So of course the water meter reader would show up while all my dogs were out in the yard. I ran out to try to get them back inside or at least stop lunging at the fence and snarling but I was slipping around the dog turd covered hellscape that is my yard in flip flops and sweat pants that are 5 sizes too big and look like those Turkish trousers with the drop crotch and my sad sacks sadly braless, swinging low and comin’ for to carry absolutely no one home except my dwindling dignity. Truly between the clothes and my hair pulled up on top of my head I had to look like a derrange sumo wrestler screaming, “DUDE! IT’S OVER BY THAT OTHER TREE!! NO THE OTHER, OTHER TREE. ” above cacophonous cries of my cantankerous critters. He was very kind and tried to cover the fact that the shocking sight of me looking like the dog shepherdess from hell complete with a grumpy pack of very vocal hellhounds had sent him scurrying in the complete opposite direction from the water meter by saying that he was new to this route and so very sorry to bother me, and he would eventually “get used to it”. Although I’m pretty sure he meant get used to the sight of a portly bog witch and her bad tempered familiars more than the placement of my water meter. He did eventually stumble upon the access but I’m not convinced he could get an accurate reading with all the fearful fumbles and am pretty sure next month’s bill is gonna be a whopper.
Tag: dumbass
The Importance of Proper Storage of “Adult” Entertainment Equipment.
One of my coworkers stopped by to say hello and point out that he hadn’t seen me out an about in a while. That he often saw my Jeep in the parking lot but rarely saw me. Oh and by the way he had to chuckle at some of the things he saw in my Jeep. There was a second of terror (which I’m sure showed on my face) as I tried to think of what might have been in my car that would make him chuckle. Recently everything has been in my vehicle from a beat up but lovely tiara to a dying pigeon and huge package of bulk toilet paper alongside the ever present plethora of dog appurtenances so I’m not really sure why my brain automatically went to items of the lewd persuasion but it did, of course. Now I’m no raging harlot but once in a while my virtue IS quite questionable and one or two sordid activities have indeed transpired in my poor defiled Jeep but I was fairly certain any vulgar paraphernalia had been safely stowed away from gnawing pups or taken home for cleaning depending on sanitary demands, but not absolutely sure. Any normal person would have laughed it off or made a joke out of it but as we established LONG ago I am awkward AF and not really capable of rational thought on the fly so of course I went WAY off the deep end of defensiveness and kind of screeched, “why are you monitoring my parking habits?!?”. Because that’s a completely sane reaction. I’m telling myself that he skipped away and snickered at my guileless charm but honestly it was more of a terrified skitter and nervous laughter which, ironically, is often how all those sordid activities in my Jeep usually end.
Today in the Chronicles of How Badly can Beth Fail as a Functioning Adult
I was sitting in an after lunch meeting all super sleepy and not paying attention as usual and just half heard (literally) the speaker say something about the contractors in the back of the room. Out of curiosity I turned around and there was no one there and still being sleepy and not very socially savvy I kind of interrupted the speaker and was like “ummm is there someone there other than those obvious to me?” And the guy just stopped and looked at me and was like, “what?” And I was like, “Exactly” and he goes “I said the contractors who HAD BEEN in the back of the room. They’ve left now.” So I went into full awkward I-don’t-know-how-to-get-out-of-this mode and just fake laughed and was like “ohh I thought I was having a stroke hahaha do I smell toast?” (supposedly people having a stroke sometimes think they smell toast) And the room fell silent and everyone just stared at me except for the old guy sitting next to me who waited a beat and then tried to laugh with me but it was pretty obvious it was just a pity laugh. Thankfully the speaker just started talking again like I hadn’t said anything. Still trying to figure out why they let me out alone.
Andventures with Angus, Butt Sandwiches and the Bathroom at My Exes House
I almost killed my dog Angus the other day. Not on purpose and not with unattended butter this time but with my more than ample buttocks.
I may have mentioned my dogs are fairly out of control and any attempt and creating boundaries is useless. At this point even if I tried to enforce them they would think I was just playing and then knock me down and try to eat my hair. With my training skills I’m beginning to think it’s a very good thing I don’t have children. They would probably end up being the terror of Phelps and the surrounding counties and people would secretly refer to them as Dahmer and Bundy behind my back. But I digress.
