I'm not a plastic-surgery fan anyway...

I just don't see the point. Most of the time, the folks who have something done just end up looking like they've had something done.

I'm totally behind reconstructive surgery for things that have been... somehow deconstructed.

But I digress.

If I were actually going to have some sort of elective procedure, I doubt I'd pick a surgeon who works out of an old Men's Warehouse and shares a parking lot with a Chili's (though they could, I suppose, keep the same You're gonna like the way you look, I guarantee it tag line).

Dr. Zwiebel. I got to thinking that I'd heard that name before. Turns out T. Herman Zweibel (Zwiebel is German for "onion") is the name of the fictional editor of The Onion.

I have a sneaking suspicion that you'd walk in for a rhinoplasty (fun to say, probably less fun to experience) and walk out with a big red clown nose. 

All jokes aside, I'm sure P. Zwiebel MD is a FANTASTIC and TRUSTWORTHY surgeon.

All the same, when I pull into that parking lot, I'm likely headin' the other direction and gettin' some baby back ribs.

How do you like YOUR Doritos?

I like 'em JACKED, Mofo!!

We didn't take a picture because we didn't want to get caught

But I have Beau as my witness.

We walked into the bank today and spied a woman in pajama pants.

That's not the worst part.

They were green with the word FLIRT on the ass in bright yellow letters.

THAT'S not the worst part.

The worst part is that her ass was (for lack of a better term) eating the pajama pants so that you couldn't see all of the letters.

The letters left visible were F R T.

Which, let's face it, could have spelled FART.

I shit you not.

Just another reason why everybody needs to put forth the effort and WEAR SOME DAMN PANTS when they go out in public!!!

I. Am. Unclean.

This morning I bought four new tires.

It was a soul-/wallet-breaking experience.

I had Dad with me to give me a ride home in case it was going to take a long time. While we waited for my four new pricey rubber donuts to be installed, he suggested we get breakfast.

We got into the car and he made a breakfast-venue suggestion.

And I, in my broke/broken state, said "Yeah. Fuck it, let's go."

We dined at McDonalds.

Oh yes we did.

And I have to admit it. That Sausage/Egg McMuffin Dad bought me was delicious. It dulled the pain of the tire purchase just a little bit.

I'm not proud.

But I'm full.

Grandma would be so proud.

Crunchy goodness

I have a subscription to Vegetarian Times. I'm not a vegetarian, per se, but I don't like to eat/cook with a lot of meat (a bone of contention with Beau, but I digress). I thought it would be a great source for meat-free recipes.

Not so much.

There are a lot of recipes in there, but they all call for ingredients that don't have--or, really, know what they are. I'm not a complete novice. I just don't spend enough time educating myself at Vitamin Cottage, I guess.

But I do love the ads in the back. They're so granola-crunchy, they make me smile.

Done with indoor plumbing? Here's the answer for you.

NO PLUMBING! NO ODOR! NO THANK YOU!

Got some angels that need juicing? You're in luck!

SUPER ANGEL JUICER! 

Then I saw something that was no joke.

COME TO MAMA!!!

I priced it out, and I could go to the store and buy a TON of avocados myself for what it cost to get three pounds of avocados delivered to my house three times.

But that's not as fun.

Sigh. 

But a girl can still dream a sad little crunchy-granola dream.

The price of an earlobe

My mom has an insecure friend. Nice lady, but she spends money like there's no tomorrow to fix something that's broken on the inside. Buys houses and furniture and lavish vacations without a second thought. She's gone through thousands and thousands of dollars worth of mattresses that just weren't quite right, a la the princess and the pea--or Goldilocks, I guess.

It never quite occurs to her that no matter how much she buys, she can't quite fill up that empty hole.

Lately, her attention and her bank account have focused on her face.

She had a facelift a few years ago. It really didn't do anything but give her nerve damage. She can't feel the top of her head anymore.

Recently, she saw a picture of herself in which she couldn't really see one of her earlobes very well.

One picture + one earlobe = one more trip to the plastic surgeon

She went in for a meeting and, of course, decided to have a little more done, y'know, while he's in there.

Total price?

$12,000 (if you add that to the first botched surgery, it's over $20 grand)

All because she couldn't quite see one earlobe in one photo.

Mind blowing.

Insecurity is expensive.

Surely, this is what evil must taste like

I cannot imagine reaching into a bowl full of these, biting down on a handful, and discovering that they're... WHITE CHOCOLATE.

Shudder.

There should be a law against shit like this.

Nervous chatter

At the end of the work day yesterday, Beau called me from the pub across the street and asked me to come over for a beer.

I was happy to oblige.

When I walked in, Beau was sitting at the bar... with the president of the company.

The president is a very nice, very approachable man.

But I get nervous around authority. Even super-nice, super-approachable authority.

And so I started chattering.

And I kept nattering on and on.

And the whole time, I realize I'm doing it, but I can't stop.

And then came the crown jewel of all ridiculous and embarrassing chatter.

