Sunday Morning, FleaMarkets & 18 Wheelers

I haven't worked or blogged much in the past couple of weeks. I actually can't tell you what the hell I've been doing for the past couple of weeks, as everything has been pretty uneventful and quiet.

Not that I'm complaining. I like my uneventful, drama-free exisitence. Boring and quiet is good. Drama and angst are of the devil. The only drama I was in tune to dealing with was the shit I was giving Big T for not giving me any Saturday night. The nerve.

This past weekend was full of driving around aimlessly and playin poker. Me and Big T woke up at the buttcrack of dawn on Sunday, way before the chickens even. He decided that we should go ridin. So... up, showered, made-up, dressed and out the door... turn-key job performed in like 35 minutes. Not bad considering I AM NOT a very enthusiastic morning person.

First stop. Breakfast. McDonald's. Clinton, TN.
Now I'm not sure if the manager bitch working the cash register and taking orders was pissed because:
A- it was Sunday morning before the chickens were up and her ass was at work...
B- she didn't get any Saturday night, but from all appearances she had been rode hard and put up wet...
C her district manager was combing through her files with a magnifying glass...
D-I was there at an ungodly hour, lookin like a million bucks...

Whatever the reason, she had a friggin corn-cob wedged up her ass and it was apparent that she didn't want to be there. Friendly McDonalds' greeting? I think not.

Now, I don't deny being a complete and total bitch. It's part of my genetic make-up. As a result, I do not have a job where it is required that I be friendly while on the clock. I can be pissed off and bitchy if I want to, but I'm not serving a Big Breakfast to the church crowd on Sunday morning either.

Second stop. TN's Largest Fleamarket, Crossville, TN. (1.5 hours west of home)
Largest, my ass. It might be the largest fleamarket spot, but there wasn't a damn thing to be seen. But, my Big T is a die hard fleamarket junkie. I'm not so much, especially the outside kind, but I can take one for the team when I have to.

It was cold, it was wet, it was NOT fleamarket friendly weather. There were, at best, 10 stalls of shit open for business. Ten. Out of 120 or more booths.
But it was ok. We were out riding and I found 3 pairs of cutsie foo-foo socks to add to my overflowing sock drawer.

So, we leave Crossville. Buh-bye. By this time it's nearly 10:30 EST, we decided to drive to Sevierville for the other big ass fleamarket.

On the way back we pass a huge convoy of 18-wheelers. That is a bad-ass sight when there's a line of semi's as far as you can see. I started talking about a friend of mine that calls them 16-wheelers. They are not, 16-wheelers, they are 18-wheelers for fuck sake, call them what they are.

Big T is amused by this chatter. "Count the wheels, baby. You do realize that the trailer only has 8 wheels and that the rig actually holds the others, right?"

*blink* "My argument, Big T, isn't where the damn wheels are or what they are attached to. My arguement is the total number of wheels under that bad-mama-jama."

Finally, we get to Sevierville (+/- 1 hour east of home)
This was fine with me. This fleamarket is is heated and indoors. My kind of fleamarket. Plus they have cute little dogs and those sinful roasted cashews, makes the place a winner in my book.

I fell in love a little shit-zoo immediately. Big T is a poop and wouldn't buy it for me. I'm still holding that against him and am not sure when I will let the whole thing drop. I think if I play it right, I can get maximum mileage out of my bitchin' about not getting the puppy and end up with the puppy at the same time.

In addition to the puppy fiasco. I found 10 MORE pairs of foo-foo socks, a wire scooper number for my FryDaddy and a cute little shot-glass measuring cup that you use instead of measuring spoons. Very nice.

What is life, but to make it interesting for my hubby?

Only at THE Waffle House

There are some things that you just expect when you are on a 3am-after-party-food expedition. Granted at 3am, choice are limited to few establishments.

After partaking in my fair share of cold brew and closing down Coyote Joe's on Wednesday night, the whole load of us decided food was in order as it was late & we were packing a cool buzz. Never mind that my ass had to get up at 7:00am to finish brocolli casserole. So, personally, I was in need of coffee.

Where else would ya go at 3am on Thanksgiving morning for a little sobriety effort? Why, Waffle House, of course.

We wandered in giggling and cackling about anything and everything. All it takes for me to get tickled is enough beer and somebody else starting to laugh. No shit, laughing & yawning are contagious around me.

We finally played musical chairs long enough, got seated and our waitress came over. She was obviously annoyed that she was working and she was obviously even more annoyed that she was dealing with us. If you have to work that shift, at least make an effort to enjoy it.

Whatevers. This poor chick had the personality of a wet-sweat-sock. She took 2 of our orders, not speaking between, just sort of grunting at whoever happened to be next.

Just as she grunted toward #3, her cellie rang. The fact that she had her cellie on her was no big deal. Even the fact that it rang while she was waiting on us was no really big deal even. But when the bitch cut me off mid-order to answer it, now that just pissed me off. Her side of the conversation went this-a-way.

"I gotta answer this." She grunted as she lowered her head, still facing our table(presumably so her boss wouldn't see).

"Hello? Who is this? Who is this?" She acted like she didn't know who HE was.

"Who the hell is this, I'm at work and I have customers." Why the hell would you tell somebody you don't even know that you are currently at work and are waiting on them?

"Jesus, Robert. No, I'm not talking to anyone else." She DID know his ass.

"How can I be cheating if I'm working?" Apparently, Robert didn't have any faith that she was truly working. I guess that Waffle House distinct waffle and bacon smell being emitted by her apron wasn't enough proof.

