Abnormalities of Life

Oh how I've been waiting for this one. We first discussed White Trash Lady several entries back, with the promise that we would revisit her when the time was right. Oh how the blogging gods have smiled upon ME.

Let's discuss Debbie. I first spotted her on moving day. This mid-30's woman with the trucker mouth, overwhelmingly large GMC Suburban, and a surprisingly decent figure. We actually met at my first home-owner's association; she's on the Board of Directors. This should tell you that she is not all together dumb; she has just made some dumb life choices. She has mostly been pleasant until today.

So I was applying my unfavorable baby puke brown paint on my door (also discussed in Flied Lice) when up comes Debbie.

"Please tell me you've been out here painting for the last hour and you witnessed my 14-year old wander away with my 2-year old", she says with an almost accusatory manner. I look at her and shrug as I've only been outside for roughly ten minutes. "Oh Great! These damn kids are going to give me a heart attack" she proclaims as she runs off.

Twenty minutes pass and she is called on her Motorola Sidekick--why a stay-at-home mom needs one of these is beyond me. The caller is one of her children walking around looking for her and she proclaims loud enough for all passersby to hear "I don't walk as fast as your sister who is running because she knows she will be annihilated".

I watch all of this transpire but dare not say anything for fear of annihilation.

A few hours pass, and as I prepare to go out for the weekend, I again run into Debbie looking for another child. She stops me.

"You're gonna love this. The girl took the two year old over to see the boy she likes so that she didn't have to wait. I'm sooooo gonna kill 'er". Again I have no reply.

She proceeds to tell me that there are 9 people living where she resides; a 1300 sf, 3 BR, 1.5 BA townhome: she, her husband, the 22-year old son and his 2-year old son, an 18-year old, a 16-year old, a 14 year-old, a 10-year old, and a 6-year old. There is also a 4-year old that is somehow related in another way.

OK Deb, I know you're pissed at your kids. But was it really all that bad? The girl could have just left the 2-year old unattended while she went off to fuck the boy she liked by herself.

Or is that what you're truly afraid of? That she'll make the same poor choices you once made. Actually, you have a 6-year old; you're still making these choices.

I would think you should commend your daughter for her willingness to babysit rather than babymake. Perhaps you should learn a few lessons on this yourself!

We've all been duped before, yet I seem to keep going back. You hear "$1 well drinks and drafts" and you herd your friends, coworkers, and--if you're from an Irish family--relatives together at your favorite watering hole for an hour of inexpensive indulgence.

After going to a less than stellar example of this "special hour" last evening, I left with several nagging questions. Question one is what benefit does the bar see? I'm sure they still make money charging $1 for a shot of $2 vodka, but they only ever staff each serving area with one tender who is mandated to precisely measure each drink's alcohol content. This leads to angry customers who then demand orders in increments of 5-10 drinks at once; who says Americans have drinking problems? Then at the strike of the hour, the place clears out like a . . . If the purpose of the 8:00 happy hour is to encourage further spending once prices rise again, why does this evacuation happen nearly every time, and further, why do the bars continue to recreate this opportunity-less event.

Question two is why have a sign-in list if you aren't going to actually use it? I realize it will be to collect your e-mail to inform me of future specials. But guess what? The moment I receive even one piece of spam from you, I'm throwing in the towel and I'm asking to removed from your list. How effective was that?

Question three is why throw these happy hour parties for everyone smart enough to throw a business card into your fish bowl? What about those who don't have said cards? It isn't fair!

Question four is why are all of these people that you invite so ugly?

Question five is why do I keep going if all I'm doing is complaining?

Question six is can I have a Captain and Coke? It is only a dollar!

So I was briefly speaking with two coworkers; we'll skip their names for purposes of anonymity. They were telling me about the code names and pet names they have invented for everyone in our environment.

The large and bothersome over achiever in team one is no longer Natalie, but Fatalie. The Italian who specializes in high-end design no longer goes by the moniker of Tellini but now Tortellini. We also have my personal favorite, a dear friend of mine actually, who is fully aware of her nickname being a Crack Hoe as her real last name is freakishly similar.