I told him that when I get stressed at work, I break out in a weird rash on the inside of my elbows.

And then...

I. showed. it. to. him.

And the whole time, I kept screaming in my head WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING???

But I can't stop.

You'll be shocked to find out that he left not long after that.

And as he left, he patted me on the back and wished me good luck with my rash.

Oh Lord.

I'm so pathetic.

An awesome word that is used too rarely

Abutment.

Three things that are EXACTLY as pleasant they sound

LaGuardia
Scabies*
Mincemeat Pie* 

(*Ok, technically, I haven't experienced this, but there's no way it can be pleasant)

Something you probably shouldn't ask a very pregnant woman

HOW MANY DO YOU HAVE IN THERE???*


*Actual question overheard at work. Sigh.

Through the eyes of love

Last week, I had dinner with a lovely group of women including my cousin and her mother in law, Hope. During the course of the meal, Hope told us the story of her romantic Valentine's Day dinner with her husband. 

He cooked!

And it was wonderful. 

At the end of the meal, he told her he couldn't believe she hadn't noticed. 

Noticed what?

The huge green sticker he'd had on his forehead all evening. 

Whoops. 

So on Saturday night (after a glass of wine or two or three), I glanced at the bunch of bananas on the counter and decided to test Beau.

I affixed a Chiquita banana sticker to my forehead. It. Was. Attractive (as you can clearly see below).

I also texted my cousin to let her know my plan. 

I walked back into the living room and sat down by him.

No notice.

I turned on the light.

Nothing.

Got a little chatty.

Nope. 

This went on for two hours.

TWO HOURS!

Finally I leaned in and asked Do you think I'm boooooo-teeee-fullll?

Bingo! He noticed.

I explained my reasoning for my attractive new forehead adornment. 

He says it was too dark! And that my hair was covering it!

Uh-huh.

My cousin's husband thinks he could totally beat Beau's record. 

Ladies, I dare you to try this at home. The results might frighten you, but they'll also probably amuse you.

Note to self: MOISTURIZE.

One of the best things about spring

Spring shooooooooooes!

It might be stupid, but these shoes make me truly happy.

Joyful purchase

I'm fully aware that I shop like I'm 12 and my parents are away for the weekend, but whatever. I embrace this about myself.

These are the most awesome marshmallows EVER. They're the size of a large egg (see photo for proof)!

They make me happy and that is what truly matters.

Thank you Jet-Puffed. You know me so well.

Why I love working where I do

There are folks here who are ballsy enough to do the things I only dream of doing.

The phone call vs. the face-to-face

My bank account got hacked last week. Some thievin' yahoo took $246 out using my account number thinking I wouldn't notice (what am I, a Rockefeller?).

Asshole.

But I digress.

As soon as I saw the charge, I immediately called the bank. The woman who took my call didn't seem to... well, give a damn. 

I couldn't get it across to her that I did not authorize the payment.

Then she asked me "If this happens again, do you think it'll be the same $246 amount?"

WHUCK??? How the fuck would I know? 


I told her I wanted to shut down my accounts before any more money disappeared and she didn't want to do it because then my money wouldn't be available to me (it wouldn't be available to anybody else either, which was my whole point).

I finally hung up and decided to walk over to the bank to have a heart attack in person. 

Hello, 180-degree turn!

They were so nice at the branch. They changed my account numbers as fast as they could, promised to get my $246 back (which they did), and were so apologetic about the whole thing.

This just verifies what I've always believed: hang up the phone and have a face-to-face chat whenever possible.

If they can't look you in the eye, they don't care.

(Especially if they're working the phones for Wells Fargo.)

Oh, and thieves suck.

A happy-birthday toast

To my father (not to be confused with Dad, who is a step-dad, but my Dad all the same), who would have been 66 today.

It's amazing for me to realize that at this point he's been gone longer than he was on this earth. It was a short but meaningful life.

Happy Birthday to you, Pops!

I offered to pick these up for Beau

In case he wanted to give the drag-queen lifestyle a go.

He was not amused.

They were on sale! I thought they were kind of fabulous.

The most annoying thing about IKEA

People put their feet all over the furniture. It's filthy. And so rude.

Also, this tube of crab spread worries me.

Haiku of the day

Limbaugh's wife is nuts
Motivation must be cash...
How much can he have???

The most useful class I took in high school

Typing.

I shit you not.

It's a skill I use every single day.

It made college a lot easier too.

Those of you with kids should make them take typing. They'll thank you for it.

This boring-yet-useful post was brought to you--quickly and accurately--by typing. 

For Pete's sake! I just want a Diet Pepsi!

It's been a busy week, and today I had to beg Beau for some money for an uber-healthy vending-machine lunch.

He had three singles (which is three more than I had).

But one was a conspiratorial dollar.

C'mon, man! Let me be.

If you're going to deface money (against the law, btw), it should be funny, like this one (affixed to my kitchen fridge)!