Friday, May 23, 2008

Friday, May 16, 2008

I've Given Up My Sissy La La Tendencies


All time best line from last night came once again from Karen.
She's given up her "sissy la la tendencies" So have I girlfriend, so have I!
Actually, if my fuzzy memory serves me right. I think she was just paraphrasing something I was saying.
I was just mentioning that after three years, I finally can act like a normal semi-intelligent person when the B-man's around. I no longer sink into my chair and turn into that shy, 17 year old, sissy-la-la. I guess there's trouble in paradise because he's been around alot the past month or so.
I truly do not care. And I don't think he does either. And it feels great. We can sit next to each other in the Gras and have a normal conversation. Neither of us feels the need to run out the back door.
Big accomplishment for us, by the way.

So I say it again. I've given up my sissy la la ways.
Watch out people. I'm a Sissy-la-la Graduate!
You can be too! We are so over that!!!!!!!At least I am......... for now.

How about I'm image googling Sissy, you can't even believe what images came up. Try it in the privacy of your own home. Lets just say it was an appropriate name for a certain bartender.

OK onto some things that have been heavy on my mind:

Last night I was walking "Smokey the Guard Dog" around the block before heading out to meet the AMG girls. I was walking past Cafe Zino and out comes this huge rottweiler. I'm like, "holy shit" where is this dogs owner? At about that time I yell rather loudly, "Whose dog is this?" The dog gets closer and starts barking. I see big teeth. Again I yell. Who the fucks dog is this?". Then the dog jumps on my poor Smokey and they start fighting. At that point I scream at the top of my lungs." WHO'S MOTHER FUCKING DOG IS THIS. GRAB YOUR MOTHER FUCKING DOG." Out of the restaurant walks the dogs owner, grabs her dog and just walks away. No I'm sorry or is your dog alright. I then scream, "you stupid bitch, what's wrong with you? Why would you leave a dog like that off a leash?.
Really, talk about a stupid bitch. I was shaking like a leaf. And this bitch just walks away.
I guess I yelled so loud, my throat actually hurt from screaming.

That's that. Other Bitches n'at:

How about The Vatican says we are allowed to believe in aliens. Gee thanks, I was worried about that. Now I can sleep better.

Did you know I'm a dentist now? Yeah, I got my D.M.D. from West Virginia University. I just told them that I work in a Dentists office, and people ask me all the time about problems with their teeth. Even when I'm out in bars (as Ski can attest to). So yeah, they talked about it and said they would count work experience as credit for classes. I told them I think my QPA should be about 3.8. and they said fine. I didn't even have to call the Governor. So another one of Harriet's daughters is an MD. We all know The Madonna lives in MD. So we just have to work on the brother, and we'll be the perfect family.
Hey, it worked for Heather Bresch.
What a bunch of yahoo's. I feel badly for the professors. How can they be taken seriously when your university is known throughout America as the number one party school. Then this Garrison character comes on board and starts giving away degrees. Talk about screwing things up. He need to get his pampas ass outa West Virginia University.
And to Little Miss Heather who says she did nothing wrong so she will not resign her position at Milan Labs. How about lying on you resume and fraud, just for starters.
Cheater.
Bitch.
We won't even go to exploring if she paid for credit's she was GIVEN. And we wonder why prescription drugs are so costly. With jerks like her running the show, they aren't going to get any cheaper.
Note to Governor: Your daughter lied on her resume to get a job. She was caught. Then she called you, who in turn called your buddy and reminded him that you are his biggest donor. And the company she works for is another big paycheck. You tell him to fix problem. He does. Putting the reputation of the entire university on the line.
I think you all deserve each other. No wonder you're all stuck in West Virginia. Who else would have you??????

Alrighty then just wanted to get a few things off my chest while I was thinking of them. (Since I'm no longer a sissy la la and all.)

I guess I've wasted enough time. I need to clean my house before someone calls the health department on me.

One more thing that would totally make me a major bitch. Karen says that Matilda the Ass is pregnant for a year! Is that true? Wow. Poor Ass'. I would hate to be pregnant for a year.
Although my Aunt Betty has 11 kids and was pregnant for 99 months. Yes, 99 months. I would slit my wrists. Anyway, Karen promises some pictures of Matilda the Ass. Maybe she can be our mascot.(Or Heroine)

Ok Ok, now I really have to go and clean my kitchen.

