Floyd's Tailgate

Freaking Mondays

2009-03-30T09:29:00.002-04:00

Ugh. Ever sense a bad day on the horizon? I'm thinking this may be it. Nothing concrete telling me that - just my usual optimistic outlook on a Monday.

I just ate a brownie for breakfast. Is it possible to have PMS 3 weeks out of 4?

What fast food restaurants do you think get robbed more than the others? I think it's Taco Bell. I have no basis for this - I just envision Taco Bells getting more than their fair share of theft hijinks than other establishments. It's truly nothing against Taco Bell - I love a gordita as much as the next girl. But I'm thinking Taco Bells are targets for banditos.

I know none of this makes any sense but this is what goes through my brain on a regular basis. Pity me.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe...

2009-03-24T20:33:00.002-04:00

I'm back.

And I know you didn't miss me. Don't lie to me. You haven't even thought about me these last 300 some odd days. Well, fine. I didn't think about you. Not one bit.

Okay, I lied. I missed you. I missed you all. I doubt you're still here but if you are, I love you and promise not to leave you again, (please note: see above remarks about me being a liar and such)

Considering my excessive absence, I think we'll have to break this down a bit into general refresher topics. (Look at me what with the all the organization and such! It's like a grown up Floyd!)

We'll start with me cause I'm really the most simple update.

I'm still the same. Next topic.

Eh. Maybe a few changes.

I'm back with a law firm. The solo trip just wasn't cutting it anymore as my cheapass clients went from simply being cheapasses to non-paying cheapasses. Amazing how many crazy people can save their money for bullets to kill the ex-spouse but can't seem to come up with a couple of bucks for their fearless representation. So I joined a firm in November but I'm still doing family law which is always oodles of fun and joy. And let's be clear, it's a hell of a lot easier to blog on someone else's time than on your own.

The POD moved out (more about her in next post or two) and I moved too. I moved in with a boy (and yes, I'm using the term "boy" very loosely but not in a "he's not masculine" sense but in a "he hasn't seen boyhood in many years" way). We'll call him Mr. Crankypants. We will do our best not to discuss Mr. Crankypants here as he is not exactly "blogger friendly". I think the widespread discussion of his particular traits and habits violates the ninja stealth code he lives by (ooops.....wasn't supposed to let his ninjaness out of the bag!). For those of you who know Mr. Crankypants in real life, keep your damn pie hole shut! He knows nothing, he sees nothing.....and that's how I'll stay alive.

One last little nuggett. Kitty got married. Kitty got married to a guy we'll call Judge a mere 3 weeks ago.

What does this mean, dear reader?

It means I'm the last single girl in my entire social world. Now who's the cranky one?

Fucking typical.

Coming soon: Top Ten Things Learned at Kitty's Wedding

In the Church of My Captain

2008-04-27T14:47:00.004-04:00

One hardly knows where to begin. However, due to my excessive absences of late, it is probably necessary to back up a bit.

Captain Nutty, my mother, has been spending a lot of time down here lately. As the Princess of Darkness (the POD, my sister) has been rapidly approaching her high school graduation day, the plan for "reintegration" has focussed on the Captain spending more time down here to assist me and to "bond" with her precious youngest child.

And, yes, it HAS been as much fun as it sounds! I'm making nightly checks of the POD's room to remove any weapons with which she may extract her revenge upon our beloved matriarch. So far, only the parakeets have been harmed.

When the POD graduates, she will be moving back to the Great White North of Chicago to resume her previously interrupted life. She, of course, has mixed feelings about this. The Captain has only one feeling about this - pure unadulterated terror. But them's the breaks. She's going. I'm done. Job over. Time for me to remember what it's like to pee with the door open again. Time to walk around my house in the nude without hearing "EEEEWWWW! GROSS!" .

After the POD moves on to the next stage of her life, I will be moving as well. I will be moving back down to the area in Atlanta where I used to live as opposed to the suburb where I moved for the POD to attend a school to address her "special needs" (and by "special needs", I mean her general insanity). Since I'm moving, I'm downsizing as well.

My point? Why waste your time with all this back story?

I've two words for you. The most feared words in all of Floydom.

Garage Sale.

For the unenlightened, the Captain fancies herself an "antiques dealer" (and by "antiques dealer", I mean someone who buys crap from garage sales and then resells it in her own garage sale for triple the price).

Now, gentle reader, I know better. I KNOW BETTER. I have had garage sales with the Captain before and it always ends up with my blood pressure doing it's Mount Vesuvius impression. But the Captain begged. She pleaded. She annoyed the ever-living crap out of me. I caved. I caved with the caveat that I could not help her get ready for it and that the goal was simply to get rid of crap - the goal was NOT to make money. You have to make these things very clear to the Captain.

Did the Captain listen? Did the Captain grasp the need to have a laid-back garage sale? Does bear crap stick to their fur?

We made it through Friday as the Captain convinced various unsuspecting neighbors that the cut glass paperweight my Dead Aunt Charlotte picked up at T.J. Maxx was really an expensive piece of pre-industrial crystal preciously chiseled out of a Mayan mine and lovingly carried across the Alps in the Von Trapp family's knapsack to eventually find its way to my lowly garage. Thankfully, no one spotted the Made in Korea sticker on the bottom.

However, on Saturday (cause did you know that garage sales now have to go on for TWO fucking days????), we were not so fortunate. I suppose the pressure of convincing that unsuspecting old woman that she NEEDED a used George Foreman grill became to much for her. But I guess to be honest, the final straw was me calling her out in front of her customer for trying to sell an old blue water bottle for 5 bucks and waxing poetically about its ancient use as a geisha girl bidet instrument.

I pulled the Captain aside and had a few words with her about settling the fuck down. I also expressed my growing frustration with her inability to hear anything. The woman's consistent use of painkillers over the past few years has destroyed her hearing. And she of course refuses to acknowledge such hearing loss....or maybe she just didn't hear me...who the fuck knows.

Well, the Captain lost it. And frankly, after enough pain killers to put down a yak, who came blame her.

She storms back to the house all the while yelling, "Fuck you, Floyd! Just fuck you!" (and no, she doesn't call me Floyd).

I told her to get in the house.

She then turned around and said "Damn you for this, Floyd! Damn you!" (and no, she still doesn't call me Floyd).

Well, and here is where I might have gone a bit too far.

I look at her and go "What? Can you speak up? I can't hear you!".

Hehehehehe..... a bit too far but extremely satisfying.

She disappears into the house and fifteen minutes later, I see perhaps the most beautiful and hilarious sight ever to meet my garage sale weary eyes.

The Captain comes storming out of the house with her little dog on his leash and her overnight case. And in her most Scarlet O'Hara fashion, she announces she's leaving and "not to try and stop her".

I reply, "Have a great trip! See ya!".

She disappears for two days. (and by disappear, I mean went to my Aunt's house to cry and bitch and paint me as the evil, ungrateful spawn of Satan that left her to do a garage sale all by herself with no help from me whatsoever).

My point?

I did a lot of damn work for a little bit of a break. And therefore, this time for henceforth shall be known as the Blessed Pilgrimage of the Captain and the Holy Communion of the Garage Sale from whence we have all been saved and reborn without evil parentage. Praise be to the garage.

Lord Deliver Me

2008-04-26T15:57:00.000-04:00

I'm watching the movie Atonement. It sucks. Completely sucks. Bored out of my skull.

Ick.

Twitter Twiddle

2008-03-31T20:37:00.003-04:00

For those of you who are as unconnected to the blogging world as I, I must draw your attention to the top little thingie at the top of the right hand column. It's Twitter! It means I can shoot one liners from my cell phone and the blog is instantly updated! I can totally bring you along with me on my day!

Wait.

Please don't run screaming.

I'll try to utilize some manner of self editing. (Please ignore today's post about spending time in the courthouse bathroom).

Speaking of which....I could totally Twitter you from a bathroom stall!

This could be so, so bad.

But so, so good.

So....Where Was I?

2008-03-29T13:49:00.003-04:00

Boy. Time sure flies when you're doing nothing. I guess I'm not really good at telling time or something as it seems it's been....well....a few eons since my last post. What can I say...I suck.

Anyhooooo....if anybody is still there, I'll guess I'll give you an update.

The POD is still alive and turned 18 yesterday. We are rapidly moving toward high school graduation this year and what I like to call the "Emancipation of Floyd" (not to be confused with the Emancipation of Mimi because Mariah Carey is way skankier than me). She will be returning to the Windy City to harass my parents until such time as she no longer has interest in the Disney Channel (she may have a slight maturity issue).

Speaking of the rents, Captain Nutty is as nutty as ever. To celebrate the POD's big day, both she and the Consort (isn't that what I used to call my stepfather?) are here to ensure big time birthday celebrations. They foolishly agreed to take about 10 hepped up on Moutain Dew teenagers to Six Flags and then back to my house for a cookout and sleepover. I will have no part of it. I'm in hiding.

Here's a fun little tidbit for you. So the Captain comes down to visit and keeps going on and on about wanting to get the POD the new HPV vaccine (you know that annoying "one less! one less! I want to be one less!" commercial). And when I say "going on and on", I mean the damn Captain wouldn't shut her pie hole about it.

So I finally say "What the hell? We'll ask her doctor about it when we get a chance!"

Captain Nutty immediately starts crying as I have now raised my voice in an angry-like fashion which is unacceptable.

She cries out to me, "BUT I DON'T WANT HER GETTING AIDS!"

That's right.

The Captain thought it was a vaccine against HIV. Yep. The world had discovered a vaccine against the most horrifying disease of modern times but we were simply going to let the world know through a commercial with jump roping girls.

Yep. Can't make this shit up.

Wait? You want more? You say I owe you more due to my long absence? Well, if my public demands it! (and by my public, I surely mean the voices in my head as no one is left to read my pathetic drivel)

Last trip, Captain Nutty and I went out to a nice dinner to "discuss" the POD situation. I order a lovely pasta dish. Now, this restaurant apparently makes their own sausage which they served as a side dish to my pasta. I'm generally not a sausage fan as you never really know what they put in it and it tends to disagree with my delicate sensibilities. But what the hell. It's a nice restaurant.

I take a bite and it's quite good. So, I offer the Captain a bite.

She takes a bite. Her response?

"Wow! You can really taste the anus in it!"

Yep.

"Mom, do you possibly mean "anise"?"

"Oh."

Needless to say, my sausage munching was done for the evening.

Well, folks, I will leave you now but hopefully I'm back. Hopefully, I'll be better this time. Hopefully, there will be wine.

Welcome to the Captain Nutty Show

2007-08-14T16:11:00.000-04:00

So as I mentioned, my Captain is here (again, my mother for you new folks - ha!). As usual, chaos and turmoil has followed her here. Though I cannot scientifically prove a link, one day prior to her arrival the POD fell off a horse and broke the ever loving crap out of her right hand (specifically - the joint connecting her thumb to her wrist). Not one to do things in a half-assed manner, the POD broke it in a T type fashion which will involve big time hand surgery on Thursday.

Oh yeah. I'm having fun. And no, the POD is freakishly not in any pain - AT ALL. She's a little off. Even the doctor was slightly unnerved by her lack of pain.

Anyhoooooo.....this has evolved into my mother insisting that she is staying for the surgery as opposed to playing in the scheduled golf tournament in North Carolina this weekend. Luckily, I calmly (read: hysterically) suggested (read: demanded in petulant manner) that she go on said golf weekend for her own good (read: I threatened to kill her if she stayed). Probably not my finest moment as a daughter but definitely the thing that needed to be done in order to preserve what little sanity the POD and I have left.

In attempt to get in a little mothering while she's here, she has engaged in some sort of 20 Questions game assuming that 20 Questions game was played by people on crack.

In the last hour, I have answered the following:

I see you're working - Should I pack a lunch for POD?

Does she want strawberries or pineapple in her lunch? (Perhaps one should ask the POD!)

Where are your ziploc bags?

Is it cold in here?

Did you here the dryer go off?

Did you know vinegar has a lot of uses around the house? I read that in Real Simple.

Did I tell you that my friends took me out early for my birthday? (yes, at least 8 times but please tell me again!)

Did I tell you Susan's daughter is going to have a baby? (yes, at least 17 times but please tell me again! It doesn't make my ovaries hurt at all that a kid I used to babysit is married and pregnant and I all have to show for it is a dog that pees all over the dining room floor)

Do you want some ice cream?

Did you want some ice cream?

Are you sure you don't want some ice cream?

Do you want some ice cream - I'll make it for you?

Come on - you want some ice cream?

See? Why didn't you say you wanted some ice cream?

Has the POD done her homework?

Has the POD had her shower?

Do you want me to take POD to school tomorrow?

Does the POD love me?

Do you love me?

Do you think your father hates me?

Is the dog allowed to chew that?

Oh. Are you still working? (YES! YES, I AM STILL WORKING...I AM STILL TRYING TO WORK SO THAT I DO NOT LOSE ALL SEMBLANCE OF MONETARY INCOME.)

Yep. I hereby honestly swear or affirm that all above is a true and correct representation of the past 30 minutes of my life.

She's a keeper.

Invasion

2007-08-11T11:57:00.000-04:00

So Captain Nutty is here (that's my mother for the uninitiated).

I will try to keep you updated as to the various lunacy that ensues.

Oh...and important note...the POD has broken her hand by falling off a horse. And by broke, I mean BROKE. Surgery with plates, pins and screws (Oh my!) to follow on Thursday.

Am going shopping with the Captain today as the POD needs school clothes (i.e. 6 plain black t-shirts from Target and two new pairs of jeans).

Poop.

P.S. This entry brought to you by the fine makers of Yellowtail Shiraz-Cabernet mix red wine. Such a fine product helped me endure the Captain on not one, but TWO vodka tonics (not to count the endless supply of DEA controlled narcotics that course through her body at any given time). Gox loves you, you lovely Yellowtail bastards.

Header? Who Needs a Stinking Header?

2007-08-02T13:17:00.000-04:00

Clearly I have not figured out what happened to my header but if you're here, you know this is Floyd's Tailgate. Poop.

Anyhooooo, things are chumming along swimmingly. Same shit, different year.

Let's see....what haven't I told you....

Oh! The POD gave our house key away to some runaway kid that needed a place to stay. I shit you not. She knew the kid for about 24 hours and decided that he was fine to come stay at our house. She's an excellent judge of character - witness Krystal with K, the latin lesbian gang banger the POD loved or the pot smoking juvenile enemy number 1 that she allowed into the rents' house who stole my mother's wedding ring. Yeah. Her judgment is top notch.

Captain Nutty is coming to visit. Contain your excitement, everyone! Just settle the hell down!

Frankly, the only things that really make these visits tolerable is her purchasing power. I know - super shallow - but the truth's a bitch. POD needs school clothes and I need every product currently sold by Sephora. Course Captain Nutty called crying and saying she has no money. So I'm thinking a well-timed return phone call saying "no money, no visity" is in order.

If you hear a high pitch wailing, you'll know that's my mother doing her best dying cat impression.

Other than that...same old, same old. Anybody still there? Anything going on with you? Do you know how I recover my masthead thingie?

So Where Was I?

2007-06-17T16:41:00.002-04:00

Hi. My name is Floyd. And I'm a slack ass blogger.

Hi Floyd!

It's been 2 1/2 months or so since my last blog. And I'm a blogaholic.

Bah.

Anyhooooo......

All's right with the world. Well. Except for the following.

1. The POD is going to visit Martha's Vineyard. with her buddy. She asked me exactly where that was and I responded "New England".

Her response? "I DON'T HAVE A PASSPORT!"

American education at its best.

2. At Target this morning, I purchased some underwear (yes, I bought some underwear at Target....suck it). And they were normal underwear....nice....not up-thE-butt, wild print, screw me panties.

So checkout lady goes, "YOU KNOW! I don't usually say this....buuuuut.....(inner warning bells now going off in Floyd's head).....I really like to wear thongs! You should try them! They are soooo comfortable!"

Now, Ms. SharesTooMuchForTargetCheckoutLady is a big boned gal. I'm no small potato but she's got at least 100 lbs on me. I smile and nod politely - cause really what the fuck else do you do?

And just when I thought it couldn't get more awkward...

Ms. CrossEyedSoICan'tSeeHowUncomforableMyCustomerIs says, "You know how it is! Us BIG gals gotta stick together! We like to feel sexy too, right?"

Um. Yeah.

Discuss my underwear and then call me fat. Great marketing. And seriously, lady? I realize I got a few extra pounds on me but I've also lost a few recently and was feeling pretty good this Sunday morning but thanks for bringing me into your fat folds. And by the way? All fat people are not created equal. I'm still hotter than you - thong or no thong.

You missing link whore.

3. I'm taking the POD to Universal Studios this week. Captain Nutty and the Consort are paying for our trip in honor of my birthday (which was last week - bah.). To commemorate the occasion, Captain Nutty sent me a little gift to go along with it. She sent me a bottle of Beautiful perfume lotion....which is nice. BUT I haven't worn that perfume in about 20 years. One wonders why she just didn't break out the Love's Baby Soft while she was at it.

OH! And she also included a card. But not a birthday card. A thank you card. Yeah. I don't get it either.

Anyhooooo.....glad to be back will try to be better but bah. You know how I am.

P.S. What the hell happened to my title/masthead thingie? Dammit.

Another Point of Order

2007-03-28T21:16:00.000-04:00

Are you freaking kidding me? Pony boy goes on to torment another week?

Someone's gots some 'splaining to do.

And for that matter, why the hell is Gwen Stefani performing in a body suit and tie?

Good gox. Time to hit the tequilla in the middle of the week.

I guess we all knew it would come to this.

Point of Order

2007-03-27T21:19:00.000-04:00

If any of you vote for that pony tressed freak Sanjaya, you are dead to me.

Do you hear me?

Dead.

To.

Me.

Consider yourself forewarned.

Goodnight, Sweet Girl

2007-03-12T20:31:00.000-04:00

Well, I think I've been here before. Today, I had to put my dog Stella down. For those of you who were around last year (like there's anyone still reading - bah), you may remember that I had to put my Ben to sleep last year. Well, good old Stella managed to hang around and keep me company for an entire year longer.

Stella and I didn’t have as long together as Ben and I did. When I lived in Chicago, I got involved with a lab rescue group and began fostering labs. I went through about 35 labs (give or take) – some of them were fantastic dogs…..and some of them made me want to make little lab fur slippers out of them.

And then, there was Stella. Stella came into rescue at about 12 years of age. She had been running around south Illinois as a stray for at least a year before the local vet’s office could corral her. I picked her up and pretty quickly thereafter decided that she was the only foster that I just HAD to adopt. She had scars all over her. We don’t really know from what but it was clear she’d had a rough road and I decided she needed me.

When she came into my house, she was known to be a “breast cancer survivor” and probably only had a little while longer to live. So I figured I would provide a nice, safe home for her passing. I was all warm and fuzzy from my magnanimous gesture as I saved yet another “poor” dog.

Well, bah. Stella was from the hood and she wasn’t down with that. She came into the house and immediately scared the ever-loving shit out of Ben. She took no crap from nobody. She taught the cat that he was a lower life form and let Ben know that his penis didn’t impress her (and considering the whole neuter issue, she wasn’t far wrong). She’d seen tough times and living in suburbia wasn’t it. She was top canine and the house better come to accept it.