Taucha, my drunk monkey friend, decideds she wants to talk to Robert. So, the waitress obliges (and takes another little bit of our order). After only 2.7 minutes, Taucha hands her the phone back and says to our lovely server, "Lose him, girl. He's a dick."

Mario getting on the phone didn't help. It made Robert believe that she really was in the cubicle of a bathroom bangin' the customers.

We all figured Robert would show up waving a semi-automatic threatening to blow up the Waffle House and everyone in it because in his head he believes that his girl was fucking us all.

Get a grip, pal. Let the girl bring home the bacon in piece you loser.

Somebody Please 'Splain This To Me??

How in the hell do folks roll in a vehicle when the music is so damn loud I can hear it from inside my office when they are a mile or more away??




Why am I concerning myself with such petty bullshit on a Friday afternoon, you ask?

Well, friends and neighbors, I'll tell ya why. I just got set off like I have a fire cracker up my ass and it's the 4th of July.

We have had our office location for nearly 7 years. We are located between Fade to Black Barber Shop and Vogue Hair Salon. Our only source of entertainment here is to watch the old ladies wander in and out of their weekly hair appointments and listen to the drama/comedy coming from the barber shop next door.

But,what really pains me like a full on titty twister in cold ass weather is when the good 'ol boys next door come driving up with that shit blarin' so loud that it rattles the windows in my office, not to mention their whole damn car.

I've even had customers (mind you I work with Doctors and Researchers and other esteemed individuals worldwide) ask me why I don't turn my music down before I bother the answer the phone.

I've busted out the front door of our office and sneered dirty looks that way. How fucking hard is it to have a little common sense and public decency to turn that shit down to the point where your whole car isn't shaking along with the ground under it.

I've come to the conclusion that these kids have something to prove to one another. In addition, the music gets cranked way loud right in front of said barber shop, because I reckon they feel it impressive to the rest of humanity.

Personally, I think the louder and more abnoxious the music is, the smaller the dick of said music master is.

Asshat of the Day: Timberland

I am the type of person who requires some sort of white noise in the background at all times. The news on while I'm cooking, the stereo on while I'm scrubbing the toilet, or even just the radio on while I'm driving.

I was transporting my 16-year-old daughter to school today when Timberland's, "The Way I Are" came piping through the speakers. Have you ever listened to the words of this song? It's a duet about a scrub and some skanky chick's acceptance of his scrubiness.

I would like to take a moment to address Timberland and clear the air about what is acceptable, and what is not.

It goes a little somethin' like this:

*Verse 1* (Timerland)
I ain't got no money
I ain't got no car to take you on a date
I can't even buy you flowers
But together we'll be the perfect soulmates
Talk to me girl

Ok, first, if you have no money and no car, what are you gonna do? Are you gonna walk to my house with the intentions of gettin' a little lovin'? And trust me, even if you were lucky enough to hitch a ride with a homey, even if you hit the bell with flowers in your hand, you still ain't gettin none. And to even consider that we might be soulmates is blasphemy. Soulmates are connected. I gots a job, I gots a ride. Accept your destiny, pal, walkin and beatin off.


*Bridge* (The chick)
Oh, baby, it's alright now, you ain't gotta flaunt for me
If we go there, you can still touch my love, it's free
We can work without the perks just you and me
Thug it out 'til we get it right

Now, I'm no gold-digger by any means. But, if the boy ain't got a job, money, or car, what hell would he have to flaunt in the first place? And to think she's gonna consider "going there" with him... for free... without the perks? What perks? Massage oil? Happy Jack Rabbit? Sweet Jesus. I am going out on a limb here... she's got to be very horny and/or very desperate to reproduce.

Let's skip her part from here on out. It's repetition of the previous desparation and her forgiveness of his slackeristic nature. Let us explore the remaining 2 verses of this mockery of man-li-ness.

*Verse 2*
I ain't got no Visa
I ain't got no Red American Express
We can't go nowhere exotic
It don't matter 'cause I'm the one that love you best
Talk to me girl

I wouldn't care much that there is no plastic, so long as he has a J-O-B that results in some sort of cash flow. It's nice if a man has the money to give birthday and Christmas presents that aren't from a Cracker Jack box along with small tokens of his affection through-out the year.
No exotic trips? It's mandatory to go somewhere to have sex, other than ones own bedroom, at least occassionally. A trip to the Keys. A trip to Vegas. Sex is good in Vegas. But, still he spouts that he's the one she loves best. Again, most likely her poor self image. Get therapy.

*Verse 3* (The finale)
Baby girl, I don't got a huge ol' house I rent a room in a house
Listen baby girl, I ain't got a motorboat but I can float ya boat
So listen baby girl, once you get a dose of D.O.E. you gon' want some mo'
So listen baby girl, when I make it I want you back, want you back, yeah

He rents a room. Nice. A room in a house where other people live. Which means either the home owners are going to hear the headboard bangin' and the naughty sounds coming from the room or we'll only be gettin busy in my house. Uh. No.
No boat floating from you until you get a job, a car, flowers, some select pieces of jewelery.

Telemarketer - The Tables Are Turned

** The name of the company in question has been changed.

Ok, kids. I have been doing my bestest trying to be nicer to people. This has been going on for some time now. However, nothing gets the better of me than those annoying ass automated phone calls from Joe Solicitor. Or the calls you get from Sally Salesperson where they ask for you by first name and try to act like an acquaintance... Dayum. I thought that shit was borderline illegal on a harassment level.

Anyway, today I turned the tables. I got an automated call from "Kelly". She was offering us the moon and stars and possibly the sun too if we would "press one to stay on the line for a representitive".