So being the out of control mongrels that they are they tend to think they are entitled to go everywhere with me no matter what I’m doing. For some reason especially when I go to Dave’s house Angus and Donald think they have to go to the bathroom with me and protect me from the shower curtain. While Donald just flops down on the floor and gives the shower the stink eye while making disgruntled huffing noises at it, Angus jumps right on in the bathtub and sniffs the curtain from the back side then rolls around on his back in the tub. Unless there’s water in it, then he jumps back out and prances around like a dainty ballerina trying to dry his feet off by sniffing then licking them one by one. I have no idea why. Because he’s Angus I guess.
So I’m at Dave’s and we go through our bathroom routine, I go to do my business assuming Angus is in the tub like he always is, and not thinking to look behind me to make sure I have proper clearance I go to sit down when what should my lumbering butt cheek feel but a warm, furry little head instead of cold toilet seat.
You know those stories of how distraught mothers, fueled by adrenaline when their child is stuck under a crashed car suddenly have the strength to pull the car off their baby? I have to believe that super human adrenaline strength and a whole lotta sweet baby Jesus intervention saved Angus from being the filling in a tukhus and toilet sandwich that day. I am neither a small woman or a fit one and the only toned muscle on my body is the one in my arm that delivers food to my mouth, seconded only by the one that moves my middle finger to wave at people that irritate me when I’m driving. So it is truly a miracle that Angus is still alive. I almost yanked the paper dispenser off the wall and felt muscles in my butt, thighs, abdomen and ribs that I didn’t even know existed until I tried to suddenly reverse course, like a panicked and frantically unintended Wayne and Garth schwing salute. Angus on the other hand didn’t even notice that he’d almost had a catastrophic collision with a deadly full moon. He happily continued lapping up refreshing toilet water like nothing had happened. Because he’s Angus.
I Really Miss Hot Colonel
Super long, super gross story here. My sinuses turned septic (<self-diagnosis) earlier this week and I ended up taking two days off. Back today but thinking perhaps I should have stayed home as every little thing seems like a huge ordeal. First I had some weird existential crisis over my breakfast sandwich. Took a bite that was too hot, while simultaneously realizing I had forgotten to put salsa on it and also a bit of egg fell off. I had to sit still for a second and fight tears because I couldn’t think of which issue to deal with first. I did eventually take a drink to deal with my burning mouth but had to wrap the sandwich up, turn away from it and pull myself together for a few minutes just to finish a god damn egg sandwich. Also, it took me an hour process that whole sentence into words.
Then had some sort of aneurism trying to talk to hot Colonel. I brought tea and tea cookies in for National Tea Day and put up a sign that said so. Hot Colonel came by and says, “Beth, is it National Tea Day?” Christ, has he not met me?? That is so not a question to ask a jack ass. BUT, it was also HOT flipping Colonel who by the way is also my boss’s boss’s boss. Never mind being adorable AF. So my poor festering head was trying cope with A) Hot colonel talking to me and saying my name in his oh so amazing way. B) Hot Colonel asking me a Captain Obvious question that normally I would have snarked all to hell and C) trying to respond in a coherent manner to basically the head of my chain of command. You can probably guess how well that went. I just stared at him, drooling like a pot head staring at a fresh bag of Doritos after finishing a solo fatty. I may have scratched my pit. I did finally manage to say, “Yes……sir.” And then he thankfully he took a hand full of cookies left. Pretty sure he thinks I’m high.
Also, there’s a funny taste in the back of my mouth that kind of suggests my sinuses may be bleeding. Seriously, I think need to go home.
Stomach Bugs and F-bombs
I had a unpleasant stomach bug over the weekend and haven’t quite bounced back to my normal, sweet, sparkly unicorn self (< ha ha, sarcasm) and am crankier than Kardashians denied access to a camera crew and wealthy black men. It’s been really hard not to throw the eff word around like glitter at a strip club. I’m normally pretty good at pretending to be interested in what my coworkers are saying. It’s usually not that hard to say, “oh really? And what did she say to that?” and then follow up the appropriate uh-huh’s and sure’s when internally I’m thinking, “You are dumber than a box of hair and I wish I could kill you with fire.” But even that’s been tough today. The most I can muster is a dead stare that apparently says I want to eat your soul with grape jelly and biscuits judging by the way people have started to avoid speaking to me. I honestly don’t mean to be a soul sucking harpy. Usually I’m such an ADD riddled flake that everything is entertaining in some way but since my surprise colon cleanse I’ve just been a big ole pile of angst and loathing. A human grumpy cat that just wants to shout NO! at everyone and conspicuously close the elevator doors on people trying to catch it and openly pick my nose while other people are trying to eat. I’m sure it will go away in a day or two but until then y’all should probably avoid inviting me to dinner.