See you all next week. Dust your Bucco stuff off. We are meeting at the Gras between 6 and 6:15. If you can't be there by that time, plese let me know. I can meet some of you at entrance.

Monday, May 12, 2008

GIRLFRIENDS RULE! Well, most of the time.


I know, I know, I'm going to hear about it. I dumped the AMG girls for a boy.

So shoot me.

I had fun.

When I was married I used to live for girls nights. Waiting all week or month, for that matter, to hook up with one girlfriend or another for some reason we always made up. My kids were little and I just needed a break. We all needed a break.

Fast forward 10, 15 years. The husband goes and dies on me. The girlfriends rally around me. Wow, that's when you really know who your friends are. And believe me, I realized I had plenty. And for that I am truly blessed. A topic that's been covered here more than once.

But lets face it people. I've been having "Girls Nights" for five years now. And no offense, but If I have one more fucking girls night, I'm going to scream.
So when I get a chance to have a "Boys night". Sorry girls, not to be rude, but I'm outa here.
When you're 50 and have a body like I do, there isn't a line forming to the right, like there is for some of us. Anyway, if my "friend" asked me to go somewhere, I don't give a shit what the hell night it is. I'm in. (Actually, I'm not, but it was his birthday, so I felt sort of obligated. So there, I confessed)

But hell yeah, I had fun. And you all lived without me.

Imagine that?

So Friday I went to a 50th Birthday party for one of Dan's cousins. Her name is Angela and was Dan's favorite on the Italian side. (Notice Mar, I said "On the Italian side") She is also one of my favorites. So I got my passport out and headed through the tubes.
And yeah, you guessed it, it was another fuckin girls night.

We went to this place in the South Hills that, rumor has it, used to be a mob hang out. And it certainly looked the part. You can't believe this place. It was a pick up place for old people.

Angela is too funny. She said she picked this place to celebrate her birthday because she didn't want to look old. She said that we would all look great compared to what was there. And boy was she right. There was one lady who had a gold lame mini dress on. She probably was about 60. She look every bit of 70. As my mother would say "She looked like twenty miles of bad road--- and the road was only ten miles!"

Holy Hell. I was getting whip lash because my head was spinning in all directions. I didn't know where to look next. At one point we were all sitting together at the table and I told all of the woman there to look around them. The crazy assortment of people around them was what is "out there" I told them they should appreciate their husbands. Because the grass always looks greener on the other side. It's not.

We ended up having a great time though. And would have no matter where we went.

It wouldn't be an Italian party without a "Favor" Wonder why they get so into this? I don't even take them at showers and parties anymore. I accidentally "forget" them.But these I liked. (Again, Angela knows how to throw a party right down to making useless favors useful.)

We each got a little bottle of wine and attached was a little tag with a bunch of sayings. I've decided to share them with you all.
  • Are we simply romantically challenged, or are we sluts?

  • If we could perpetually do blowjobs to every guy on earth, we would own the world. And at the same times, have our hands free. (my personal favorite)
  • Maybe some woman aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with them.

  • So what are we going to do? Sit around bars, sipping Cosmos and sleeping with strangers when we're 80?
  • Woman are for friendship, men are for fucking.

  • There are no good girls gone wrong - just bad girls found out.

  • I wrote the story myself. It's about a girl who lost her reputation and never missed it.
  • It's the good girls who keep diaries, the bad girls never have the time.
  • There are two kinds of woman, those who want power in the world and whose who want power in bed.
  • World peace, multiple orgasms and fancy boxed chocolates in that order.
  • Amazingly enough, I don't give a shit.

  • You don't really blow on it. That's just an expression.

  • Let's talk about how fabulous you think I am.
Well folks, the above list is one of the reasons I think Angela is fabulous. Happy 50th girlfriend.
(One of the above is a quote by Jackie Onassis. Any guesses on which one?)


As for Thursday. I don't have a date yet girls, so I guess I'll be out.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Talk About A Hot Flash!