So, I press one. I hold for a brief 20 seconds or so, expecting "Kelly" will pick up personally and explain to me this great pitch of hers. A pitch I intended to let her waste her time giving before asking to have all of our business numbers removed from her bullshit auto-dial system.

All that went out the window, when rather than "Kelly", some deep voiced, crankity, old british dude picked up.

"You're not Kelly." I say to him, agast that the wool was pulled over my eyes.

"No, that was a recording. Are you interested in learning more." He blurts out in harsh monotone.

"Uh. No. Actually. I'm really, really tired of you people calling us and would like you to remove our number from your database."

"Done." He said as he disconnects my call.

OH NO HE DIDN'T.

God bless *69. I annoy the shit out of many-a-telemarketer when I can actually get my hands on the number they called from.

So I dial *69 and get the number. I press each digit and the little british weasel that hung up on me answered.

**"First Asshat" He answers.

"Yah. I was connected to you to be removed from your call list and you hung up on me." I lament.

"Well, I didn't hang up, but you have been removed." He sneers.

"How the hell am I removed when you only called one of our numerous numbers, sir? Can you explain that? Do you have a list with every company that notes every number within that company?"

I'm ready to fight with him by this time.

"We have them." He hangs up again.

So, me (being me), I dial them up again.

"First Asshat" It was some uptight manly sounding british woman this time.

"I'm calling to be removed from your call list."

"Yes, that's why I answered, I heard the conversation with my employee." She says.

"It's pretty simple. Remove all of our numbers, now, or I will call you 500 times a day until Jesus comes back." I tell her.

"They will be removed." She retorts as SHE hangs up on me.


Needless to say, I have spent the last hour randomly picking up the phone, dialing the number and saying...

"Hi it's me. Only XXX number of the promised calls left today."

I kind of wonder if I can get in trouble for it. If anybody would like to have the same big ball of fun as I am, and help me annoy the shit out of these people, I'd be glad to share the phone number with ya.

Happy dialing!

Santa's Sexy In His Jockey Shorts

You know, for the past decade, I kept thinking to myself "Damn. Christmas seems to come earlier and earlier every year. I thought it was only in my head because I am simply annoyed by how commercial Christmas has become.

I took note, back in August no less, that as soon as Wal-Mart took out the swimming pools and other summer items... in came the Christmas stuff. IN AUGUST! Before even halloween had time to come and go.

Pisses me off, the money-grubbing devil stores peddle as much as they can for as long as they can. And what really slays me is the fact that, everytime I'd pass through lawn & garden, even back in late summer, there were people buying that shit up. It wasn't on sale, it was just out on display and for sale at regular prices.

Now I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want my house decorated with little elves and the like that early in the year. I'm the type that as soon as Christmas is over, I'm ready to jerk the ornaments down and sling the tree in the yard.

What I think should happen is, since the the stores have all the Christmas crap out that early, the Salvation Army should round up sexy bell ringers and have them out there in the heat of summer in a Santa-like underwear or a swimsuit made of red velvet with white trim.

BAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, Humbug.

Damn That Fortune Cookie Nazi

I am sad to say that my addiction to Chinese Food was abruptly halted as a result of the ongoing battle with the Fortune Cookie Nazi. He won, I lost; no MSG, salt loaded, sugary goodness for Diva. Dammit.

So, I come home from a business trip and OG tells me that while I was gone, she had went to said establishment to partake of take-out as her man had taken ill.

She went to the self serve bar, I remember so well. She filled her to-go boxes with treats of all kinds…

She went to the front to pay our friend the Fortune Cookie Nazi…

“You need-a any sauces today?” He asked.

“No. I don’t think so,” she politely replied.

“Well, you must-a take the fortune cookie,” he tells her.

A light bulb went off off over her head. She finds out first hand that I’m not kidding when I say he just won’t give me a fortune cookie. That he has an inner drive within his deep dark soul, which keeps him from simply dipping in and giving me my friggin cookie.

What’s wrong with a brother when he won’t even share a 5 cent cookie? He would give me a truck load of sauces, chop stix, but no damn cookie. All I want is my cookie!! Why can’t you just give me my cookie!!!

I’m going to go rock back and forth in the corner now.

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.

The Internet Age... Jeeez

I have never been interested in meeting anybody in an online setting. I crusied some of the sites and even checked out some of the adult type friend sites. But, when it came right down to it. I never met anyone because I'm too much of a chicken shit.

I mean you hear horror stories of people meeting in person and one or the other, or neither of them, is what they claimed they were. Or look like that picture they sent you.

Call me old fashioned, but when I was looking to meet somebody, I would rather it be over the cucumbers in the produce section of the local Piggly Wiggly, or maybe over a goofy "cooking for one" book at the library.

I joined MySpace last year to comment and cut up with my REAL LIFE FRIENDS. I never accept "friend requests" from people who I have never met in MY REAL LIFE. Nor do I ever randomly pour through page after page of people requesting them to be my friends. No. If I don't know ya in real life, then you'll never make it past the gate.

I know more than a few people who have met their significant other online (eHarmony, Match.com, MySpace...) and who have actually made it for a minute. But I know of none who has made it for the long haul. Why?

Well, in this day and age, it seems that those in the online dating community just shift around. Maybe its because there are so many available folks out there just lookin for love in all the wrong places.

It's a meat market for reals. But, it's not like a meat market as a bar would be. No. Say you go to your favorite bar or club. Yah, it's a fashion show. Yah, everybody is there hoping to meet someone unless they are there with someone.
But, at least you now when you are talking to them face to face, they aren't sitting there browsing profiles of others while they are talking you up.

