The Way Things Are






Since yesterday was a frightening glimpse
2005-05-03, 9:06 a.m.

Since yesterday was a frightening glimpse into the serious side of things, I want to lighten it up today and provide pure superficiality and silliness. That’s right, y’all, choke me in the shallow water before I get too deep.

This morning DW and I were doing our Sculpt workout, and at the end, you have to do those chair dips. You know, you raise and lower yourself backwards in a slanted position, using only your arms and by making a face. And you’re not having sex, in case y’all were wondering what the hell I’m talking about. Although now that I think about it, you could. You totally could. Oh great. Now I’m horny. I digress…

Those chair dips always just almost kill me (and now they make me horny)– my arms don’t look spindly, but they are apparently quite weak. Kind of fat and weak. Full of Crisco. Anyway, DW asked me if I was OK after I grunted and moaned and made terrible faces, and I said offhand, “I guess it’s just hard because my ass is so fucking big.”

He laughed and declared me to be “a funny lady.” Although we all know that he is easily entertained, I hope that is my legacy, a funny lady. In fact, I want it on my tombstone, next to the engraved (no pun intended) picture of me holding my accordion. I don’t play the accordion, nor do I own one –yet-, but once upon a time, as I perused the obits, I saw an obit picture of a gentleman with the happiest smile on his face, holding his accordion. And I thought, “By God, I will have an accordion, and I will take it to my grave.”

As the renowned redneck comedian Rodney Carrington says, I hope when I get to heaven, the Lord motions me in and says “Get on in here, you funny motherfucker.”

I’ve worked out for 3 days in a row, which is some kind of record for me, and I swear to God, I’m having pancakes for dinner tonight. As it is right now, I’d give my left ovary (the dependable one! the one that does most of the ovulating!) for a doughnut. I am dying for lack of sweet, starchy carbs. Yogurt? Check. Apple? Check. Vegetable soup? Oh God, yes. Pop-tarts? Denied.

On the work front, I’m working on some responses to a vendor lawsuit right now. It consists of requests for admission, i.e. “give it up, bitch, and admit that each of the documents attached to Plaintiff’s Petition is a genuine original document or a true and correct copy thereof…” and I must admit right now, that I love fucking with these people.

As it stands right now, since the first time I ever saw the documents in question was when the Plaintiff sued my ass for an amount which is surely ¼ of the amount they have spent on legal fees in a case that they will surely lose because they are stupid and it looks like a dummy contract between the vendor and the former owner/management of the property, not me, I’m not going to admit to anything. For all I now, you fuckers made it all up, and I have to say, all of the evidence you have produced thus far only bolsters that appearance.

Did you know that if you rearrange the letters in “bolsters”, you can spell “lobsters”? It’s true.

So, since I’m so busy gleefully being an asshole to people today, I believe it’s time for me to fly.

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