I love that people who are 34 and 26 can have the overwhelming sense of that which they had in kindergarten. None of these names are at all damaging; they are actually quite endearing when you think of the time they took to contrive and nature in which they are meant. But my question is why I don't make fun of people as often at work, but yet I make significantly less in money? Should not the converse be true? I am saving us millions in harassment concessions, yet I keep significantly less than that? Perhaps if I get the chance to refer to every Tom, Dick and Harry in terms of some gross hairy-dicked, tom-tom playing mutha fucka, I'll get my justice.

Not that I'm entirely caught up with it, but I am one of the "26 million Americans who tunes in each week to this season's biggest new drama, Commander in Chief". While it is clearly a female-draw, there is always something nice about seeing the person who is mounting up against all odds to lead for the common good.

I consider myself fairly liberal, and I think we could use our first non-white-straight-male in the Whitehouse. While the California Gubernatorial race was a bit extreme, it might be fun. So here below, I offer up the top benefits that diversification could bring to the Whitehouse:

If a woman were president:

1. Women's liberation would move up by leaps and bounds--if it were a straight woman. Women's liberation would move back by leaps and bounds if it were a lesbian. We won't even mention how far back the men's movement would be in this scenario.
2. "No longer would a leader be judged by the size of the army they command, but by the size of her chest".
3. If said female leader was a mother, no enemy would be safe from that "do you know how much this disappoints me" attitude. God help us all if she were a Jewish mother. We would never need a war again; a strict scolding would right all of the world's wrongs.
4. If the guilt trip does not work, we need only wait for that short time frame that comes about each month when every good woman throws sanity and tact out the window. No man has ever mustered up enough courage to push the red button, but one woman who succumbs to hormone shock will eradicate all American foes with one blow.
5. An entirely new precedent would be set in terms of multi-tasking.

If an African-American were president:

1. It would be extremely difficult to pin the leader of the free world with an affair. The posse of 100 is designed for just that reason.
2. Air Force One is long past due for a good set of spinnas.
3. New Orleans would not have flooded with a non-racist president. OK, maybe it would have still flooded, but clean up would have been better.
4. Hail to the Chief would be so much cooler set to a tight drum line.
5. The State of the Union Address would be written and produced by Diddy and laid on the musical track of a famous hit from the Reagan era.

If a Hispanic were president:

1. His name would most likely be Elian Gonzales.
2. We would welcome Mexico as the 51st state.
3. The Whitehouse lawn would be even more impeccably landscaped.
4. Due to the size of the first family, the size of the secret service would more than double, leading to record-low unemployment.
5. Free drugs for everyone. It would be better than Canada!

If an Asian-American were president:

1. The library of congress would officially be replaced by Barnes and Noble.
2. Ford, GM, and Daimler-Chrysler would become Toyota, Honda, and Nissan of America.
3. Everyone would be afraid to mess with Secretary of Defense, Jet-Li.
4. Low-Income housing will be replaced with Japanese sleeping tubes.
5. The national intelligence system would be developed by Nintendo.

If an Islamic-American were president:

• Ya, because our open-minded voting populous would EVER let this happen. Sorry guys / gals. I think you'd be just fine, so long as you use Air Force One for its proper, non-ballistic purpose.

If a gay were president:

1. "Whitehouse White party people. . . O Ma God!"
2. The president would be setting fashion trends for years to come.
3. The title of first gentlemen would rotate daily.
4. No more marriage or sodomy laws. I could even marry my cat if I wanted.
5. National debt would quadruple, but its ok, because everyone in America really needed those Steve Maddens. There is always room for another credit card.

Yes, I'll agree that Hollywood Tans' theme song is a bit catchy. They are also located EVERYWHERE. This is probably why, in preparation for my sun-filled vacation, I signed up for the membership. It really isn't a bad deal either. You pay $20 / month and get to burn yourself for 10 minutes inside of an ultraviolet tube as often as you like. You must sign a disclaimer at the onset recognizing the long-term effects that UV exposure has on your health.

Should anyone need proof, just attempt to talk to one of the bronze goddesses that work at your Local HT. I'm sure that free tans are just one perk of the no-brainer $5 / hour job that attracts misguided twenty-something whores like moths to a flame. Why then, are these "challenged" individuals then permitted to operate anything after the long-term effects of this tanning has permeated through their precious and sparse brain cells.

I have been to my local HT twice now. Each time, I was greeted by an attractive, overly dark, and overly dysfunctional "tan girl" who proceed to provide absolutely no help behind the counter.