So I finally get around to eating dinner sometime tonight around 10:00 PM. I made pork chops. M-M-good.
I bought a grill last year at the beginning of the summer. I used it about 10 times. Seven of those times in the first two weeks. Then I got bored with it.
I've been working to get the outside of my house in order for the summer. As my mom used to say, it looks like "Hogan's Alley" (Jasmine, history on that please)
So I've let the inside of my house go while concentrating on flowers and weed pulling. God I hate doing that. I love how flowers look, but hate, hate gardening. I used to have tons of flowers all over the place. One time I was swearing to myself while on my knees planting. My husband asked what was the matter. I told him how I hated gardening. He looked shocked. "You're kidding me?" he said. I said "No I'm not. I hate planting flowers. I love how they look when done, but it's really painful for me." He laughed and said all these years he thought I loved doing it because we always had so many flowers. 20 years people, the man thought I loved doing something I hated for 20 years. Yeah, we talked alot about things....

Sorry, straying from my point again. Anyway, I've been grilling all week.
Sometime next week, I'll get sick of it and won't use it again until next March.

In the meantime, I put the marinated porkchops on the grill. After a few minutes I go to turn them over and (this is so weird) a peppercorn pops up off the meat and hits my chin, then, bounces off my chin and get this GOES DOWN MY SHIRT. I swear to God.
So I'm all like "Holy Shit, my boob is burning. It really hurt. I stick my hand down my shirt and try to find it. I pull my bra loose and it falls down and lands on the waist of my pants. Held to my skin by a camisole I had on under my shirt.
I'm digging to get it out, forgetting for the moment that I am out in my backyard for all the neighbors to see. I guess if any were watching, they sure got a show.

How funny is that?
Want to know something crazier? That is not the first time something like this has happened to me.

I'm sure "The Madonna"will throw her two cents in on this story.

When I was around 15 or 16 I borrowed (ok, stole) one of my sisters brand new blouses to wear. I had to look cool because my friend Maryann and I were going to hang out at Arsenal Park and you never knew when my boy obsession of the week was going to cut through the park.
Never mind she paid $25.00 for in 1972. I didn't care, I had to look good. Or that she had it on lay-a-way for two months to pay it off on her part time Treasure Island salary. None of that mattered.
I just needed to wear that blue plaid smock top with my new jeans.

So Mary and I are sitting on the bench by the water fountain over the park, smoking cigarettes. Acting all cool and all.
When here they come, Eugene and Paul. We spot them walking towards us. Always the shy one, I get all nervous. Mary was way cooler and always had boyfriends, she was captain of cheerleaders and all. No match for tall, skinny, awkward 15 year old me.
Attempting to be cool, which I so was not, I flick the cigarette backward over my shoulder. To this day, I have no idea why I did that.
The boys walk over and start talking. My face was probably 90 shades of red. All of the sudden, my left boob starts feeling hot. I'm thinking, why is my boob hurting.
About that same moment Mary screams "OMG, your boob is on fire."
I look down and sure enough, the light from the cigarette I stupidly flicked over my shoulder fell down my shirt into my bra. Burning a hole straight through my bra and through my shirt.
Yeah, I always seem to have a way with boys, even way back then.

Stupid me goes home and tries to hang the shirt back in my sisters closet. WITH A GIANT BURN OVER THE LEFT BOOB. Was I really so damn stupid? I guess I was.

I plead with her not to tell our mother, because then she would know I smoked and I would probably be grounded, like, all summer or something.
I can't remember if she told or not. I don't think she did. I just had to hear about it for the rest of my life. And she blackmailed me for a few years, until I actually did get caught smoking.
And yep, they did ground me for the summer of 73. That was the summer I joined the church choir so I could at least sneak out after choir practice on Tuesday nights.
And I wonder why I was never their favorite child?

That's a whole other story.
But I bet not one of you know someone who burned their boob, TWICE.

See you all Thursday.
Pollacks. Around 8.
Also, as I was posting this, I notice this is my 100th Post.
Woo Hoo. We'll have to have a celebratory drink tomorrow.

LATE EDITION: Yeah, heard from the Madonna who promtly corrected me. The cost of her plaid smock top was TWENTY EIGHT DOLLARS. Not twenty five. (Not that she's still holding a grudge or anything, it was only 35 years ago. But who's counting!)