing could harm it short of a spear or vacation in a third world country where I wake up in a bathtub full of ice).
Anyhoo, I get to wear the nice boot for two weeks (during the summer... how quaint) and go back for a check up and then probably more time in the boot, and frankly I think this is a great way to save money on left shoes. I can at least walk halfway normal and without too much pain, but I’m sick of telling people HOW I hurt my foot. Seriously, I hurt it running in place during Wii Active.... no really... fine, I was injured in a bar fight. Ok, fine, I was parachuting the other day... no really a bear was in the yard attacking my neighbor (seriously, I’d actually take video of the mauling and sell it to TMZ or something), no really, its a wiinjury and no I’m not suing... unless you’re a lawyer and want to represent me and then I’m all about the horrible pain and suffering and stuff.
Yeah, so I’m waiting for the elevator at work and it hits the 2nd floor and as usual, someone starts to walk out because they think its the 1st floor and just how lazy can a person be to take an elevator down 1 floor... then I hobble in with my boot and they get all “oh, you have a reason” looking and even say something about “oh yeah, you need to take the elevator because you have a broken foot”, to which I say to them “um, no I don’t” and just stand there and stare at the top of the elevator door trying not to laugh. Tomorrow if someone asks what I did to my foot I’m going to say “um, nothing, why?”
What does this have to do with Dear Chantix you may ask? Well, apparently now my dearest Chantix must come with a warning label that says you shouldn’t believe the voices that Chantix plants in your head about leaping off of buildings or flinging yourself into traffic... which are very compelling. Yep, apparently the FDA, who is right on the ball with recalling tainted food products (hehehe, I wrote taint) days after hundreds are sickened, are now requiring that warning labels be affixed to the dear Chantix that warns you about suicidal thoughts and depression. Of course, you’ll have to get through the whole crapping your pants and double over stomach pains warnings before hitting that little gem of information. The thing that cracks me up the most about this article is this quote:
“The antidepressant Wellbutrin, which has the same active ingredient as GlaxoSmithKline PLC's Zyban, already carries such a warning.” AHAHAHAAAAAAA seriously? An antidepressant that makes you depressed? That’s all sorts of genius isn’t it???
Ok, back to the whole feet drama, yes I was weeping and keening in the middle of a mall because it was Apple store or abject pain in my feet and the whole stubborn “I’m not going to beg my husband to drive the car into the mall to pick me up so that I don’t have to walk any farther” drama. There’s also never a handicapped person on a scamp around when you need to hijack one. I did make it to the apple store and back, but it was touch and go.
Monday morning I sat on hold with the obnoxiously happy hold music (which needs to come with its own disclaimer that when your feet hurt you may be tempted to kill innocent people while being on hold) only to be told that my X-rays were negative. Seriously? So that’s suppose to be comforting that there’s nothing medically wrong with me that can be seen by X-ray so the agony of walking is all in my head or something??? I called the podiatrist and when they asked how severe the pain was I told them that if I didn’t get an appointment in the next few hours they needed to turn on the local news to see me holding up the local CVS for crutches and vicodin, and they kindly squeezed me into an afternoon slot.
Note to self: find new podiatrist as their office is located in a cell phone dead spot... I was seen after three games of mahjong and years of foot doctor school qualified my sadistic podiatrist to gently press on the very areas that would cause me to leap from the half chair thing and scream like a little girl. Apparently this means I hosed up my ankle and stress fractured one of those little foot bones that are integral to the whole walking without pain process. I was summarily strapped into a stylish gray ski boot and given a prescription for stronger NSAIDS (and the next day the FDA says those will make my liver explode, but between suicidal Chantix and exploding liver and feet of pain, I’m pretty sure that years of military alcohol abuse has pickled my liver to a point where nothing could harm it short of a spear or vacation in a third world country where I wake up in a bathtub full of ice).
Anyhoo, I get to wear the nice boot for two weeks (during the summer... how quaint) and go back for a check up and then probably more time in the boot, and frankly I think this is a great way to save money on left shoes. I can at least walk halfway normal and without too much pain, but I’m sick of telling people HOW I hurt my foot. Seriously, I hurt it running in place during Wii Active.... no really... fine, I was injured in a bar fight. Ok, fine, I was parachuting the other day... no really a bear was in the yard attacking my neighbor (seriously, I’d actually take video of the mauling and sell it to TMZ or something), no really, its a wiinjury and no I’m not suing... unless you’re a lawyer and want to represent me and then I’m all about the horrible pain and suffering and stuff.
Yeah, so I’m waiting for the elevator at work and it hits the 2nd floor and as usual, someone starts to walk out because they think its the 1st floor and just how lazy can a person be to take an elevator down 1 floor... then I hobble in with my boot and they get all “oh, you have a reason” looking and even say something about “oh yeah, you need to take the elevator because you have a broken foot”, to which I say to them “um, no I don’t” and just stand there and stare at the top of the elevator door trying not to laugh. Tomorrow if someone asks what I did to my foot I’m going to say “um, nothing, why?”
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Pred in the head
You may have noticed the lack or ranting during the whole ivy fiasco and that’s mainly because I can’t keep a simple thought in my head for more than... sonofa, there it goes.
Ivy lesions not draining or itching too much.
I’m barely able to walk because I now have wiichiles tendon issues in both feet, which may be worsened by the pred, but who knows. I walk like a duck and look like a 90 year old going down the stairs. Shut up or I’ll hit you with my cane if I had a cane and frankly I may be needing one. In case you don’t get it, I’ve maimed my achilles tendons while doing Wii Active, therefore I have Wiichiles. I want my name in a medical journal.
Non-stop storming has cause the structural integrity of my hair to lose all mass and float into space aka: I look like Roseanna Roseannadanna and not happy about it. I will be making a hair appointment with my wonderful stylist Katie, who will yell at me for getting the whole bobbed look instead of my normal look and how the hell do I think she can transform me back to my wonderful old hair style now that I’m all layered and have bangs that she warned me were a huge mistake. For this I pay her a lot of money and apologize a lot.