I don't know. I guess I was jaded, or tainted against this kind of crap. I'm not a very trusting individual since a guy I was seeing in the last century was a total computer dork that (I found out later) was always looking at online personals and profiles.

Now you're prolly sitting there thinking, why is she going off on this lame ass tanget? What the hell pulled her trigger today?

Well, friends, I'll tell ya. There's a dumb-ass on AOL and yahoo who surfaces now and again thinking we're the best of friends. Before MySpace, he used to comb AOL profiles and email unsuspecting females. I guess so he would have someone to talk to or whatever. Anyway, I guess it was middle of last year, after he joined MySpace, he surfaced again, showing 198360876 (exaggerated for impact) friends, all of which are female. Which proves my point. Or maybe it doesn't. I'm sort of annoyed right now.

So, today on my little yahoo messenger thingy, I posted my status as "I'll never paint again, swear to God!" And I guess it piked his little curiousity button somehow. So, he (out of the blue) decided to IM me... Lord have mercy...

The conversation went a little somethin like this:

Dork: ok, I just gotta ask why won't you ever paint again?

Me: Because I have no feeling left in my arms from painting over dark colors with white like I promised my landllord. lol

Dork: see you should of called me you know thats whats i do for a living****

****NOTE: Actually, I didn't know that, but whatever

Me: Nopie, didn't know that.

Dork: yes i told you when we first started talking i remodel houses for a living

Me: How long ago was that though? And how long has it been since we talked? Prey tell, do you remember what I do or where I live?

Dork: couple days...lol just kiddon and in winter months

Me: No, it was well before last summer. And as I recall I wasn't interested in talking to you because you find it to be wonderful to collect women friends online.

Dork: no it wasnt you must be thinking of that other man lol

Me: I talk to no other men, other than the one I'm about to marry***

****NOTEThat is not all together true. I have REAL LIFE FRIENDS that are male and I certainly talk to them.

Dork: see

Me: See what? You act like you know me.

Me: He lives with me, I don't talk to him online (Also not completely true, he lives with me part time until we actually jump on the weddin train)

Dork: well that's cool


Then the dork went silent and didn't bother me anymore. I just get irritated that people have so little value for someone else's time I suppose.
Anyway, he is like every other person out there waiting to see some long lost person they added on to their buddy list, so they can feel important because they are chatting it up.

GET A LIFE!

Insight on Women - Part Deux

Women are catty. Especially toward each other. Especially when on woman has performed an act of woman on woman betrayal. It is not something taken lightly and is most likely not to be forgiven.

Over the last several years, I have emerged from spending most of my time locked in the house and being a slave to my life, kids, ex-husband…. blah, blah, blah. I was young (17)when I married my first husband and didn’t experience the “meat market” type bar scene in which women are all in competition with one another to take some schmooo home. Pu-leaze.

Then I toddled into life as a single, grown woman. It was never my intention to pick up on any dude at all. We (the Pirates) were always out, and if you saw one, the rest weren’t too far behind. We generally were out together, as a group, on Wednesday and Friday for close to a year. During that year I witnessed several acts of sluttiness on various levels and even fell victim once to a chick chasing my fella. Of course, this chick (as it turns out) has extremely low self esteem and chases anything with a penis.

Even though I’m not single anymore and I have no desire to go back to yesterdrama… Damn if I don’t hold a helluva grudge toward someone in particular that recently not so directly crossed my path. She was just in the area. The fur on the back of my neck stood up and my claws came out and if I’m not mistaken, I think I even hissed a few times. And they wanted me to come out and have a drink in the same bat bar at the same bat time?? Um. No. I’ll stay home and watch Burn Notice, thanks!

Expressing interest in a man that another woman has already expressed interest in is a huge no-no. Even if you are sadly repugnant and shameless. Wouldn’t you rather keep your girlfriend (who you know will be there for you for life) than to stab her in the back in order to have a one night fling with a man who is going to talk down about you to his friends and other lovers who know about you?

Kissing another girl’s man when she goes to the bathroom is also a big no-no. Seriously. Do you think that his girl isn’t going to find out that you waited until she got up and excused herself from the table, before you not-so-eloquently shoved your tongue down his throat? If the girl has any real friends, they will tell her about your skanky ways as soon as she gets back to the table. In general, you will have lost a friend (maybe several) as well as becoming a laughing stock. (I witnessed this scenario last spring… since I wasn’t involved, it was actually quite amuzing).

He, I mean She, I mean He…. Wants What?!?!?!

So, I’m pretty much sick of thinking and talking about Paris and Lindsey. I’m over Anna Nicole, her monasery of man whores and her kid.

Thank God there was something fun in the news today!

This dude, err, chick, err, well I think its still a dude, Robert Kosilek, wants the state of Massachusetts to pay for his sex change surgery.

Um. Yah. He just isn’t happy being a he and isn’t going to be happy living as a he anymore, dammit!

Whatever!!

This asshat killed his wife in 1990 after she dumped hot tea on his testicles. I’d probably have dumped hot tea on his testicles too, but I would have run for the hills and not looked back.

Apparently she wasn’t that smart and he strangled her. How I don’t know. I can only assume that if I had hot tea spill on my nuts, I’d be in the fetal position crying like a baby.

Anyhoo. So, this guy has been in jail for murder for many moons. Now, I don’t know about ya’ll, but I am all for swift offing of anybody who is a murderer. I mean, why are we wasting our tax dollars on feeding and showering these folks? I am not tolerant of blatent evil or being mean for the sake of it, but I think there are way too many murderers, child molesters, and rapists in prison, living the good life, instead of getting a needle in the vein.