She insisted on sleeping on the bed with me and Ben. So, of course, I had to get a king size. She and Ben would sleep on either side of me and end up stretching the covers so tight that I couldn’t move. God forbid, they ever tough each other and sleep on the same side. I was uncomfortable but the two of them provided a lovely snoring, chainsaw chorus.

A few weeks after I adopted Stella, I was at a Pet Fair with Stella and the lab rescue’s booth was right next to a pet psychic. (Yes, I know – pet psychic – but it was cool and it was free – so bah on you). Ms. Pet Psychic did a little reading on Stella and asked if there was anything I wanted to know. I asked her to Stella to stop chasing the cat. Stella responded that she “thought she was doing pretty good since she hadn’t eaten him yet”.

That cracked me up. Still does frankly.

She loved tennis balls but was too good to chase them for you. You threw it once; she caught it and then proceeded to shred the crap out of it in 5 minutes flat. The only ball that could stand her destructive tendencies was a soccer ball. She would carry soccer balls around with her everywhere – each of them in various states of decomposition. Ben hated the fact that she would dare destroy a perfectly good ball but if she could have formed the one finger salute with her paw and flicked him off, she would have.

Eventually, she and Ben became friends. She mourned quite a bit when he died. Somehow, that made me feel better to know she missed him too. The POD and I focused all our attention on her, hoping to make her a just a bit happier. In turn, she kept us jumping as well. Over the past few months, she trained me to get up and get her treat anytime she wanted it. I kid you not. She would whine and paw at me until I got up to let her out. Well, she wouldn’t need to go out and since I was “standing by the treats anyway”, I might as well give her one. It took me a while to figure out that her entire intention was simply to manipulate me to the treat jar. Well played, biyatch, well played.

My little “going to peacefully die in my do-gooder home within a few months” baby lasted for an entire 4 years with me. She developed a body that closely resembled an ottoman and banged her food dish if I was ever a little too late with breakfast. She developed a cough which quickly became accompanied with a trumpet that blew out of her ass each and every time she hacked. It was both deadly and deadly funny.
She was probably around 16 years old which is freaking ancient for a lab. When Ben died, I asked her to not to leave me for a while. I told her I couldn’t lose them both in one year. Well, my sweet girl kept her promise and lasted one more year and one month.

And for that, I will always be grateful. Good night, baby girl.

Peace Be With You

2007-01-26T12:32:00.000-05:00

So guess what I did on New Years Eve? Go on, guess!

Did you say "marry two of your best friends"? Then you're right!

I am pleased to announce that Cowboy Dan and Dutch were joined in holy matrimony by your's truly.

That's right, you heathens, I am now an official minister of the Universal Life Church & Monastery (both a church AND a monastery!). It was free to be indoctrinated but I paid the extra $30 for the parking pass and plastic badge.

This of course means that THIS:

Was married to THAT:

By THIS:

I'm also avialable for funerals, baptisms and "love unions". Fees include a case of a beer and a ride home. I'm just saying.

Sunday Smells

2007-01-21T11:25:00.000-05:00

A couple of issues I'm pondering this gray Sunday morning:

1. What is the absolute time limit for when you have to get out of your pajamas on a Sunday? Does it change your opinion if it's a rainy, overcast Sunday? Does it change your opinion if you know I don't wear underwear with my pajamas?

2. If you end up working all day Saturday and Sunday, does that make working on Monday optional? If you are own boss and you give yourself Monday off, does that make you a slack-ass? Does being a slack-ass shock absolutely anyone that knows you?

3. If you POD is going on a 4 day ski trip, is it wrong to simulataneously look forward to it and dread it cause you know you're going to sleep with the lights and tv on? (Note to readers: found out my house is haunted over the holidays...I shit you not....really....HAUNTED....more later)

4. If your best friend, Fat Baby's Mamma, has a new baby and scares the shit out of you by having a difficult labor and birth, do you still have to send her a baby gift? Cause really, is it fair that just because she has managed to reproduce, she has the right to make your heart stop and begin to worry about what you say at funerals? (And yes, I know I'm overreacting but that's the way my brain works)

All in all, the most important part of this Sunday is to say "Welcome to world, Baby Girl!". And yes, I know your name is Saylor but I will be calling you Fat Betty. And just wait to you hear the stories I have to tell you about your mamma. Your Aunt Kitty and I are already planning on getting you drunk on your 18th birthday. Rock on, DaLisa! You are much loved ( but if you ever scare your Aunt Floyd like that again, she will beat your ass....I'm just saying).

Mistletoe, MistleHO

2007-01-09T07:53:00.000-05:00

It appears that there have been some sort of holidays since I last blogged. Well, bah. I owe you some updating.

Shall we begin?

The POD and I survived Christmas. We drove to Tennessee where I was upgraded to a twin bed in bedroom shared with my mother, Captain Nutty, and the POD. THAT i s an upgrade, you ask? Well, yes, gentle reader, it is an upgrade because for the last 15 years, I have been on a fold-out cot in a bedroom with Captain Nutty and the Consort. And for the record, fatty don't do deal without a firm set of boxspring underneath her girth. I'm just saying.

The day after Christmas, we all journeyed to the mountains of North Carolina where my aunt lives. My aunt is the sister of Captain Nutty and is just barely a macadamia nut short of a nutty title herself. There we celebrated 25 wonderful years of marriage for Captain Nutty and the Consort.

Now here's where it gets to be a "Floyd Family Moment". Let's harken back a few months to when the Captain and her Consort were last in town. During that trip, they dragged me to see Harvey, the family jeweler. (Yes, we have a family jeweler and no, I have no idea why). I was forced to sit there (incredibly hung over, I might add) and listen to a conversation about designing a new ring for my mother. The Consort wanted one large diamond with 24 diamonds set around it (you know, for the 25 years of "marital bliss"). Of course, at this point, I'm trying not to upchuck the gallon of Jaigermeister I had partaken of at the race the night before. But even so, I was in awe of the irony of me being unable to provide hot water for their visit since I didn't pay the gas bill and them designing some "equal to the gross national product of Malaysia" ring while in the same breath telling me they have no money to support the POD right now.

Oh wait. It gets better.

So I sit through this farce without hacking up on the jeweler's little glass cases. Time goes by. On the night of the anniversary, the Consort makes a GRAND show of giving the ring to my mother. He presents her a big box, which holds smaller and smaller boxes until she gets down to a ring size box. (Sidenote: does this little bigger box ruse really fool anyone anymore? Have it really open up to nothing but air! Now THAT would be a surprise.)

Still not to the good part. Bear with me. Trying to get there.

So Captain opens up her ring box and acts.......surprised! And I quote, "Oh Consort, I can't believe you did this! What a surprise!"

That's right. She pretended she didn't know a thing about it . She acted like we all didn't know she was in on it. She acted like her "two steps above food stamps" daughter wasn't sitting right the hell there as she told Family Jeweler that the 24 diamonds should not be merely chips.

AND THEN! With all sincerity and incredulity, she goes to the Consort, "Did Harvey do this?"

At that point, I had a coronary and passed out in the spaghetti. I'm still removing pieces of parmessan from my nostrils.

Bah.

Well, many more exciting holiday memories to share with you. Stay tuned cause I got me some surprises regarding New Years! I'll give you a hint....it involves a wedding.....and NO, not mine.

Conversational Worry

2006-12-08T10:08:00.000-05:00

So driving down the street with POD when this little gem of an exchange occurs:

POD: "OOOO! Look a Hooters with a drive-thru!"

Me: "Ummmm....POD.....that's not a Hooters. That's a Hardee's."

POD: "oh."

I don't know which is more disturbing. The fact that she gets excited at the idea of Hooters or that fact that she can't identify the fast food paragon that is Hardees.

Probably a toss up.

Equally disturbing but on another level entirely. I'm in a gas station in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere but somewhere in SOUUUUTH Georgia (don't ask). This particular convenience store doesn't really rank up there with the nicer, newer stations but it's well lit thus I'm there.

I go in for a Diet Mountain Dew (you get your caffeine your way, I'll get mine my way) and overhear this little tidbit:

Granny looking nicely dressed lady wandering in store: "Do you have eggnog?"

Meth addicted store clerk: "No....not this time year."

Again, not sure what bothers me more. What this grandma is doing looking for eggnog at a shit hole at 1:00 am or the fact that the store clerk seems to think eggnog is the appropriate drink for Easter.

I'm just saying.

Fa La La La, La La La La

2006-12-06T15:23:00.000-05:00

I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas music, as I'm sure most everyone with eardrums does. As a public service announcement, I thought it best to inform you of what holiday tunage is absolutely cringe-worthy in the Floyd world.

1. Feliz Navidad. I'm all for blind guys singing (except for Stevie….really don’t like Stevie….but I’m all about Ray Charles). I got nothing against Jose Feliciano. But this latin fiesta makes me want to claw my eyes out with a taco chip.

2. Anything sung by Karen Carpenter. Her voice makes me think of harvest gold kitchen appliances and bad macramé. Every time I hear one of her songs, I eat a cookie out of sympathy for her whole "I didn't eat so I died" thing. Thus, technically, I can blame any and all holiday weight gain on Karen Carpenter. Poor taste? Sure. Plausible deniability of my own responsibility for my ass size? Absolutely.

3. Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer. For the love of all that's holy, it's a novelty song. Let it go, people, let it go.

4. Any classic sung by a skank. I don't need "hell to the no" Whitney Crack Whore Houston singing to me about the Christ child. I don't need Madonna purring her version of Santa Baby. Hey, you Angelina-Wanna-Be, we got it when you sang "Material Girl"! You like money! You like shiny things (not unlike raccoon)! Color me clued in! Now, shut the hell up.

5. George Michael's crappy Last Christmas ditty. This one in particular makes me vomit. If you recall, "last Christmas he gave you his heart"...this Christmas he gave you his bizness in a men's loo in some London public park. And seriously, all the more power to him. I mean if that's your idea of a rocking good time, knock yourself out but I really can't associate you much with the whole "celebration of the birth of the messiah" thing anymore. Wham that, George.

Now. All of that being said, I feel compelled to include Floyd's most treasured holiday tunes so that you can be in awe of my highbrowed musical taste. And for the record, I'm only going to include the funs and not the ones like Holy Night which makes me cry each and every time I hear it (Shut up. I have a soft side. And I’m going to Heaven. While y’all burn in hell.)

1. You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch. Stink, stank, stunk. Nuff sed.

2. Those Peanuts kids singing "Christmas Time is Here". Makes me throw my head back and sing like Snoopy howls.

3. Santa Baby by Eartha Kitt - I just like to hear her say "plat-ti-num mine". (kiss my ass, Madonna)

4. All I Want for Christmas is You by Mariah Carey (okay - so there is ONE exception to the skank rule).

5. I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas. Cracks my inner child up, each and every time.

6. The Chipmunks Christmas Song. Now, this is how a novelty song is done, you damn Grandma killers.

7. The Wrap Song by the Waitresses. My inner 80s child rocks out to this one.

8. U2's version of Baby Please Come Home. U2 could sing the ABC's and I'd probably by a version of it.

9. Heat Miser/Snow Miser song. If you don't love this, then you're dead to me. DEAD.

10. Elvis' Blue Christmas. I just like to sing along to the "wooooowooooo's".

And in the words of Burle Ives, "Merry Damn Christmas".

We Could So Hang Out

2006-11-30T09:30:00.000-05:00

I'm a Good Morning America girl. You can stick your Today show. Katie Couric made my teeth hurt and frankly, even though she's gone, the after taste is too sacharine for me. I like to have my morning Diet Coke with Diane Sawyer and Robin Roberts.It's how I roll.

This brings me to this fine morning (which isn't really fine at all as it is raining and the lights on my Christmas tree mysteriously shorted out).

Robin Roberts was at the White House for a lovely tour of the Christmas decorations (bet their freaking lights didn't short out - my taxes at work and all).

Robin was joined live by the lovely first lady, Laura Bush. Now, I don't delve into politics here too much (and yes, I hear you all going "hell, you don't delve into anything lately!" - bite me)but I love the first lady. She's Texan. She's nice. She's got a backbone of steel. She's got a kickin accent and rocks a pantsuit like no other. She calls her husband "Bushy" and that right there is hysterical.

And now I love her even more.

She's giving Robin (and ME!) the grand tour of the first crib and brings us to the red room. She explains it's one of her favorite rooms because it's so festive during the holidays.

She then does her best Vanna White impression and points to the lovely portrait over the fireplace.

And goes as follows, "This is the lovely portrait of Angelica Huston over the mantel.".

Ummmm.....Angelica Huston? Daugher of acclaimed director John Huston? Oscar winner for Prizzi's Honor, Huston?

Wow. Didn't know she was so popular with the political set.

Mrs. Bush later rolls into saying it was Angelica Van Buren but frankly, I find Angelica Huston much more interesting.

Rock the vote, sister friend!

Firmly Committed to Non-committance

2006-11-14T21:53:00.001-05:00

Still here. Still love you. Promise I will try to write more tomorrow.

But for now. For the love of all that's holy. Please go watch the new game show with Willaim Shatner.

There is dancing. There is a red vest. There is a contestant that is so fabulously flaming that Liberace is rolling his eyes in disgust.

My kind of show.

Help Me Out, Allanis

2006-10-11T08:46:00.000-04:00

Is it ironic to be sitting on the tiolet doing your "business" and reading a cookbook at the same time?

Just wonderin.

Talla-SUCK-dega

2006-10-07T15:20:00.000-04:00

In 2004, I went to the race at Talladega and was all happy with Cowboy Dan like this.

In 2004, I went to Talladega and met Elvis.

In 2005, I added a jaunty chapeau.

In 2005, I asked that Elvis keep his shirt on.

In 2006, I'm sitting my fat ass at home while Elvis pines for me.

Dammit.

Any Takers?

2006-10-06T13:32:00.000-04:00

So I've been a little stressed. Nothing new about that really. And not "overwhelming, pull the covers over my head and pray for the Apocalypse" stress but more the "would it be wrong to have wine at 9 am?" stress.

You need an example, you say?

Well, okay.

I was brushing my teeth this morning because despite my predilection for Nascar, I have a full mouth of teeth.

Well, so I'm brushing away. And all is good.

Something happens. I don't really know what. It wasn't traumatic, it was just an impulse or something.

Result? I bit down on my toothbrush.

I bit down on my toothbrush HARD.

And well, I broke my toothbrush.

That's right, I lockjawed on that fine Oral B apparatus and broke it. Broke it into a couple of pieces. With my teeth.

So, that begs the question.....

Who wants a blowjob?

So Where Was I?

2006-09-18T08:55:00.000-04:00

Oh, I know where I was...CURSING BLOGGER AFTER I LOST AN ENTIRE POST!!!! ARRRGH.

In an effort to be more regular (without resorting to fiber therapy), I've decided I'm going to try to throw in some shorter posts to counteract my longer rants. That way maybe I can post a little more often.

Of course, after making this decision, I stored up about 4 shorter issues and didn't post them. Oh well. Best laid plans.

1. A call to all ladies. The spandex bicycle short should never be worn anytime your posterior is not actually on a bicycle seat. Never. Ever. And especially not in line at the post office. Especially not in line at the post office with your oversized baseball jersey (which calls for another post all its own) and white sandals. Especially not in line at the post office with your two squalling brats. I was really torn at first. I didn't know whether to give you a little hug and say, "hang in there, sister!" or give you a bitch slap upside the head. But then your darling little tot stuck her tongue out at me and when I made a face back at her, she started squalling. Loudly. And you did nothing to quell such squalling (notice - I take absolutely no responsibility for such episode). Therefore, consider yourself mentally bitch slapped upside the back of your head.

2. Dear teenage houseguest. You are here because I really would like the POD to make new friends at her new school. You appeared like a good candidate. However, when I tell you that we will be cooking out hamburgers and hot dogs and you respond "can we get Wendy's?", you tend to set my teeth on edge. When you then proceed to preheat the oven as you help yourself to a frozen pizza, you have woken the beast. Side note - you are 15, I shouldn't have to use the phrase, "we don't rough house inside" at all. Go home and whine to your parents that you've been bitch slapped.

3. Note to client. I do realize that you have not been privy to my previous rants on proper attire for the courtroom. However, that is no excuse. Let me make this as clear as possible. We are going into court to put forth a legal position that has no basis in the law AT ALL. We need the judge to either like you or pity you and frankly, I don't care which it is. When needing the favorable light of others, you do not wear your jorts (jeans + shorts = jorts) to court. I could go into how you probaly shouldn't wear jorts anywhere but that is probably for another rant. The mind reels when it realizes you have been waiting for this court date for an entire year so on your big morning you pulled out your nicest pressed shorts and best gold chain - brings whole new meaning to "dressed to impress". I'll be billing you extra - consider yourself bitch slapped. And I don't care if that knocks you out of your wheelchair or not.

Well, I feel like I have righted some wrongs. Carry on.

And I Didn't Have To Go Through Labor

2006-08-23T11:12:00.000-04:00

The POD is readjusting to civilian life. School has started and we are settling back into a routine. She is still the same child that I sent away to camp but there is a subtle improvement. She has matured some over the summer, which is welcome relief. However, she still wants to watch every episode of Hannah Montana on the Disney channel. What can I say? She’s a contradiction in terms.

However, this brings us to my role in her life. I offer the following for you perusal.

A sister feeds you mini-pizza for a nutritious well-balanced dinner.

A mother holds your hair while you puke up said pizza a few hours later.

A sister flees the area upon realizing the toilet is now clogged with vomit and a stench unlike any she has known before.

A mother rolls up her pajama pants and mops the smelliest mess ever produce from the bathroom floor while mentally cussing the plumbing in the shit hole house (ummm…. a mother might not use the phrase “shit hole” but it was warranted in this particular situation).

A sister packs a kid off to bed with a “Gee, I hope you feel better”.

A mother tucks said kid into her own bed and then sleeps on the 2 square inches of the king size bed that the child has not commandeered in the middle of the night.

A sister fetches Krispy Kremes for breakfast as requested by semi-recovered child this morning.

A mother makes dry toast and prays it stays down said kid’s gullet.

My point?

I WANT A FUCKING MOTHER’S DAY CARD, PEOPLE! A MOTHER’S DAY CARD! AND IT NEEDS TO BE HALLMARK! AND OVERSIZED! ONE OF THOSE $5.00 CARDS WITH FLOWERS ON THE FRONT AND MUSHY WORDS INSIDE!

A bunch of flowers wouldn’t kill you either.

I’m just saying.

I Went To The Woods And Thoreau Was A Whack Job

2006-08-18T10:22:00.000-04:00

Hail to all! I have returned from the woods with nary a tick bite uponst my body! Yes, it's true - the POD has returned from her sojourn to the woods (otherwise known as her "no choice about it expulsion to 72 days in wilderness therapy camp").

Of course, in order to spring her from her Grizzly Adams hell the fam-damily had to join in for some outdoorsy fun. But perhaps I get ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning of my tour of the seven circles of hell (are there seven? or nine? I’m sooo not that literary).

As you may or may not recall, I took POD to camp just after Memorial Day. It was not good. It was not fun. It was similar to taking old Fido out a country road and dropping him off to die.

I then endured weekly conference calls with the POD’s therapist and my ‘rents. Therapist was okey-dokey. My ‘rents asked such pertinent questions like “Is her skin breaking out? Does she need acne medicine? Is she losing weight?”

