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Food For The Thoughtless

New Piece up. Tell me you hopes and dreams.
Goal Disoriented

Wondering where I've been?

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It WILL change your life.

A List Of Household Items No Girl Can Live Without

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A new post up on The Nervous Breakdown

I have a lovely woman that works for me, she is my lifeline. She cooks, she cleans, she love my dogs, manages my life, does errands etc. Without her I would be lost. Oddly enough I never see her. Haven't seen her in months. We have made a tentative brunch date for sometime in May, but mostly we talk on the phone. Sometimes four or five times a day.

She chooses what I eat and makes my lunch for me. I'm not picky as long as it doesn't contain wheat or corn, except when I have pms and leave her a note with some bizarre and mostly unpalatable requests. In short, I live on salad with chicken, steamed veggies and fish. A diet which has come to be througha process of everything else rotting in the fridge. Apparently, when I say I'll eat anything and I'm not picky it's a bald face lie.

The other day she calls me and asks "Do you not like asparagus?"

"No, I like it. I like the way it tastes. I just don't like the smell of my pee in the morning, it makes me feel kind of sick."

Oddly enough, I just read that not everyone has smelly pee after eating asparagus. Apparently, there is some gene that breaks down a certain enzyme, an enzyme also found in skunks. People that have this gene also have stinky asparagus pee.

Her reply.

"Yeah, there is that. I ate asparagus the other day and then had a foursome. I was a little freaked out about if there was a vag smell"

"It makes your vag smell too?"

And it's conversations like this that truly make my world go round. If she ever tries to leave I will be forced to make her my gimp.

Either way I think I'll stick with zucchini.

I was tagged and I'm supposed to tell you 8 things about me.


1. It has come to my attention that I know all the words to every Bon Jovi song. Please note that I have never owned a Bon Jovi album, However, I do have a long commute and after a while Dr. Laura and random AM radio stations start to have a certain appeal. Hence the Bon Jovi epiffany.

I attribute this to spending way to much time in New Jersey as a child. It may be genetic defect of sorts.

2. I recently found out someone that I dated for years, and was engaged to for whopping six hours before I got a rash. (Just to clarify the rash came AFTER the engagement.) wore MC Hammer pants for like three years. I would like to note here that I did not date this person while they were in their "you can't touch this" phase. This is disturbing and wrong on so many different levels and may be cause for years of therapy on god only knows whose part.


3. I work in Colorado Springs. Yes, Colorado Springs. Land of sexually repressed meth-snorting ministers. And as much as I can't wait for a transfer, I have made a few observations. The most important being that there is a direct correlation between Jesus, panty lines, bad nail art and the phrase don't got.

Word to the wise, if you choose to wear diapers under your Dockers in the name of Christ at least make an effort not to sound like total white trash. Hence, you may make one or two insipid people believe that Ted Haggard is not the norm for your brand.

4. I saw 38 Special in concert. I got a t-shirt. I'm wearing it now. In my defense I saw Slayer the same week. Some other stellar musical moments in my life would include, Rick Springfield, Ricky Martin, The J. Geils Band, Lionel Ritchie, Jethro Tull, John Cougar (pre Mellencamp) and Dee-Lite. I didn't get t-shirts from any those magical music moments. Although, I did find a Right Said Fred shirt at the thrift store the other day that was in heavy consideration.


5. Rock of Love with Bret Michaels is my favorite show. EVER. His trials and tribulations are enough to make me piss my painted on jeans. For instance, he dated a stripper for a while. He was explaining one of his deep theories called pole emotion. To summarize: How do I get her off of that pole and onto mine.

The man is a fucking genius by Hollywood standards, even if those standards are culminated in a town hell bent on destroying its women.

I'll leave it at that.

6. My parents were hippies; I learned all my make-up tips form New York Dolls album covers. You can imagine what junior high was like for me. Thank Jesus' panty lines there are no pictures of that era.

7. I quit drinking for two weeks one time. People are so much more entertaining and tolerable when I'm impaired.

8. I work way too much and don't write nearly enough. I'm working on changing that.


Now I'm supposed to tag I can't remember how many people. So I'll just tag whom I feel like.


Joe

Diamond Studded Cougar
Dr. Chee

Carol Hiller

Now I think there are some rule to this whole tagging thing that I didn't follow very well. So everyone i tagged is supposed to write 8 things about themselves and tag some other people and tell them about it.

..

The state patrol pulled me over this morning. I figured it was for speeding, because like always, I was.

The following is as accurate an account as can be told by me before my first cup of tea.

Old cop and young cop approach my car and motion for me to lower the passenger side window.
" Ma'am, I'm going to tell you why I pulled you over."
Old cop mouth says while I check out my reflection in his wicked ass big-mirrored glasses.

"Oh, You're not going to let me guess?" I said coyly with my most winning smile.

Young cop head now appears in the passenger side window as well.

"You're driving with your headlights on and one of them is out."

"They're always on, the car came that way. It's a safety feature." I say proudly.

"Ok ma'am, I'm going to need your registration, license and proof of insurance, while I'm running that I'm going to have you drive up to where the shoulder widens you're sticking out in traffic and that can be a safety hazard."

"Really?" I say as I dig through my glove compartment creating mayhem out various papers looking for my insurance card. I dig through my wallet and find a dead fly pressed much like a flower between two business cards.

"Ewwww. Dead bug. Gross!" and flick it on the passenger side floor smiling at my reflection and handing my insurance card over for inspection.

"Ok ma'am is this your current address?"

"Ummm, yeah."

Its not,

"Ok ma'am, please pull forward"

As I sit and wait I turn my stereo up again, have a sing along and drink my tea.

Young cop returns

"Ma'am, you need to sign the back of your registration card, it's state law and you could be fined."

"Really?" I say stuffing my still unsigned registration back in the war torn manila envelope and cramming it into the glove box. "Ok."
"Um, ma'am. You need to get your headlight fixed."

"Ok. I was going to get my car washed on Thursday; I'll get them to change it. Which headlight is it? I can't see it from here."

Young cop hands me a card and says he's going to let me off with a warning. I take the card, smile and say thank you.

"Oh, and ma'am…"

"Yes?"

"You might want to get your car to a mechanic to change that headlight, I know a few in good ones in town."

He hands me another card

"My cell phones number is on that if you need help finding one."

"Um, thanks."

A mile or so down the road it occurred to me… I think I just got cruised by the state patrol.

Vagina has opening.

Position to be filled immediately.

Send qualifications and letter of recommendation.

I should change my name to Drusilla.

Eat only potatoes and water crackers.

Then I will fashion clothing as unflattering as my name and new figure out of the latter content holding remains.

It was a rough day.

Then I came home to flowers in my room.

Drusilla smiled.