If I’m unable to walk by Wednesday I’ve vowed to call my doctor and either beg for large amounts of painkillers, a wheelchair, bed rest, or permanent disability or at the very least some physical therapy at the place where I had my thumb therapy so I can gaze upon the hunkiness of the head therapy guy. If I’m going to be in pain I may as well derive some enjoyment out of the pain, or short term disability and a cool surgical scar. Of course I can’t have anything that keeps me from my friday hair appointment, because If I’m going to be stuck in bed, I have to have cool hair and if I’m going to physical therapy, I have to have cool hair too. Recovery is dependent upon cool hair.
Watching “What not to wear” last night, only because Loki was asleep on the remote, and NOBODY moves Loki when he’s asleep. I saw absolutely NOTHING wrong with the look before they made the woman into a cheap harlot in a dress and incredibly painful high heels that I would wear if I didn’t have wiichiles, and if my legs weren’t covered in open poison ivy sores that weep. Yeah, I’m totally there except for those little things. I was also forced to watch the show about the primordeal dwarves or whatever they are called. Itty bitty people with squeeky voices. I felt sorry for them especially the 10 year old girl whose 10 year old “friends” totally didn’t stick up for her and include her in stuff, which made me want to find them and drown them. Of course I would never do that, because it would mean I’d have to get out of bed and actually chase them down and with wiichilles that aint’ happening. Besides, they’d make fun of my hair too.
Ok, where was I... last week the water main in front of our house broke and today we still have a big dirt filled hole in the street that is slowly washing away and pretty soon will suck up a car or children. I guess I have to wait for some stimulus thing before they fix my street and replace my dead lawn. I’m guessing the street will get fixed and my lawn will remain dead, just a hunch.
Ok, I’ve rambled enough, so I’ll end on this note: no matter what happens, there’s always time for ice cream, except if you are a Republican.
Ivy lesions not draining or itching too much.
I’m barely able to walk because I now have wiichiles tendon issues in both feet, which may be worsened by the pred, but who knows. I walk like a duck and look like a 90 year old going down the stairs. Shut up or I’ll hit you with my cane if I had a cane and frankly I may be needing one. In case you don’t get it, I’ve maimed my achilles tendons while doing Wii Active, therefore I have Wiichiles. I want my name in a medical journal.
Non-stop storming has cause the structural integrity of my hair to lose all mass and float into space aka: I look like Roseanna Roseannadanna and not happy about it. I will be making a hair appointment with my wonderful stylist Katie, who will yell at me for getting the whole bobbed look instead of my normal look and how the hell do I think she can transform me back to my wonderful old hair style now that I’m all layered and have bangs that she warned me were a huge mistake. For this I pay her a lot of money and apologize a lot.
If I’m unable to walk by Wednesday I’ve vowed to call my doctor and either beg for large amounts of painkillers, a wheelchair, bed rest, or permanent disability or at the very least some physical therapy at the place where I had my thumb therapy so I can gaze upon the hunkiness of the head therapy guy. If I’m going to be in pain I may as well derive some enjoyment out of the pain, or short term disability and a cool surgical scar. Of course I can’t have anything that keeps me from my friday hair appointment, because If I’m going to be stuck in bed, I have to have cool hair and if I’m going to physical therapy, I have to have cool hair too. Recovery is dependent upon cool hair.
Watching “What not to wear” last night, only because Loki was asleep on the remote, and NOBODY moves Loki when he’s asleep. I saw absolutely NOTHING wrong with the look before they made the woman into a cheap harlot in a dress and incredibly painful high heels that I would wear if I didn’t have wiichiles, and if my legs weren’t covered in open poison ivy sores that weep. Yeah, I’m totally there except for those little things. I was also forced to watch the show about the primordeal dwarves or whatever they are called. Itty bitty people with squeeky voices. I felt sorry for them especially the 10 year old girl whose 10 year old “friends” totally didn’t stick up for her and include her in stuff, which made me want to find them and drown them. Of course I would never do that, because it would mean I’d have to get out of bed and actually chase them down and with wiichilles that aint’ happening. Besides, they’d make fun of my hair too.
Ok, where was I... last week the water main in front of our house broke and today we still have a big dirt filled hole in the street that is slowly washing away and pretty soon will suck up a car or children. I guess I have to wait for some stimulus thing before they fix my street and replace my dead lawn. I’m guessing the street will get fixed and my lawn will remain dead, just a hunch.
Ok, I’ve rambled enough, so I’ll end on this note: no matter what happens, there’s always time for ice cream, except if you are a Republican.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
I've Lost the Will to Live
Its gotta be the pred, all 6 of those vile, melt in your mouth steroid things that are coursing through my body at this moment to stop this ghastly poison ivy itch and give me a huge forehead and make me ineligible to play professional baseball.
Yes, I woke up this morning, rinsed off all the calamine spots and hauled my spotted butt (actually, about the only thing not affected by the poison ivy) to a Minute Clinic, conveniently located not anywhere near where I live because apparently the one near where I live isn’t there any more, even though they built a nice room for it and that’s where I went for some other incredibly badly timed whatever it was give me drugs moments.
The doctor laughed at me while pouring alcohol on everything I touched and gave me a prescription for reducing dose of Prednisone and there I was trying to wash those shit pills down, all 6 of them. I feel bad for my dog who had to take 3 of them reducing dose when we thought he had some kind of horrible auto-immune thing, but it turned out to be JUST Lyme disease (seriously, wish for the Lyme and not the auto-immune because antibiotics takes care of the Lyme, auto-immune is not so happy)... I apologize now to Sam, I’m sorry Sam. You have every right to insist that you shove my 6 melty, foul tasting pills down my throat and blow in my nose.
