Sunday, May 27, 2007
i'm outta here
i have decided, after listening to the comments and suggestions of others, to move this blog to wordpress. for those who are interested, i can now be found here.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
if you ask, i will deliver!
ok, for all of you out there who apparently want to hear stories about things that are more disgusting than takin a big 'ol chug out of a half-drunk ashtray-type beer bottle...and i won't mention the name of anybody who would do such a thing, cuz i do not tell tales about my friends...
but don't say ya haven't been forewarned
picture yourself at a mardi gras parade
and imagine that you know what "mardi gras" means...*
*for all my damnyankee and otherwise northern-type buds, who don't know french, "mardi gras" is french for "let's walk around in the streets greeting old friends, fightin over plastic beads, and drinking beer"
so anyway, you're at a mardi gras parade, which means that you'll most likely be indulging in alcoholic beverages of some sort, and you find yourself in need of "the facilities"
since you're a male-type person,
*note from s'girl
...see?!? this isn't my own actual experience, but the story is true!
you decide (and are able) to just do what ya gotta do inside your mostly empty (but not completely empty) beer bottle, which just happens to be in your hand at the time, whilst sittin in your truck.
afterwards, you put said beer bottle on the tailgate of the truck, and kinda forget about it...
...a little bit ok, several beers...later...
...you're standin outside your vehicle,and you're about ready to go home...
but then you realize that you're thirsty, and you remember that you've got a beer lyin around somewhere, if you could only find it, and so, when you do find it, you take the biggest chug ever, and then...and then...you realize, just a little too late...that it was the very same beer you'd just recently placed on the tailgate...the very same one which was previously used as a chamber pot of sorts.
now i believe takin a chug of tobacco-laced beer would be quite nasty, but i can't help thinkin that somehow, drinkin pee-laced beer has got to be worse.
warm, pee-laced beer.
i guess he had to look on the bright side, if there is one, and tell himself that at least it was his own produce.
i still feel kinda sick just thinkin about it.
but don't say ya haven't been forewarned
picture yourself at a mardi gras parade
and imagine that you know what "mardi gras" means...*
*for all my damnyankee and otherwise northern-type buds, who don't know french, "mardi gras" is french for "let's walk around in the streets greeting old friends, fightin over plastic beads, and drinking beer"
so anyway, you're at a mardi gras parade, which means that you'll most likely be indulging in alcoholic beverages of some sort, and you find yourself in need of "the facilities"
since you're a male-type person,
*note from s'girl
...see?!? this isn't my own actual experience, but the story is true!
you decide (and are able) to just do what ya gotta do inside your mostly empty (but not completely empty) beer bottle, which just happens to be in your hand at the time, whilst sittin in your truck.
afterwards, you put said beer bottle on the tailgate of the truck, and kinda forget about it...
...a little bit ok, several beers...later...
...you're standin outside your vehicle,and you're about ready to go home...
but then you realize that you're thirsty, and you remember that you've got a beer lyin around somewhere, if you could only find it, and so, when you do find it, you take the biggest chug ever, and then...and then...you realize, just a little too late...that it was the very same beer you'd just recently placed on the tailgate...the very same one which was previously used as a chamber pot of sorts.
now i believe takin a chug of tobacco-laced beer would be quite nasty, but i can't help thinkin that somehow, drinkin pee-laced beer has got to be worse.
warm, pee-laced beer.
i guess he had to look on the bright side, if there is one, and tell himself that at least it was his own produce.
i still feel kinda sick just thinkin about it.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
the lady takes a stance
Public Restrooms
My mother was a fanatic about public restrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, show me how to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.
That was a long time ago. Now, in my "mature" years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain.
When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.
The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt)is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet, of course.
You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a firehose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that point, you give up.
You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely to them.
A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. ( Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs.
It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door.
My mother was a fanatic about public restrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, show me how to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.
That was a long time ago. Now, in my "mature" years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain.
When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.
The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt)is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet, of course.
You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a firehose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that point, you give up.
You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely to them.
A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. ( Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs.
It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
fast food...service? part 1
yesterday i was in possesion of a radio station contest prize, which was in the form of a coupon for a free salad at mcdonald's. let me first state that i HATE mcdonald's, and always have, and never ever eat there.
but, i was hungry, and the salad was free, so i went against what i knew was right, and decided to give it a shot for lunch.
i drove up to the window, and this is what ensued.