Those might seem like normal concerns for a camp dweller but the POD wasn’t really in “camp”. Camp in this case is a euphemism for “living in the woods with one set of clothes, only showering 5 times in 72 days, carrying a 40 pound backpack on long hikes, sleeping under a piece of plastic every night, eating nothing but beans and rice and making your own fires with two rocks” camp. So one hopes that you can now appreciate the sheer idiocy of parental concern for the POD’s weight loss or the random zit.

Needless to say, summer was filled with much teeth gnashing on my part. But need for root canal aside, summer drew to a close. The ‘rents arrived a couple of Saturdays ago for us to prep for the trek to North Carolina to fetch my campfire girl home. And thus it began.

On Saturday, Captain Nutty (my mother) had more than her usual two grey goose and tonics and ventured into the land of the three-drink party.

On Sunday, Captain Nutty repeated word-for-word every single, solitary story she had told me under the three drink spell the night before.

On Sunday, Captain Nutty got mad at me when she asked “Did I tell you….?” And I responded, “yes, yes you did….you told me last night….you told me ten minutes ago….perhaps it’s time to adjust your meds.”

On Sunday night, we arrive at some Bed & Breakfast a mile away from the POD’s base camp. I spend my time avoiding the granola-crunching, “guess what mystery juice I made” owner hippy of the converted 1972 house he’s charging $120 night for my resting pleasure .

On Monday, we join about 20 other parents who kids are being sprung from wilderness hell for a “parenting seminar”.

On Monday, I spend my day shushing Captain Nutty for blithering on and on like Oprah on crack (and for the record, she really doesn’t like to be shushed).

On Monday, I try not to be embarrassed by the fact that everything the Consort (my stepfather) says sounds like it came right out of a motivational poster that hangs right next to the “Hang in there, Kitty!” print in some middle management dweeb’s office.

On Tuesday, I had to hike. Hike up a very big hill. And it was hot. Like Africa hot. And the hill was big. Like steep. And big. Did I mention the big?

On Tuesday, I spotted the POD! Gave her big, huge hug. And then kindly pulled away as the over powering smell of an unwashed communing-with-nature body swooned the senses. I mean WOW. Wish y’all had smell-o-vision wow. Like I’ve washed her clothes 3 times and they still smell wow.

On Tuesday, I watched the POD start a campfire with sticks and two stones.

On Tuesday, I made a mental note to purchase more fire extinguishers for home use.

On Tuesday, I slept on the ground. Under a piece of plastic. With bugs. With snakes. With things that wanted to crawl across my face in the middle of the night.

On Tuesday, I felt every single minute of my 36 years. I felt all those minutes in my lower back. In my midnight delirium, I sang praises to the gods of Holiday Inn and Marriott.

On Wednesday, I did not complain one single time about lower back pain as I feared the POD might turn on me with feral eyes and scream “72 DAYS!! 72 DAYS!!!”.

On Wednesday, I brought the POD home and we learned more of our ‘rents plans to enjoy “happy happy family fun time’.

On Wednesday, the POD and I began the countdown as to when the ‘rents would leave.

On Thursday, I longed for the sweet release of alcohol.

On Friday, I longed for the sweet release of drugs.

On Saturday, I longed for the sweet release of death.

On Sunday, the ‘rents left for parts northward.

On Sunday, the POD and I assumed our usual positions on the couch and played Pokeman on our Gameboys. ALL. DAY. LONG.

And all was right with the world once again.

Purging Purgatory

2006-08-02T16:35:00.000-04:00

Dear Fellow Bathroom Dweller,

Let me start by conveying to you exactly how important bathroom time is to me. I have needs. I have issues. I realize that ours is a shared lavatory in an office building. I respect that this is not my personal space. I acknowledge your right to use such facilities for your own personal pottying needs.

However, you and I both know that there are very few females on this floor. As such, I have developed a sort of personal interest in our two-stall domain. I always use the second stall. You know this. First stalls creep me out as they are too close to the door of said restroom which puts me in fear of being discovered with my pants around my ankles and my cellulite bulging over toilet seat for the world to ogle. (Clearly this is not an issue for you but for my therapist but you see my point)
I like our bathroom even though the soap dispenser does not work. Thoughtfully, the Korean ladies who clean such space have provided a lovely soap dispenser for our hygienic necessities. I don't even mind that they provided Clean N'Clear facial soap for us to wash our hands with as their hearts were surely in the right place.

What do I mind? I mind you puking all over my toilet. Since they are so few us, it either had to be you or one of your little rug rats that you have dragged to work with you simply praying for the day school starts back up. I sympathize. I truly do.

We all feel the need to regurgitate our lunch from time to time. Someone who eats as much McDonald's as I do certainly understands a little post-lunch spewing. What I don't understand is how you managed to leave my favorite stall and not wipe down the toilet seat. Notice I don't even point out the backsplash you left on the wall (that would be rude of me). Even the homeless guy around the corner who I saw combing his girlfriend’s hair for fleas would look at the toilet and go “no thanks – a little too nasty for me”.

Do you not see the sign posted on the mirror by management that reads "if you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie"? I was massively offended by management thinking they had to request professionals to do such obligatory maintenance but NOW I see their point.

I can maybe get past all of the things. I am an adult. Of course, I am an adult that drinks an average of 8 diet cokes throughout any given day so I must get past such issues or explode.

But do you know what I can't get past?

Going into the first stall to find you had somehow managed to puke all over that toilet as well.

I hope your kid pukes in your shoes.

Much love,

Floyd

Like Sands Through The Hourglass

2006-07-26T15:45:00.000-04:00

It's not that I mean to go so long without blogging, I simply lose track of time. I never seem to realize how long it's been. And then again, most of the time I feel like writing something, I'm sitting in a bar. Perhaps bringing the old laptop drinking with me is not such a bad idea. Of course, it might be the final straw to take me over into dorkdom but let's be frank - dorkdom claimed me as its leader eons ago.

So let's see....per usual, I have no overall cohesive thoughts but I certainly have a bullitted points rolling around my beer addled brain.

Update:

1. The POD will be graduating from her "therapeutic wilderness camp" on August 9th. This is grand. What is not so grand is that I have to attend a 3 day "parenting seminar" with....MY PARENTS. Cause really - nothing equals family fun more than staying in a freakin bed & breakfast with two people whose sole purpose is to convince psychologists and therapists that they are great, caring, oh-so-disciplined parental machines. What Captain Nutty and the Consort don't realize is that I have had top double secret phone calls with all said professionals and they are also convinced that my 'rents are whacked out above all normal comprehension. I'm evil that way. Lesson? Don't screw with me or I'll convince the world that you're nuts.

2. The POD will be returning home so that my liver can finally dry out a bit and I can go back to communing with Rory and Lorelie on the Gilmore Girls. My dog will also be thankful that Mommy will have another reason to come home other than simply needing a soft place to pass out.

3. As previously mentioned, these lovely nature people have taught the POD how to start a fire without matches and the like. I assume she starts such flames by rubbing sticks against her exceedingly calloused hands. Therefore, I have taken the liberty of informing Georgia Power that we will no longer be needing their services. The POD will soon learn to love cooking in our fireplace and will certainly appreciate the savings this entails.

4. The POD has been hiking every day with a 40 pound pack on her back and has not slept in a bed since Memorial Day weekend. So really when you think about, her tackling the dishwasher shouldn't be that big of a deal. Course, she doesn't know that I haven't done the dishes since Memorial Day weekend but still...it has to be an improvement over crapping in the woods and wiping up with leaves.

5. Upon the POD's graduation, Captain Nutty and the Consort will be returning to our happy little home to engage in some Nazi death camp type torture otherwise known as "family fun". This includes a return trip to Six Flags. Luckily, Captain Nutty informed me, "Not to worry as we will pay for all these excursions while we're down there!". Really? You're going to pay for it? Ummm.....yeah.... no shit. Cause if you ain't paying, then you can plan on spending your family fun time debating who should be winning Project Runway this season. Dumbass.

6. In a week or two, the POD will begin her junior year of high school. I celebrated my junior year of high school by creating a lifelong aversion to Chivas Regal Scotch and silver ballet flats. My wardrobe revolved around some kicking leggings paired with big shirts cinched by an even bigger sparkly belt. One hopes that the POD's taste in fashion has evolved slightly in the great woods. Cause as soon as she finds out I shrunk both her Marilyn Manson and her Stewie Griffin tshirts, my ass is grass.

Hmmm....looks like the impending return of POD has provided some cohesiveness to an otherwise uncohesive Floyd. Intriguing.

How Enlightening

2006-06-29T17:16:00.000-04:00

It seems that Fated Mohammed woke up with a bit of a problem. He had a light bulb up his ass. According to poor old “Mo”, he simply woke up and there it was- illumination of the anal region.

Now, Mo is a prisoner in Pakistan who is serving time for making liquor, which is against the law. Liquor plus surprises in your anus? A coincidence? I think not.

I am curious as to how Mo’s Muslim brethren feel about anal insertions. How does that go? Liquor bad, anal toys right as rain! Does Allah frown on cocktails but smiles upon the anal arts? (And have no doubt, to be able to insert a glass bulb up a butt without it breaking is truly an art)

Mo claims the other prisoners drugged him and inserted the offending luminary without his knowledge whilst he was sleeping. Well, sure. When I’m bored in prison, I like to insert foreign objects into other people’s bums. But no one wants to be cruel about it! Drug the guy so he feels no discomfort. I’m sure they used Vaseline to ensure smooth entry cause I find prisoners to be very sensitive to one another’s needs.

The image of a bunch of Pakistani guys sitting around giggling going “hey, as soon as Fated goes to sleep, let’s take a light bulb and stick it where the sun don’t shine!” absolutely cracks me up.

And really, if you think about it, you must have some really poor muscle tone in your anus if you don’t crush a light bulb. In other words, I believe Mo’s anus had previously lost a lot of its original elasticity or else his rectum would have been more like glass minefield and less like a lamp. Me thinks this is not the first foreign object to meet Mo’s colon.

Instead of the standard light bulb appearing over a character’s head when he has an idea, I picture Mo’s ass lighting up when he has thought. Makes me chuckle every time I think about it.

I also hope he didn’t have a cold during this trauma cause I’m thinking one sneeze and whammo – you’ve got yourself a glass shard problem. And Allah forbid, you get a case of the runs! Or gas for that matter! One serious blow and you could put someone’s eye out!

As public service announcement, please be aware that we here at Floyd’s Tailgate do not support the insertion of glass lighting objects into the anal region generally under any circumstances. We will however make an exception if you are detained in Pakistani prison cause those guys like to paaarrrr-taaaaay.

Find The Crack Whore, Win A Dollar*

2006-06-27T15:47:00.000-04:00

*And by no means is this meant to imply that I'm actually sending you a dollar

It has often been said by minds wiser than mine that the practice of law would be great, if it wasn't for the clients. And I'm here to tell you folks that I attract more than my fair share of whack jobs.

Just spent the morning with client who is seeking custody of his child. He actually said to me at one point, "You mean I have to go to court?". Ummmm...no...just send a nice Hallmark card, I'm sure the judge will have no problem just handing over a kid to you sight unseen. And seriously, if you don't stop responding to everything I tell you with "um, yeah, okay" when it is clear from the blank look in your eyes that you just don't get it, I'm going to beat you with the high heels you have forced me to wear to court with pantyhose even though it's 97 degrees outside.

I spent last month with client who wanted to fight to the death for custody of her children but due to her unfortunate habit of putting things up her nose while in the family room watching Wheel of Fortune, she lost custody. I then, in legal maneuvering worthy of F. Lee Bailey himself, fight to the death for liberal visitation for her with the children. I rant and rave about her being primary caretaker of children whom she loves dearly and how she's simply made a stupid mistake and "please, you Honor, give this a woman a chance to heal her relationship with her children". I win. I get any and all visitation....which my client decides she doesn't want. Nope. No need for her to see them after school every day, she just needs about 2 hours every other Saturday. Nothing warms the cockles like a mother's love.

I just got off phone with client who wants restraining order against ex-husband. Okay. Well, I ask, "Has he made threats?". Client says, "No". Well, I say, "Are you fearful for your safety?" Client says, "No". Okay, then I say, "Well, why then do you need a restraining order?". Client says, "He's just bugging me.". Ummmm....yeah....if that was sufficient grounds, I would have a restraining order out against you, now wouldn't I?

Yesterday, I sent my third bill off to the stripper (sorry, "exotic dancer" or "pole hostess"). I represented her in a DUI case and charged her a ridiculously small amount of money (Legal Buddy Rob scolded me). She promised me that she would pay me from all the "money she earned that weekend" prior to her going into lockup for the week. She gave me $160.00 and showed up at court with cocaine in her system. Wonder where the rest of my fee went? It's a mystery!

And let's not forget that DUI client that "just can't lose their license!". Ummm...yeah....then you shouldn't have gotten that third DUI cause I'm a lawyer, lady, I'm not Mr. Magician (Sidenote - I wanted to use Doug Henning as opposed to Mr. Magician but was concerned that my reference to this fuzzy haired, rainbow shirt wearing illuuuusionist of the '70s might not be appreciated).

Then there's the client that thinks "confidentiality" means he should tell you EVERYTHING like where he hid the money, his plans to defraud business partners or basically lie to cover his ass in a court of law. Guess what? Confidentiality don't cover all things, you amoral asshole. And if you don't stop sharing with me, I 'm going to start sharing with you about my inability to listen to you for more than 30 seconds a stretch or the fact that I haven't filed a single one of your papers yet.

And last but not certainly not least, my absolute favorite. The client that you talk to on the phone who after discussing legal business wants to ask you about your personal life. She prefaces her "small talk" with "and now, off the clock"....guess what, you old bat? I own the clock. I turn on the clock. I turn off the clock. And if I have to sit here and make nice with your drunken, anorexic ass, then it is most definitely on the clock cause if we are off the clock, then you will get to talk to the "real me" and me thinks you won't like that as much. Send a check and stop tying up my phone lines.

Ahhhh.....love the law.....love my job. Anyone need any legal help out there?

Work? What's That?

2006-06-23T15:13:00.000-04:00

It's Friday and how can I be expected to work under these conditions?

1. Can someone please tell Heidi Klum to keep her legs crossed? She and Seal are going to have another baby. Which, of course, makes sense since she's been out of the hospital with her other baby for about 5 fucking minutes (and I mean that literally "fucking" minutes). Dude, I know she's hot and you look very similar to a dog's ass but seriously, keep it in your pants for just a month or two.

2. Would my DUI client please show the hell up?! I told her I'd be back in the office at 1:00 and it's now 3:26! For the love of all that's alcoholic, please get the hell here so I can go start to work on my own DUI! I'm starting to get that itch behind my eyeballs that can only be cured by Bud Light.

3. Did no one tell those new terrorists in Miami that I no longer work close to the Sears Tower? I know they were aiming for me. I know too much. I'm too savy to let live. One would have thought that their connections in the office next door would have informed them of my move. Better luck next time, suckers!

4. Is it really a good idea to be teaching the POD firestarting skills? POD is in "theraputic nature camp" where they are teaching her to start fires with possibly her own urine and stinging nettles, for pete's sake. Clearly, the therapists are unaware of the POD's "lighter collection" and my need to keep fires away from all of my belongings. Sure, it ups her confidence but really doesn't do a whole hell of a lot for mine! Dumbasses. Can't believe we're paying for this shit. It's like "Your child has emotional trouble? Well, let's teach her how to blow shit up! Does she know where the Sears Tower is?".

5. For the love of Kit, who the hell let David Hasselhoff back on TV? And you're letting him judge talent? If the guy knew what talent was, he would have gauged out his own eyeballs while watching a replay of Knight Rider simply to teach himself a lesson.

6. You know what I want to see? Mariah Carey and Britney Spears in a caged death match. I bet Mariah could kick Britney's redneck ass all the way back to swamp. But then maybe I could get Christina Aguillera to scare Mariah back into hiding cause I hate that half-dressed poodle princess as well.

Just a thought.

It's 3:42 - CLIENT HAS TWO MINUTES THEN I'M OUTA HERE!

Floyd needs a beer....or twelve.

Randomnisity

2006-06-20T14:10:00.000-04:00

I think it will come as no surprise to any of you that I once again have no cohesive topic to discuss (but I do get bonus points for using the word "cohesive"). Therefore, we are once again resorting to my favorite literary tool - the list. Aren't I cutting edge? Aren't I just so clever? Blah.

1. You know what I miss? The penguin. Not the Batman penguin but the Bud Ice penguin. You remember him? During the fiasco I generally refer to as "why are we fucking with my beer?" in which Budweiser introduced Bud Ice, they had a great set of commercials. This penguin would come out and he would be singing "doobie doobie dooo" to the tune of Strangers in the Night. The tagline was "just watch out for the penguins". He totally rocked. I mean I like penguins, who doesn't? But a Sinatra singing flightless waterfowl selling beer? Priceless. And no, this really doesn't have a point other than to say that all I've been able to hear for the last several days is "doobie doobie dooooo" and thus, no cohesive topic.

2. Me thinks the terrorists next door are getting closer to carrying out their fiendish plot. They have painted symbols over their business name in dayglo orange paint. Strange, voodoo, chicken head cutting symbols, people! I don't know what the hell they mean but it's my mojo all atwitter. And I'm not even going into the alarm bell that randomly goes off and irregular intervals. They have a peephole and I know they're watching me in the hallway. I feel their beady little "want to blow you up" eyeballs roaming all over my fine person (they're foreign so they appreciate a voluptuous broad - fuck y'all for doubting me). If I send a letter to Homeland Security, do you think that will cause the federal government to review my tax returns for the past few years? Ummmmm...no reason.... just curious....and no cohesiveness.

3. There has been some serious Britney fallout from her previous sit-down with Matt Lauer, and I ain't talking about her cleavage, folks. Apparently, not a single publicist for Britney was present for said interview! The horror! Who let this cheeto-stuffing, chaps wearing, doesn't-have-the-brains-that-god-gave-a-walrus, donkey-breeding whore on TV without supervision! Puhleeeasssse, people! I still have a headache from watching this debacle. Somebody rope that redneck in. Cohesive to nothing.

4. So I listen to the a Regular Guys radio show on 96 Rock in the mornings. I tell you this because they keep using a sound bit (bit? bite? how do I know? I didn't go the Columbia School of Broadcasting!). The sound bit is of Stewie from the Family Guy going "Jesus is Chinese". They use it all the time. AND IT CRACKS ME UP EACH AND EVERY TIME. I mean "people looking at me from other cars and changing lanes" cracking up. I don't know why - I don't think Jesus was Chinese but I suppose it doesn't matter - it just kills me. But it's not cohesive.

5. Dear God/Jesus, I would like to apologize for laughing at the whole "son of god is Chinese" thingy and for saying "Christ on a Cracker" the other day. I know it's not funny to use for amusement purposes but damn, You got to admit, the picture of Jesus sitting on a Ritz is funny, funny stuff. Love, Floyd P.S. I would also like forgiveness for promoting A.S.S. (Anal Sex Saturday) cause I really don't know where you stand on the whole "optional entry" discussion but as you know, I am merely the creator of the holiday - I am NOT a participant. And I am NOT cohesive.