Ok, so lets take stock of things:
1.) covered in oozing, itchy poison ivy lesions
2.) big honking zit on side of face
3.) Jonesing for either Chantix or a smoke
4.) Still experiencing some foul gastro-intestinal things from former lover Chantix
I am a picture of sexy right now, so what would put some icing right on that cake of ghastly, what could possibly be missing when so much is raining down on me....
why of course, the crowning glory, the icing on the cake, the cherry on top... broken tooth.
Teeth should be much stronger than frozen M&Ms. I do realize that fillings may NOT be as strong as starburst fruit chews, but teeth should be able to withstand some frozen M&Ms, especially since I was eating them one at a time, allowing them to thaw somewhat in my mouth before chewing, WTF.
Of course we don’t have the wonderful Obamacare, where I’m sure that I would be able to just get up and waltz over to one of the 24 hour, 7 days a week, 365 days a year free dental clinics he promised us and get something done about this, but no.... my dental horror is premature and I must wait... like everyone else, until Monday to make an appointment with my regular dentist and get it taken care of... spending the next few days eating on the other side and getting sick to my stomach each time I feel the gaping hole with my tongue... OH SONOFA... I think my dentist is closed on Mondays... WTF, that’s 2 days before I can even call and schedule something... where’s that wonderfully free and always available healthcare I’ve been promised???? Would you stop sending Uighur terrorists to tropical vacation spots to be towel boys and get on with that whole new free always available health care program thing so I can get my tooth fixed!!!!!
Damn, now I itch again.
Yes, I woke up this morning, rinsed off all the calamine spots and hauled my spotted butt (actually, about the only thing not affected by the poison ivy) to a Minute Clinic, conveniently located not anywhere near where I live because apparently the one near where I live isn’t there any more, even though they built a nice room for it and that’s where I went for some other incredibly badly timed whatever it was give me drugs moments.
The doctor laughed at me while pouring alcohol on everything I touched and gave me a prescription for reducing dose of Prednisone and there I was trying to wash those shit pills down, all 6 of them. I feel bad for my dog who had to take 3 of them reducing dose when we thought he had some kind of horrible auto-immune thing, but it turned out to be JUST Lyme disease (seriously, wish for the Lyme and not the auto-immune because antibiotics takes care of the Lyme, auto-immune is not so happy)... I apologize now to Sam, I’m sorry Sam. You have every right to insist that you shove my 6 melty, foul tasting pills down my throat and blow in my nose.
Ok, so lets take stock of things:
1.) covered in oozing, itchy poison ivy lesions
2.) big honking zit on side of face
3.) Jonesing for either Chantix or a smoke
4.) Still experiencing some foul gastro-intestinal things from former lover Chantix
I am a picture of sexy right now, so what would put some icing right on that cake of ghastly, what could possibly be missing when so much is raining down on me....
why of course, the crowning glory, the icing on the cake, the cherry on top... broken tooth.
Teeth should be much stronger than frozen M&Ms. I do realize that fillings may NOT be as strong as starburst fruit chews, but teeth should be able to withstand some frozen M&Ms, especially since I was eating them one at a time, allowing them to thaw somewhat in my mouth before chewing, WTF.
Of course we don’t have the wonderful Obamacare, where I’m sure that I would be able to just get up and waltz over to one of the 24 hour, 7 days a week, 365 days a year free dental clinics he promised us and get something done about this, but no.... my dental horror is premature and I must wait... like everyone else, until Monday to make an appointment with my regular dentist and get it taken care of... spending the next few days eating on the other side and getting sick to my stomach each time I feel the gaping hole with my tongue... OH SONOFA... I think my dentist is closed on Mondays... WTF, that’s 2 days before I can even call and schedule something... where’s that wonderfully free and always available healthcare I’ve been promised???? Would you stop sending Uighur terrorists to tropical vacation spots to be towel boys and get on with that whole new free always available health care program thing so I can get my tooth fixed!!!!!
Damn, now I itch again.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Are those open sores or are you just happy to see me
Oh yes, just as I expected, those vines were definitely poison ivy, either that or I’ve spontaneously broken out in leprosy. Hmmm, thrown into a nice leper colony and left alone for fear of spreading my disease to others.... ok, while tempting, if leprosy itches like poison ivy then I think I’d rather just be killed, or at the very least scratched with a rake until I bled to death. It would be the ecstasy and the agony all wrapped up into one neat bundle.
I’m slathered in some vile smelling concoction cream that screams “STOPS THE ITCH FOR UP TO 8 HOURS” on the box, but this crap has only given me, at most, a half hour of relief before I’m slathering even more on. The color is one shade of caucasian skin tone from the pink calamine crap you normally bathe in for poison ivy, which means its neon tan on my blotchy red-head skin. I look like a leper with bad body make up. I can’t wait for my client meeting tomorrow! First its iced mocha spilled in my lap, now festering sores. Oh, did I mention the huge grotesque zit on the side of my nose. I’m feeling oh so pretty!
We’re suppose to get thunder storms tonight, which means my female husky will claw me in her anxiety over the thunder. I’m actually looking forward to it, since my arms are tired from scratching my oozing skin.
I’m slathered in some vile smelling concoction cream that screams “STOPS THE ITCH FOR UP TO 8 HOURS” on the box, but this crap has only given me, at most, a half hour of relief before I’m slathering even more on. The color is one shade of caucasian skin tone from the pink calamine crap you normally bathe in for poison ivy, which means its neon tan on my blotchy red-head skin. I look like a leper with bad body make up. I can’t wait for my client meeting tomorrow! First its iced mocha spilled in my lap, now festering sores. Oh, did I mention the huge grotesque zit on the side of my nose. I’m feeling oh so pretty!
