The Rose Peddler

We had just sat down to have our mid-day bread breaking when a good-old boy, who apparently either can’t read or just doesn’t give a shit about the no-soliciting sign on the door cruised in. I figure it’s the latter, as it is posted on our door in plain sight where one would grab the handle and pull the door.

So, there we are. I wish my delicious Chicken Caesar Salad and OG with her ethinic beet soup. We are about to give thanks and partake, when this asshole walks in.

”Did you miss me?” He asks as he swaggers our way, booty in hand.

“Uh, no. It’s been about a year though.” OG says.

He sets his goods, dozens of long stem roses (which were mighty pretty to be sure) on our lunch table.

“Remember how much they are?” He winks at OG as she was the one who actually paid notice to his punk ass interupting our bread breaking.

“No,” she says, “but it doesn’t matter. We don’t want any anyway.”

Then I chime in, “You can donate some for my bachelorette party tonight.”

Of which he offers congrats, but ignores the donation request… dick.

“Well, you could buy some to toss at your stripper.” He says trying to appeal to my wild side.

“I ain’t got no stripper lined up, dude.” I reply, agast that he would even dream up that sales pitch.

“Mother or mother-in-law you could get some for?” he’s getting desparate.

So I decide to go in for the kill.

“Look guy, I’ll be completely honest. I’m not buying any because I am saving every penny to get balls out drunk tonight and if I buy your roses… that, my friend, will cut into my drinking budget.”

Have a great desert day, pal.


Fortune Cookie Nazi Wins Battle... Game Over

I just hate craving that damned chinese food from that damned yummy place over here by the office.

I mean, I get a craving for it and I decided that, despite the fact I know that evil ass munch won't give me the fortune cookie without a square off in the middle of the parking lot, I was going to go have me some tastey morsels of saucy goodness.

So, as usual, I go in, get my little styrofoam container, proceed to the buffet of happiness, load up my choices and go to the register to pay. I set my container on the scale, as they charge for buffet to go by the pound. This is where it the ugly gets on.

So, everything seems to be going smooth. I'm mentally preparing for the fight for the fortune cookie. I intend to win this time.

"You need sauce or fork?" He asks me all smug like.

"Nope. But I want a Diet Pepsi." I tell him.

"Diet Pesi" He calls out to the chick at the waitress station.

She totes it over and sets it on the counter as he rings me up.

"That be $4.62." He tells me.

UH OH! Houston we have a problem. Diva don't carry cash. Just something I don't do. It's way too easy to use my debit card to have to fool around with dollars.
This ass munch only takey the credit cawd fo ova fi dolla. Hasn't he seen that VISA commercial that shows the world is officially going plastic???

Still yet, I try to slip it by him. I pull out my debit card with VISA logo and push it toward him.

"We only take cawd fo purchase ova fi dolla." He reminds me.

"Look guy, I don't have any cash. Well I have a handful of change in the bottom of my purse, but not enough." I tell him as show him my empty wallet.

"You always can get another drink take wif you." He tells me.

"Uh, no. You can run my card or I'll have to leave it." I tell him, now pissed.

"Well, I not running cawd. You get cash, come back." He tells me.

"OK, fine." So, I walk out the door. No lunch, no friggin fortune cookie, and definitely no balls to tell him what he could do with his no useless carton of to-go.

God Bless Taco Bell. They'll takey my debit card for a 89 cent bean burrito.


Honey, I've Been Violated

So, I'm still extremely new to this living in the same house and sharing the same bedroom full time thing. Not that it's bad. Actually, it's quite nice being able to reach over in the night and play with his hair or crawl across the bed and give him a light little kiss while he's sleeping.

What is taking some definite time to get used to is the fact that his alarm clock is a screamer! When I say screamer, I don't mean one of those annoying buzzer sounding things. I mean it's an indescribable sound that has rattled my ass awake a 4:45 in the morning. Not only does it rattle my ass awake, the clock actually grows legs, walks around the bed to my side, shakes the piss out of me, picks me up and drops me right in the middle of the bedroom.

Now, I'm not a morning person by any means. It really doesn't matter if I get 4 or 8 hours of sleep. But when that damn thing goes off before the chickens are even awake, that's a problem for me. Especially since his ass doesn't get up when it goes off the first time. No. He slaps the snooooze button like 6 times. So, six times I get picked up and dropped on my ass in the middle of the floor before daylight. What the hell? We are gonna have to find an empass. A new alarm clock, maybe? Setting the bitch a little later instead of hitting snooooooze so many times, maybe?