6. Okay. No one else has come out and said it so I’m guess I’ll have to be the one with the balls. The little Angelina-Brad genetic experiment? Um…yeah….it has her lips. And that’s all cool and everything but am I the only who’s noticed that the little offspring seems to be unable to close her lips? Yep, two of the world’s most beautiful people have bred a mouth breather. Hell, even Britney and her man-whore produced a kid without mouth abnormalities (course to be fair, Sean Preston will be the first 4 year old on the playground to be saying “Fuck, Mamma, I dun crushed my cigarettes! Make Daddy Whore go fetch me nuther pack!”). There. It has been said. I feel better now. But I don't feel cohesive.

Well, as you can tell, I'm getting a lot of work done today. But seeing how the terrorists next door will probably be blowing my ass up in the next few days, it all just seems pointless anyway.

She's Not Trashy, She's Your Baby's Mamma

2006-06-16T15:06:00.000-04:00

First let me say, that Captain Nutty finally called at 7:18 pm eastern standard time to complain that I had not called her all day and after all, she was the one had to "grunt and strain" 36 years ago. I just apologized so I could get off the phone before she said "grunt and strain" again cause now I picture my birth as very similar to passing a turn the size of Toledo. (Note to self: bring extra money to therapist this week)

Enough about me. Let's talk about me watching TV.

Last night, I hope you all caught Matt Lauer's interview with Britney Spears cause it was a priceless display of the aforementioned southern inbreeding. I expect on my next trip to Six Flags, I will see Britney in line in front of me sporting her bikini top and arguing that Sean Preston is tall enough to ride the Scream Machine if he sits on her lap.

After watching Britney, I flipped channels and found an interview with Bill Gates, the richest man in the universe and beyond.

So let's see if you can guess what happened in which interview:

- One subject chewed gum through the entire chat. Said subject worked that gum like a starving cow working his way through his cud.

- One subject sported false eyelashes that made Tammy Faye pea green with envy. Such eyelashes made me have nightmares about spiders all freakin night long.

- One subject made me seriously concerned that I was about to see some nipplage. And let's be clear, I want to see neither Britney's nor Bill's love nubbins.

- One subject said they loved their spouse because that person was "so simple". Ummm...yeah.....has someone informed this person that "simple" can also mean "needs to wear a helmet to avoid self-injury"?

- One subject compared themselves to Julia Roberts and accused Ms. Roberts of stealing her husband away from another woman. I'm sure Julia was sitting at home going "Oh no, she didn't! I will kick that homespun bitch's ass!"

- One subject kept showing Matt what god gave her every time she crossed her legs. Sharon Stone was in awe of her technique. Matt, on the other hand, looked a little green around the gills.

- One subject seemed baffled by the use of big words and could occasionally be seen rolling her eyes into the back of her head as if she had a cheat sheet stapled on the back of her eyelids.

- One clearly needs to hire new hair and make-up people cause Liza Minnelli is looking more natural.

- One is excited about the future of robotics and eliminating malaria in third world countries.

The similarities are astounding, aren't they? Hard to tell which interview was which! It's like they share the same brain!

Britney for president, y'all. She totally rocks and K Fed will be an awesome first bitch. Peace out.

Just Call Me Molly Ringwald

2006-06-14T17:09:00.000-04:00

Today is my birthday. I am 36 years old.

It is 5:06 p.m. eastern time.

I have yet to recieve a birthday call from my mother.

CHRIST ON A CRACKER, WOMAN! YOU CALL ME 900 TIMES A FUCKING DAY BUT THE DAY YOU ACTUALLY SHOT ME OUT OF YOUR WOMB, YOU CAN'T SEEM TO FIND A FUCKING PHONE!

This does not bode well for the old bar tab tonight. Does not bode well, indeed.

Song of the South

2006-06-12T10:13:00.000-04:00

I'm not making excuses anymore for being a slackass as I'm guessing there is no one left here to read anything anyway. But, be that as it may, I’m feeling compelled to discuss a few issues.

As I haven't posted in a bit, I'm awash with difference topics. I don't know whether to tell you about my overwhelming fear of the inadequacy of the pipes in my new house and whether fiber therapy will assist to diminish said fear. Or should I discuss the fact that I have moved into a new office where the floor is so askew, it appears that I have set up my desk on the deck of the Titanic - a theory which is supported by the subzero temperatures in said office coupled with the occasional sighting of an off- course penguin.

I also considered discussing the fact that the office next door is clearly inhabited by terrorists which is evident by the peephole they have in their office and the occasional alarm bells I hear going off as they fail to follow proper procedure when removing their stash of plutonium which is kept in the freezer adjacent to my office wall.

All good topics to be sure. However, my need to discuss my recent trip to Six Flags overwhelms these rantings. Cause I, my friend, have at last found proof of the much rumored and ridiculed in breeding of fine southern folk.

Now, let me be clear. I can make fun of the South. I am Southern. And no transplanted from New York southerner or even some "I’m southern, I grew up in Florida" southern. I am a rare bird - a native Atlantan. Further, my entire family on both non-branching tree sides is southern. Matter of fact, on one side we trace our roots back to John Wilkes Booth (and yes, I know he was English but you see my point).

What does this mean? It means I can pick on Southern people but unless you grew up eating cornbread, vegetables boiled for 12 hours in bacon fat and the "last of this year's dairy cows" meat - you can't make fun of Southerners. It's like someone calling your mamma a "crazy, sadistic, lard ass" - you can call that crazy bitch that but if your buddy does, you'll sick that same whack job mamma on his weenie ass.

Anyway, I digress.

Prior to banishing the POD to wilderness camp for an indeterminate amount of time (and no, I don't want to talk about it), we decided to venture out with the masses to Six Flags. I used to LOVE Six Flags. Wanted to work there. Wanted to live there. Wanted to ride the Scream Machine until I puked. However, Six Flags has undergone a bit of a cultural shift.

In this previously stellar park, I finally found proof of the long rumored in breeding of Southern folk.

I will begin with the accident in genetics that was behind me in line for Goliath. He was a prime example of what Cowboy Dan refers to as “RBS” – Redneck Bone Structure. If I had been so inclined, I could have come right up on this guy and bashed him in the head with a two-by-four right smack dab in the middle of his forehead. He would never have seen me coming, as his eyes were set so far apart. Now, he probably could have kicked my ass in a lateral move but if I went straight in for the kill, he would be one knocked out redneck. Hell, his gap-tooted buddy would hardly have time to react.

A tad farther down the line was tattoo girl. Now, I myself have a discreet tattoo and find nothing wrong with it. But this gal was adventurous. Amongst her wide display of body art, she had a tattoo around her neck. A necklace, you ask? Oh, no. Barbed wire. With flesh and blood hanging off one spot of this lively decoration. Sound lovely, doesn’t it? A real “can’t wait to introduce her to Grandpa” kinda gal. Some poor kid from Alabama just about hurled up his $7 hot dog on the spot.

However, I will give old Barbed Wire one nugget of praise – she chose to wear a bra (I know this as her shirt was see-through but I’m being picky). Apparently, in the land of amusement parks, proper undergarments are now optional. I saw more bouncing mammary glands than you see at old Hugh’s house on trampoline night. My god, people, didn’t your mamma teach you nothing? Even my crazy ass loon of a mother made sure my accessories were firmly encased in a wire bound torture device because “good girls kept the girls supported”. AND IT’S AN AMUSEMENT PARK! Some of you could lose an eye like that!

And newsflash, sporting a bikini top does not count as proper support. It seems that here in the deep South, any time the temps hit over 80 degrees, the “ladies” find it acceptable to start wearing their bathing suits wherever they go. Here’s a hint – if you are more than 2 miles from the nearest cement pond, forgo the bathing attire. I look at you and all I see is a walking yeast infection. And your boyfriend squirting you down with a water pistol doesn’t count – perhaps it counts at your evening job of pole dancing, but not here.

And exactly when did we become like the Japanese in metro trains? STAND THE FUCK BACK! I have a personal space meter and you’re sending its readings off the charts. I don’t know where you’ve been but if that smell is any indication, you are communicable. Back the hell up.

And hey, Six Flags! Just because you keep giving me my cokes in a paper cup without a lid or a straw, isn’t going to make me buy your damn $9 souvenir drink thingie with that creepy dancing old man on top! Give me a damn lid before I introduce my foot to Tweetie’s ass.

All in all, an outing that was both fun and enlightening. When looking to carry the Floyds into the next generation, I might be better off looking a little north of the Mason-Dixon. I’m just saying.

Just Call Me "Rolly Polly"

2006-05-19T09:12:00.000-04:00

I don't think I have a tummy anymore. At some point in time, I surpassed the tummy stage. Tummy implies a cute little area for gentelmen callers to worship. A little area that's all flat and cute. An area that has occassional "tummy aches" or "houses a bun in the oven". I don't have that area anymore.

Tummies usually have a cute little half-innie, half-outie belly button. In commercials, little balls of sweat delicately roll down the tummy into that tiny little crevice and a thousand schlongs stand at attention (Thank you Axe body spray for that image).

I don't so much have that. If the underboobie sweat makes it's way down the middle region, I can guarantee you that there is no one on earth that will find it sexy. However, in that statement, I'm excluding all East German porn fetish guys who I really can't say what exactly they're into. With my luck, there probably is a fat gut sweat fetish group out there and I'll be recieving an email from them at any minute. Side note - if you are emailing, I will accept no less than 1,000 euros for pictures of my sweaty gullet (I have no idead what 1,000 euros is equivalent to - I could be agreeing to do this for 5 bucks for all I know but hey, 5 bucks will get me a sandwhich).

Anyway, I digress.

I don't have one of those tummies. Not sure I've had one since I discovered that with my drivers license came the freedom to drive through McDonald's anytime I damn well pleased. I skipped right to belly. And I'm rapidly approaching gut. Not so sure I'm not already at gut level but a girl's gotta dream. And I'm sure you've noticed that I am posting exactly ZERO pictures to let you judge for yourself.

Of course with the loss of the tummy comes the lose of the cute belly button. A strong wind blows across my middle and you hear the low whistle that you get when blow across a half empty beer bottle. It's a little deep - an echo-like cavern really.

My point? I really don't know. Perhaps I just wanted to share the shock of realizing the my lower regions are now actively trying to grow to reach my upper regions. My belly is now a fleshy porch for the boobies and that can't be good. And hell, I'm thinking this summer we might have a potential chaffing situation and that friction could damn well start some type of fire problem and what with the dry grass situation in Georgia that could well lead to a forest fire. Do we see the ramifications? My gut will lead to the conflagration of an entire state yet I still don't seem to be able to drive past Krispy Kreme.

And now that I have a gut, the whole language changes. I "clear a room and make the dog wince" - I don't "pass gass". I have "I think I broke the plumbin" - I don't have an "upset tummy". I have a clear "I drink beer" middle - and not a "I'll have a wine spritzer" body.

Again, my point? I have no unearthly idea. But at least I'm not talking about Captain Nutty or the POD!

Small steps, people, small steps.

Next week, join for my discussion of back boobies and the desperately needed back bra.

Happy Captain Nutty Day

2006-05-14T12:52:00.000-04:00

So, I've moved.

On Wednesday, movers showed up and toted all my crap to new house.

On Thursday, Captain Nutty arrived to "help".

On Friday, Captain Nutty slammed finger in car door. Thus, the next 5 hours were spent in the emergency room to determine that "yes, the finger is broken".

On Saturday, Captain Nutty bought me paint and complained about how much money they've given me over the past year. The irony was apparently lost on her.

Today, I wished Captain Nutty a happy mother's day, shoved some Krispy Kremes down her throat and kicked her ass out of my new house.

Happy Captain Nutty Day to all! And to those who have whack job mothers like mine, take a stiff swig of Jack Daniels and plan a vacation over Father's Day.

A World of Confusion

2006-05-01T17:25:00.000-04:00

I'm stymied. Stuck. Frozen. Shut down. My friends, the world is akimbo and I'm a standing still. Unable to decide what to worry about most.

I'm simply crazy but I can't decide whether I'm bat shit crazy or ape shit crazy. I mean - bat shit crazy has that exotic "my life is worse than your life" feel that I usually go for. But frankly, this particular time period in my life I think I'm more "crazy baboon ass monkey throwing its own feces" crazy.

What, pray tell, has me so wonky?

I'm moving. In about 9 days. Of course, I just figured this out so like all things in my life I'm doing this half-assed and in a hurry. No big shocker there.

I'm living with the POD. Can't decide whether to go all old school, fire and brimstone, you're gonna burn hell and take away the 20 condoms (TWENTY, PEOPLE! TWENNNNNNTEEEEE!) I found in her purse. And before anybody points it out, yes, I know she's having more sex than I am and yes, I will kick the ever-living snot out of the first jackass that feels it is necessary to point this out to me.

I'm living with the POD, part deux. I don't know whether to be disturbed at the fact that she is smoking or that I found a pack of Marlboro Reds in her purse. I mean, REDS? What is she - a fucking truck driver? Does she fancy herself a Marlboro man? The first person that points out that she probably enjoys herself a nice smoke after blowing through a 20 pack of condoms will be cursed to such an extent that all testicular hair will be releasing itself into your drawers in such a manner as to cause excessive itching and embarassing social situation (especially if you don't have testicles).

I'm still fielding phone calls from Captain Nutty. Captain keeps calling and practically begging to come down and help me pack. However, the little sane person that lives deep in the recesses of my brain keeps calling me telling me, "For the love of all that's holy, are you fucking nuts? Don't let that nutcase within 500 miles of this cluster fuck or I will pack up what little sanity you have left and head for the hills never to be seen from again." Frankly, I tend to side with the little sane voice in my head. If not for that little voice, I would already be in Montana doing my best Unabomber impression.

Those seem to be the major themes but they are often accompanied by one of the following worries:

1. The dimples on my ass are starting to dimple.
2. My skank ass cousin is abandoning me for the wilds of Alabama (whore's getting married and she all thinks she deserves her own life! How ridiculous!)
3. My clients are getting stupider (and yes, I see the irony in calling THEM "stupider") by the minute such that I'm concerned if I do not clear up their cases in a timely fashion, they will all be drooling, incoherent morons that are unable to figure out how to write me a check.
4. And seriously? Have you seen the commercial for the new Amazing bar? The one where M&M's and a chocolate bar are parked on lover's lane? And they're all cozy in the back of a station wagon? And then, bammo, you got yourself a chocolate bar with M&M's in it? I REALLY DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT MY CANDY HAVING SEX! THAT IS SO DISGUSTING.
5. I went to the old Law School Reunion where I was informed that the majority of my classmates have donated $1,000 a piece to the new development fund. When did the rest of my classmates start hitting the crack pipe?
6. AND I'M FUCKING MOVING IN 9 DAYS BUT I'M WORRIED THAT I HAVEN'T BLOGGED!!!!

Me must go drink now. Me have headache. Me see monkey with big steaming pile of poo heading this way.

And I'll Tell You Another Thing...

2006-04-22T00:19:00.001-04:00

I'm dddddrrrrruuuuuuunnnk. I'm drunk blogging. And it took me 12 hours to type the title without misspellings. Bite me.

My point is this - what is the most disgusting food to throw up?

If you don't say hot dogs, then you're a fucking tard.

Just thought I'd share.

Blameless

2006-04-18T17:08:00.000-04:00

I know - you're neglected. But see I got this email that suggested...nay....demanded that I get ready for bikini season and as I'm sure you can understand, this took me completely by surprise. I simply had no idea. So of course, getting ready for said season is exceptionally time consuming. I know you forgive me.

I attended law school reunion. I went to Graceland. I sold my house(twice). I survived a ten day visit from Captain Nutty.

So lots to tell but you know that bikini is a monkey on my back.

In other words, I'll write more tomorrow.

A Marketer's Wet Dream

2006-04-05T11:29:00.000-04:00

So now that I'm all "laptop friendly, I'm reconnecting with my first love. Television. This of course has led me to one of my usual dilemmas.

For instance, I'm apparently gonna have to go buy some new lotion (and for those of you who read "lotion" and immediately thought "masturbation" - shame on you). There's a new commercial for a new Lubriderm. Lubriderm with Sea Kelp! It gives you marvelous skin according to the model who last ate a cracker last Thursday.

Well, dammit! I already have twelve other versions of Lubriderm! Can't they pick a fucking additive and stick with it. I've got the "original Formula" and it does a bang up a job. I then saw the ad for the one with oatmeal and thought "Well, I don't eat the shit, so I might as well slather on the body. That totally counts for healthy, right?".

And holy mother of God! How the hell am I supposed to know whether I have sensitive skin or not?

Do I need Advance Therapy? What the hell is Advance Therapy? Was the previous like "Dark Ages Therapy"? What is the age limit for Advance Therapy? Was it fucking 30 thirty cause I'm late!

And NO, I don't want skin cancer but I also don't want to walk around smelling like I can't find the beach. I don't like SPF! Does it stand for "hey, Stupid Pay For this?" Cause that's what I'm thinking!

I guess I gotta go with the Sea Kelp except well it probably smells like a Mermaid's sally. Yuck,

Good god, I've got to get a hobby.

I'm NOT Goofing Around On A Work Day

2006-03-29T11:09:00.000-05:00

I am now the proud owner of a laptop. Yep. You know what that means? I can blog while I watch tv! I know you've all been dying to have my up-to-the-minute comments on all shows of any importance.

Course right now, it's the middle of the day and I am NOT watching the Gilmore Girls on ABC Family. I am working.

I'll tell ya what else I'm not doing:

1. I'm NOT pondering the fact that the POD turned 16 yesterday and that her therapist called with concerns over her myspace page.

2. I'm NOT working at the kitchen counter because my office is so messy that I don't want to go back there.

3. I'm NOT pondering sending my new slogan for q-tips to Masters & Johnson - "Q-tips...so many orifices, so little time".

4. I'm NOT wondering if the Weight Watchers nazis will actually come to my home to drag my fat ass back to a meeting.

5. I'm NOT contemplating ways to get out of an impending blind date. (And the next person who tells me "You have to put yourself out there!" will get the bitch slap of their lives. If you want out there so bad, you go on a blind date, jackass.)

6. I'm NOT cleaning the house for the termite inspection guy cause he most certainly won't say "Open packages of peeps attract termites like an ice cream truck's jingle attracts you, Fattie".

7. I'm NOT sitting hear listening to the commercial for this afternoon's Oprah which alludes to "the sexual practice you've never heard of!". Well, how the hell does she know? I'm quite worldly. I read. Ummmmm....but is it worse if I have heard of it? Does that make me a whore? DAMN YOU, OPRAH! YOU AND YOUR MIND RAY WILL NOT CONTROL ME! but i will be watching.

8. I'm NOT wondering why the Geico lizard has a cockney accent. Are we more likely to buy car insurance from a British lizard as opposed to an American one?

9. I'm NOT contemplating which Simpsons line is my favorite. I'm NOT thinking about Ralphie saying "She choo choo choooooses me!" or Milhouse saying, "Everything's coming up Milhouse!" or Reverend Lovejoy announcing the hymn, "In the Garden of Eden by I. Ron Butterfly" and then Homer whispering to Marge, "hey, remember when we used to make out to this hymn?" or Lisa saying "Can't talk....coming down" after ingesting water from a ride at Duff Land. NOT thinking about the Simpsons at all.

