Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Crouching Goose, Hidden Devil

I heart Mondays. Also, sarcasm. *sighs*

Yesterday, I had to be at the office by early o'clock. The sun was barely conscious and God only knows I wasn't. The wind stole my breath and my dignity {yes, I was wearing pink panties and yes, half the morning commuters can verify this}. My boots clicked rhythmically to the beat of The Fratellis and I was already mentally consuming copious amounts of caffeine. I rounded the circular entrance-way and reached into my purse for my handy-dandy swipe card only to find that, lo and behold, it was nowhere to be found.

{cover your ears if obscenities offend your sensibilities}

After a brief girlie-stamp-feet-in-dismay-hissyfit-of-epic-proportions, I gathered my composure and began the jaunt {read: hike} around to the other security entrance. This is where my morning took a fateful twist.

I decided to go the scenic route, past a small pond and following a meandering path over a bridge and through a wooded area. Pretty.

Oh, did I mention the geese?


There are geese.

So, off I go, with my boots-a-made-for-walkin', and about 3 minutes into my journey, I am regretting my choice. Because, geese? They shit. Everywhere. But I am nothing if not stubborn, and I'm not about to let some loose bowel-ed goose make me late.

So, step-ity, step-ity, skip. Step-ity, step-ity, swerve. Etc.

And then.


I pause.


I look to my left and right.

And THEY look back.


Shit-shit-shit-shit. Literally and figuratively.

Two angry shitty geese are glaring at me. With furrowed brows. Yes, geese have eyebrows. Shut up! They do!


I am now faced with a dilemma. Do I wait for them to move on or do I make a run for it? Because although I have never seen a goose fell a human on National Geographic, they don't look like they are in the mood to cuddle. Also, the lateness.


I start to run.


They think I've challenged them to a race.


I run faster.


They follow suit.


I am still hop-scotching over goose-poopies.


They are still hungry for human-flesh.


Sweet Jesus in heaven, the end of the path is in sight!

Blessed pavement. Sans goose-shit.


The geese circle angrily on the perimeter, flapping their feathers in warning lest I think they will forget me anytime soon.

And then I see it.

A sign.

Knocked down by the aforementioned wind gusts of skirt raising proportions.

Geese nesting. Please avoid at all costs.

Duck, duck, goose. Run!

Monday, April 16, 2007

Oh Monday.....why do you mock me so?

A math equation.

Severe wind warning
Flimsy skirt
The common sense God gave cheese
My Marilyn Monroe Moment

I see London, I see France....

Friday, April 13, 2007

Why Karaoke is Prolly Not My Calling....

Everytime I hear that song by Fergie...you know that one with Ludacris? I think it's called "Glamorous"? Anyhow, everytime I hear that song...... and this line comes around:



On days when I had a.....

I think that she's going to say "Mustache" instead of "Mustang".

Every. Single. Time.

Which I'm sure partially explains the looks I got on the train the last time I was singing along to my MP3 player....

I would like Romance for starters, with some Chivallry on the side...

There are so many options, it's hard to choose. Perhaps an entree of Loving Support? But wait....the HotMonkeyKinkySex looks good, too. The Chef recommends what? The Selfless-Wife-&-Mother? Hmm, that sounds fattening. Also, hard to chew. Decisions, decisions.... I'm liking the looks of Partner a la Crime, with a light dressing of Laughter, and maybe a side order of Understanding? You know, that sounds good. I'll wash that all down with a glass of Independence, hold the ice. And, why not? An Orgasm for dessert.

As a result of several conversations with girlfriends in the last few days, I have been pondering the multitude of roles that we juggle in today's dog-eat-dog-but-still-nurture-puppies world. We are expected to seamlessly flow from one position to the next, much like a character from "Chitty Chitty Gang Bang". Breadwinner? No problem. Oh and by the way, when you get home, could you maybe make me a sandwich with that? And while you're at it, could you cut the crusts off for the little ones? And pout whilst you do it all , 'cause that's bringingsexyback, baby.