We’re suppose to get thunder storms tonight, which means my female husky will claw me in her anxiety over the thunder. I’m actually looking forward to it, since my arms are tired from scratching my oozing skin.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Gardening for neurotics
Ok, so I started with two flower beds in the front of the house that were filled with weeds and two half-dead bushes. No amount of willing it to be filled with “wildflowers” would make it less grotesque, so I ripped out the weeds and cut the half-dead bushes down to stumps.
Removing half-dead bush stumps proved too taxing after 5 minutes of trying to dig them up, so I just covered them with weed barrier and dumped 6 bags of mulch over them... not nearly enough mulch, but one interesting thing about mulch when the bag rips and it gets wet... its NASTY. Not as nasty as finding the maggot covered cat poop with my bare knee, but nasty still.
I put the decorative little wooden things around the two trees in front, but didn’t have enough mulch to put in the decorative little wooden things, so it looks like gardening done by a moron (namely me).
I’m pretty sure the vine thing growing between my edge of property and along the stupid worthless picket fence thing the crappy neighbors have allowed to gone to shit is actually poison ivy, and it really didn’t want to come out of the ground when I pulled it, nor did its vines want to be cute with the sewing scissors I brought out (because my poisonous vine cutters are in the storage room where they were used to cut up about 500lbs of styrofoam from various and sundry empty computer boxes that we were paying $165.00 a month to store... we’re taking care of that, so shut up).
Anyhoo, it was after I had ripped the probably poison ivy out of the ground and in the process rubbing it over my entire body except for the part covered in cat poop and maggots that I realized that crappy neighbor’s trees were leaning into my yard directly over my heat pump.
Crappy neighbors seemed nice enough when they moved in, but much like fish... went sour really quick when apparently they didn’t realize that homeownership requires maintenance. The first to go was the in ground pool, which they didn’t take care of and soon the liner ripped. To solve that problem, they proceeded to dump fill dirt filled with rocks into it. I think what they were aiming for was to just fill it in, but apparently had no clue that it would take half of the earth to fill in, so they gave up about 1/3 filled. In another brilliant move, they felt that since it was 1/3 filled with crappy dirt, they could just rake their leaves into it. That coupled with a good downpour or twenty created mosquito heaven. So they covered it and pretended it wasn’t there.
About 2 months ago a “pod” showed up on the driveway, and sporadically we see them carrying things out, so the pod, the fact that they haven’t mowed their grass since spring (3 months ago) and nobody ever around makes us think that they’ve foreclosed or just ran away. In the meantime we have a little amazon jungle growing next door, complete with malaria pool, and large trees sprouting right next to our fence. Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.
Now, I didn’t trespass at all, in the sense that not one part of my body set foot or otherwise on their property. I don’t consider leaning over their fence on a ladder and sawing half of their tree down trespassing, but I do consider half a tree leaning into my yard and pressing against my fence a bit of an issue.
I do hope they come by to pick up more of their junk tomorrow. They might even think “hey, that looks like half of my tree neatly cut into a pile laying on our neighbor’s curb (if we had a fucking curb, cheap ass county and their $2.4 million in recycling and we don’t have a curb or a fricken street light)
I’m sure tomorrow I’ll be bitching about being covered in open sores.
Removing half-dead bush stumps proved too taxing after 5 minutes of trying to dig them up, so I just covered them with weed barrier and dumped 6 bags of mulch over them... not nearly enough mulch, but one interesting thing about mulch when the bag rips and it gets wet... its NASTY. Not as nasty as finding the maggot covered cat poop with my bare knee, but nasty still.
I put the decorative little wooden things around the two trees in front, but didn’t have enough mulch to put in the decorative little wooden things, so it looks like gardening done by a moron (namely me).
I’m pretty sure the vine thing growing between my edge of property and along the stupid worthless picket fence thing the crappy neighbors have allowed to gone to shit is actually poison ivy, and it really didn’t want to come out of the ground when I pulled it, nor did its vines want to be cute with the sewing scissors I brought out (because my poisonous vine cutters are in the storage room where they were used to cut up about 500lbs of styrofoam from various and sundry empty computer boxes that we were paying $165.00 a month to store... we’re taking care of that, so shut up).
Anyhoo, it was after I had ripped the probably poison ivy out of the ground and in the process rubbing it over my entire body except for the part covered in cat poop and maggots that I realized that crappy neighbor’s trees were leaning into my yard directly over my heat pump.
Crappy neighbors seemed nice enough when they moved in, but much like fish... went sour really quick when apparently they didn’t realize that homeownership requires maintenance. The first to go was the in ground pool, which they didn’t take care of and soon the liner ripped. To solve that problem, they proceeded to dump fill dirt filled with rocks into it. I think what they were aiming for was to just fill it in, but apparently had no clue that it would take half of the earth to fill in, so they gave up about 1/3 filled. In another brilliant move, they felt that since it was 1/3 filled with crappy dirt, they could just rake their leaves into it. That coupled with a good downpour or twenty created mosquito heaven. So they covered it and pretended it wasn’t there.
About 2 months ago a “pod” showed up on the driveway, and sporadically we see them carrying things out, so the pod, the fact that they haven’t mowed their grass since spring (3 months ago) and nobody ever around makes us think that they’ve foreclosed or just ran away. In the meantime we have a little amazon jungle growing next door, complete with malaria pool, and large trees sprouting right next to our fence. Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.
Now, I didn’t trespass at all, in the sense that not one part of my body set foot or otherwise on their property. I don’t consider leaning over their fence on a ladder and sawing half of their tree down trespassing, but I do consider half a tree leaning into my yard and pressing against my fence a bit of an issue.
I do hope they come by to pick up more of their junk tomorrow. They might even think “hey, that looks like half of my tree neatly cut into a pile laying on our neighbor’s curb (if we had a fucking curb, cheap ass county and their $2.4 million in recycling and we don’t have a curb or a fricken street light)
I’m sure tomorrow I’ll be bitching about being covered in open sores.