10. I'm NOT obsessing over the fact that the previous lines excluded all lines by Troy McClure and Lionel Hutz.

No. My laptop is only for working. I am NOT doing any of the above stuff cause that would just be wrong.

StopYour Breathing...It's Annoying

2006-03-21T16:37:00.000-05:00

Okay, okay - I'm slack. I know this - you know this. Stop with the heavy panting. I'm blogging.

Blogging is difficult when coming off a three day bender. I'm hungover. I of course attended the Atlanta Race this past weekend with Kitty and Daddy (Cowboy Dan was playing dutiful farm daughter and was unable to play "giddy up" with us - she was sorely missed).

Of course, I'm not only recovering from inhaling 4 out of 5 cases of beer, one bottle of Jim Beam and one excelent bottle of Sky Vodka - I'm recovering from "Captain-Nutty-came-to-town-to-watch-the-POD" overindulgence.

Since I can only remember about 1/2 of my activities over the weekend, let's talk about Captain Nutty's activities, shall we?

1. She convinced my real estate agent who also happens to be my friend-who-has-done-everything-except-buy-my-house-herself to mow my fucking lawn. That's right, kids. I leave town and my mom cons my pal into sweating over my front yard. How long will it take me to pay back the-most-fantabulous-real-estate-agent-in-the-world? Hard to say, hard to say.

2. She "shared" all of her life troubles with previously mentioned long-suffering-real-estate-agent-who-hopefully-will-remain-my-friend-if-I-ever-sell-my-house which of course resulted in major water works on Nutty's part and a severe longing for a vodka and fresca on my never-will-help-you-with-anything-again-real-estate-agent-friend.

3. She discovered the POD doing flips on the monkey bars whilst wearing a skirt in the immigrant hang-out park down the street. Apparently, Captain Nutty arrived on the scene just in time to disuade two amigos from determining whether the POD was a shaver or a bikini waxer.

4. And last, but certainly not least, let's not forget that Captian discovered a nearly empty "bag of oregano" on POD's person over the weekend. Yep. That's a winner. Of course, POD admitted that she was "holding for a friend". I didn't buy the oldest excuse in the book and dragged her ass in for a drug test (which I made her pay for). And? Well, it was all negative. Don't know whether to be happy or sad. This means she was telling the truth - which means - Great! She hasn't been smoking pot....but also means, Great! She's so damn stupid that she really is holding pot for a friend!

I will never reproduce. And don't anyone ask me what happened to the bag of pot.

P.S. My good buddy over at Tinfoil Viking Science apparently talks to his little friend in his pants. Now, I would like to point out that I did not read this post prior to writing my missive to Sally. So this means one of two things - either Bottlerocket and I are truly soulmates who have yet to meet.....or we are both truly mental and will be living out our days together in a fine state run mental facillity in Harvey, Illinois. Hell, who are we kidding....it probably means both.

An Open Letter To Sally

2006-03-09T14:50:00.000-05:00

Dear Sally,

First, let me start off by saying you've been a great noonie. A downright world-class va-jayjay. Hell, I'm some circles, you're downright famous. And well, frankly I haven't been treating you right. And NOW, well, let's just say after yesterday's events, I owe you a big old apology.

Let's be clear - you certainly had your fun times, your popular days. You enjoyed college and you really hit your prime in law school. Nothing wrong with that. But lately, you've had trouble making friends through no fault of your own.

I mean it certainly isn't your fault that the psyche has decided to eat it's way through the last year. I know from your vantage point, all you can see is the stomach overhanging your roof but let me tell you, the rest of the body ain't looking so hot either. But the stomach can certainly be blamed for many of your latest difficulties in "getting out". You used to be a "daylight, strobelight, spotlight" kinda gal but thanks to the ass and thigh department, you may have to spend the rest of your days as a "lights off and blackout shades" kinda player. Still, I'm sure you simply hope to play at all.

There has been neglect, Sally, and I'm the first to admit it. You've been ignored. I suspect it has been you that has been pushing the body into consuming vast amounts of alcohol in order to let you out a little more. I can't blame you for that - that old trick has certainly worked in the past. But for some reason, now when we drink we seem to skip the "let's play" stage and go straight to the "gonna hurl if I'm naked" stage. A sad, sad turn of events....but nothing compared to the greivous insult done onto you yesterday.

Sally, I was in a hurry. I was vacuuming and being a little careless. You see, left foot stepped on the cord but did not communicate his intent to right foot. Right foot continued on his merry way...and well, as you now know, we walked you right into the handle of the vacuum cleaner. The whole body heard your indignant cry of pain. Hell, the little man in the canoe went upstream and we may never hear from him again.

Sally, on behalf of the rest of the body, we are sorry. We promise that as soon as the swelling goes down and you lose that blackeye, we will try to get you out more. We're making no "George Clooney" type promises but there has to be some blind fella out there that the rest of the body will be willing to let you visit.

I promise I'll get to work on it. In the meantime, keep your head down and soldier through the pain.

Your pal,
Floyd

P.S. Please for the love of all that's holy, don't let today be the day that Daddy decides to start reading my blog again.

Putting the Spring in Spring Break

2006-03-06T13:38:00.000-05:00

WOOOOHOOOOO!!!! It's spring break, my homies! And you of course know what that means? The POD has left the building!

POD retired to Chicago to scare the beejezus out of Captain Nutty and the Consort, otherwise known as the POD's-parents-who-should-be-raising-her-but-are-too-moronic-to-do-so. And yes, they are one set of my parents too, but let's not get into that right now.

Sooooooooo, what are the broader implications? I will be drunk for a whole week. Yep. Every hour is happy hour, my friends. If your a client, you'll be getting your work back tommorrow or whenever I sober up. If you know me at all, I think you know what that means.

No waking up at crack-o-dawn for driving child to school. No arranging plans around picking up child from school. No arguments about one's completing or not completing one's homework. Hot damn, this is going to be fan-fucking-tastic.

Of course, after 2 days my liver will be begging for some relief and thus, the POD will be welcomed whole-heartedly back into the nest.

Now, I AM expecting a never-ending string of weeping phone calls from my mother asking me what to do in certain situations. That is par for the course. For instance, Captian Nutty asks POD to empty the dishwasher and the POD tells her to "go lick Satan's balls". I clearly envision this type of exchange happening on a frequent basis.

But perhaps we should talk about what POD has been doing since she got home on Friday night, shall we?

She's already had a "talking to" with the local police. She thinks she was called down by the fuzz and is thrilled to be getting a little street cred. What she doesn't know is that the whole damn thing was orchestrated.

Y'all remember Krystal-with-a-"K"? For the newbies, Krystal with a "K" is the POD's former girlfriend (the POD considers herself a bit of player for both teams at the ripe old age of 15). Anywhooooo, Krystal with a K and the POD have been broken up for quite a bit now but they still talk (Hooooray! Keep those friends close!). Krystal with a "K" is also a former latino gang banger - cause when your kid is swinging with the other team you soooooo want her to be hooked up with a gang member. Krystal with a "K" got mad at the POD and thus has called out a "whooop up on her if you see her" request to her suburban gang-banging friends. This of course scared the ever-living-medicated-shit out of Captain Nutty who called Officer DoGooder at the local station. An entire production has been made where the POD was called down and given a stern talking to. So now the POD is properly forewarned about potential violence.

Sounds good, right? Sounds like as a 15 year-old, you would be scared shitless? Not so much the POD. She's loving it. She's "down wid it" and "rockin it old school"- none of which she actually said but I hear it in my head. What did she honestly say? My hand to God - the kid said to Officer DoGooder, "It's okay - I like to live on the edge."

Yep.

At that point, my mother was seen scouring the surburban phone book for priests that conduct exorcisms with less than 24 hour notice....and we aren't even catholic.

Can't wait to share this story at the reunion! Folks in Mississippi gonna eat this up!

Barkeep - keep those Bud Lights a coming, please!

Put Away the Sharp Pointy Things

2006-03-01T15:38:00.000-05:00

No need to come after me with your spears and other sharp objects, gentle readers. THIS time, my absence was legit - you see, despite the commercials, sometimes Comcast isn't so COMTASTIC! and your Internet decides to go all "let's see how long she'll actually wait for me to check her email". However, thanks to Julio (who IS by the way, COMTASTIC!), we are now right as rain and I'm sure you've forgiven me similar to the way an abused woman forgives her asshat husband for making him hit her- I've got you bitches trained!

I received a lovely little letter in the mail the other day reminding me that my 10-year law school reunion is rapidly approaching. I'm flat out dying to go to this shindig. In fact, all of the usual suspects (i.e. Kitty and Fat Baby's Mamma) are planning a big "let's pretend we can still drink for 12 hours and then pose a legal theory in front of the whole class" kinda trip. I'm all for it.

However, I am a little unsure of myself. I mean, let's be real - it's be TEN FUCKING YEARS and where am I?

Well, let me recap for those of you just joining us - I'm poor as hell and no lawyer ten years out should be this poor unless you're working for some sanctimonious do-gooder place. I'm raising my 15 year-old nutbag sister (POD) who worships the devil when not plotting to kill my parents. I'm coddling my nutbag mother(Captain Nutty)who frankly makes me want to worship the devil and plot her painful demise. I'm fat. Let me repeat that one, I'M FATTER THAN KIRSTIE ALLEY AT A HO-HO CONVENTION (with apologies to Kirstie considering her recent lesbian affair with Jenny Craig). And, oh yeah, let's not forget this little nugget of joy - I'M STILL SINGLE.

As far as I can tell, there are only 3 single people left in the class of 1996. Me. Kitty. And criminal law buddy, Rob. Kitty and I are waging a full out war to convince Rob to come with us to said reunion - you know, the old "misery in numbers"....or really, "kitty and i have already spent a lot of time drunk and bemoaning our fate and we need new blood in this pissing contest".

To answer my concerns, I believe I've come up with a full-proof plan. Lie. Yep, lie and lie big. Hell, I didn't go to law school for the fucking t-shirt. I learned to lie with the best of them (frankly, law school merely polished my already gifted natural ability but that’s just bragging).

I've decided that I would like to tell everyone at the reunion that I'm pregnant. No one ever blames a pregnant woman for being fat! They consider it down right cute! I'll get myself some nice maternity duds, slap on a little self-tanner for that "pregnancy glow" and bammo, no fat embarrassment. Trust me, I’ve got the gut that screams “get this woman to a doctor before her water breaks all over my weejuns”. This could make drinking a tad touchy but no one really would be surprised that I can't give up the sauce. Let’s be frank, these are the same people that have witnessed my finest moments…..if only I could remember them……anyhooooo.

However, this is Mississippi we're talking about....so the unmarried thing might be an issue. Not to mention, if I show up pregnant with Kitty and without a ring, the lesbo talk will be a deafening roar of condemnation (all have witnessed Kitty's undeniable attraction to me).

And that dear, Robbo, is where you come in. Instant husband. Nothing like a fake marriage to make a reunion fun! I'll supply the rings and you pick the sex of the baby! Hell, I'll even allow for conjugal rights with Kitty! We will tell everyone how ridiculously happy and famously wealthy we are and they will all upchuck their crawfish with jealousy! A more perfect scheme was never hatched. I'll even throw in a "Rob is sooooo HUGE we're worried about him dimpling the baby's head!" comments.

Just think about it, oh Swami Rob...it just might work.

Here's to the class of 1996! May you all want to be me!

A Tactical Error

2006-02-20T15:56:00.000-05:00

Time to pity me. On Friday while my best buds were in Daytona celebrating the advent of the racing season, I was sitting in a legal seminar as the state bar requires us to attend from time to time. And not only was it LEGAL in nature, it was about freaking bankruptcy. So, I spent 6 freaking-want-to-stab-myself-in-the-eye-with-a-fork hours learning about changes in bankruptcy laws. Jealous?

So, I'm crammed into this ballroom in downtown Atlanta with about 200 of my closest legal pals, sitting ass cheek to ass cheek cause god forbid they waste one precious money-making inch. I "listen" to some dude drone on and on about an area of law that I intend to never practice again. Good times.

Well, by the time lunch rolled around, I was visualizing stripping down to what the good Lord gave me and running up and down the aisle screaming "I've got your Chapter 13 Plan in my pants!!!"

Needless to say, I thought that spending lunch eating rubber chicken with these numbnuts might possibly mean the end of my legal career (or at least the end of my life free of straight jackets).

So, free lunch or no free lunch, I thought it best to venture out. And this, gentle readers, is where I made a tactical error.

You see, previously mentioned hotel is in the part of "nobody-comes-here-except-tourists" Atlanta. My luncheon options were limited. However, I spotted the Hard Rock Cafe a couple of doors down and thought, "well, a $12 salad is still better than rubber chicken with the brain dead bankruptcy bar" so I journeyed forth into tourista land.

Now, let's be clear - I've never been to a Hard Rock Cafe but I clearly expected overpriced food, tacky decor, loud rock music and JoeBob/BettyJane from out-yonder who is just in the city for a spell. Fair nuff.

I took a seat at the bar which overlooked the whole restaurant and at noon wasn't crowded (apparently Atlanta tourists dont' drink until a more respectable hour and therefore are real Sallies). Well, I ordered a quesidilla (no one really bought the salad line, did they?) and began to enjoy the "ambience".

Now, let's talk music, shall we? The name of the place is HARD rock....I get the Foo Fighters, I get the Green Day....but Will Smith getting jiggy wid it? Not so much. But whatever floats their hard rocking boat.

Do you feel the turning point coming? Cause it's a coming!

The waitres brings me the Hard Rock version of a nouveau, art-deco quesidilla and I prepare to strap on the old feebdag.

And then I hear the Village People. The old familiar strains of Y.M.C.A. that makes everyone under the age of 50 throw their arms in the air with spastic gay glee.

Still. I'm good.

But then I realize that 3 waitresses have taken all the surrounding bar stools from my side and lined them right behing my back so that they are facing the entire restaurant down below. Then they proceed to shimmy on up those bar stools so that they can lead the restaurant in the Hard Rock version of the Y.M.C.A. which I swear included a little shoutout to the Batusie. Said waitresses who will now be referred to as those Fucking Whores, were doing their prearranged boogie right behind my fat ass.

Now in general, I'm not against an exuberant display of disco Sally. I'm cool. I'm all J.J. and "DY-NO-MITE!" . But give me a freaking break. I DO mind when said retro-doings are occurring directly behing my broad Batusie butt so that the whole restaurant patronage can watch me taking my first big old bite of my meal. I could practically hear the calls of "Who gave the Fattie guacomole? Was that really wise?"

I silently stewed and thought "I'll just eat my $20 lunch and get the hell out of Dodge". No worries.

But of course that was when the junior high cheerleading squad just off the incest bus from butt-fuck Georgia pulled in for some fun. Apparently, a little event they like to call Cheer Georgia was happening and every 70 pound, 13 year old felt compelled to dine out in their flannel pajama bottoms and their fake birkenstocks. They, of course, were all about the atmosphere but even these little prepubscent monsters refrained from dancing. Unlike the dork in the short sleeve dress shirt sitting next to me at the bar. Seriously, I wasn't sure he needed medical intervention or not but decided he was simply getting his groove on.

Still no worries. I'll just eat my $30 meal a little quicker and retreat to the safe dry world of bankruptcy. (And right now, if you can hear Revrend Lovejoy going "Constancy....sweeeeeeet constancy" in your head, give yourself a gold star cause I'm a hearing it)

What was the breaking point? Well, let me tell you. It appeared in the form of a gaggle of college boys who joined me at the bar. They all decided it was "beer-thirty somewhere! wooohoo!" and franky, I gave them a mental "attaboy!" cheer.

However, to my dismay I quickly learned this gaggle was a passle of "country cousin come to town" kinda rubes. They all got really, really excited that there was beer on tap. Lots of high-fiving and "git-r-dun's". But then the startling moment of exultation! They realized that the bar had.....BUDWEISER ON TAP! MY GOD! THE JOY! THE SHEER UNADULTERATED JOY! I MEAN REALLY WHEN DO YOU EVER SEE THAT! WE NEED TO HOLLER! WE NEED TO SHOUT OUR JOY OF DISCOVERY!

That's right, gentle reader, these butt buddies got excited about a Bud being on tap. I haven't seen such celebration since the wall came down.

So, as I was trying to de-ass the area, they ordered about 7 buds.....and 1 Long Island Iced Tea (I didn't spot the token closeted gay guy but he must have been there somewhere).

That was the proverbial straw. I made my way back to the sweet, dry world of law and scolded myself for not taking the free lunch.

And worst of all? The damn seminar didn't even serve any after lunch cookies. Cheap ass bankruptcy bastards. I shall never stray again.

Oh Joyous Holiday

2006-02-14T10:01:00.000-05:00

So I just wrote a full post about a client and it was lovely. Full of sarcasm and venting. However, just as I was wrapping things up, it occurred to me that certain people would know exactly who I was talking about and therefore I was probably crossing some sort of "attorney-client" privilege ethical line....and well, dammit, as much as I like to deny that I have such lines, apparently I do have a few. As much fun as it would be to skewer this person, I suppose it's not worth my license (which is printed on really nice paper so it might be worth a buck or two).

Of course, that leaves me with one and only one topic for the day. Valentine's Day.
Yippee. But what can really be said, that I haven't already said? Not much, my friends, not much.

I think we all know that I have a particular animosity towards Cupid, that fat little bitch. Howevever, today, I declare Singles Day. That's right, I'm celebrating the fact that I am single and not sharing my life with some snoring, bleching, hairy ape man (Stella, my black lab, looks slightly offended).

So, the following are reasons why it's great to be single:

1. I fart. Loudly and often. No worries about offending anyone (though the POD would beg to differ).
2. I eat chocolate for dinner. No need to fix no pot pies or no HungryMan dinners.
3. I still sleep in flannel pajama pants that are 4 sizes too big and have candy canes all over them.
4. I take off my bra as soon as I get home. No one to impress by their gravity-defying tricks anymore.
5. When I find hair in the bath, I know it's mine.
6. Speaking of hair, I won't be sharing how long it's been since I shaved....my legs.
7. I pee with door open.....I actually do a lot of things with the door open much to the POD's dismay.
8. I only have to deal with MY family, not some boy's mother who's life goal is to get him back on the teet. And as I think we all know, my family is enough for all to enjoy!
9. I only watch the sports I want to watch. I don't have to sit through Canadian, midget bowling just because it's on ESPN (unless I want to....I do sort of have a thing for midgets....ummm.....little people....they really do some mean bowling).
10. I have total, unadulterated control of the remote. No if's, no and's, no but's. This means a lot of Gilmore Girls, Grey's Anatomy and Oprah watching (though she bugs the ever-living crap out of me).

So today I will not be receiving any flowers, no cheap-ass teddy bears holding hearts, none of those awful candy hearts with happy little sayings on them. I will receive no sappy cards (one from Captain Nutty doesn't count) and I won't have to dress up to go out to dinner with a 2 hour wait. I will not have to eat all the bad pieces of candy to find the one decent one with toffee in the center from a heart shaped box.

Instead, I will be wearing candy cane pajamas, eating pizza, watching the Gilmore Girls and probably passing more wind than a hurricane. Envy me, people....envy me.

Look At Me! Look At Me!