It's funny to me how desires change. I remember when Destiny's Child came out with the Independence song from the Charlie's Angels movie. To the dismay of my more musically sensitive friends, I hearted the whole I-don't-need-no man-I'll-buy-my-own-Jewels lyrical mess. This was at a time when I was but a poor student, and my ex was the main financial contributor to the household.

The Irony...oh, how she burns.

Much has happened since then. Obviously, the ex is now an ex. I earn my own living, and do so happily. But in a reflective sense, the further I come, the longer the road to fulfillment seems. I want a career, to find my calling and to answer it with all that I have to give. I want to find out what defines me as a person, and to do all that I can to flourish in that regard.

And yet....

I want more.

{Greedy, I know}

This may well set Gloria Steinham's teeth-a-clenchin', but I think I was born to be called out of my name. The word "Mommy" alone makes my ovaries do the rumba. And if my biological clock is ticking, I can only imagine what it must be like for someone who learned to tell time before the 4th Grade {the words you are looking for right now are Idiot Savant. Really.}. Not that I'm ready to answer that particular call. N. told me that she was going to get a plant first and see how that worked into her life. I have killed cacti. Yup, plural. It might behoove me to jump the stop right to CrazyTown and stick a Cabbage Patch doll in a stroller.

But I digress.

Now-a-days, I find myself in a betwixt state of mind, whereby I want to be able to buy my own diamonds, and yet, have them show up in a pretty little box with a card that says "Just because". I know, I know. It's not politically correct, but it's the truth. And I want to be at peace with what I see currently as the conflicting Faces of Me. I'm going to try and quiet the roaring and listen to the embers.

In the meantime.....

I want to be able to make the dinner {sans kitchen fire} and have someone acknowledge the effort. I also want them to do the dishes afterwards, because really? Grey's Anatomy is on, and I'm not your Mother.

Oh, and can I take HotMonkeyKinkySex home in a doggy bag?

Thursday, April 12, 2007

A random D-ism...

On wearing a slutty top:

"Cleavage is a must when one is going to the bar. How will the boys know the house is on the market if you don't put a For Sale sign on the front lawn?".

Makes me wonder what showing your ass crack is saying about the "property"...

Monday, April 9, 2007

Get down off the cross..... we need the wood for the fire.

{Note: Names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved}

The Date: Easter Sunday. Yes, that is correct; the day that Jesus miraculously walked out of the Cave of Death {doesn't that sound like a super-villain's lair?} after having died for our sins to rise again.

The Place: A living room, which may or may not {confidentially speaking} be located in my parents home.

The Scene: Night-time. The TV is blaring {possibly due to the fact that the man we'll call "The Cranky Buddha" is defiantly ignoring the fact that his hearing has All Gone Pete Tong} and a woman, whom we shall call "He said F" and whose name might very well rhyme with "calm" is watching "Extreme Makeover: The Home Edition".

The Show: Ty Pennington is comforting a portly single mother of two as she parades him around the shabby cardboard box that her family have been forced to inhabit after a nasty divorce. Her lips are blue and her teeth chatter as she points out the cling-wrap covered wall that was Wizard-of-Oz-ed over a year ago. Her heart is visibly heavy as she leads the crew into the Bathroom-That-Plumbing-Forgot and explains that the toilet doesn't flush and that her children are too embarrassed to have friends over lest they witness the shame. The camera shakes as it's handler is overcome with emotion.

The Point: It's tragic. Your heart bleeds for this woman. You think "Goodness, there but by the grace of God go I". You want to scoop up the whole family and kiss their boo-boo's. At least, that's what I was thinking.

The Comment: "He said F" {who in all fairness is one of the most giving, loving people one could be blessed to know} watches this unfold and turns to me, as I wipe the tears from my eyes and says "Well, they certainly aren't hungry. If I were her, I would cut the grocery bill in half, and get a plumber in".

