Genius In Disguise

Today I had a client forget her name and yes, this would be the same client who decided to pop four (!!) Valium in our lobby and then drive herself home.

Pam* was unsure if her name was Pam or Patty but she was pretty sure it wasn't Susan. While I wish I was kidding, you just can't make this shit up, folks. Maybe it was all that Valium or could it be she's had one too many laser zaps to the head? Either way, girlfriend needs to get a clue.

I think there should be some law of physics that once a certain amount of stupidity clusters in one general area, spontaneous combustion occurs. Shit, my hometown would be wiped clean off the map and I'm not sure too many people would mind.

As a good friend would say: They're only alive because it is illegal to kill them.


*Names have been changed to protect the deficient.

Overheard

Her: I think I'll leave a little landing strip...

Him: No, baby, really, get it all done

Her: You just want to pretend you're doing a twelve year old.

Him: No, I just don't need to floss twice a day.

Fateful twist of irony or ironic twist of fate?

Exactly ten months ago I met my husband at a car dealership when I was there with my boyfriend of two and a half years. He for the most part proposed that night.

The boyfriend, whom we'll call The Dirty Rascal, and I were living in Indiana and were tired of the midwest. We wanted to move somplace completely different and in the mean time, his parents were buying him a new car for graduation. While I was really pulling for the Audi and a move to Baltimore, eventually he won and we packed up the Volvo and moved to Charlotte.

When it came time for TDR's car to have the 7,500 mile maintenance done, we took it to our friendly Volvo dealership - maybe a little too friendly in TDR's opinion. After some lively conversation and a few secretive glances between Mr. L and myself, we finally decide to meet up at a local watering hole later that evening... and by we I mean the three of us.

After much drinking, Mr. L and I managed to steal a moment alone. At the same time he said, "Whatever commitment you need from me, you have it," I manged to ever so eloquently confess, "I haven't had sex in a really long time." Neither of us were disappointed in what the other had to say.

Somehow, through all the drama that ensued before, during, and after I left TDR, L and I have managed to have the most open, honest, and loving relationship. He's everything I've ever wanted and needed as well as everything I didn't even know I wanted or needed. He's a gentleman in every respect and yet still loves to play a good game of grab ass.

So, Mr. L, I love you dearly and while the circumstances that lead me to you weren't always what I had envisioned, you are everything I ever could have hoped for. Thank you for the most meaningful ten months of my life. Cheers to a thousand more.

Fire In the Hole

So today I had the process of laser hair removal on my bikini. My full bikini. As Joelle at Snappy Hour would say: the Porn Star.

The front of the bikini area wasn't bad at all but the taint and rectal area... let's just say there's nothing anyone can do or tell you to prepare you for having your asshole lasered. And to be honest, I'm not sure which is worse: the actual procedure or having it performed by one of your coworkers.

But in a few short months and after only five treatments, I'll never have to shave or wax ever again. And that to me is totally worth the lasered ass feeling.

Fringe Benefits

Apparently there were more benefits to dating a professional drinker in college than I was at first aware. To be fair, I would no longer classify my ex as a professional drinker but back in the day... yeeeeeeah.

Anyways, said ex and I moved to Charlotte together with all of our stuff and when things didn't work out a few months later, he moved back to the Midwest. While he didn't leave much more behind than my stuff and a dozen roses, one thing he did leave behind was a box marked "Bar Stuff." A cursory glance led me to assume it was nothing more than the ornamentation he used to adorn his bar and nothing more. I was a little hurt when he said he didn't want it back as some of the books and specialty pourers were gifts from me, but in the end it made little difference.

And so the box sat in my den, waiting for me to decide if I would place it in my attic or toss it to the curb to be picked up with the trash. I opened the box today to see if there was a blacklight in there (so I can find all of the cat piss locations) and found none other than a WASP-ish delight: liquor. And we're not talking just cheap stuff (although dude, McCormick vodka suuuuuuuucks) as there was also some fine selections of Bacardi, Smirnoff, and Cuervo.

So thanks, ex professional drinker boyfriend. Tonight, I drink to you.

Dear...

Clients I had today:

How 'bout ya try not to be so fucking crazy.

Hugs and kisses,

greeneyes

Ten things I know...

...about why I am mad:

1. After a nice evening out on the town
2. Mr. L and I return home to a horrible smell
3. Radiating from our bedroom
4. From where "The Cat" pissed on our bed
5. And bedding, which cost a fortune
6. Which soaked through to the mattress
7. Which cost another small fortune
8. Kitty piss smells like ass
9. No, wait, make that bottled, week-old ass unleashed upon my tender nostrils
10. Kitty better get neutered before I do it myself

ps: I had a lot of bourbon with dinner

It's our own Animal Planet

We have some new wildlife here at the House of R. Allow me to introduce you to Sri Swami Satchidananda:

We call him Satch for short because God knows I can barely say that sober let alone when drunk. Not that I'm a lush or anything, 'cause I'm totally not. Really, no, not me. Uh-uh.

Anyways. More pictures of Mr. Satch:

Isn't he adorable? Just wait until he gets neutered, then I will like him more.

More He Said, She Said

Him: Ok, so I'm going to change into my pajamas and then we'll watch the second Star Wars.
Her: [dead fish eyes]
Him: I mean, we're going to sit around and tell each other how much we love each other.
Her: [dead fish eyes]
Him: I mean...
Her: What you mean is that I'm going to pick what we do tonight and you're going to pretend it was your idea all along.
Him: Exactly, that's what I was saying.

He Said, She Said

Her: sweet
Her: finally!
Her: html is my bitch
Him: along with a long list of others. :-)

Ten Things I Know...

...about being picked up in a coffee shop:

1. It's been done a hundred times already
2. This means you are not original
3. No matter how hard you try you cannot make 16 oz chai sound dirty
4. That means stop trying
5. Please
6. You're making my ears bleed
7. Ok, fine, now I have to use the "M" word
8. Dude, I said I was married, for crissakes
9. Yes, that means I am unavailable
10. 20 oz decaf latte girl doesn't want to date you, either, jackass

Enough hormones to kill a horse

So while I may not technically be pregnant, I still have enough hormones in my body to supply three teenagers... and boys at that. Normally when my hormones spike I get all "don't fuck with me" but now I am "yes, please, fuck me, yes, you, anyone, fuck me."

Ok, maybe not anyone but at this point I think Mr. L is ready for a designated hitter to take over. Apparently yes, you can oversex a 26 year old male, especially if you have sex seven times in three days. The poor man cannot even come so you can imagine how serious the situation is.

I think we're getting to a point where L is afraid to fall asleep for fear of being attacked by the Post-Miscarriage Hormonal Woman from Hell™. I used to tease L that he would midnight stealth me in the middle of the night but oh, how the tables have turned.

Maybe he should start sleeping in one of these...

Cheers

Happy New Year!