Trine to Compeet Wif Mah Frens

I wish I had a pet that would allow me to dress it up and then photograph it for all the world to see. But I don't. My cats are bitches like that. Come to think of it, so are my kids. They outgrew me long ago. Heh.



So, I offer you the next best thing:



Look, ma! I'ma wanna be a pink poodle for Halloween!!




This is what happens when you let me loose in the costume aisle of Meijer while dorm-stuff shopping for Deetsie. The only one brave enough to stick around and photograph the evidence was Schmancer. Deetsie and her BF scattered. Sorry for the shitty-ass quality, but it's from my camera phone (the very same one which shall be used to immortalize the evil Larchetta).

Wait until I start posting the "dress up" pics I have of dem keets o mine.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

P.S. I think I can give Jessa a run for her money, don't you?

The Happiest Place to Work!

That is what the "Now Hiring" sign in our local Taco Bell proclaimed. Perhaps somebody should have mentioned that to Larchetta. Names have NOT been changed to protect the innocent. Hell to the no!

As my son and I walked up to the counter (no waiting! Woot!), Larchetta gave us the stink-eye. It was to be her last eye contact with us. She had perfected the art of seeing beyond someone by looking off into the distance over their shoulder lonnnnnng before we ever got there.

Sucking something out of her teeth, she slowly ambled over to her register, all the while looking off into the distance. She was watching traffic, squirrels frolicking, birds shitting on the light pole. She never said a word. No "Welcome to Taco Bell. Can I take your order?" No "whutchoowant?" No "whutdaFUCKyouwant?" No "Did you know there's a Mack Donald's right next door?"

Being the civil human being that I am, I was the one who said "Hi." Ooooo, chilly. No response. So, of course, I thought I'd fuck with her.

"Tell me about the Steak Grilled Stuffed Burrito," I said to her. I KNOW she thought I was smoking crack. I mean, who goes to Taco Bell & asks about that shit? Doesn't everybody who eats there KNOW what's on the menu? Maybe everyone but US lol.

"Whutchoo mean TELL you 'bout it?" still looking out the window, but over my OTHER shoulder this time. Still sucking her teeth. Yuck.

"What does it have in it besides steak?"

"ricebeansbajasauceredsauce" Larchetta stated in a fast monotone as she rolled her eyes. She left out a few ingredients, but I got the basic idea. What an asshole.

"I'll have one with NO sauce."

Making that "tsk" sound with her tongue was a nice touch before she asked, "WHUT no sauce? No RATE sauce, no BaaaaHaaaaa sauce...?"

"NO SAUCE at all," I replied

I paid her, making sure that I touched her hand with my hand. I am not one of those people who are afraid to touch other ethnicities. It used to make me chuckle when I worked retail in the racist '70's when other ethnicities would touch MY hand thinking that I was gonna freak out hehehe.

She sullenly gave me the change that the register told her too, bills on the bottom and change unceremoniously dumped on top. Except that some of the coins fell out of her hand onto the counter. I still held my hand out to receive the rest. Fuck THAT if she thinks I was gonna scrape it off of the counter. Sheesh. Lazy Ass.

We eventually got our food and decided to eat it there. Overhead, we heard Britney Spears' song "Lucky." My son & I were still watching Larchetta using her excellent customer service skills. I started cracking up when I said to him, " 'syo lucky day! You gonna be onna innanet! Smile fo mah cam'ra phone." Then I realized I didn't HAVE my fucking camera phone WITH me. Shit.

She left shortly thereafter. I will go back sometime and sneak her picture. The expression on her face was SO priceless.

This reminded my of something one of my favorite comedians said:

"There's no shame in having an every day job. All workers of all levels are needed to make this society function properly. We are all fundamental pieces of the puzzle and are an important part of the whole. But whatever it is, do 'your' job well. It's not my fault you have 'your' job. If you don't like 'your' job, then change it by getting some better skills. Until then, Shut the Fuck Up and get my burger! And I'd like that with a smile. - Carlos Mencia

My Reasons for Being a Blog Slacker

Painting, painting and MORE painting.
Yes, my foyer is 2 different colors.
3 different colors visible from this area.


And my favorite room? My laundry room!

My New Hirr

I got tarred of my old color so I went for something a bit different. I actually let Schmancer pick out the color!

I need yo hepp

I need my own web template. Something that, in your opinion, screams "This is soooo YOU!"

I bought Adobe Creative Suite 2 Premium edition. This was perhaps a bit premature of me since I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING CLUE WHAT TO DO WITH IT! I know enough to be dangerous. Perhaps buried within my delusions of grandeur is exactly such a template. Not likely, but I'm hopeful.

I welcome all suggestions. And I welcome all creative assistance. And if you actually want to create it, I'll um........ I don't know WHAT I'll do hehe

So throw some ideas at me--colors, graphics...anything that you feel would express who and what you see when you come here & read. I reserve the right to NOT post your submitted pics of any fecal matter, so there.

Happy Taint Patrick's Day

That's it. I have lots of ideas to post but no time right now. We're trying to get our new house all painted so that we can move our stuff in & then put out CURRENT house up for sale.

"Why wait to put your house up for sale?" you ask. Simple. We have 5 cats who aren't afraid of people. They will greet prospective buyers at the door, turn around and show them their little cat butts. They will follow them throughout the house, showing them where I hide the jewelry (it's not just a "dog thing" to do with burglars). They will jump on counters to beg for food. And sweet jeebus they will probably all race to the litter boxes to compete in the "Who Can Shit the Largest, Smelliest Pile Without Covering It Up" contest.