The Response: After I choked on the disillusionment that comes when you realize that the person who may or may not be your "rhymes-with-calm" is actually a heartless Harpie, I laughed until my cheeks hurt from the effort. Because you have to respect that kind of logic. Even if it is Easter and you are an Irish Catholic.

What would Jesus do?

Sunday, April 8, 2007

Pee-Pee versus Va-jay-jay

N: What do you think of P.'s motives?

Me: It all boils down to three ultimate goals for men. Money. Sex. Superiority.

N: OK, I get the first two. What do you mean by superiority?

Me: The quest to see whose pee-pee is larger, metaphorically speaking. Actually, literally as well..

N: Well, seeing as I don't have a pee-pee, I guess he wins that one.

Me: I guess.

N: But my existential pee-pee is much bigger than his.

Me: Existentially, you are most definately the better man.

Va-jay-jay: 1
Pee-Pee: 0

Friday, April 6, 2007

3 minutes later....

Me: Are all strippers beautiful?

Boy: {drifting back into the Land of Nod}

Me: Well?

Boy: {musters up the verbal ability to cuss me under his breath}

Me: I'm waiting.

Boy: They are like stage hookers. Are hookers beautiful?

Me: I'm sure they are on the inside.

'Cause strippers are people too......

Pillow Talk....

{The darkness abounds at 5:15 am on the Good Friday no-work-cause-Jesus-is-dead-Holiday}

Boy: My body is telling me it's time to get up.

Me: mwafffk?

Boy: Yup, yup it is.

Me: Well, tell it to shutitsmouth...

And do it quietly, some of us are trying to sleep.

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

Wide awake at 2 am...

Things that scare me:

  • spiders
  • leggings
  • sharks
  • mispronounced words
  • zombies
  • driving

    A terrifying scenario:

Me driving, whilst wearing leggings, and a zombie walking out onto the road, humming the theme song from "Jaws", as I scream "Please...someone help me...I can't find my niTch in life" as I feel the beady stare of 8 eyeballs.

Oh, Freud. I hurt your coke-addled head, don't I?

Because socially. I. am adept?

Break-up lines I have actually thought about using:

It's not me. It's so you. Seriously.

Ummm, yeah, I like don't even want to be your friend.

Leave me the fuck alone.

You smell.


Thanks-for-the-drink-go-fuck-yourself. love, me.

You know, something kind....

What emotionally damaged sounds like...

This is a perfect example of how someone who lives for words can be utterly inadequate at expressing herself when emotions are involved. I have a fine history of open-mouth-insert-foot syndrome and sadly, it continues to this day. I'm sure it prolly has a little something to do with my, ummm, spectacular relationship track record {married "special", dated "special", have the t-shirt} but seriously? This borders on the ridiculous.

Picture it:

Awhile ago. My place. The Couch. With Random boy. Not Boy. A crappy horror movie is playing on the DVD, & I am watching it from behind a pillow {because I am cool like that...}

Me: OMG! WTF. That's just not necessary to the plot line. K, that's just grody.

Him: Did you really just say grody?

Me: Wanna make something of it?

Him: Maybe.

Me: You feeling lucky punk?

Him: You look nothing like Clint Eastwood, dork.

Me: Ya, well, nerd.

Him: Why are you calling me a nerd?

Me: Because.

Him: Because?

Me: Just because.

Him: OK.

Me: OK, then.

Him: Andrea?

Me: Random boy?

Him: I love you.

Me: *splutters* and then FUCKING LAUGHS.

Him: Umm, why are you laughing?

Me: *.....................* {crickets can be heard}

Him: Andrea?

Me: *.......................*{chirp}

Him: Did I say something wrong?

Me: *coughs*. No, no, it's OK. But ummmm, really? Maybe not.

Him: Ummmm, so....

Me: {looking back at the TV} Now THAT is also grody.

Him: *..........................*

Jiminy Cricket is so my wing man....