2006-02-07T10:37:00.000-05:00

Well smack my ass and call me Sally....February 1 was my anniversary! As very appropriate for my life, I seemed to have celebrated by putting my dog down. Do I know how to party or what?

On a much better note, I also celebrated with a new look! I mean HOLY CRAP! Do I look fan-freaking-tastic or what? My old pal Zoot designed a whole new look for me and let's be clear - she totally rocks. I love her with a love that is slightly embarassing and most assuredly wrong by baptist standards.

I feel like I should have some wise words of wisdom or at least something witty to say on this auspicious occassion but as usual, when I need the words, they simply won't come (Kinda like my sex life! HA! Get it? Won't come? Sex life? Thank you, folks, I'll be here all week!)

Anywhoooo, so I went back and looked at my very first few posts....and wow, the fact that you people are still here amazes the ever-living pee out of me.

Perhaps some reflection on how life has changed in the last year would be appropriate at this venture. I do sense a bit of a pattern - which might be new for y'all but really doesn't surprise me at all. When I make some changes, I make some big ass changes. Nothing small for this kid...including the size of my ass but that's another post entirely.

Okay, sooooooo in the last year.....

1. I quit my job. There's a biggie for you! Quit job and started own law firm. Yep, also related - applied for that frontal lobotomy.
2. I became abundantly poor. See number 1 above.
3. My ass has gone from the size of a small third world country to the size of unified Europe. And I'm not even going to mention what the France part looks like.
4. I'm trying to sell my house to enmesh myself further into surburbia. See number 2 above.
5. I've had to substantially cut down on my racing time as my duties with POD have intervened. POD has met my "I will not change my social life to care for this child" mentality with her "I will do everything in my power to make you crazy and fear for my life" actions. Parenthood...it's a bitch and despite never having conceived, I have the stretch marks to prove it. See number 3 above.
6. Working from home means no more concern about surfing porn during work hours. (not that I do that because that would be WRONG and would basically make me a guy but it's nice to know I have the option).
7. Regular blogging becomes more difficult when you're not doing it behind a boss' back on the sly. I mean who am I screwing here? Where's the fun in that?
8. I've learned that the mortgage company will wait three months before foreclosure and a car company will wait three months before repossession. I won't say how I know this....let's just assume it's for a client, shall we?
9. I've learned that I'm a blogger stereotype in that I think I can write a book. And really who are we kidding there? Have we seen my spelling and grammar skills? Have we seen my inability to pull together a cohesive topic? Have we seen how much I like to use profanity?
10. I've learned it's possible to have blogging friends....and that you just might like some of them a little better than in person friends. (No offense intended toward Kitty, Cowboy Dan, Fat Baby's Mamma and the like).

However, most importantly, I've learned that it is possible for me to piss away and entire year's worth of time without ever really saying anything meaningful! Woooooohoooooo!!!!

Here's to you, gentle reader! I thank you for being here. I thank you for commenting. I thank you for not running from your computer screen screaming "MY EYES!! MY EYES!!!".

With much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot

Farewell, Old Buddy

2006-02-01T15:42:00.000-05:00

My dog Ben had to be put to sleep yesterday so I thought it about time I broke the “stop talking about your pets” rule and let you know a little about him.

Ben was my law school graduation present (notwithstanding the green marble bookends with my initials on them – egad!). I found a breeder in north Illinois that had a big old litter (and for those of you who feel like giving me shit for going to a breeder, you can kiss my ass – I’ve also been a foster mom for more rescued labs then I can count so bite me).

I sat down on the floor and all these puppies came flying out at me – crawling everywhere like someone had jacked up their mom’s milk with a crack cocktail. All except for one. This big fat one (twice the size of the others) comes moseying on out and yawning. He walks over to me – curls up next to my leg and falls asleep. He had an underbite. This dog was soooooo for me. He slept the whole car ride home while I had heavenly visions of our future times together. You know those times - the ones where I would be reading a book and he would quietly lie at my feet chewing a bone. The ones where I could walk with him through neighborhood and he would calmly greet all passers-by and they would comment about “what a good dog!” he was.

And then we got home. That car ride was the last time Ben was calm for about the next 5 years.

I had purchasd the holy terror of doggiedom. The Canine Anti-christ. The reason people will tell you that they're a "cat person". And I have the scars to prove it….and I mean that literally. In his first year of life alone, he plowed into me leaving a scar on my inner thigh (I tell the boys it was from rough sex but truly it was from the dog….but not rough sex with the dog, you sick bastards!) .

He also managed to pull my dad down a flight of stairs (Daddy still blames Ben but I blame the 30 year old flip flops my father was wearing combined with his good friend, Mr. Smirnoff).

I am the only dog owner I know that has the number to animal poison control memorized. I’ve had to call three times – and they charge you $30 a pop. Ben ate a canister of air gun oil, the packet of chemicals that come with fresh cut flowers and the little packet of silica gel that come with your new shoes and reads “DO NOT EAT”…..Ben didn’t read so well.

And that was just the poisonous stuff. He also ate 3 remote controls, 1 cordless phone, 1 daybed mattress, 1 couch, 2 windowsills and 4 bars of soap. Needless to say, he blossomed out to a good 107 pounds of dog. He was a BIG boy and I loved that about him.

Of course, he was a 107 pound dog that was afraid of all toys that had eyes but nevertheless, he was a tough looking guy at times. A stuffed monkey that I brought home scared the bejeezbus out of him.

Once I came out of the shower to discover that he had managed to open a new box of 1000 q-tips. He artfully scattered them throughout the entire apartment and still had about 50 of them sticking out from his gums when I caught him. He looked like he had eaten a colony of little tiny q-tip people.

If you didn’t continuously throw his tennis ball, he barked at you. If you were on the phone, he barked at you. If he saw a fly, he barked at you. If he felt your mind was on anything but entertaining him, he barked at you. And then sometimes, he just stood in the middle of the room barking at you.

One night he farted so loudly that he woke himself up. He spun around and started barking at whatever had snuck up behind him. I could never get him to understand that he had been startled by his own bodily emissions…Ben didn’t understand Biology too well.

No one even really liked my dog for the first 4 years of his life, except for me….and hell, for me at times, “liking him” was pushing it. But he did get older and did somewhat mellow.

He still had his moments though. He was at least 7 years old when in the middle of the night, I heard him downstairs drinking an entire bowl of water. I soon discovered that he had gotten an unopened jar of peanut bar off the kitchen counter…..a jar from Sam’s Club…..a jar of about 5 pounds of peanut butter. He had managed to open it and eat all that he could reach before his snout got caught on the rim…..and then he licked the sides clean.

Needless to say by the time I discovered him, he wasn’t feeling so well. Of course, about 15 minutes later, he threw up every bit of peanut butter along with that entire bowl full of water all over my bed…….and you might think you have an idea of how bad that smells but you would be wrong. The human mind can barely comprehend that smell. However, sitting here, I can still smell it.

He developed diabetes in his old age and became almost totally blind. When he started having seizures, I knew it was time and I don’t regret letting him go.

But he was my best friend. He was the first thing that was ever simply ALL mine. He loved me a lot. Which is only a portion of how much I loved him.

I Got Nothing

2006-01-24T15:32:00.000-05:00

I'm not trying to be so quiet, I just got nothing. Nothing to say about nothing.

To prove this, I tender the following thoughts that have gone through my pea brain this day:

"I haven't worn clean socks in over a month."

"Good god, what does that mean for the status of my underwear?"

"Hmmm...if the feds are so all-fired-up on this wire tapping thing, does this mean their recording my internet porn usage too?"

"I think my head is going to explode."

"What is the probability of my ovaries staging a mutiny and leaving my body the hard way?"

"What in all holy hells is that smell? ....Oh, right, the socks."

"How many phone calls can a lawyer refuse to return before it officially becomes malpractice?"

"Wonder if people on the internet can tell when I'm picking my nose."

"Is pot roast fattening?"

"Shit on a cracker, internet porn isn't illegal, is it? Seriuosly, for $100,000 they should have taught us that in law school."

"If my law school reunion is in April, that give me 4 months to loose 100 pounds.....no problem....I can start tomorrow."

"Wonder if POD knows that I simply picked up her uniform from yesterday off the floor and gave it to her today to rewear."

"Wonder if any doctors will voluntarily wire your jaw shut even though you're not injured."

"Dude, I could still totally drink beer with my jaw wired."

"God, I've got to come up with a bloggable topic."

See? I told you....lights are on, no one home.

The Price Is Right

2006-01-12T10:38:00.000-05:00

I'm sure it comes as no surprise to my faithful and woefully patient readers to know that I can be bought. Yep, I will represent you if the price is right.

You may recall previously that I helped take a baby away from a crack whore...which is my ghetto way of saying I represented the father in a custody battle where the mother had a bit of a crack issue. I won. I was morally right.

Well, yesterday, I represented a cocaine addict trying to keep custody of her kids away from her equally sniffing husband. Moral boundaries? Not so much.

I swim in the moral ambiguity pool. Hell, who are we kidding? I ain't just swimming, I'm a sharking. And really I have no problem with that.

People like to hate lawyers...and I really don't care if you hate me or not...just pay me. Everybody hates lawyers until your ass is sitting in jail with some 7 foot, 400 pound Bubba looking at you like you're tonight's main course. Then see how much you hate me (however, please note - do not call me from jail, I ain't your mama or your bailsman).

We all go into law school with wide-eyed ideals of keeping the evil criminal off the streets. But then we rack up $100,000 in law school debt and you're looking at Jeffrey Daumer's lawyer going "you lucky son of a bitch!" cause you can't by that type of advertising!

I was talking to my old law buddy Rob last night and he told me that we practice "Come On Law". Example, "Sure you have tape of my client on 12 hour cocaine bender, but COOOOOMMMEEEE OOOOONNNNN! She's wearing a nice turtleneck!". Example, "Sure, my client knocked up a 15 year old girl, but COOOOOMMMMEEEE OONNNNNN! She's smokin hot!".

I'm thinking this approach would work well for me if I was in the current Supreme Court confirmation hearings.

Example, "Yes, Senator Kennedy, I did miss every single Friday class of Constitutional Law because I was hungover but COOOOMMMMMEEEE OOOOONNNN! Surely you can appreciate a gal needing a good drink!"

Example, "Yes, Senator Dumbass, I did belong to a conservative group at law school that hated minorities but COOOOMMMMMEEEEE OONNNNNNN! They provided free lunches and I can only at Taco Bell so many times!"

Example, "No, Senator Stickupabut, I do not recall that videotape being made but COOOOOOMMMMMEEEE OOOOONNNNN I'm sure it's an accurate protrayal of my day at the Delta Blues Festival".

Example, "No, Senator Talkstomuch, I do not know how I got all those beads at Mardi Gras but COOOOOMMMMMEEEE OOOONNNNN! Have you seen my rack? It's a crime to keep these beauties covered up!"

I would expect a lightening fast admittance to the Supreme Court where I would hire all the eggheads interns I could find and not write a single personal opinion.

Well, I take that back. I may write a few opinions like:

"Defendant is clearly a self-wetting moron and should not only lose on this appeal but should be shot to prevent others from following in his footsteps. And while we're at it, do the gene pool a favor and snuff out his kids."

or

"So the Plaintiff was sexually harassed? Have you seen her ugly mugg? She should be thanking the company for providing her some sexual interaction outside of her computer dating and t.v. nights with Battlestar Gallactica."

or

"Roe v. Wade? Never heard of it."

I think I can expect a call from the President at any minute.

POD's Big Adventure*

2006-01-05T16:32:00.000-05:00

*Alternative titles - Why POD Lives With Me Instead Of Our Parents...or... For The Love Of All That's Holy, Keep An Eye On Your Kid

POD returned from her journey to the great white north of Chicago and she had herself a swell time. I mean a "smack my ass and call my Sally" kinda good time.

Let's go over some of POD's activities, shall we?

1. She managed to spend $150 between Hot Topic and Spencers...one wonders exactly how much cheap, gothic crap one can buy. Of course, she needs new shoes (and please, for the sake of her mammary glands, a new bra) but I suppose those are hard to come by in those stores.

2. She made out with some random girl in the elevator at Borders bookstore. Yep. Random girl...Borders...3 times...3 trips in the elevator. Yep. So very, very proud.

3. She managed to break a wooden chunk out of parents' bedroom door. Now, here's the thing, we know teenagers are destructive by nature, but how the hell do you break solid wood? And MORE importantly, what the fuck do you want in there so badly for? Good god, someone could be naked! Some parental type person! MY EYES! MY EYES!

4. She lost the following items: the charger for MY cellphone, my mother's razor cellphone, her school shoes, every pair of underwear she owns (I don't even want to know where these might be), the charger for her dvd player, her playstation, and finally my mother's sanity (though we can't really claim that was the POD's to lose). Notice what is not on the list? POD's virginity (hey, this is my fantasy land and if I want to believe it, I damn well can - get on board my delusion train or go the hell away)

5. She made out on the sidewalk in front of our upper-middle-class-so-like-the-Cleavers house at 7 in the morning with a psycho 17 year old kid who got kicked out of school and somehow has just beaten a rap for having sex with a 14 year old and having naked pictures of her on his computer. Captain Nutty was aware that they were "saying goodbye"....for 2 hours. 2 fucking hours. Seriously. Can't make this shit up.

6. POD had some Chicago friends over to meet her Atlanta friend that had joined her on her trip home. Chicago friends ended up duct taping up Atlanta friend. Again, really, really wished I didn't know this. Perhaps it was some new hair removal technique for her little gay friend? I sooooo feel a lawsuit coming on this one.

7. She found what she calls a mini condom. It's a condom that basically goes over your finger. I have no idea what the hell it is or where the hell she got it or what the hell you do with it...but, EEEEWWWWWWWW!

8. While in Chicago, she called her school down here and decided to drop pretty much every substantive class she could and picked up such solid academic choices as Drama 2 and Music. Harvard, here we come!

9. She decided her eyebrows which are making a valiant effort of trying to overgrow here eyeballs didn't need plucking. Ladies and gentlemen, my sister...the missing link!

10. She decided she wanted to move back to Chicago (not an option) since "Mom and Dad trust me so much more than you do!". Yeah...trust....hmmmm....or perhaps "obliviousness"? You make the call.

Still On Holiday Mode

2005-12-29T10:29:00.000-05:00

I survived Christmas and hope the rest of you did as well. I will of course recap the gory details later but no time right now.

I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of Kitty from her south Flordia abode. We will be joining Cowboy Dan and Fat Baby's Mamma to ring in the new year right - and by "right", I mean by getting drunk in the woods of north Georgia.

I'll be back soon and might even feel amusing by that time.

Till then - rock out with your cock out!

Just a Drive-By Cranky

2005-12-16T16:56:00.000-05:00

Some quick crankiness...

- Hey, dumbass client! Leaving me the same message 4 times a day wil not, I repeat NOT, make me respond to you any fucking faster. Matter of fact, it just teases the tiger within and I start to see how long I can actually go without contacting you until you ultimately fire me. I already have your money so at this point I really don't give a crap.

- Here's a thought....when I agree that your kid can come over and play with POD, that means for a short stint. It means I expect her not leave popcorn kernels all over my "on the market" house and not to talk at eardrum shattering decibels. It also means to pick her up at 4 so I can get my happy ass to the bar. It's fucking Friday - come get your kid or I'll let POD turn her bisexual so fast it'll make your rainbow flag spin!

- Hey, dumbass client #2! I can't serve papers on a woman for whom you have no damn address! Simply putting her name on a court complaint and sending it to the state of Mississippi does not work. So the next time she calls to harass you, please ask her what fucking county she lives in cause your ass ain't paying me enough for any private detective services!

- Hey, prospective dumbass client! Don't leave me messages saying your statute of limitations is about to run and you need me to take your case then when I actually returne your call you inform me that your "good for nothing ass of attorney" took two years to file your case. Hey, guess what, you moronic twit! He FILED! That means no statute of limitation issues. Why don't you leave the high level thinking to those of us with opposable thumbs?

- DID I MENTION THAT IT IS COCKTAIL HOUR AND I'M STUCK IN THE HOUSE WITH TWO DAMN TEENAGERS????

- POD got a C- in Art this semester. How exactly does one grade art? What is the difference in a 15 year old's artwork that makes a teacher go "hmmmmm.....certainly no Picasso but a C- seems adequate"? POD's explanation? "I don't draw good".....yeeeaaahhh, you no talk so good either, what was your fucking English grade?

Screw it....time to start drinking at home.

Happy fucking holidays.

Concerns of the Season

2005-12-15T13:33:00.000-05:00

So I've been obsessively pondering so very "earth shattering life altering" things....well, not really, but the mind does drift to the below items:

1. Captain Nutty is currently coming off the goofballs. Withdrawal sucks and we all know that but....what effect does this have on my Christmas intake?

2. Captain Nutty is currentloy coming off the goofballs.....and she comes to visit in 4 days. Me thinks it's time for Floyd to up her intake of her own goofballs.

3. So I told the Consort (Captain Nutty's husband) to "don't buy me any presents, just pay my car payment this month".....surely he wouldn't take me seriously?

4. My cat has started to masturbate. Truly. The cat has consistently woken me up every night this week humping my leg. Yep. The CAT. Seriously concerned....and perhaps just a tad aroused.

5. Do creditors rue the day caller ID was invented? Is Chase named "chase" because they chase your ass down for their money? How many times do they have to call before they figure out that you ain't answering the damn phone?

6. I owe the POD $60 in back allowance. Surely, she doesn't know how to report to credit bureaus? Right?

7. I read a note that a friend of POD's gave her (don't judge me! it was sitting on the counter - fair game!). It speaks of the POD picturing her boyfriend "giving it to her beautifully". I'm sure he's speaking of a nicely wrapped and age appropriate Christmas gift. Right? RIGHT?

8. This country still supports forced sterilization. Right? RIGHT?

9. Since it's the holiday season, I think I can consistently begin drinking at 10 am without much fear of reprisal or forced institutionalization. Who are we kidding? Some time in rehab might be a lovely vacation.....of course, unless they sent Captain Nutty with me.

10. Okay, riddle me this - I drink, I get drunk and my nose turns bright red. Rudolph? Reddest damn nose known to man. But not only does no one call him an alcoholic, they even let the little fucker drive! Fair? I think not.

I've Got Your Roasting Chestnuts Right Here*

2005-12-08T10:14:00.000-05:00

*Alternative titles: "I'm Going To Shove That Mistletoe Up
Your Ass" or "Nobody Puts Out A Little Kettle And Rings A Bell For Me"

Yes, I'm here and No, I don't want to talk about it. I will ignore my abscence and present what I hope to become an annual tradition....

Things Floyd Really Hates About Christmas

1. Family coming to visit

2. Family coming to visit and having to talk to them

3. Family coming to visit while you have no money and are trying to sell your house and have to talk to them about having no money and trying to sell your house

4. Leaving with said visiting family to go visit more fucking family

5. Visiting said more fucking family and having to sleep on fold-out cot at foot of parents' bed

6. Being 35 years old, rather wide in stature and having to sleep on said fold-out cot

7. Knowing in advance that Captain Nutty will completely disregard ALL of the things mentioned that I want for Christmas and will buy whatever suits her whimsy (here's a hint - Captain Nutty asked "Have you been by Lane Bryant lately?" - and for the record, nothing against Laney but I have not yet reached that proportion yet)

8. Preparing for the POD to be all wonky during said visit with said fucking family and then having to constantly discuss the status of POD's mental health (but who can really blame her - Floyd wishes she could act up as well)

9. Trying to figure out the proper ratio of how many drinks I can have to make Christmas Eve tolerable in proportion to how many drinks I can have to not throw up on Christman morning

10. Having to fake smile my way through this whole crap-a-rama....bah humbug.

Next post: What Floyd Loves About Christmas (might be a short one)

Sausage In Your Stuffing? Just Say No

2005-11-26T13:41:00.000-05:00

*Am I the only who giggles upon reading "sausage in your stuffing? I hear Beavis laughing every time.