And this jack ass wants the state to pay to remove his penis and give him a vagina? If they do it, I hope he gets molested by the biggest, baddest man in the prison.

Any Tom, Harry, or Dick in society would be fighting with a multitude of shrinks to get the sex change, not to mention spending a small fortune on the operation itself. How in the world could his request even have gotten so far as to have made it into court? And not only did it make it into the courts, but an obscene amount of money has been spent on mental evaluations of this guy because he keeps threatening suicide. Good God, let him do it!

Dang, give me the needle or let me have control of the switch, I’ll euthanize him and save the fine tax paying citizens of Mass. a whole lot of money.

Twin Blow Out - PreGame Festivities

[ Blogged in realtime, Wednesday, 20-Jun-2007, kinda like that stupid TV show 24, but without that asshat kid of Donald Sutherland’s… ]

Here we are folks. It’s a wonderfully balmy Wednesday night at CatScratch Jane’s. I’m sitting with a bird’s eye view of all the going’s on. Karaoke is getting ready to kick off and it looks as if all the regular crowd (good and bad) has started peppering in.

The Twin Blow Out is starting here tomorrow, but the biker boys on their motor-scooters are plentiful. The patio’s a-buzzing, the inside is buzzing. We’re looking forward to an eventful night. Bring on the singers.

A real blow-out, right? Uh. No. It’s another train-wreck. That’s what I get for being all amp’d up for a party! Thus far we have heard a not-so-right-on rendition of “Live and Let Die” (help me!). Now we are on to the worst drunken interpretation of “You Look So Good In Love” that I’ve ever heard… whining included.

The place is packed. Folks are piled up everywhere, inside and out. I’m dying for a beer. But dammit, it’s busy. I’m going to wither up and fall in the floor from lack of alcohol. But as I sit here, waiting for Cutie Pie (our beer wench) to surface, I think to myself “Damn, girl! You’re hair looks gooood!”

Finally! A hot guy is getting up to sing. I missed his name, but he’s wearing a polo shirt and baseball cap. He’s singing Toby! You go, boy! Mercy me, yes. He sure should have been a cowboy.

I’m still waiting on my beer. It’s nearly 10pm. Through the open windows I hear the clank of the triangle being busted by a gaggle of pool shooting biker boys. Now and then a loud, orgasmic burst of noise comes when one of the bikes fire up.

Ya know, Christmas is coming up. Harley. Under the tree. Big red bow. Thanks in advance to whomever decides to make this purchase for me. I’m obliged.

Finally, at 9:55pm, Mark drags his ass in. ”Log the time, Scotty!” He has mercy and goes to hunt Cutie Pie for my beer. Bless you, hon. I was withering.

By 10 I’m thinking, “I thought this was going to be the kick off to a bad ass biker weekend party… it’s more like B-97.5 night in the local geriatric ward.” Never has an hour seemed more like ten. Never have I wanted someone to shoot me in the ears worse than I do right this very minute. “Log the time, Scotty!”

10:01. Scotty is so excited to be here that he’s taken to watching the drag queens on the t.v. above the bar. *snicker* You dirty boy, you. But wait: Here comes Nike! He’s belting out some bad ass Lionel Ritchie love song, The boy possesses the ability to wake up a bored and otherwise depressed drinking crowd.

Oh my, what’s this? The heavens have opened up and some good singers with some happy ditties are now on a roll. Joe hops up and belts out a soulful blues number (he really rocks the hell out of the blues). Now if we can talk him into losing his “Bat Outta Hell” CD… *wink wink* You know I love ya, Joe.

I belted out some goodies too, if I do say so myself. I dueted with Cowboy Billy-Joe-Tom-Bob and sang “Dontcha.” He kicks ass on the rap part. Freestyle baby!
I then attempted to do the night justice, with Nike’s help, by belting out “At Last” … the Etta James classic. Choice. Very choice.

My news reporter skills are being diminished by the amount of cold beer and Jack Daniels I have consumed. At this time, all I can really say is that everytime I get up from my corner booth, I end up grabbing this poor girls ass. So, I end up making light of it, in my regular Diva style. I own up to it. I look her in the eye and tell her, “I’m sorry for grabbing your ass everytime I get walk by!”

“Log the time, Scotty!” It’s 11:14, and I’m drunk. Food ordered. Yah! I comment to Scotty that we are evil. He says “No, we’re just honest.” Good one.

Finally. Something note-worthy. A drunken skank finally falls out of her chair into the floor. NEXT! Scotty dies laughing, and notes the time is 11:23.

Food on tap. CatScratch has the best food around. Especially if too much alcohol has been consumed. Cue the onion rings.

And the french fries.
Scotty is in the loo, so I’m logging the time as 11:34.

So, if tonight was any forecast of the drunken festivities that are to go on for the next several days at CatScratch… all I can say is WOW! Good luck with that!
I maintain here and now, I’m Diva enough to stay on the porch, because I certainly can’t keep up with the big dogs. *rolls eyes*

What Chaps Diva's Ass?

Ok. It’s Saturday morning. I just woke up. My eyes are glued together. My nose is crusty. My chest is full of crap that just doesn’t want to come up. In short, I have yet another sinus infection.

Did I go to the doctor to get his verification of my diagnosis? NO!

Why?

Because the cost of going to the doctor these days is just ridiculous. Besides the fact that I was only well for 10 days after the last time I paid my doctor office co-pay and $200 for a dufflebag full of medicatons that obviously didn’t do it for me.