Dear Chantix
Its been 67 days since I had a smoke.... oh glorious nicotine, how I miss you, and a decent dream that didn’t involve something stupid like Kinkajou herding in a suit of armor, or raining peeps (which seems like a fun thing until the fuckers start melting all over your car, then what are you gonna do), and I tried going off of you after day 60, because seriously how hard should it be to kick a 20 year habit and by then I would think that my body would have oozed out all of the nicotine from my system already, but NOOOOO.
I started craving yesterday and getting all antsy (which is a nice way of saying pissy and wanting to kill people), so back at the pills I go as of this morning. I was just getting use to not having strange dreams and being able to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time, but then again I did start crying at little things, like running out of pimento dip or having to put dishes in the dishwasher.
I tried something called “Rescue Remedy” which is touted as a natural sedative for dog anxiety, but in human form, and I did intend to give it to my dog during thunderstorms to keep her from panting and clawing me bloody, but since that didn’t work I figured I’d just take it and not care that she was panting and clawing me bloody, but it only lasts for a half hour at best and then I was back to wanting to strangle people and crying over Scooter Store commercials.
I find it ironic that someone on Facebook suggested I go to the vet and get some Xanax for my dog to calm her during thunderstorms, and frankly that was pretty much the last straw for me as far as life and my expensive medical plan goes. If I can just walk into a vet and get Xanax for my dog when I can’t even get my personal physician to prescribe some for me no matter how manic depressive I act when I go in there, then the world is so totally screwed up that I can’t even begin to fit in anywhere.
So, dear Chantix, I will renew my prescription AGAIN and keep taking you, even with the stupid dreams and the messed up gastro-intestinal fest, until such time that I can find a licensed physician to prescribe me something to “take the edge off” of life or the next election, whichever comes first.
I started craving yesterday and getting all antsy (which is a nice way of saying pissy and wanting to kill people), so back at the pills I go as of this morning. I was just getting use to not having strange dreams and being able to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time, but then again I did start crying at little things, like running out of pimento dip or having to put dishes in the dishwasher.
I tried something called “Rescue Remedy” which is touted as a natural sedative for dog anxiety, but in human form, and I did intend to give it to my dog during thunderstorms to keep her from panting and clawing me bloody, but since that didn’t work I figured I’d just take it and not care that she was panting and clawing me bloody, but it only lasts for a half hour at best and then I was back to wanting to strangle people and crying over Scooter Store commercials.
I find it ironic that someone on Facebook suggested I go to the vet and get some Xanax for my dog to calm her during thunderstorms, and frankly that was pretty much the last straw for me as far as life and my expensive medical plan goes. If I can just walk into a vet and get Xanax for my dog when I can’t even get my personal physician to prescribe some for me no matter how manic depressive I act when I go in there, then the world is so totally screwed up that I can’t even begin to fit in anywhere.
So, dear Chantix, I will renew my prescription AGAIN and keep taking you, even with the stupid dreams and the messed up gastro-intestinal fest, until such time that I can find a licensed physician to prescribe me something to “take the edge off” of life or the next election, whichever comes first.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Dear Chantix
Its over between us. Yes, just yesterday I was considering another month of your wonderful nauseating, bloating, mind scrambling effects, but last night’s vivid dream was the end of our relationship.
Granted, I didn’t really mind the whole getting carjacked and losing my precious RAV to hoodlums, nor was I really disturbed with being shot in the back, or having hubby complaining about bleeding on his leather seats as he drove me to the hospital.
No, the last straw for me was how you made us drive all over the place looking for a hospital because we couldn’t figure out how to make a phone call on my iPhone. I think you already know that my love for the iPhone outweighs any of the benefits you provide me. I am willing to forego the morning and evening nausea after taking you, the noxious gas, the bloated feeling, and even the “I don’t give a rat’s ass about anything” attitude that comes from not being able to have 1 clear thought for more than 2 seconds that I’ve had with you.
As I sit here, craving all manner of junk food and the potential of bloating up to a gazillion pounds and ending up on a Learning Channel show that highlights several construction workers hauling me out of the roof on a crane because I’m too big to fit through a door, at least I don’t want to smoke and that’s what you were there for. I’m going Chantix cold turkey now, mmmm turkey sandwich with deviled eggs.
So, this is good-bye... well, sorta because I know I’ll have to wean myself from you slowly, so I’ll just take you in the morning so I’ll be brain dead by day, which is what I prefer.
Granted, I didn’t really mind the whole getting carjacked and losing my precious RAV to hoodlums, nor was I really disturbed with being shot in the back, or having hubby complaining about bleeding on his leather seats as he drove me to the hospital.
No, the last straw for me was how you made us drive all over the place looking for a hospital because we couldn’t figure out how to make a phone call on my iPhone. I think you already know that my love for the iPhone outweighs any of the benefits you provide me. I am willing to forego the morning and evening nausea after taking you, the noxious gas, the bloated feeling, and even the “I don’t give a rat’s ass about anything” attitude that comes from not being able to have 1 clear thought for more than 2 seconds that I’ve had with you.
As I sit here, craving all manner of junk food and the potential of bloating up to a gazillion pounds and ending up on a Learning Channel show that highlights several construction workers hauling me out of the roof on a crane because I’m too big to fit through a door, at least I don’t want to smoke and that’s what you were there for. I’m going Chantix cold turkey now, mmmm turkey sandwich with deviled eggs.
So, this is good-bye... well, sorta because I know I’ll have to wean myself from you slowly, so I’ll just take you in the morning so I’ll be brain dead by day, which is what I prefer.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
One of "those" days
Before I go throw myself in bed and hope the Mayans were a few years off on the prediction for the end of the world and actually it will happen tomorrow so I don’t have to go to work (yes, I would rather that the whole planet die than go to work... seriously, don’t you?) let me tell you about my day.