So it's the Saturday after Thanksgiving and I'm working due to my "absolutely will not work on Friday after Thanksgiving"....that'll learn 'em.

I have visited the office bathroom a grand total of 4 times due to some mild intestinal distress. FOUR TIMES! IN TWO HOURS! I'm rather proud. Since I cooked Thanksgiving dinner, I hope I haven't killed anyone.

Turkeys are supposed to bleed a little bit when you cut into them, right? Right?

Soooooo....yeah....no more sausage in my stuffing (Beavis: "huh...huh....she said "sausage").

More than you wanted to know? Perhaps. More than I felt like sharing? Not so much.

Happy Trichonosis to all!

Stuff THAT In Your Turkey

2005-11-22T15:45:00.000-05:00

So maybe I'm a little thankful but perhaps I'm not really thankful for anything and those who think I should be can kiss my cranberry-hating ass.

I'm thankful that I have clients BUT...

I'm not thankful that my last client wanted to know if she could put off her appointment because she had a mystery shopping gig at Hooter's....I kid you not, people. I was beat out by a pair of oversized mammary glands and a chick in panty hose and shorts.

I'm not thankful for the client who just called and asked my legal assistant if I was expecting her to bring in any money for her appointment. Of course not! How silly! I work for free! Keep your money! My mortgage company HATES getting paid on time!

I'm not thankful for the client's psycho wife who called me five times last night on my cell phone. Hey, bitch, I DON'T REPRESENT YOU! And here's a suggestion....when you fax me, you can fax me the whole document, you DO NOT have to fax it one page at at time, you flaming moron!

I am thankful for the POD...BUT.....

I'm not thankful for her little friends who show up in the driveway at 1 am to drop off a porn movie for POD. And yes, it was a "chick flick".

I'm not thankful for her inviting some little friends into the house while I'm not home to do god knows what. I'm fitting her with a chastity belt as we speak.

I am thankful for family....BUT....

Okay, I simply take that one back - not thankful at all. I would like to move to an isolated cabin in Idaho and do my best Unabomber impression.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Have You Ever?

2005-11-08T08:33:00.000-05:00

As usual, my lame ass writing technique comes to the rescue of yet another lame ass post. But I suppose lame ass is better than no ass post...

Soooooo....HAVE YOU EVER...

- scratched your ass crack a tad too aggressively and caused some sort of skin separating injury in your cavern?

- decided that if your own personal Captain Nutty NEVER EVER came to see you again, that it still wouldn't be enough to make up for the times she DID visit?

- thought that if you moved out to the boondocks, you would be attacked by lumberjack, flannel loving rednecks with dubious tooth counts and wouldn't be able to find a bar that didn't play country music?

- felt like telling POD's teachers to kiss your dimpled ass and that the daily phone calls reporting her "lack of particpation" are getting to be a bit much? (Here's a hint - YOU'RE THE FUCKING TEACHERS! I CAN'T FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO! YOU'VE GOT A FUCKING DEGREE - USE IT!)

- been on your way to court to represent a drunken stripper for her d.u.i. and had to stop at the local Hardee's for an intestinal emergency?

- after visiting said Hardee's felt really bad cause you knew that what you did to that bathroom was going to cause some minimum wage Hardee's employee to have a really, really bad day?

- wanted to tell the POD that "sure, your guy friends can spend the night" cause they're ALL gay?

- thought that if you were in court nearly as much as you lead your clients to believe, that you might actually be half the attorney they seem to think you are?

- wondered if they could actually arrest you for malpractice? (Now for all my clients who are reading this - don't panic - I'm not committing malpractice - I just tend to freak over some things BUT NOT YOUR CASE - YOUR CASE IS FINE!!!)

- missed Macek really, really bad and worry that the last thing you told him was that you pissed in Lake Lanier?

- wondered if the stretch marks on your ass would eventually join together to make some sort of pattern that you could pass off as an art deco tattoo?

- thought that beer can make everything alright but if it doesn't, you'll be too drunk to give a shit?

- thought "gee, I have nothing cohesive to blog about" but then patted yourself on the back for using the word "cohesive" in your own head?

- wondered if Captain Nutty found your vibrator while snooping through your dresser?

- hoped Captain Nutty found your vibrator while snooping through your dresser? Such a find will send her to church at least 4 days a week to pray for my depraved soul.

- thought that stringing together a bunch of paranoid ramblings might spark the old creative juices?

- chuckled upon hearing "creative juices" and said in your best Beavis and Butthead voice "huh...huh...she said JUICES"?

Ummmm.....yeah....me neither.

Permanent Damage?

2005-11-02T10:32:00.000-05:00

So I survived CAPTAIN NUTTY '05 but just barely. Thought I had made it through relatively unscathed until last night.

I'm sound asleep. As far as I can tell, not really dreaming. Suddenly, I'm wide awake and one word comes into my head.

Let me clarify - no images, no sounds, just one word. One word that now has me questioning my sanity because no one really just out of the blue thinks of this word without any type of context. And as far as I can remember, there was NO context.

What word you may ask?

LABIA.

That's right LABIA. I wake up in the middle of the night with a part of the female genitalia on my mind. (And no, NONE of you should google "labia" right now - trust me).

So what the hell does this mean? Who does this? What sort of damage has been done that makes me think of that word in the middle of the night? Couldn't it at least have been "van defrens" or something masculine? Like gonad? Or taint? Or nutsack? Or ballcheese?

NOOOOOOO - IT HAD TO LABIA!

Will now be upping the nightly Tylenol PM intake to 2 tablets every night.

Help Me, Pfizer! I Need You!*

2005-10-26T12:45:00.000-04:00

*Alternative titles: Pharmaceuticals, Your Friends - Phone Call for Eli-Lilly! Eli-Lilly? - Blowjobs for Xanex! Blowjobs for Xanex! - Crazy..It's Just Not For Breakfast Anymore

Questions fielded in the past 24 hours?

Do you love me?

Do you think the POD loves me?

How do you turn on the t.v.?

Is the POD studying?

Do you think the POD is studying?

Where are you going racing again? (The answer is....ATLANTA, MORON! 45 MINUTES AWAY!)

Do you think the POD is going to be okay?

What are you going to do if I die?

Do you have enough money to make it next month?

How are you going to get money?

Shouldn't be working?

Why are you watching this t.v. show?

Does the POD have clean clothes?

Do you love me?

Do you think the POD hates me?

Rinse and repeat.....

For the record, none of the above questions were answered without severe eye rolling and heavy sighing so that Captain Nutty could flashback to my teenage years when I thought she was a moron. Oh my, how times have changed...

Sybil's Got Nothing On Me

2005-10-24T16:47:00.000-04:00

So I'm not really ignoring you....I can explain. Captain Nutty is visiting. She swooped into town with the Consort and here she sits (the Consort's visit was just a drive-by - he's already back in Chicago).

I would like to be able to explain a little more clearly what this really means but in true Floyd fashion, I feel compelled to make a numbered list to give you a "feel" (or reach-around as the case may be):

1. I have yet to have a conversation with her that didn't end with her crying.

2. Trying to check my messages while I was out of my home office, I called the "don't ever touch this phone because it is my business phone". Captain Nutty answered with a "Hi baby!". Uber-professional.

3. At the all important parent/teacher conference today with ALL of the POD's teachers, Captain Nutty asked the VERY relevant question...."you do like her, don't you? you think she's okay?". Yep...cause these folks really, really want in on our family dynamic and the fact that the POD seems incapable of doing her homework is somehow tied into whether they like her or not.

4. After asking the above question of these teaching professionals, Captain Nutty promptly burst into tears.

5. After eating half a bowl of soup, Captain Nutty started in on the whole "i'm sooooo full, just stuffed! couldn't eat another bite" while I'm sitting across from her inhaling every last drop as if it's the last supper. Next time, I'm going to ask her to just call me fat and get it over with.

6. As of 5:09 p.m. today, Captain Nutty has asked me exactly 84 times if I think the POD is okay. (Apparently the teachers' opinions weren't enough).

7. When she's not asking about the POD's sanity, she's asking about my budget and "exactly how much money do I need" (let's be clear - she doesn't have the money to help but somehow just NEEDS to know). Not a bad question but considering it's been asked and answered about 9 times, it's starting to wear thin.

8. When not worried about the POD, we must worry about her upcoming knee replacement surgery and what I will do if "she doesn't make it". And then she cries again. And no, I haven't REALLY answered that question....it's a no winner.

9. I have been asked 13 times if I am on some type of medication and when I answer "no", I get "well, shouldn't you be?"

10. Her nerves had her so rattled that she threw up in the Super Target bathroom. SUPER TARGET! MY ALL TIME FAVORITE PLACE! WHO THROWS UP IF YOU'RE NOT EVEN DRINKING? WHAT MUST THE SUPER TARGET ASSOCIATES THINK?

I'm going to the Atlanta race this weekend and my mother will wrap up the 10th day of her soul-destroying visit at that time. I hope to be able to recover enough to be funny again one day but who's to say.....who's to say, my friends.

Cultural Sensitivity Starts At Home

2005-10-14T10:28:00.000-04:00

So the POD and I are watching Gilmore Girls when there is a scene involving the slightly prissy conceirge. Thus the following exchange:

POD: "Soooo, he's gay, right?"

Floyd: "No, he's French."

POD: "Oh....I see."

That's me....Floyd....doing just a little something to ease world tension. Vive Le France!

Oh, My Aching Balls

2005-10-08T13:47:00.000-04:00

Okay, so maybe my balls aren't aching since I don't have any but my head is aching big time. I just may have overindulged a weeee bit last night.

Here's what I remember:

1. I was wearing some damn bow-flower-wrapping thingie in my hair. Cause nothing says party like wearing the ribbon off a birthday present - so witty! so fun! so damn dorky!.

2. I felt compelled to take my own picture with said festive ribbon in my hair and text message to friends who were not present at drunken fiasco. Humiliation is nothing if not shared.

3. I saw an old drinking pal from way, way back walk into bar and immediately called the POD to tell her to get her own damn dinner.

4. I asked someone to cut my hair and almost let them do it right then and there with a pair of rusty shears from the bar kitchen.

5. I related the whole "swallow not spit" story to a bar full of strangers. And yes, it's exactly what it sounds like.

6. I agreed to assume custody of a chihuahua named Stewie for an indeterminate amount of time.

7. I began to salivate at the sound of a cocktail shaker making up the world famous Diva shots.

8. I told a cop that I took a baby away from a crack whore. I'm seriously thinking of having that put on my tombstone - "Here lies Floyd, She didn't do shit with her life but once she did take a baby away from a crack whore."

9. I began to wonder exactly how long my dogs could go without food.

And finally, what I'm most proud of ....

10. I had a contest with a guy at the bar to see who could go down the furthest in deep throating a beer bottle...I won.

My parents would be so proud.

A Tuesday Manifesto

2005-09-27T18:40:00.000-04:00

I do hereby proclaim the following to be the tenets upon which I base my moral certainty:

I believe that whoever decided all fat people were tall and therefore made all fat jeans an entire 12 inches too long for the vertically challenged but horizontally endowed should be hung up by his pubic hairs and the object of much ridicule for his fat but woefully short penis. How's them apples, asswipe.

I believe that the Governor of Georgia should be horsewhipped for declaring two days off of school for an anticipated but not occuring gas shortage.

I believe the POD's school should be reduced to rubble for not following such boneheaded edict and forcing me to rise at 6 am in order to cart the POD to the only school open in this damn state.

I belive that if you are stupid, I should be able to charge you double for all legal work and still be able to call you names behind your back. If you let me call you names to your face, I will charge three times as much cause you're probably too stupid to know that three is more than two.

I believe that if a woman is to be President of these here United States, she should not have horse teeth and she most certainly should not be 7 feet tall and look like Geena Davis (who if you notice, doesn't even know how to spell the name Gina correctly).

I believe that if you are my client and you call me on my cell phone more than once a month, I have the right to intentionally throw your case and send your statutory rapist kid to jail. (And guess what, moron? By saying you had sex with 12 year old, you're already guilty - the fact that she recanted don't mean diddly, dumbass)

I believe that even though the world at large believes Captain Nutty's nuttiness will be cured through via a knee replacement, I know better. I know the nuttiness shall continue to bloom and blossom until eventually she puts either POD or me up in a bell tower with an automatic rifle.

I believe that if the POD doesn't learn her basic Biology facts that I will staple her damn flashcards to the back of her hands.

I believe that if the POD utters the word "whatever" one more time, I will staple things to her regardless of her knowledge of Biology.

I believe it should NOT be 85 freaking degrees in the last week of September.

I believe I will wear my boots even though my ankles are sweating cause I can make fall come if I try hard enough.

I believe in slapping other people's children - especially in grocery stores.

I beleive I should stop writing this before I burst a blood vessel in my head.

Okay, I feel better now.

Tap, Tap....Is This Thing On?

2005-09-26T16:38:00.000-04:00

Okay, I'm here. Still kicking. Didn't mean to ignore you my precious, precious gentle readers but life has been moving.

Probably shouldn't bore you with all the gory details but here are the highlights -

1. Floyd 1, Crack Whores 0
Dear Crack Whore,

I'm your Baby's Daddy's Attorney or as you like to call me "that white bitch trying to take your baby". Well, guess what? This white bitch won and despite your efforts to drag this all the way to the Supreme Court, you got the smack down. Despite your attempts to portray my client the MINISTER as a convicted murderer, the judge STILL thought your kid was better off with him then with your skanked out ass. So wail and moan all you want but if this white bitch had her way, I would be taking your other kids from you as well.

Sincerely,
Superlitigator Floyd

2. POD Patrol
The POD has decided that Biology is not necessary information for her in this world (and no, don't ask me what this means in regards to the reproduction section - I'm lobbying congress for forced contraception any day now). POD has failed to fully conceptualize that the failure of Biology means NO LEAD IN SCHOOL PLAY which makes Floyd fairly spastic with worry. So many, many tv hours have been devoted to harassing the POD about her study habits. And for those of you aware of the fact that I failed Biology in my day, you are correct in assuming that this is a case of the blind leading the blind - or the cranky leading the chronically pessimistic.

3. Speaking of Blind
My dog, Ben, is now fully blind. This really has nothing to do with anything but thought you should know. And despite the sadness, it's kinda funny. He hears himself break wind and assumes we are under attack - therefore, the fury of the blind hellhound is unleashed until some savory snack is waived beneath his snout to draw his attention back to the important things like his stomach.

4. How do you say "drunk" in Spanish?
I have found a way to solicit all the folks charged with dui over the weekend in a particular county. Well, this particular county happens to have a large spanish community and boy, according to the records, they must enjoy their tequilla (and really, who can blame them for that?). So far, my dui representation consists of illegal immigrants and drunken strippers. Not a bad start...not a bad start at all.

5. My lover, the television
Did anyone see the season premier of Two and Half Men? The relationship between Charlie and his nephew is like me and the POD .... except with much less screaming and worshipping of the devil.

Did anyone see the season ender of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia? Laughed so hard I scared the blind dog (see above).

Did anyone see Invasion? So freaking stupid I kicked the blind dog.

Did anyone see My Name is Earl? Loved it - even Daddy loved it and he don't do sitcoms - he's much more of a History Channel kinda guy.

Did anyone see J.D win on Rockstar: INXS? Morons. Like Marty better but assuming he will be rocking it single style better anyway.

6. Family Reunion

Went to Captain Nutty's family reunion over the weekend - without Captain Nutty of course who by the way just got off the phone with me crying because she can't remember what drug it is that she is allergic to (Morphine, you twit). Anyhoooo, let me summarize the reunion for you - I have aunts and uncles by the name of Seymour, Geraldine, Herman and Mannetta. I have a great aunt who's ass is so wide that she has to go through a door sideways - not even kidding. Haven't seen these people in about 14 years and frankly, I expected a big, big reaction. What did I get? "Oh hey". Yeah, apparently I'm not the glue that holds that family together even though I thought I was fucking crazy glue. Apparently, only the crazy part applies.

Anyway, you can see gentle readers why I've been so absent. I once again beg your forgiveness and promise to be better.

As Al Capone Laughs

2005-09-08T13:40:00.000-04:00

In the comments to my last post, Cowboy Dan brought up an excelent point...what about Geraldo? Thanks for the reminder, Cowboy old buddy! So in continuation of my media theme this week, I would like to discuss my fascination and befuddlement of the one they call Geraldo (please note: every time you read his name, please hear some sort of theatrical "dum dum" music like they have at the beginning of Law & Order )

I would like to nominate Geraldo (dum dum!) as the celebrity whose countenance most lends itself to muppet mimicry. I can so see Ernie and Bert having a chat with a muppet Geraldo(dum dum!) - what with the bulbous nose and the rich, flowing mane of hair.

I've heard Geraldo (dum dum!) has his own personal moto - where there is misery and drama, I will be there! I caught Geraldo's riveting coverage last friday night outside of the convention center where he was in such a frenzy I believe I saw a little spittle fly out of from underneath his mucho macho mustachio. What a man.

He was just a railing away at Bill O'Reilly and saying "I don't know what's going to happen when it gets dark, Bill!" Hey, Geraldo, I'll tell you what will happen - it will get dark, you jackass.

Bill asked if he was safe and in answer the camera panned out and showed that Geraldo(dum dum!) had made himself a nice safe little spot with which to film from. He was surrounded by no less than 6 policemen/national guardsmen.....cause those folks weren't needed anywhere else at the time. Geraldo was numero uno priority. Where the muppet goes, trouble will follow so you must ensure his safety at all costs.

Geraldo(dum dum!) then grabbed himself some little black babies and cuddled them up to his mucho macho mustachio and which point one of the babies reared back in fear of the giant tarantula-like thing threatening it. I would have given a cool million for that baby to have grabbed a few nostril hairs and give a firm yank at that moment but alas, said baby was also in shock and awe at his blatant grandstanding to act appropriately.

And through this whole thing, Geraldo (dum dum!) managed to keep his lion's mane of hair just perfect. He looked better than Diane Sawyer or even Oprah who had to satisfy herself with a ponytail to look tv presentable. But not Geraldo! He clearly had brought Jose Eber (hairstylist to the stars) with him cause he knows the secret to good journalism - look good and people will believe your bullshit.

And fashion wise? Why he looked down right saucy! He had his dark tshirt tucked tightly in to his high-waisted jeans for a look that says "I'm in mourning but I still love my Calvins".

If there is any justice in the world (and I think we all know there is not), one of those random Gators that I just know are roaming freely throughout the flood waters will bite Geraldo right in his chimmichanga and he'll suddenly have a little "growing" room in his groin area.

One can dream, one can dream.