Instance number one involved transferring my membership from the Conshohocken store to the Audubon store. This is a simple telephone call that verifies my existence in the other store's computer system. One would not think this to be a challenging task. But alas, after twenty minutes and unfounded frustration, I was handed a towel and allowed to go on my way.

Instance number two involved payment for said services. Do not try to upsell me on something I clearly listed as exactly what I am looking for. I do not need the super duper $100 / minute tanner that will do nothing but send me to the hospital. Nor do I need bronzing lotion that does nothing but make me smell like a coconut. And Lastly, when I hand you a credit card to pay for the requested service, don't look at the card and ask if this is what I plan to use for payment. Why else would the card be out?

So back to that catchy little jingle. How does it go? "You don't have to go to Hollywood, to be a complete moron."

Read the article and then continue. I'll give you a few moments to do that. I have also reattached the picture just to gross you out for a bit longer.

OK now that you are thoroughly grossed out, I have to ask why this snake felt the need to swallow something it clearly can't handle. When I eat too much, which happens frequently, I can't ever seem to go beyond that point of being overly full.

This is Darwinism at its finest. I hate snakes, so good riddance. Gators are ok though; RIP big guy. Be rest assured though; yes EVERYONE is laughing at you.

Sadly, bathroom humor seems to be a repeating topic among my daily postings. But so long as it continues to be a big hit, I really can't complain.

So I went to Strawbridges yesterday. After drinking what must have been an insane amount of liquid, I was finding myself wandering through the store with that "Gotta Go, Gotta Go, Gotta Go Right Now" song traveling through my head on repeat at max volume.

I find the men's room and see a young five- or six-something run in behind me. Trying to be gentlemenly, I hold the door for him. He then proceeds to run through the restroom and sidle up to the urinal. This wouldn't be so strange if he wasn't three feet tall and went to the toilet that was about 2 and a half feet from the ground. The child-sized toilet next door was clearly the more appropriate size. My question to you America, is why must I use the stall bathroom when this unattentive and unsupervised heathon proceeds to pee all over the bathroom floor due to his shorter-than-the-toilet stature?

I'm just thankful that the weather is getting colder. I luckily didn't wear sandals that day. And luckily, "I don't have to go right now!"

Ever heard the saying "I'm going to be all over it like white on rice"? Well that's great, if we are indeed talking about nice and processed rice. Wild rice and white rice that has yet to be refined is more of a baby-puke brown color.

So one of the officers in my condo community, who will be referred to in many future postings as "White trash lady" rang my doorbell at 6:30 last week and hands me a bucket of paint. Baby-puke brown paint. It was the event I was wishing to avoid. When I first moved, I recieved a brand new front door and side window. So both of these came in a stark white color that was very different from the said brown of the other units. I thought I was the lucky one who got to have a brilliant entry way so bright that it could mark my territory well. No, I have to paint it.

So that brings me to the REAL reason for this post today. When I asked how much needed to be painted, I knew the answer but hoped perhaps she'd answer incorrectly and spare me from covering my entire brightness with a dark and unforgiving mud tone. The prophetic reply of "white trash lady"?

"You should paint the entire fixture; cover it all over. One solid color covering everything, like white on rice".

Wait a second. . . wasn't the door ALREADY white? Go home and have another illegitimate child you dumb bitch!

Ok, so some background story first. I'm volunteering to help my former college's theater organization to conduct some fundraising at a performance celebrating the 10-year anniversary of the group's formation. Aside from a small role, I'm also helping to develop the Ad portion of the program book.

Last night, we spoke with the kids still in college about our ideas. I know it wasn't even five years ago that I was the lazy, idiotic, and idealistic college kid who didn't know how to do anything, but now that I'm on the other side, I just want to smack some kids around.

When I take the time to volunteer with selling ad space to corporations, it is because I know that these kids don't really have the business acumen to properly sell a sponsorship idea. They should stick to hitting up the local pizza shops and bars. So why do they not want to talk to anyone?

I'm never going to hire anyone from my alma mater, at least anyone who was in the theater club. If you cite lack of car as a good reason why you can't walk down the street to talk to the pizza guy whom you regularly frequent, I can't help but hope you end up jobless for a long time. Idiots!