The only perk I can think of today is that I’m high as a kite on the refill of codeine cough syrup Dr. Dude (hehe, I know you love that, Zacque) called in for me last time. Thank God for refills.
I feel for those in this great country that aren’t fortunate enough to have some kind of health coverage. I mean hell, I’ve got it and I still find myself in the sorry ass position of making a choice between getting well or paying the damn rent and feeding my kid.

It’s ridiculous when the most prosperous country in the world has somewhere around 23% (I know they are lying about the numbers) of its citizens walking around with no way to get well when they get the crud, or worse have serious health complications.

I don’t have it all that bad. My $200 sick day would have been near $325 had I not had my shitty insurance.

A friend of my family has a heart issue and needs a transplant. He’s a great man. Works hard every day. Yet, because he is self-employed he’s screwed. No insurance. And basically, until an Angel of light (anonymous) arranged a monetary donation of a huge sum, he was told “So sorry, go die”. Well, maybe it wasn’t quite that harsh, but he could get no help.

As soon as some cash was waved around, it was amazing how fast that he was placed on the list of people waiting for a potential heart donor.

Anyway. I just figured since it’s Saturday morning and I’m still sick (again), that I would pitch a tizzy fit about how we should be better taken care of.

Unfortunately, even having a fit over it isn’t making the crap in my chest break up and go away.

Monday Melee - Let's Give It A Whirl

[ Note: This is Diva’s first Monday Melee, published on 11-Jun-2007 ]

1. The Misanthtropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate.

I hate haters. I’m sarcastic and all, but I don’t really hate anyone. I just think some people are completely ignorant and should wear a cone-dork hat all the time.
But people who hate everybody and everything (generally for no reason at all) annoy me greatly. Two words: hater blockers. You can find them at your corner store, reasonably priced, of course.

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.

Until proven otherwise, the voice on my voice mail the other night was really an extremely good impression of a female voice. Had I not known better, I would have thought it was really a chick leaving me that message.
UPDATE: Diva has found out that Diva is way off. I should be whipped with a wet noodle for spreading such rumors without concrete proof. I admit it. I was wrong. I’m sorry. Forgive a Diva, won’tcha?

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.

I am honestly unhappy with my daddy right now. I love him so much, I really do. And this may sound hateful, but I can’t help it.
He is drinking himself to death. No matter how much I love him, talk to him, beg him, get mad at him, ignore him, taxi him, and try to care for him… he just won’t knock it off. And I’ll be honest. I’m pissed about it. I’d like to have him around for a while. He’s not that old, but he’s diggin his own grave on drink at a time. If I was doing an asshat of the day post, he’s a prime target.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.

I give that salesman at Lance Cunningham Ford credit for sucking my man into buying that damn truck after I had a tissy fit over it. Good for him.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.

I may not have all the money in the world. I may not be able to give my kids all the crap that I’d like to give them. But I give them what’s really important. I love them.
So, I guess the answer is I’m a kick ass mama that would go through hell and high-water for her kiddies.

6.The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.

I wish that all of the many parts of my life would come together, for one fleeting moment even, and I could have that happy, content feeling inside. Pretty damn big wish I suppose.


Go visit FRACAS and do the Monday Melee for yourself!

Skank of the Week - Paris Hilton

Okay, when I started blogging, I swore to myself and everything that is held Holy, not to say one word about Paris Hilton. I always felt that she was just not worthy of my attention, as she is a complete and utter attention whore to begin with... why humor her.

But, the courtroom activities of the day have made me realize the err of my ways. She is worthy of being a SKANK OF THE DAY.

Seriously. Let's say Diva was to go out, do a line or ten, go racing off into the sunset in her pretty little chick-mobile doing 100+ miles an hour. Let's say the PO-PO blue lighted Diva, found her to be under the influence, arrested her, made her go to court, suspended her license to operate even the simplest motor vehicle.

Do you think Diva would have learned her lesson? The answer is yes. Diva does not desire to spend her days locked up in an icky cell with hardened women criminals that say and do scary things to Diva-like creatures.

But the fact that she was stupid enough to get caught is not why she is the SKANK OF THE DAY. No. On the contrary, she made this list because she was stupid enough to get caught a couple more times driving on said suspended license.

Hello?!?! I know you are filthy freakin rich, and most everybody does most everything for you, but, DUH! Are you STUPID enough to believe that you can get away with the same offense multiple times?? Hire a driver, dumb ass. Party your ass off all the time!

In all honesty, I don't think jail time was warranted. It's not like she was out there drunker than a skunk. No. She was simply tooling around L.A. like the big Paris dawg she is. You know... shopping, Starbucks.. those fruitless tasks that she must endure on a daily basis. Ooops!!!

The city of Los Angeles would have been much better off fining the shit out of her every time she blows it. She is worth ga-gillions. Why not take her for a little more each time she gets out and acts like an ass? Why not have someone watching her for fine-able offenses. The City of Los Angeles would have the money to get police support in Watts where they really need it.

But, they did sentence her. And I went all shades of red when I heard they had released her to house arrest. Why? Mental problems with being in a confined, damp, loud, open place? Not able to eat gourmet? Burritos not good enough for her? Was it not enough that she had her sentence reduced and was only going to have to be there for a minute and a half anyway? Honestly, I'm shocked she made it 10 hours before she flipped completely out.

So, this judge decided that she's an idiot and now our girl Paris is not only doing her sentence, but she's doing the whole 45 days. Ooops. Off ya go, lass. Screaming and crying isn't going to do anything for ya now. Off ya go, with those nice deputies over there. I swear... Drama, drama, drama.