Anyway, so he finally wakes up after the 7th roar of the alarm. I'm wide awake already. Sitting up in bed, smoking a ciggie, waiting for coffee to get done. Me and the cat staring at him, daring him to hit snooooze again. Thank Jesus, no more snooooze button.

He rolls over, smiles all sweet and says, "Honey, I know I complain alot."

"What's the matter?" I ask in the sweetest 5am voice I can muster.

"Well, I woke up and had to pull this out of my ass." He says as he hands the DVD player remote to me laughing his ass off.

God bless his little heart. I love him so much. Maybe this is the answer to my being late to work every day. If I'm dropped in the floor and wide awake by 5am, surely I can make it work work on time by 8:30?


Messin with the Telemarketers

So, we get bombarded with uberous amounts of telemarketing calls every day at the office. I'm usually not very nice to these poor people. I know they are just doing their job, but for fuck sake... Go back to school, get a degree and get a real job not bothering the people who already have a real job. Jeeeez, it's pretty simple.

Some days I'm pissy, so I find it an amusing way to take out some aggression and anger... "I've asked you damn people to put me and our other 3 numbers on you damn do not call list. Call me again, I dare ya."

Some days I'm busy and I simply have no time for the bullshit they are trying to pimp off on me... "I am way too busy to bother talking to you. Have a great day." Then I generally slam the phone in someone's ear.

Some days I'm bored with work, and blogging, and Poppit, and porn *snicker*, so I may entertain a telemarketer for a few minutes if what they say off the bat is interesting enough to make me release the mouse and stop popping the balloons hanging on my monitor.

Mind you, I never know if it's my boss calling from Germany, so I always, ALWAYS answer the phone in an oh-so-pleasant voice... until I find out who it is.

"Good Morning, how may I help you?" Note how pleasant that is.

"Hello, Ma'am. This is Sherri. I'm calling from Fairfield with a wonderful offer that we thought you may be interested in."

I say, "Oh, really? What kind of offer do you have there, Sherri?"

Sherri goes on her schpeeeeel now:
"Well, we are calling to offer to individuals who have been pre-qualified in your area, the opportunity to come stay for a week at one of our several resorts, your choice. All you have to do is come and listen to a presentation about the property and take a tour. We do have a small fee to cover taxes and meals, but the stay itself if complimentary. What do you think?"

- First, let me tell ya, I'm sure I'm not prequalified for dick. Up until a week ago, I didn't own a home, I don't have a husband, and I'm sure my credit report would make someone run screaming away... But I decided what the fuck. I'm bored. I'll play along.

So I say "Can I ask you to hold one sec. I need to grab this other line."
Totally a lie, but I need to get Olga to play along with me. We are life partners from way back. I run into Olga's office and tell her the story and she's all ready to play along. So, I get back on the phone.

I start off....
"Thanks, Sherri. I'm glad you held for me, I'd like to consider signing up. I could use a cheap vacation. You said there is no obligation?"

Sherri says, "No. No obligation at all."

I ask, "How much is this fee you were talking about."

Sherri says, "It's not much. Only $275.00 and you can even put it on your Visa or Mastercard."

I say, "I can put it on a credit card? But I don't have a credit card. My partner keeps them and won't let me charge anything. Let me put her on the phone."

I half expected to hear shock and/or awe in Sherri's voice that my parter is a chick, and a dominating one that won't give me a credit card at that. But she was impressively non-judgemental since money talks.

Olga gets on the phone, "Hello?"

Sherri said, "Hi. I'm Sherri from Fairfield."

Olga asked, "What is this deal that you have Rhonda so excited about that she wants the credit card right now?"

Sherri goes through her whole schpeeeeel again.

Olga says, "Well, I don't think we are interested. I do not want to get tied up in a timeshare type deal and I know all about this kind of scam. Since we aren't married we aren't qualified for any kind of couple deals or anything."

Sherri didn't want to lose the sale so she said, "Can you put Rhonda back on the phone?"

Olga goes on, "Well, it would be pointless to put her back on the phone since she has no money and no credit cards. But you have a nice day now, ok?"

At least if Sherri was on an hourly wage, she made her money honestly that day.
And Mom, I'm getting married. We aren't really life partners. Just partners in crime, heh. =D

Diva Gets Sucked Up By Tornado....Story at 11

I am sitting here at my computer. The past two weeks have come and gone, thank God. My head is still spinning from the last 5 days. You know, I feel like Dorothy in that old farm house, when the tornado sucked it up and threw it to munchkin land?
We may not have landed in munchkin land, but the house seriously looked like a tornado had whipped through. Crap scattered everywhere. At one point, a body would actually be considered lucky to make it through the down stairs area without losing a big toe to ill placed boxes and unsituated furniture.

