Thursday, June 30, 2011

If the narcolepsy doesn't get you, the cold sores will.

So, my girl Blondie and I had our bi-annual (as opposed to bi-curious, bipolar, or bi-anal, as Scope was hoping) rummage sale last weekend (also known as a "tag sale" to some- typically the same people who refer to the shitter as the lavatory). 
Unlike last time, there was a disappointing number of weirdos, cheapskates, Jesus freaks and pedophiles to amuse us whilst we sat there, trading handfuls of change for the sad reminders of our compulsive drunk-shopping habits.  We had a few wheelers & dealers- one guy who thought he was so smooth, haggling me down from three to two dollars for a used bathroom sink that I was ready to give/throw away anyways.  HA! Take that, SUCKA! (Small victories, people.)
By the end of the first day, we were resigned to the fact that maybe, possibly, this time around was going to be a big 'ol boring bust in the "Freaks and Oddities" department.  maybe for once most everyone would be your normal, run-of-the-mill, garden-variety bargain hunter. 

...until the anomaly I've decided to call "Wing Ling" arrived.  (Wing Ling pictured at left.) (Cue gong)

We were at a lull in the excitement, not a customer in sight.  We both were perched on the front steps, likely discussing the pooping habits of our dogs, when something caught my eye.  A slow-moving teal colored station wagon sort of coasted down the street, seeming to move without the aid of any sort of motor.  It looked to be held together with duct tape and bungee cords, and it was packed to the roof with what I can only assume were dead squirrels and empty Percoset bottles.  With a rattle and a cough, the car parked right across the street, the driver obviously coming to our sale.
"Holy shit- this is gonna be good" I muttered, just as Blondie said "What?" and turned around to see the driver of the car approaching.
I'm not sure how to paint an accurate picture of what we witnessed then, and this rear-view pic does NOT do the overall vision any justice whatsoever, but I'll try anyways.  She? (Blondie swore that at first she thought it was a tiny Asian man dressed in drag) was about five feet tall, including her ill-fitting wig that made me think: "Bai-Ling's mother, if she were in Grey Gardens", and had a disturbing amount of cold sores for someone who appeared to be in the 45-95 year-old range.  Wing Ling was wearing a long, knit, ill-fitting and seriously stained tank top that, every time she moved or bent over, let her somewhat large, naked and saggy breasts hang mostly or completely out, much to our horror and delight.  Purple velour leggings, winter boots, and piles of necklaces completed the outfit.  At one point I was trying not to stare (the nipples! AAH!), but out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw her wig fall off as she tried on some jewelery, and I had to hold my breath so as not to esplode.  Turns out, she TOOK OFF THE WIG HERSELF to try on a necklace, as if that were the most natural thing in the world to do.  I myself often find that I like to remove my shoes and underpants when comparing prices on frozen peas at the grocery store, so I totally understand.
She wanted to bargain, and since seemed like she was just crazy enough to whip out a sharpened ball-point pen and sever my jugular in a freakish display of old Asian hooker rage, we let her have everything she wanted for five bucks. 
I'm not even entirely sure what all she bought, but I sure am glad that this bright ray of sunshine took a few minutes out of her busy day- shopping, speaking to the trolls that live in her car, and taking time to not bother to notice that her mammaries were just hanging out there for the world to see- to visit us and remind us to never kiss hobos without protection, and to wash our hands regularly.

Very regularly.  

 Also in the last week or so, I developed a raging infection from my foot surgery, likely due to my shoeless grocery store antics, and am currently on two very, VERY potent antibiotics, as well as a bit o'Vicodin- just for fun.  I'm not sure which one is doing it, but one of these delightful medications has caused me to develop a strange and (hopefully) fleeting case of narcolepsy.  I spent the remainder of the weekend (after the panicked trip to the ER where a kindly doctor of Scandinavian descent had to not only look at my red, oozing foot, but also a strange blue streak running up my pasty, unshaven thigh) plonked on the couch, drifting in and out of sleep, occasionally having mildly hallucinogenic dreams about James Franco, Cheerios, and airline travel.

So, that's enough for today, kiddos.  I'll save my "cooking while medicated" stories from this last week for another time, after the food poisoning subsides.

Happy early weekend, my little cold-sore covered, hallucinating Cheerio junkies.  Happy early weekend.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Time to separate the men from the boys

Ok, let's get this over with...
Not that you should care, but I feel the need to purge these random things, kind of as an explanation for my absence, and kind of because I had a few cocktails last night, and my brain feels like a bowl of gummi bear-infused tapioca right now.  I need to do this before I can move on and get back to "real" posts, much like when I give all my used discount underpants to the hobos so I can feel better about buying new discount underpants.
In no particular order, and in bullet form so as not to give you a rash on your you-know-what again:
  • I'm totally off/marginally unemployed for the summer
  • I'm drinking a lot of boxed wine (see above)
  • I'm sleeping a lot
  • I'm watching a lot of Bravo TV
  • I'm putting the "ho" in horticulture again and spending a lot of time gardening.  Sometimes with clothes on.
  • I'm working on-and-off catering for redonkulously wealthy people, and, by default, spending a lot of time scrubbing my skin with a wire brush "Silkwood-style" in order to wash the ick off. 
  • And...I had foot surgery, which had me laid up for a while and left me doing little more than having vicodin-induced hallucinations where I thought Charlie Sheen was trying to eat my cats (Tiger blood! Winning!!), thinking of timely and topical references for my blog, and not bathing.  It's healing nicely now, but for those of you that like this sort of thing, or for those of you that think I make this shit up, here is a before-and-after for your enjoyment (beware- grossness ahead- for realsies!)

      The writing on my foot is my doctor's initials, marking it so that they didn't "accidentally" (their words) operate on the wrong one.  I am still referring to my foot as "FRANKENFOOT!" even though it no longer looks this gross. 
    So, there you go.  The non-stop action that is Whiskeymarie VonPartypants.  
    Happy Friday, my stitched-together little sloth monkeys.  Happy Friday.