Some of you will say “oh geez, really, that’s nothing, let me tell you about MY day” and frankly, just stop right there, I don’t want to hear it. This isn’t a contest, this is all about ME, its MY blog and dammit I had the worst day, there, blue ribbon awarded, contest over.
We start off with an idiot on the road who decided to pace me as I tried to gain enough speed to merge into the treacherous Maryland highway traffic. I nearly sideswiped said idiot because he was right in my blind spot. I slowed, so did he, I sped, so did he. Luckily the mighty 4 cylinder RAV4 was more powerful than his hunk of junk yard waste hauling truck and I outran him before I ran out of merge area... and gave him the finger. If the driver is reading this... I hope you die.
Got into the office and dragged my cup to the Flavia machine and had to wait for three other people to get their coffee before I plunked my foil packet of House Blend in the machine. It made a strange noise, puked out water all over the counter, clunked a few times then told me to call for help as it was mortally wounded. I ignored its pleas and walked over to the other kitchen place ALL the way around the stupid building and got my coffee. Luckily someone was able to fix the issue by the time I was ready for cup #2, but good gah.
When I finally did sit down I see in my e-mail that someone wants me to go to their place for a meeting in an hour. Are you freaking kidding me? I JUST sat down! I respond with a counter-office of after lunch and luckily this appeased them.
Fast forward to after lunch when I’m driving to the place to have the meeting while happily sipping my iced venti 2 pump mocha when I get a funny feeling. Funny as in cold where its not suppose to be and yes, there is the icing on the cake of my day (or so I thought) I am dribbling iced mocha all over the crotch of my tan pants. Lovely, now I look like a projectile pooped my pants or have some sort of horrendously disgusting urinary issue ( and before you laugh, there was a medical case where some guy had colostomy or something and when they hooked the plumbing back up apparently the fudge factory was connected to the lemonade factory, etc. and I’m sure its true because I heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend’s aunt’s sister by marriage via e-mail).
Ok, so luckily I have a jacket in the RAV and I stylishly tie it around my waist with one arm strategically falling over the soiled area, and I totally didn’t look like a dork with poop looking stains walking into the building, nor walking around inside either.
It was at this point that I decided that the day was shot and I should just go home, so I did. Just no reason to hang around while a bird poops on my head or something worse, I’ll just go home and at least have a change of clothes.
Get home and decide to spot clean some... spots. What with two dogs with stomach issues, things were a bit out of control on the carpet, so I steam cleaned some of the more interesting areas, and then went to feed the dogs... and somehow managed to drop Loki’s full food bowl upside down on the kitchen floor. Poor pup didn’t know what to think, but helped me clean up the mess and I got him a fresh bowl of food.
I don’t even want to go into the torrential downpours, the fact that Meeshka slid in mud and dislodged one of the vital jury rigged with duct tape downspout things causing a bit of drainage problems in our back porch thing, because after the dog bowl incident, everything is pretty much a denial situation.
I just checked the weather for tonight and see that we’re suppose to get thunderstorms around 2 am, which means I will be clawed awake by a frantic, panting Meeshka and have to take refuge with her in the guest room... which is pretty much the same as our room, but apparently different in some way that calms her, but I’m stuck sleeping on a non-sleep number bed and will wake up paralyzed. So I guess tomorrow will suck too. Whoot.
Some of you will say “oh geez, really, that’s nothing, let me tell you about MY day” and frankly, just stop right there, I don’t want to hear it. This isn’t a contest, this is all about ME, its MY blog and dammit I had the worst day, there, blue ribbon awarded, contest over.
We start off with an idiot on the road who decided to pace me as I tried to gain enough speed to merge into the treacherous Maryland highway traffic. I nearly sideswiped said idiot because he was right in my blind spot. I slowed, so did he, I sped, so did he. Luckily the mighty 4 cylinder RAV4 was more powerful than his hunk of junk yard waste hauling truck and I outran him before I ran out of merge area... and gave him the finger. If the driver is reading this... I hope you die.
Got into the office and dragged my cup to the Flavia machine and had to wait for three other people to get their coffee before I plunked my foil packet of House Blend in the machine. It made a strange noise, puked out water all over the counter, clunked a few times then told me to call for help as it was mortally wounded. I ignored its pleas and walked over to the other kitchen place ALL the way around the stupid building and got my coffee. Luckily someone was able to fix the issue by the time I was ready for cup #2, but good gah.
When I finally did sit down I see in my e-mail that someone wants me to go to their place for a meeting in an hour. Are you freaking kidding me? I JUST sat down! I respond with a counter-office of after lunch and luckily this appeased them.
Fast forward to after lunch when I’m driving to the place to have the meeting while happily sipping my iced venti 2 pump mocha when I get a funny feeling. Funny as in cold where its not suppose to be and yes, there is the icing on the cake of my day (or so I thought) I am dribbling iced mocha all over the crotch of my tan pants. Lovely, now I look like a projectile pooped my pants or have some sort of horrendously disgusting urinary issue ( and before you laugh, there was a medical case where some guy had colostomy or something and when they hooked the plumbing back up apparently the fudge factory was connected to the lemonade factory, etc. and I’m sure its true because I heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend’s aunt’s sister by marriage via e-mail).
Ok, so luckily I have a jacket in the RAV and I stylishly tie it around my waist with one arm strategically falling over the soiled area, and I totally didn’t look like a dork with poop looking stains walking into the building, nor walking around inside either.
It was at this point that I decided that the day was shot and I should just go home, so I did. Just no reason to hang around while a bird poops on my head or something worse, I’ll just go home and at least have a change of clothes.
Get home and decide to spot clean some... spots. What with two dogs with stomach issues, things were a bit out of control on the carpet, so I steam cleaned some of the more interesting areas, and then went to feed the dogs... and somehow managed to drop Loki’s full food bowl upside down on the kitchen floor. Poor pup didn’t know what to think, but helped me clean up the mess and I got him a fresh bowl of food.