Anyway, let us take a moment to run down the list of why Paris Hilton is a MAJOR LEAGUE SKANK:

1. She has that same stupid pose on the red carpet all the time. Head down-tits and ass pushed out. Well, accept that time when she crashed on the motorcycle on the red carpet... I must laugh now, excuse me *ROFLMAO*

Sorry, I'm better now.

2. In and out, in and out, in and out of jail. Now do they let anybody else in and out of jail? Why hell no. Mommy's money just wasn't good enough this time.

3. The whole being best friends with Britney fiasco. Come on now. Britney was semi-skanky, but Paris managed to drag Britney into BIGTIME SKANKDOM. Hello. Undergarments, look into them.

**Note. What do you wanna bet she wears her panties for the next 45 days.

4. Even Diva is smart enough not to let any questionable materials out in the open. Hello!?!?! Ever heard of a locked, fire-proof box? Keep your junk in the trunk, sister.

Ok, I feel like I am getting a little bit catty here. And I could go on for miles about why I think Paris Hilton deserves the honor of Skank of the Day, but why?

Am I making me feel any better about being me? No, I rock and I don't need affirmation anyway. Unlike Paris, I'm the bomb even though I'm not build like Barbie and worth my family's millions.

In closing a few words to Paris:

They'll give you blankets if you're cold. Alot of folks survive college on frozen burritos, you won't starve. It ain't the Beverly Hilton (pardon the pun), it's jail. Put on your big girl panties and deal with it.

Comcast is Satan

If not of satan, then a spawn of said demon.
They are almost as bad as Wal-Mart, yet another corporate money-grubber I hate with a purple passion.

I went to pay my monthly Comcast bill online by check. Have technology, why not use it. Save a stamp, save a tree.
Well, when I clicked submit, it gave me an error message and number, which I’m glad I wrote down. So, I called and went through an seemingly endless barrage of the same automated questions being asked over and over by an annoying voiced robot. Then, as has been every other time I’ve called Comcast, I was put into the standard holding pattern like an Airbus 300 waiting to land at Los Angeles International Airport.

I was given clearance to land, and began my decent into the always fun world of call center customer service.

I spoke with girl this time who said she didn’t see any pending payments or anything and that I should just make my payment over the phone.

So, I did. With my debit card, which goes immediately. Come to find out 30 minutes later, the internet payment had went through and here is my confirmation.

So, I call them (Comcast) back, I go through the automated answering phone maze again and back into the standard holding pattern like an F16 circling Baghdad, only to talk to a not so pleasant or helpful fellow named Josh. They can’t stop either payment, he says.
“Hello.” Say I, Just reverse the charges on the debit card, pal!!??!!”

To which Josh says repeatedly, “I’m sorry, ma’am. Once payments are through, they are through and there is nothing we can do about it. I spent more than 45 minutes of my valuable time, not to mention all the hold time, fighting with Josh about how all of this is not my fault.
I would have never paid over the phone had I not received an error message up on the clicking of the submit button.

So, I get on my cell phone and call the bank whilst on hold . And, as the useless bloodsuckers they are, can’t stop any payments, as both are technically electronic payments.

Color me screwed. So two payments in the amount of $153.00 are going to be sucked out of my bank account because Comcast’s website sucks on severely proportionate levels

Now I’m on hold with them again, as they always have higher than normal call volume.

The Trooper & The Porn Star

Say, did you hear the one about the Tennessee State Trooper and the Porn Star??? Sounds like the start of a really bad joke, huh? Actually, it’s funnier than a room full of Michael Jackson impersonators whipping each other with wet spaghetti noodles, but it’s no joke.

James Randy Moss, of the Tennessee Highway Patrol, had an anonymous complaint filed against him by a cupie doll named Justis Richert in Nashville, TN.

We here in beautiful KnoxVegas should be proud to boast that Justis, a.k.a. Barbie Cummings *snicker*, is a Knoxvillian. Let’s pause and give Barbie some well-deserved kudos. She makes our community proud by being a big-time porn star who makes her living by flying back and forth to the City of Angels to shoot her fair share of scenes.

I would now like to paraphrase for you how the skinny goes down:

Occifer Perv-A-Lot (OP): Hey sexy, can I see your license & registration?

[Queue Saxaphone Music]

Local Porn Queen (LPQ): Why yes occifer. Here’s my license and registration.

OP: Well, these seems in order. (Hiking up pants, Barney style) Miss Richert, do you have any drugs on you or in your ride?

LPQ: Why hell yes I do. Want some? They are my happy pills, they make me happy and extremely horny. Oh, by the way, I’m a porn star. I can rock your world, baby.

OP: Realllllly now? You aren’t just saying that to get my manhood roaring and to get me into some serious trouble later?

LQP: Oh, no, occifer. I wouldn’t do that in a million and one years. Don’t you have a lappytop in your crusie-woosie. I can show you my work. By the way, my stage name is Barbie Cummings. *snicker*

OP: Well, first, Miss Cummings *snicker*, you’ll need to give me those pills so I can fix your problem. (OP scatters dim pills in da bushes) Now lets take a little stroll on back to my cruiser and we’ll see just how good you really are. How’s that sound?

LQP: Well, okay. I think that was really neat what you did.

(Getting into the cruiser and turning on lappy)

OP: Wow, girl. Look at you go. Say, what’ll it take for a nasty, middle aged, perv with a badge to get up next to a sweet thang like you?

LQP: Jeez, I don’t know. Maybe if you tape it with your cruiser camera so I can remember you.

OP: Fine by me.

Some various acts of a sexual nature were captured by Occifer DipShit as he rolled tape. You know Barbie might have fear of performing action without the lights and cameras.