*mbtc is "moron behind the counter"
sg: i have a coupon for a free southwestern salad
mbtc: can i take your order?
sg (thinking): huh?
sg (aloud): um, a southwestern salad?
mbtc: grilled or crispy?
sg (thinking): huh? crispy? oh, she must mean grilled or fried chicken
sg (aloud): grilled
mbtc: we're out of southwestern dressing
sg (thinking) WTF?!? *sigh*
sg (aloud) then i'll take ranch
mbtc: your total is...
sg (thinking): i don't think so!
so i pulled up to the window and presented my coupon, at which point she looked at me like i'd just crawled out from under a rock or somethin. then she proceeded to call her manager, and in a very snarky tone, said "she's got a coupon", like i was repugnant to her, or somethin. so the manager starts punchin stuff into the register, and i assume (oh so foolishly) that she's straightening out the cashier's mess. nope. she started takin other people's orders! i'm sittin there, gettin more impatient by the second, and mbtc every now and again, sends me a look, without ever sayin a word. finally...
sg: so...can i get my salad now, or what?
mbtc: (picture her just wavin her hand in the general direction of the next window)
sg: *fumes and drives away*
had i not been almost out of lunch time, and if not for the people waitin behind me, i would not have let that go, but this time i really didn't have a choice.
this may help you to understand the next "fast food" incident, and my reaction to same.
but, i was hungry, and the salad was free, so i went against what i knew was right, and decided to give it a shot for lunch.
i drove up to the window, and this is what ensued.
*mbtc is "moron behind the counter"
sg: i have a coupon for a free southwestern salad
mbtc: can i take your order?
sg (thinking): huh?
sg (aloud): um, a southwestern salad?
mbtc: grilled or crispy?
sg (thinking): huh? crispy? oh, she must mean grilled or fried chicken
sg (aloud): grilled
mbtc: we're out of southwestern dressing
sg (thinking) WTF?!? *sigh*
sg (aloud) then i'll take ranch
mbtc: your total is...
sg (thinking): i don't think so!
so i pulled up to the window and presented my coupon, at which point she looked at me like i'd just crawled out from under a rock or somethin. then she proceeded to call her manager, and in a very snarky tone, said "she's got a coupon", like i was repugnant to her, or somethin. so the manager starts punchin stuff into the register, and i assume (oh so foolishly) that she's straightening out the cashier's mess. nope. she started takin other people's orders! i'm sittin there, gettin more impatient by the second, and mbtc every now and again, sends me a look, without ever sayin a word. finally...
sg: so...can i get my salad now, or what?
mbtc: (picture her just wavin her hand in the general direction of the next window)
sg: *fumes and drives away*
had i not been almost out of lunch time, and if not for the people waitin behind me, i would not have let that go, but this time i really didn't have a choice.
this may help you to understand the next "fast food" incident, and my reaction to same.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
summers in louisiana, with all their fine qualities...
...unfortunately have some that aren't so fine.
namely, for one, roaches.
(and the unbelievable heat, and some other things too, but today it's all about roaches.)
i have recently found out that my youngest daughter has the same feelings of disgust and horror, or a general feeling of "ickyness", in their presence as i.
a couple nites ago, she and her brother, whose bedroom is across the hall, were acting silly, and talking and laughing, when they were supposed to be going to sleep.
so i did what any parent who didn't feel like walkin all the way upstairs would do.
i hollered at them to hush.
a little while later, i heard her scream, and thought they were at it again. this time i actually went upstairs, to attempt a more "in your face" approach, to show them i was serious. that, and cuz i was gettin hoarse from the hollering.
turns out there was a huge roach on her wall, right over her bed.
*shudders*
(excuse me for a moment. i have to try to regain my composure)
so anyway, her brother (who is her fiercest protector but who would deny same) managed to get her out of her room whilst the roach was being "disposed of".
she then spent the nite on the floor in his room.
i thought it best not to mention to her that roaches are at least as likely to be on the floor as they are the wall.
anybody got an industrial size can of Raid?
namely, for one, roaches.