I don’t even want to go into the torrential downpours, the fact that Meeshka slid in mud and dislodged one of the vital jury rigged with duct tape downspout things causing a bit of drainage problems in our back porch thing, because after the dog bowl incident, everything is pretty much a denial situation.
I just checked the weather for tonight and see that we’re suppose to get thunderstorms around 2 am, which means I will be clawed awake by a frantic, panting Meeshka and have to take refuge with her in the guest room... which is pretty much the same as our room, but apparently different in some way that calms her, but I’m stuck sleeping on a non-sleep number bed and will wake up paralyzed. So I guess tomorrow will suck too. Whoot.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
I can't remember
Ok, this whole scatterbrained thing of Chantix has now affected how I take Chantix in that I can’t remember if I took my evening dose of it or not.. now what? Next thing you know I’ll have to set alarms to remind me to go take it, and lay out the pills in little containers that denote the day and time and then the alarm will go off and I’ll get confused and get dressed and go to work at 5pm or something stupid.
Of course I have been considering the possibility that tobacco has killed every last one of my brain cells and I’ll be like this for the rest of my life (except without the gas) and frankly, I’m ok with that really. Apparently when I was coherent I actually worried about things that I didn’t need to worry about, and things actually got done relatively on time (except for sending birthday cards, that never got done on time, so I just started sending birthday cards randomly, because frankly I think its nicer to get a birthday card out of the blue rather than on the day you expect to get a birthday card).
Ok, where was I, yes, the forgetting thing, and since I forgot what I was saying I will say that I had a rip roaring weekend with Icky who drove up here in her rental “car”. I call it a “car” because it had these things you turned to roll down the window, there was no beepy beepy thing that locked and unlocked it, and frankly I was surprised it moved. The lack of technology was astounding... how did people live without power everything?
We hit the thrift store and saw a dude looked like a lady doing some shopping, we mocked the clothes, the people, the fact that workers hung naked barbie dolls in plastic bags, and couldn’t really figure out the whole random stuff in a bag as it didn’t have a common theme (toys and rat poison in one bag... party streamers and condolence cards) we rather liked the whole macabre setting of it though.
What friend visit is complete without a trip to the firing range and lots of eating out. Unfortunately on the new chantix gas, exercise, and no fat diet, the fact that we ate at Red Robin before she left today was a disaster of mammoth proportions about an hour later. Speaking of, one of my pups has the runs and that was yet another fun fest that welcomed hubby and I home. Poor sickly poo tummy pup must have eaten some bad grubs or something. He’s the wee baby of the lot of them, a mamma’s dog that hubby calls a bitchy little girl. Mamma’s dog is competing with Chantix on the international gas off right now, my eyes are watering and I may have to flee the room except for the fact that my ass will still follow me... DAMN YOU RED ROBIN HAMBURGER!!!!!
Gleefully I did not watch any news or read any news web sites, so I can only assume that the world has succumbed to swine flu, the current administration not only spent all of the U.S. money but now feels entitled to spend the money of British citizens, and tomorrow will still be monday and I’ll have to work... sonofa....
Of course I have been considering the possibility that tobacco has killed every last one of my brain cells and I’ll be like this for the rest of my life (except without the gas) and frankly, I’m ok with that really. Apparently when I was coherent I actually worried about things that I didn’t need to worry about, and things actually got done relatively on time (except for sending birthday cards, that never got done on time, so I just started sending birthday cards randomly, because frankly I think its nicer to get a birthday card out of the blue rather than on the day you expect to get a birthday card).
Ok, where was I, yes, the forgetting thing, and since I forgot what I was saying I will say that I had a rip roaring weekend with Icky who drove up here in her rental “car”. I call it a “car” because it had these things you turned to roll down the window, there was no beepy beepy thing that locked and unlocked it, and frankly I was surprised it moved. The lack of technology was astounding... how did people live without power everything?
We hit the thrift store and saw a dude looked like a lady doing some shopping, we mocked the clothes, the people, the fact that workers hung naked barbie dolls in plastic bags, and couldn’t really figure out the whole random stuff in a bag as it didn’t have a common theme (toys and rat poison in one bag... party streamers and condolence cards) we rather liked the whole macabre setting of it though.
What friend visit is complete without a trip to the firing range and lots of eating out. Unfortunately on the new chantix gas, exercise, and no fat diet, the fact that we ate at Red Robin before she left today was a disaster of mammoth proportions about an hour later. Speaking of, one of my pups has the runs and that was yet another fun fest that welcomed hubby and I home. Poor sickly poo tummy pup must have eaten some bad grubs or something. He’s the wee baby of the lot of them, a mamma’s dog that hubby calls a bitchy little girl. Mamma’s dog is competing with Chantix on the international gas off right now, my eyes are watering and I may have to flee the room except for the fact that my ass will still follow me... DAMN YOU RED ROBIN HAMBURGER!!!!!
Gleefully I did not watch any news or read any news web sites, so I can only assume that the world has succumbed to swine flu, the current administration not only spent all of the U.S. money but now feels entitled to spend the money of British citizens, and tomorrow will still be monday and I’ll have to work... sonofa....
Friday, May 1, 2009
What a Wonderful Day
Yesterday I got my new passport in the mail. It came with a brochure that gave you all sorts of info (sign the stupid thing in pen, put your address and ER contact in pencil, don’t lose it moron), and on the back of the pamphlet there is a handy Influenza Pandemic blurb complete with web site... um, do influenza pandemics break out all over the world without my knowledge or was this just a wacky coincidence that there’s one going on right now?
After Wii cardio kicked my butt, I got out of the house to run my friday chores. Had to pick up a refill on the beautiful Chantix (I admit dear Chantix, I did take three puffs from a menthol cig the other day, then spent the next hour dry heaving... I’ve learned (sigh) yes I have), which required me to go to a drugstore... during a pandemic... sonofa...