I honestly have no idea where all the stuff we have came from. I have little recollection of purchasing it at all. It's like the "Here, have loads of useless shit fairy" came and did a dance at my old place.

We're in our new place now. *YAY* And everything seems to be falling into place and setting up nicely. The new hacienda is a rancher with a fully finished basement. It's huge and I get lost in it occassionally if the lights are off. The upstairs is 1150 sq. ft. This would be the area designated for children and midgets under the age of, um let's say 35.

The downstairs area is the same 1150 sq. ft. area, but is set up to be our lair. How cool is that? It has our bedroom, which is plenty big for the bed and furniture. There is a closet, that if I had to, I could easily live in. I think its 12'x14'. Finally a space big enough for all of my shoes!!!! There is a bathroom that, truth be told, is a sucky little spot and needs to be bigger. There is the den. It's a huge space that looks half empty even with the furniture in it.

I've decided that since I like to have my share of spirited beverages, that we need a bar in the one corner that makes the room so empty. Liven it up a wee bit. Slap some mirrors behind it, a disco ball.... will go great with the existing stripper pole... hahahaha.

The kiddies haven't really done shit yet since the move. They have social agendas and activities to tend to, don't ya know. Amanda has put a few things away, but there is no way to walk through her room unless you are ready to take your life into your own hands. The girl has more stuff than I remember seeing before we moved. Her Beta fish has lived on the bathroom counter for days and is lucky that kitty is feeling so wimpy. Under normal circumstances said fish would have been a kitty snack quicker than a fat kid could snatch the last chocolate chip cookie from the cookie jar.
My kitty, Isis, has been severely traumatized by this whole moving of the residence. She has been hiding inside one of the dressers in my bedroom for 3 days now. When she comes out to eat or piss, she does the low crawl. I've not seen her walk like the bad-ass she really is since we did the kitty transport on Friday.
Hopefully she'll realize she is still queen and act as such instead of mopping the floor with her well fed belly.


My grand-booger, Tyler, adjusted very well to the move. He found his room. He seeked out and destroyed. The Hot-wheel bomb blew up in his room. He came to stay with his Nana and Papa on Saturday night. He did good. He wandered around the house. The upstairs and the downstairs areas both go in a big circle, so he ran circles round and round with his cars.
He did good until bed time.
Now at the old house, he had a baby jail to sleep in because he didn't have his own room and there was no room for him a bed. So baby jail it was. And he did well in it. But he's getting to be a big boy and we decided that he's gotta have a big boy bed at our pad. Ok, so, the boy kisses everybody goodnight and we go off to bed. I figure I'll lay with him in his new bed until he falls off to sleep. It's way after his bed time and he's bushed so it won't take long for him to drift off, right? Uh, no.
He keeps saying "My bed, Nana."

I told him, "Yah, baby. This is your big boy bed."

"No, Nana. My bed." He says again.

"Show Nana what you want, boy. It's late and your ass needs to be asleep."

So, he gets out of the bed, and drags me by my pinkie finger to the livingroom where his baby jail was neatly piled under half a ton of crap. He stands there tugging at it. And it hits me, he needs his lil bed. So, we dig it out and take it in his room. It was like his little security thing. Him needed to have his familiar bed. Him also got away with filling it up with hot wheels and other random toys. He went right to sleep once he was put in it, fists still holding tight to his cars.


My only request in the choice of new house was that it have a functional, user-friendly kitchen. Diva likes to cook, but cooking in a kitchen that is ill-set is nothing short of a pain in the arse. This kitchen whips ass! The only thing I want to change is simple. I want to slap an island right in the middle. There is plenty of room and I want it. I want it! I want it! I want it! I'm about to break Veruca Salt, you know that little bitch from Willy Wonka) if I don't get my island!

We are trying to adjust to having a shower the size of a broom closet in the bathroom in our private, adult only lair. Tony's a big boy. He's tall and his big. Which means he feels super confined in this thing. He's actually come out of it fighting mad a couple of times.
My biggest issue is trying to shave my legs in there. Sweet Jesus! I bend over toward the door and I nearly drowned. So I turn around and bend over the other way and I kept knocking the door open with my ass. Something's gonna have to give there, not sure what or how. Maybe rip the shower out and put a nice, big garden tub in? I vote for that.


All in all, this has been an easy move. The lead up to it sucked a big ass, but now that I'm able to go into cruise mode, it's not so bad. I'm hoping to have the feeling back in my hands soon. Painting over the excentric colors I just had to have in the old place proved to be an arm/hand killer.
Hopefully once it's unpacked and perfecto I can take some pictures of the stripper pole and other noteworthy spots in the house.