I think it's best to move them into the new place so that people can wander around here unassaulted by friendly felines.

I was thinking of reprising the Tiva Stories from Spring Break last year... If you've not yet read them, they are back in the archives--some of my first few posts in May. You'll need to start from the bottom up. Ten parts of the most annoying-ass traveling companion you'd ever want to encounter. I never DID finish them lol.

Here's the first installment, then you can click over for the rest:

Adventures in Spring Break 2005, Orlando (part 1)

GIRLS GONE WILD!!!! Naw, that was just the MOMMA hehehe. I don't think I have EVER said "FUUUUUUCK" as much in one week. If I'd put a quarter in the Swear Jar, I could have upgraded to First Class my flight home. FUUUCK

Let me first say that WE HAD A BLAST. We laughed, we vegged, we talked, and we definitely rolled our eyes a LOT due to one of our group members, whom I will call "T," per her request. Even doe we ain' in duh club, k? On second thought, I will call her Tiva, cuz "T" was a DIVA. She is the basis for this post. Her cellphone was an issue, but I will discuss this in part 2.

I just about had a heart attack when she showed up at our house with not ONE, but TWO large suitcases PLUS a carry-on. For a 7 day trip. To ORLANDO. Where we were most likely gonna be in the amusement parks all day, and somewhere else at night. Let's see, that should be about 7 daytime outfits & 7 night-time outfits (give or take a couple for bed-wetting incidents), wouldn't you think? We discovered otherwise, but I digress.

The reason we'd set a baggage limit of 1 large/duffel-type bag and a carry-on was because of LIMITED TRUNK SPACE IN THE RENTAL CAR. At our trip planning meetings, Tiva & her momma nodded like bobbleheads when I asked if everyone was clear on that ONE rule. REPEAT AFTER ME: "WE HAVE LIMITED TRUNK SPACE IN THE RENTAL CAR." Understand? Bobble, bobble. Good.

So we stuff the van way beyond capacity in order to get to the airport. We get to the airport planning about 1.5 hrs to spare. SURPRISE! The airline changed the flight time (and flight number) and didn't think it was important enough to notify me. We now have just 20 minutes to get checked in and get our asses onto the plane. Shit.

Four of us checked our luggage without incident. Tiva was another story. She drags her luggage to the counter, and flings up bag #1, only getting it halfway onto the scale. She needs to give it a full-body push the rest of the way. Fifty pounds even. Phew!! That was close, or she might've had to pay the "oversized luggage fee."

She can't even lift bag #2 up onto the scale. Our track star/pole vaulter pushed her out of the way & easily flung it onto the scale. Uh-oh! Looks like Tiva packed a shitload of bricks in that bag. DING DING DING!!! Seventy-five pounds! We have a WINNAH! Shit. On a stick.

The clerk tells her she needs to pay the $25 fee. Tiva wonders what she is getting for this extra $25. She stares at the clerk, wide-eyed. Then blinks once. Twice. Slowly shakes her head as she grumbles, digs through her carry-on, then through her purse. She purses her lips with "attitude" & with a little head shake and a "mm-mm-MM" hands over the cash to the clerk. Remember, we have 20 minutes until our flight leaves. They are boarding. We are on the other side of the airport. I am fat and cannot run like I used to. Plus, it is Easter weekend & we haven't even gotten to the security checkpoint yet. Shit. On a stick. With sprinkles on it.

Needless to say, I am One. Pissed. Off. Momma. Dis ain' NO way to be startin my bay cayshun.

Surprisingly, we make it through security relatively quickly. Nobody gets cavity searched, or even wanded. Yay. We haul ass to the farthest fucking terminal at Metro Airport's Smith (which should be called "Shit") Terminal. The boarding area is totally clear of people & we manage to be the last people on the plane.

Being a fat girl, I HATE being the last person on the plane. Especially when I have a middle seat. Nobody ELSE wants the fat girl to be the last person on the plane either. Especially when they thought the middle seat would stay empty for this leg of the flight.

When I sat down between 2 younger guys (who had a look of sheer terror on their faces as I approached--I KNOW this look, I have had it myself), I promised them that I wouldn't spill into their spaces and that if I fell asleep, I wouldn't lean on them & drool. That seemed to break the ice, as they chuckled nervously.

Fat girl at WalMart in Spandex pants and an ill-fitting T-shirt...

I've become that which I have laughed at.

I actually went out in PUBLIC dressed like that. But I guess it was OK since it WAS WalMart, after all.

I usually don't shop there, or Sam's Club, or Walgreen either. It's my form of protesting their unfair labor practices. But they are the only place where I can find a certain brand of paint that I like. So I cheated on myself, broke down and (shhhhh) bought paint from WalMart.

Now I need to REALLY describe my attire: forest green VELOUR-looking spandex pants, a tie-dyed Tshirt (homemade -and abandoned- by Deetsie as one of a dozen she made for friends), socks and old tennis shoes. All were paint-stained, so I hope that anyone who saw me and then blogged about the fat girl at WalMart in the spandex pants and ill-fitting tshirt MIGHT be convinced that I usually don't dress like that.

But it really doesn't matter, does it? Since every fat girl who goes out in public is pretty much smirked at no matter WHAT she wears, whether it is a business suit or Daisy Dukes and belly shirt.

BUT, I will have you all know, there were NO Oreos, Ho-Hos or Twinkies in my cart. Only 4 gallons of assorted paint and, um, oh yeah..some (shhh) Little Debbie coffee cakes for my hubby. Really. Since if it were for ME, I'da picked up anything CHOCOLATE.

:)

(_____)(_____) <---- my ass