Yep, you betcha. Despite the fact that all of 8 people in Maryland HAD what they suspect was swine flu (but have recovered without hospitalization and absolutely no bad mojo) and are STILL waiting for the official results, and despite the fact that the Governor has convened a “Swine Flu Advisory Board” (cha ching, taxpayer money go flush), there was someone in the pharmacy drive through window screaming at the technician that they wanted FIVE packs of paper masks and why can’t she go get the Tami-flu stuff from the store and bring it to her. I laughed. I laughed harder when the tech said “ma’am, you have your paper mask, come into the store and get it yourself, this is the window for prescriptions”. I hear they closed a school... the horses must still be in their barn there.
Speaking of horses, I’ve decided that on my resume I’m going to put that I own two horse racing tracks, several banks and 2 car manufacturers.
After the terror of the swine flu pharmacy visit, I went to eat at a spot that we call the “usual friday lunch spot”. We loved this place, just opened, the bartender is fantastic, food is fantastic, service is fantastic, prices are pretty good, but its a comfortable place to go. Except that apparently bartender is no longer there, service sucks, the food is going downhill, and the waiter actually hounded our party to look over timeshare pamphlets from his second job. Um... so much for the “usual friday lunch spot”.
Icky is driving up so we can Thelma and Louise all weekend. This, of course, meant that the home alarm system went bat shit and started beeping wildly. Apparently the back up battery is dying, as batteries tend to do. The helpful help guy that I called said we can just go out and get another, we only have to wrap some wires on the thing and... um, F that, I pay for a maintenance agreement so
a.) why didn’t someone call and tell me “hey, your battery is old, better replace it, and
b.) I pay a maintenance agreement, get one of your techs out to do it
So, monday from 8am until the third of 2010, a technician will be out. Great. In the meantime we can expect the random beeping of the ”battery is dying“ thing... hey, we didn’t want to leave the house this weekend anyway, really... f’ers.
I think that Icky and I will go buy some $540 sneakers and go help out at a homeless shelter... ok, screw that, I’m wearing 2 year old chucks that I got on sale for $15 and going to a thrift store. What says ”F YOU“ better than wearing $540 sneakers at a food bank as you hand out some cake. I take my three dogs out at 5 a.m. and feed them every morning (before going to a full time job) and I do it in a pair of Walmart knock off sneakers... because cleaning poop off of Lanvin and Gucci is just too much work. My all time favorite quote is: “They’re shoes,” the First Lady’s reps sniffed when curious reporters inquired about the fancy footwear.“ Um... you want us to tighten our belts while you blow money on $540 shoes, fly Air Force One and scare the shit out of New York, and the myriad of other ways you shovel OUR money out the door... hello, media? Sara Palin wardrobe frenzy and yet here... nothing?
After Wii cardio kicked my butt, I got out of the house to run my friday chores. Had to pick up a refill on the beautiful Chantix (I admit dear Chantix, I did take three puffs from a menthol cig the other day, then spent the next hour dry heaving... I’ve learned (sigh) yes I have), which required me to go to a drugstore... during a pandemic... sonofa...
Yep, you betcha. Despite the fact that all of 8 people in Maryland HAD what they suspect was swine flu (but have recovered without hospitalization and absolutely no bad mojo) and are STILL waiting for the official results, and despite the fact that the Governor has convened a “Swine Flu Advisory Board” (cha ching, taxpayer money go flush), there was someone in the pharmacy drive through window screaming at the technician that they wanted FIVE packs of paper masks and why can’t she go get the Tami-flu stuff from the store and bring it to her. I laughed. I laughed harder when the tech said “ma’am, you have your paper mask, come into the store and get it yourself, this is the window for prescriptions”. I hear they closed a school... the horses must still be in their barn there.
Speaking of horses, I’ve decided that on my resume I’m going to put that I own two horse racing tracks, several banks and 2 car manufacturers.
After the terror of the swine flu pharmacy visit, I went to eat at a spot that we call the “usual friday lunch spot”. We loved this place, just opened, the bartender is fantastic, food is fantastic, service is fantastic, prices are pretty good, but its a comfortable place to go. Except that apparently bartender is no longer there, service sucks, the food is going downhill, and the waiter actually hounded our party to look over timeshare pamphlets from his second job. Um... so much for the “usual friday lunch spot”.
Icky is driving up so we can Thelma and Louise all weekend. This, of course, meant that the home alarm system went bat shit and started beeping wildly. Apparently the back up battery is dying, as batteries tend to do. The helpful help guy that I called said we can just go out and get another, we only have to wrap some wires on the thing and... um, F that, I pay for a maintenance agreement so
a.) why didn’t someone call and tell me “hey, your battery is old, better replace it, and
b.) I pay a maintenance agreement, get one of your techs out to do it
So, monday from 8am until the third of 2010, a technician will be out. Great. In the meantime we can expect the random beeping of the ”battery is dying“ thing... hey, we didn’t want to leave the house this weekend anyway, really... f’ers.
I think that Icky and I will go buy some $540 sneakers and go help out at a homeless shelter... ok, screw that, I’m wearing 2 year old chucks that I got on sale for $15 and going to a thrift store. What says ”F YOU“ better than wearing $540 sneakers at a food bank as you hand out some cake. I take my three dogs out at 5 a.m. and feed them every morning (before going to a full time job) and I do it in a pair of Walmart knock off sneakers... because cleaning poop off of Lanvin and Gucci is just too much work. My all time favorite quote is: “They’re shoes,” the First Lady’s reps sniffed when curious reporters inquired about the fancy footwear.“ Um... you want us to tighten our belts while you blow money on $540 shoes, fly Air Force One and scare the shit out of New York, and the myriad of other ways you shovel OUR money out the door... hello, media? Sara Palin wardrobe frenzy and yet here... nothing?
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