Frumpiness,Fabulousness and Looking Like a Drunk Dad in Drag
In an attempt to fight feeling frumpy I went shopping at one of those chain stores that seems to market to women much younger than me. Because nothing says not frumpy like stuffing yourself into Jr size clothing. Thankfully better sense prevailed (rare for me) and I just bought me a nice new belt. In my rat like fervor for all things shiny I got one with a giant cluster of rhinestones on it. Have been walking around all day basking in my own less frumpy fabulousness till I went to the bathroom and realized my lovely new belt had slid down under my muffin top and was making me look like I had an oddly high beer gut. Like someone’s middle aged dad in drag. Also, my shirt had bunched up under the belt on one side. So I guess it was like a drunken, middle aged dad in drag. That was bad enough but then I went and flopped back down in my office chair, sinking into a slouch because I no longer felt fabulous. While hunched over my dangly necklace caught on my belt. I went to reach for my drink and it suddenly let loose and popped up in my face and startled me into making an odd barking yelp noise. Then I got my skirt wrapped around the wheel of my chair and almost pulled it off when I stood up. My skirt, not the wheel. Thank goodness my coworkers are gone because many expletives were uttered. Many pirate ancestors were made very proud. Also, my giant gaudy belt keeps knocking against my desk every time I move. Thunk, thunk, scrape thunk…. all damn day long. Today is not a bueno day. Sniffle.
A Long Winded Request for You People to Cover for Me in Court.
My favorite magazine is “Victoria” (yes, I still order paper magazines because OMG how can you not touch and smell things you read for fuck’s sake you barbarians??) which is just as pretentious as it sounds but is full of lovely little old lady fripperies like doily patterns and china advertisements and recipes that include more than three ingredients (none of which come in a box with a packet of “cheese food” so I’ll never make them but still the pictures are glorious!); and instructions for setting your table for an odd number of people and so many more old fashioned stuff and sundries that make my dork heart happy even though I’m far too lazy to ever invite people over to my ghetto hovel anymore. Much less give a rat’s ass where they sit or if they even have a napkin let alone a perfectly folded origami swan linen one with hand stitched edging. (Use your sleeve and then let the dogs gnaw it clean like a real person you finicky fucking princess. Although if I really like you I might break out a ten year old wet wipe from the bottom of my purse. Antibacterial and everything because you totally matter to me and shit. ) It does however strike me as a wee bit bizarre that I have the heart of a sweet little old lady but the sense of humor of a deeply disturbed 12 year old boy (I mean really, who doesn’t enjoy a good holocaust/blonde joke about yo mama now and then) ((No, no I don’t, this is wrong. Please don’t take that seriously, I’m promise I’m just kidding inappropriately)) and the vocabulary of a functionally illiterate prostitute from Jersey. I’m pretty sure with this unique combination of personality traits I’m going to need at least one of you to vouch for me in court before too long. Or walk me on a leash. It’s a toss up.
Reasons Why I’m Not Popular at Work and Also Why I’m Single.
Unfamiliar soldier (US): Hi Beth! I’m blah blah blah from Charlie Company blah blah blah and I own the students in blah blah blah and I just got here blah blah blah. (If I don’t have to deal with you on a regular basis and you don’t come bearing gifts I’m not going to bother to remember who you are or what you do. It’s not your fault, I’m just that lazy. And kind of an asshole.) I’m just going around getting a feel for the place and learning who everyone is…
Me: (interrupting) Oh you’re a good person then! I rarely leave my cube or care what everyone else does.
US: (Looks startled then laughs like I’m joking) Oh well it’s good to get to know the people you work with. So what do you do?
Me: (deer in headlights: wait, what do I do again? Dipshittery on Facebook isn’t my job! Say something!) ((Babbles incoherently about education and training development)) So feel free to stop by anytime. Especially if you have snacks.
US: Oh do you bring in snacks a lot?
Me: No, I meant you. You bring snacks.
US: (Looking increasingly uncomfortable) ((laughs nervously)) Oh, ha, yes. What kind of snacks do you prefer?
Me: Oh I’ll eat anything but cheese is always a good choice.
US: Ha, good to know. (Bolts like a rabbit)
And that boys and girls is how you use advanced social awkwardness to alienate coworkers and get a reputation as an addlepated nut monkey. You’re welcome!
Diary of a Dog Hoarding Spinster 