To make a long story even longer, this guy gives her a copy of the tape…. Where she….you guessed it… POSTED IT ON HER WEBSITE FOR ONE AND ALL TO SEE….

I wonder if this would actually be one of the lamest things I’ve heard?

Train Wreck on the Horizon

Dear Lord. Won’t it ever go away? What did we do to deserve more drama out of the Anna Nicole family?

Finally, Vergie Arthur *cringe* has quieted down. Finally, Howard K. Stern appears to have went in to relax mode. Nobody has tried to dig her up. There are no more wannabe daddies coming out of the woodwork. Seemed like the train wreck was just about cleaned up and we could all just go on with our lives……

Until 5 minutes ago.

Now it seems Anna’s freak step-sister, Donna Hogan, the author of the much acclaimed biography about Anna Nicole, Train Wreck, is gonna try to step into Anna’s life and live it. Chick is gonna get a new set of boobs and bleach her hair. She’s icky, and borderline scary.

Get this. She’s gonna get the new rack and go try to screw her way into Playboy… *cringe again*.

Wonder how long it’ll be before Howard K. moves in on her? At least she’s got the book profits… that dork doesn’t even have a job now.

For real, the last thing I want to hear on the news everyday is all the crazy shit this broad is gonna do to try and drum up some (apparently much needed) attention. Yup, I could live a thousand lives and be happy never to here any of this crap about Anna Nicole and her screwed up family/friends again.

On second thought, maybe I should start a cause…. Donations accepted for Diva’s boob job and other minor plastic surgeries in an effort to beat that freak skank to the punch. We’ll call it the “Make Diva Famous Fund”.

Mark, you’re in charge of passin the collection plate, pal!

How Do I Hate Thee? Let me tell ya now!

I am an office manager for an small biomedical company in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. We are not a million dollar baby. We are not listed as one of the top companies in the Fortune 500. We are of no consequence to anyone, really. That is, anyone but those damn telemarketers, who seem to call more than our customers do. Until the past two days, the last statement was strictly a sarcastic theory.

I have made it my goal in life to give every telemarketer that calls our office so much shit, that they will beg the powers that be to take our multiple phone numbers off of the automated speedy dialer set up they utilize.

I have found out that the low level asshat that initiates this variety of phone call is generally a mega wuss. Scary Diva puts fear in them and they automatically put me through to a supervisor. Which is fine by me, that’s who I’d prefer to bitch at anyway.

The typical call is as follows:

Asshat: Hello, ma’am. I am calling today on behalf of BellSouth.

Me: You’re calling on behalf of BellSouth? Are you BellSouth or some poor schmuck hired by BellSouth to take this ass whipping?

Asshat: We are contracted by BellSouth to contact existing customers with this exciting..

Me: Let me guess, an exciting new plan?

Asshat: Yes, ma’am. We are…

Me: Stop right there. What is the name of your company?

Asshat: (will name off whatever company of the day is)

Me: And what is your name, please?

Asshat: I can not disclose my name.

Me: You can’t disclose your name? Where is your supervisor?

Asshat: I don’t understand, ma’am.

Me: Your supervisor, your boss. Please put them on the phone.

Asshat: One moment.

Asshat supervisor: I understand there is a problem here?

Me: You could call it that. When I get more calls a day from people like you bogging down my phone lines than I do from my customers, that is a major problem for me.

Assshat supervisor: Let me explain why…

Me: No! Let me explain to you. What is YOUR name. I have your company name.

Asshat supervisor: (rambles off a name)

Me: Okay. Now, I would like this to be recorded. Am I being recorded for quality and training purposes, pal?

Asshat supervisor: Yes, ma’am.

Me: Then understand this. I am keeping your name, the name of your company, the time and date that I spoke with you. I would like you to remove our phone numbers from your database. I would like to cease communication from your company. Do you understand?

Asshat supervisor: Yes. We will remove you immediately.

Me: Great. Because we report companies that do not remove us from their call lists/databases after we request it. I now have everything I need to report your company to the FCC for furthering communications after being asked to stop.

So, the story goes. Of course, the FCC doesn’t do shit for a body. You call, register a complaint, and nothing happens. But, it sure is alot of fun to harass the shit out of someone who’s job it is to harass the shit out of me.

The top of my “I HATE THESE GUYS” list is Bell South, followed ever so closely by Birch Telecom.

I also despise all of these shipping companies who try to out screw each other for the tidbit of business they might be able to get. Of which, my response is always, “If I’m gonna get screwed by a freight company, I’m sticking with UPS because our driver is freakin hot. But thank you for calling and trying to win my business! If you’d like to send some hot drivers over here for inspection, I might consider giving you my business, but I warn you. Our UPS guy will be hard to beat.”

Have a great dessert day, pal.

Awww: The Big Bad Terrorist Got Her Feelings Hurt

From The Week:

A convicted terrorist and murderer who was released from prison last month is suing a German tabloid—for calling her a terrorist and a murderer. Brigitte Mohnhaupt, 57, served 24 years in prison for nine murders she helped carry out in the 1970s as a key member of the Red Army Faction, a leftist terrorist group.

This poor chick. She spends 24 years in the German poke. I mean, she only took out nine folks when she was part of the Red Army Faction, right? As if it isn’t sad enough when one ends up spending all of one’s prime years in prison. But to get out, and to be ready to try to move on to a new life, say one where she can peddle Mary Kay products, only to find that the media is making fun of you for being such a sucky terrorist.

I mean, her ego must be completely shot. So, she decides to sue the rag that’s “defaming” her reputation as a kick ass terrorist, not a sorry excuse for one.

Sorry sister. You’re an idiot. Put your big girl panties on and handle it!