(and the unbelievable heat, and some other things too, but today it's all about roaches.)
i have recently found out that my youngest daughter has the same feelings of disgust and horror, or a general feeling of "ickyness", in their presence as i.
a couple nites ago, she and her brother, whose bedroom is across the hall, were acting silly, and talking and laughing, when they were supposed to be going to sleep.
so i did what any parent who didn't feel like walkin all the way upstairs would do.
i hollered at them to hush.
a little while later, i heard her scream, and thought they were at it again. this time i actually went upstairs, to attempt a more "in your face" approach, to show them i was serious. that, and cuz i was gettin hoarse from the hollering.
turns out there was a huge roach on her wall, right over her bed.
*shudders*
(excuse me for a moment. i have to try to regain my composure)
so anyway, her brother (who is her fiercest protector but who would deny same) managed to get her out of her room whilst the roach was being "disposed of".
she then spent the nite on the floor in his room.
i thought it best not to mention to her that roaches are at least as likely to be on the floor as they are the wall.
anybody got an industrial size can of Raid?
the experts answer the question, "why did the chicken cross the road?"
DR. PHIL:
The problem we have here is that this chicken won't realize that he must first deal with the problem on "THIS" side of the road before it goes after the problem on the "OTHER SIDE" of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his "CURRENT" problems before adding "NEW" problems.
OPRAH:
Well I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.
GEORGE W BUSH:
We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road.We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.
COLIN POWELL:
Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road...
ANDERSON COOPER - CNN:
We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.
JOHN KERRY and HILLARY CLINTON:
Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.
NANCY GRACE:
That chicken crossed the road because he's GUILTY! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.
PAT BUCHANAN:
To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.
MARTHA STEWART:
No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.
DR SEUSS:
Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY:
To die in the rain. Alone.
JERRY FALWELL:
Because the chicken was gay! Can't you people see the plain truth in front of your face? The chicken was going to the "other side." That's why they call it the "other side." Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like "the other side." That chicken should not be crossing the road. It's as plain and as simple as that.
GRANDPA:
In my day we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.
BARBARA WALTERS:
Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its life-long dream of crossing the road.
JOHN LENNON:
Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.
ARISTOTLE:
It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.
BILL GATES:
I have just released eChicken2007, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your check book. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken. This new platform is much more stable and will never cra...#@&&^(C \ .. reboot.
ALBERT EINSTEIN:
Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?
BILL CLINTON:
I did not cross the road with THAT chicken. What is your definition of chicken?
AL GORE:
I invented the chicken!
COLONEL SANDERS:
Did I miss one?
DICK CHENEY:
Where's my gun?
The problem we have here is that this chicken won't realize that he must first deal with the problem on "THIS" side of the road before it goes after the problem on the "OTHER SIDE" of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his "CURRENT" problems before adding "NEW" problems.
OPRAH:
Well I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.
GEORGE W BUSH:
We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road.We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.
COLIN POWELL:
Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road...
ANDERSON COOPER - CNN:
We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.
JOHN KERRY and HILLARY CLINTON:
Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.
NANCY GRACE:
That chicken crossed the road because he's GUILTY! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.
PAT BUCHANAN:
To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.
MARTHA STEWART:
No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.
DR SEUSS:
Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY:
To die in the rain. Alone.
JERRY FALWELL:
Because the chicken was gay! Can't you people see the plain truth in front of your face? The chicken was going to the "other side." That's why they call it the "other side." Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like "the other side." That chicken should not be crossing the road. It's as plain and as simple as that.
GRANDPA:
In my day we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.
BARBARA WALTERS:
Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its life-long dream of crossing the road.
JOHN LENNON:
Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.
ARISTOTLE:
It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.
BILL GATES:
I have just released eChicken2007, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your check book. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken. This new platform is much more stable and will never cra...#@&&^(C \ .. reboot.
ALBERT EINSTEIN:
Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?
BILL CLINTON:
I did not cross the road with THAT chicken. What is your definition of chicken?
AL GORE:
I invented the chicken!
COLONEL SANDERS:
Did I miss one?
DICK CHENEY:
Where's my gun?
maybe there's hope for me yet
tonite...
this very evening...
I, yes I, helped someone to solve a computer "issue".
no, really, it's true, i did.
all by myself!
okay, so maybe it was dumb*ss luck, but still!
it's gotta count for somethin, right?!?
(after the phone incident, i need all the encouragement i can get, ya know)
this very evening...
I, yes I, helped someone to solve a computer "issue".
no, really, it's true, i did.
all by myself!
okay, so maybe it was dumb*ss luck, but still!
it's gotta count for somethin, right?!?
(after the phone incident, i need all the encouragement i can get, ya know)
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