Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Navel gazing and other worthwhile pursuits

I am refusing to blog until I know the fate of my job, which I will tell you ALL about once I know what is happening, hopefully tomorrow.  Or Friday.  Or next month.  Sheesh- I work for the state- this could take a while, folks.  Needless to say, I will either be employed or unemployed and selling pencils on that freeway exit ramp at some point in the near or distant future.  Seriously- at this moment in time, you know as much as I do, which is saying a LOT.

As an "amuse bouche", if you will- a few other items on the "discussion agenda":
  • Botox
  • Groupons
  • Botox procured through Groupon
  • Feet
  • Vaginas
  • Just kidding
  • Uvulas
  • Sloth
  • Radishes
  • Underpants
As soon as I know. YOU'LL know.  Until then I'm laying on the couch, not blogging and re-reading trashy books, merely on principle and an astounding amount of laziness.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Oops, I did it again...


I wasn't expecting any sort of personal catharsis while I was watching late-night reruns of "Intervention" (new to me, however, as I am too cheap to spring for "fancy" cable).

I was watching one about "Sarah", a MN girl who lost her home, car, husband & daughter to meth.  Though the tragedy of the situation wasn't lost on me, I was starting to fall asleep nonetheless.


...she (Sarah) met her grandmother in a local hotel, poolside, to discuss the grandmother's concerns about little Sarah's meth habit and it's consequences.  As I was watching, I kept thinking, "Hey, this hotel looks familiar- where do I know it from??"

A few "I'm sorry's" between the ladies later, and it hit me.  Like a ton of bricks.

That hotel pool area was the last time I saw my Mother alive in 1991.  She and my Dad were in town for family stuff & shopping, and because I was so gosh darned "busy" with my 20 year-old life full of UN Summits and such, this was the only time I could see them, allegedly.  Less than 2 weeks later she would be dead from a massive heart attack. 

The second I realized this, my "hey I'm staying up late because I can!!!" night turned into "Hey, I forgot how fucking hard this is to remember this shit."  And...then I was (and am) bawling like a fucking baby.

I hate when this sneaks up on me, and I hate when I remember what an ungrateful turd I was.

I don't need or want sympathy here, I mostly just wanted to vent how this moment, this...bit I forgot, snuck up on me and reminded me how much and how little things have changed since that warm, sunny afternoon at a hotel in Bloomington, MN. 

Count your blessings, monkeys.  Then hug them and kiss them and smother them in that special way only people who are related can smother one another.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Lindsay ain't got nuthin' on my Bubbsy...

Poor Bubs.

Rescued from the hellfires of Missouri (sorry, Gwen!) and shuttled into my Minnesota arms, only to be forever tormented by both his past as well as his disturbingly "enthusiastic" adoptive mother.  I mean, it's bad enough that I make the poor boy wear t-shirts and sweaters and force him to make out with me on occasion (no tongue!):

But now his "checkered" past has come back to haunt my poor little wiener nugget.  Allegedly, some of the seedier tabloids have gotten a hold of some of Bubs' earlier modeling photos, and now that my little pile of furry man-meat has made a name for himself here on the interwebs with his doggy "manscaping" products for sale on QVC (Only $19.99!), as well as with his self-help book, "Bitches ain't nothin' but trouble, yo", people are tripping over themselves trying to drag my little entrepreneur down.

He asked me to post the offending pics, in an effort to diminish their power.  He's already lost a plum supporting role on the upcoming "Law and Order: Doggy Deputies" franchise due to this scandal, and he just wants to put the matter to rest and move on.

So here you are (hopefully Blogger won't take offense to the offensive nature of the photos):

There you go, haters.

But seriously- if Bubs ain't the sexiest canine in a shiny thong, who is?  I for one don't think he has a thing to be embarrassed about, but you know how those uptight Hollywood bitches be, yo.