Katrina, You Bitch

2005-09-07T11:19:00.000-04:00

So nearly everyone in blogworld has posted about Hurricane Katrina. And let me start by saying that my little pea brain can't wrap itself around the devastation, the loss of life and the poor rescue response. There are one million places you can go to donate on the interent and another cool million where people much more eloquent than myself can wax poetic about the tragedy.

That being said...I have a few points that I would like to make but please don't take me that seriously. These certainly aren't the big issues but just some minor annoyances to me who has no room to complain. I deal with bad shit with low class humor - trust me, I'm a real ball at a funeral.

1. So I'm watching local news last week right after the hurrincane and the weather guy comes on and goes, "Will the Atlanta area feel the effects of Hurrican Katrina? Stay tuned to find out!".

In what world is it appropriate that the weather forecast has become a cliffhanger? Is this really an area of the news that you should tease people with? Especially considering the weather just did huge old bitch slap on the south? Am I supposed to wait through maxipad commercials to find out if I am in any kind of danger? There are people in Louisiana floating on roofs and somehow the news guy thinks a little teaser is just what I need to make me not switch over to the King of the Hill. He was wrong.

2. Oprah went down to New Orleans and then to Houston to meet with survivors. I was all behind it - all about Oprah going down and helping out the folks cause I mean, hell, she's OPRAH! Should could probably raise that city from the ruins by her own self! All was well and good until the end when Oprah's chatting with a survivor and asks her about her family.

Survivor woman says "I don't know where they are, they were sent to different cities. And if someone could just tell them I'm okay or if I could finde them...".

Oprah says, "well, where are they?"

Woman names some other cities and then Oprah goes, "Well, I have a surprise for you - THEY'RE RIGHT HERE!" Enter lost family stage left and a lovely, screaming reunion takes place.

Now, let me be clear, I have no problem with Oprah doing a reunion but is now the proper time for a little theatrical setup? Do we not think it was dramatic enough without having Oprah to build it up for us? Hasn't this woman had enough surprises for the week? Just tell the woman you found her lost family and let it alone. As far as I'm concerned, Oprah put that woman through about 4 more minutes of agony and franky, I think she had been through enough.

Oprah done lost her some props from me for that one.

I Fell In Love This Weekend

2005-09-06T12:14:00.000-04:00

That's right, gentle readers, IN LOVE.....with the television show 24. And for those who clicked on this thinking to find some sappy "fatgal meets emotionally available, six pack ab guy who swoons at her humor and wit to such extent he overlooks her back boobies and surface of the moon thighs and swears his total devotion" story, you are at the wrong damn blog and frankly, you should have known better.

After recovering from a near life ending hangover of vast proportions on Friday, I rebounded over the weekend to discover that A&E was playing the last season of 24 in an awe-inspiring marathon. Now, I'd heard the hub-bub over this little tv gem but frankly during the season, I could never follow it due to other "outside the house and off my couch" obligations - miss one episode and you were shit out of luck. But apparently, since I'm dirt poor now, I can devote 24 hours of my labor day weekend to intrigue and Jack Bauer. Loved it. Loved it to the negligence of POD duties. Loved it to the negligence of racing duties and Kitty hand-holding.

This of course reignited my eternal passion for my favorite thing in the world - television. Alas, I had forgotten my true love what with drinking and the raising of the POD and such. But it has been rediscovered. I have gone over and over my recent Entertainment Weekly which has an in-depth study of the upcoming fall season. Currently, I'm contemplating putting some premiere dates into my calendar...the only thing holding me back is how incredibly dorky this might be but slap my ass and call me Sally, I just devoted 24 hours to a tv show, I think my reputation can handle the blow.

So, as if you give a crap, I will rundown my television interests - past, present and future - in full disclosure of my dorkiness. If you choose to no longer visit this site in fear my geekdom may rub off on you, I completely understand.

Childhood loves? Electric Company and Captain Kangaroo far surpassed Seasame Street and that crack addict, Mr. Rogers.

Teen loves? Anything they put on MTV - when they used to play videos. Now every time I swing by MTV, it's always spring break which just leaves me with pictures of POD in some bar in Tijuana letting some jackass guy/gal take a shot out of her ass crack or something. I already have those fears - no need for MTV to stoke that fire.

College tv affairs? Knot's Landing and you can thank my roommate Whitney for this one. I would still ball Gary Ewing.

Law school diversions? The usual suspects - 90210, Melrose Place and Party of Five. We had whole dinner parties around Melrose Place viewings but that certainly doesn't make us unique.....of course, the level of drunkeness while simultaneously viewing Melrose and doing case briefs might make us a tad special.

Near past loves? Well, here's a hint - I hereby by pledge allegiance to Joss Whedon and all that he has done or may do in the future. My buddy Rob and I (shout out to Rob!) watched these shows over the phone together - he being in Florida and me being in Chicago.....ummmmm....neither of us got out much at the time (but you should know we both have risen over our loser status and rock out with our cocks out now!)

Present madness? Putting my new lover of 24 aside, I tivo Alias and Lost - but big whoop - most kids do.

Currently enjoying Rockstar INXS and well, that is all the summer had to offer me.

Let's see.... what else.....oh, I love The Office but mostly love the british version which cracks my ass up.

I recently viewed Always Sunny in Philadelphia which made me snort.

On the pay cable side, give me some Deadwood, you cocksuckers. (Wow, that sounded nasty)

On my expanded cable side, if left to my own devices, I would watch every single episode of the Wedding Story and Adoption Stories. Also, if you have a show with sextuplets or something conjoined, count me in.

What shows am I looking forward to this fall? Hard to say, hard to say.

The return of favorites - Without a Trace, Cold Case, Grey's Anatomy,Arrested Development, House, Gilmore Girls, Amazing Race, and Veronica Mars.

New shows I'll be checking on - Prison Break (already like it), Kitchen Confidential (with Xander in it!), My Name is Earl, Bones (starring Angel!). I'm sure I'll be checking out the whole alien genre that seems to bepopping up this fall as well.

I will NOT be watching Martha Stewart, Donald Trump or Geena Davis (the size of her teeth scare me).

Well, that's it - I'm out of the closet. I am a tv addict. Don't even get me started on my obsession with all awards shows or the Simpsons or King of the Hill.

We've merely tapped the surface, my friends. There's alot of bullshit beneath this.

I hereby open myself up to all of your tv related queries - I am in the loop, in the "know", I know my tv. Bring it on.

Oh Bristol, How I Love Thee!

2005-08-31T15:08:00.000-04:00

Bristol - we came, we saw, we got knee-walking piss drunk. Someone should throw that on a bumper sticker.

So,fun was had by all. I would like to tell many soul tickling tales of fun from Bristol....but one doesn't know where to start...

Perhaps one should start with passing the "I'm A Lady Discount Lingerie Store"? (As opposed to passing the "I'm A Man Discount Lingerie Store")

Perhaps one should start with all the race fans who acted like this was the first time they've seen a little red wagon? We pulled up with wagon in tow and you would have thought we were hauling a modern scientific miracle. Those Bristol fans just love them some new-fangled technology! Like wheels! And a wagon! With a beer cooler! My god, IT'S GENIUS!

Perhaps I should begin with one young suiter who tried to woo me in his pop-up camper? Sort of a pop-up in a pop-up? Get it? Hahahahahaha

Perhaps I should begin with the frantic search for a little rubber raincoat for one member of our little gang? Sadly, search unsuccessful and therefore subsequent romance unsuccessful. Pity. (And no, Daddy, I'm NOT talking about me)

Perhaps I should begin with the phone call received from the one "most likely to be shot" client who has my cell phone number and called me in mid-drunk? I believe I gave some relevant advice like "Fuck them, those fuckers! They can't fucking do that! They don't know who they're fucking dealing with, Sista!" (Please note: said comment was made to 62 year old, african american special ed lady teacher who I happen to be representing - expecting call from state bar any minute now)

Perhaps I should begin with the fact that one of use ran out of clean underwear so in a show of solidarity we all ditched our drawers? (By the way, the chafing creme works)

Perhaps I should begin with our attempts to find a "shortcut" out of the track where we decided to scurry under a fence and make like mountain goats down the side of a hill so steep that all other race fans stopped to call and heckle our descent?

Perhaps I should begin with my fall on said hill and how I managed to find some thorns on said hill with my said underwearless ass?

Perhaps I should simply not relay ANY of these stories....me thinks me already shared too much.

Like I said, fun was had by all.

Life and Times of a Gothic Princess

2005-08-24T09:11:00.000-04:00

Okay, I'm here. Stop your bellyaching. Before we discuss the POD, a few housekeeping issues. I have been discovered and invaded by the spammers. Apparently, my interest in a lifetime supply of Viagra and lengthening my penis has caused said spammers to find me easy prey. So now there is a little word verification thingy for when you comment. Please don't let this disuade you from commenting - it's really not hard. And we all know I'm slut for comments. Well, I'm also just a slut but that's neither here nor there.

I have slowly but surely recovered from the Captain Nutty visit. And for those inquiring minds, I do not know how the chaffing creme works as I DO NOT HAVE A PROBLEM WITH CHAFFING..... sweating is another issue. Speaking of sweating, I had to sew the emblem on the POD's new school blazer (does this just scream stuck-up private school or what?) And let me be perfectly clear, I do not know how to sew. I "hemmed" her pants with hemming tape - no sewing involved. But alas, one emblem must be sewn on or else we're looking at a uniform detention. So, I sewed. And? It made me break out in a sweat! Do you hear what I am saying? I am so out of shape that SEWING caused me to break out in a sweat. Good god. Who knew sewing was an aerobic sport?

Anyway,as I said previously, the Princess of Darkness (POD) has returned from her royal visit to the great white north this summer and has resumed her duties here. The summer matured her royal highness a wee bit. She seems to have moved away from the Insane Clown Posse worship into a stomach-turning fascination with Marilyn Manson. Hard to say how to take that one. Of course, Captain Nutty takes this as a further sign that good old Belzebub has his little foothold into our family.

On the good news front, apparently, gal pal, Krystal with a "K" who was the POD's gang-banging, orthodontically challenged girlfriend,kicked the POD to the curb a few weeks ago. I won't even go into how this bucktoothed delinquent hurt my precious little POD and how I would like to kick her ass but I fear retaliation from the Latino gang community of the white bread suburbs in which they reside - they might run me over with their mom's subaru or something.

On the bad news front, they are "still friends" and POD of course won't listen to my stories of why it is so bad to be "friends" with your ex's. I try to explain but I get the "what do you know?" I'm just a stupid older sister who's never been dumped! I objected and said "of course I' ve been dumped!". To which the POD looked surprised and said, "you've dated???". Yep. Point made.

POD is currently dating a boy. That's right - A BOY. A boy who goes to her school and has manners (also a crazy ass mother but who am I to hold that against someone)! I'm sure any day now I'll hear how he's like the school's "most likely to be someone's bitch in maximum security" or the "dropped the soap on purpose guy" but for now I'll take it. I expect any day to get some phone call from the school about blow jobs in the locker rooms or something but for now we're flying good.

POD also managed to snag the lead in the school play. That's my baby - drama queen! One day she'll be famous and then I'll be rich when I publish the tales of her misspent youth. Oh, the glory that day. She will sooooo be the next Courtney Love.

I will be leaving tomorrow to join my pals Cowboy Dan, Kitty and the Dutch Porn Star in Bristol for a little NASCAR fun. Make sure you look for me on t.v. I'll be the redneck one on top of the r.v. screaming obscenities at Jeff Gordon. Kitty has purchased a laptop so I just MAY be able to live post from racing ruckus. Wish me luck!

Functioning

2005-08-23T08:36:00.000-04:00

Fear not, gentle readers, I am still here. I am simply busy and in a slow spiral of death I was trapped in during Captain Nutty's visit.

I don't have much time to write right now but wanted to pop in and let those "anonymous" readers and commentors know that I will be back and your concern is touching (please read with sarcasm). I have been busy getting the Princess of Darkness back into her school groove (no easy task) and there is that little thing of running my own firm, i.e. my attempts to make money.

Unfortunately, not all of us can run off to the Michigan racelike some idiots I know. "Anonymous", my ass.

More Therapy In My Future

2005-08-15T11:23:00.000-04:00

So when your mother comes to visit you, does she bring you a gift? A little knick-knack perhaps? Some new fashion for the impending fall season?

My mother brought me a little gift.

She brought me anti-chubb rub creme or as the label calls it "new chafing relief powder-gel for my inner thigh and bikini area".

Top that...I dare you.

Passive Aggressive? Me?

2005-08-11T10:27:00.000-04:00

So Captain Nutty has arrived with the Princess of Darkness (POD) in tow (for those newcomers, this means my mother is visiting with my little sister). Captain Nutty has been her usual nutty self and the POD has displayed her usual surliness and general disdain for all things cheerful and nice (it's going to be a great school year for me and POD!)

This all leads me to this little scenario.

The night before a big hearing I come down with a raging case of the old backdoor trots. This of course follows me into the morning and all the way to court where I sit on the bench with butt cheecks firmly clenched praying that I don't have to make a run for it in the middle of my client's testimony. Well, I make it through and chalk all the intestinal discomfort up to stress....until I get home. I arrive home and Captain Nutty laughingly informs me that last night whilst preparing some pasta (okay, it was macaroni and cheese), she added some oil to the noodles to keep them from sticking (like this must be a HUGE problem for Kraft Mac N'Cheese. Who the fuck adds olive oil to pasta from a box with day-glo, powdered cheese?). However, by accident she added the dish washing soap that is in a decorative bottle by the sink THINKING it was olive oil. What fun! What stomach cramping shennanigans!

Now, one could maybe forgive her for such oversight considering the soap WAS in a decorative, unlabeled bottle. BUT it was her idea in the first place that I put such dishwashing soap in a decorative bottle, she even BOUGHT me the bottle and IT WAS NEXT TO THE DAMN SINK, FOR CRYING OUTLOUD!

Well, I managed to not throttle her because any criticism of Captain Nutty merely prefaces a good hour's worth of tears and general dismay on how she has failed me and "why I am so mean to her".

But later I notice as she is sitting out on my back porch that she is sitting on the towel I used to wipe up the dog's pee the night before. And.....I say nothing. Nothing at all.

Does this make me a bad person?

Don't bother answering, I know I'm going to hell.

Have You Ever....*

2005-08-05T10:16:00.000-04:00

*You may have noticed a recurring theme here...on Fridays, I find it difficult to form any cohesive topic so I'm thinking about making this a regular Friday thingy. Just a little spot where I can put down my random thoughts that intrigued me during the week but weren't enough for me to spin a whole post out of. So just bear with me on Fridays.

Have you ever...

...had a sex dream about Chandler from Friends and when he gets to the naked part he has a mangina? How 'bout a mangina with teeth?

...watched Extreme Makeover and thought "wow, I'm tons uglier than her....this can't be good"?

...wondered if your current drinking habits scare other people? if they scare college kids, does this mean your death is imminent?

...convinced a client that the "court" is requiring a document late in the game as opposed to the truth being you forgot to give it to them in the first place?

...found yourself really, really captivated by Kelly Rippa?

...thought to yourself "man, I could totally do Dr. Phil's job"?

...considered ordering a cookie cake all for yourself? one that you can just bring home and eat all the icing off of without anyone else knowing?

...looked a person doing a really, really menial job and thought "sheesh, that guy looks way happier than me" and then forgot about such thought as soon as you sped off in your Lexus?

...wanted to get into a car accident for just...you know...a little time off?

...just enjoyed saying the words "ben-wa balls"? (please note - not USING ben-wa balls just saying the words...keep it clean, people, keep it clean)

Ummm....yeah....me neither.

If You Believe, We Put a Man on the Moon

2005-08-03T16:15:00.000-04:00

Explain this to me, gentle readers. We can develop heat resistant tiles to protect the underbelly of the space shuttle during re-entry into our atmosphere. We can devise a protective suit for an astronaut to take a meandering stroll through space and repair said tiles when they run amuck. Hell, we can even figure out how to crap in zero gravitiy without getting yourself all mussy. So we can conquer outer space but are you trying to tell me we can't conquer butt sweat?

We have anti-perspirants and we have deodorants for the old pits. But what does the butt crack have? What does the shelf beneath the boobies have? What does the cleavage running down your spine have? (And don't even getting me started on the general groin area)

Some brainiac invented protection for the old armpits but then apparently decided - "Hey, good enough. I've done my part for humanity." He surely expected some olfactory genius to continue his good work and invent some miraculous products to leave us all high and dry. Well, his grand social experiment failed. Failed miserably.

And don't you dare write to me expounding on the virutes of baby powder. Been there, done that. I've gone out of this house looking like I just had a cocaine bender with Tony Montana but it has done nothing to staunch the flow of sweat down my back boobies.

In fear of dire repercussions, I won't discuss my theories regarding the giant Johnson&Johnson/Proctor&Gamble conspiracy - you know the one where they all get together the most effective ways to increase global warming so that we sweat more and then buy more of their ineffective products. Somewhere in Battle Creek, Michigan, there is gleeful laughter in the boardrooms. (and yes, I know Battle Creek is the home of cereal and not sweat products but trust me, Snap, Crackle & Pop are probably in on this too - never trust three midgets in weird little hats)

I call on modern science to get their collective heads out of their collective ass cracks (sweaty ones, I'm sure) and develop some all-over body non-sweatner. Cancer will cure itself but sweat is never-ending.

Have You Ever...Part Two

2005-07-29T15:57:00.000-04:00

Have you ever...

...seriously, seriously considered eating at the "Happy Happy China 100 Super Super Buffet" restaurant?

....wondered if your ovaries were fed up with the lack of activity and were currently hatching a plan in which they tunnel their way out through your belly button?

...really, really regretted buying the cheap toilet paper at a really, really bad moment?

...enjoyed cleaning out your dog's infected ear with q-tips?

...had to call your best friend in another state with a really, really moronic filing question cause you never do any real litigation work even though you tell your clients that you're "in court" ALL the time?

...been looking a client right in the eyes and spewing forth all kinds of sympathy while in your head, the little voices are saying, "man, this guy is sooooo screwed"?

...recommend a client seek professional help and then realize while the words are coming out of your mouth, "oh yeah, I AM the professional help"?

...wondered exactly how fat you have to be before you become unable to wipe your own ass?

...wondered how close you were to having to recruit some ass-wiping help?

...felt like you needed a beer even though it was only 9 am?

Ummmm...yeah....me neither.

Sign of the Apocalypse, Part Deux

2005-07-28T11:09:00.000-04:00

Well, gentle readers, it's happened. As all things in the blogworld turn, my idiot friends have collectively decided, "Fuck Floyd! We're worlds funnier than her and why should she be the only one seeking internet fame and fortune!". And frankly, we all know they're right.

That's right, gentle reader. My pals and chums have decided to join us here in blogland. So without further ado, I introduce you to the following:

Me Wonders - the ramblings and musings of our very own Cowboy Dan

Team Endura - and of course, Kitty is not to outdone

Mandals - my good pal, the Dutch Porn Star has also taking his turn as a wordsmith.

Enjoy. And be kind - I don't want to be the evil bitch that sent the forces of darkness upon them....or maybe I do...hmmmmm.

Penis Times Two*

2005-07-28T10:07:00.000-04:00

*Who are we kidding - I just love any excuse to work the word "penis" into a title

Word through the grapevine is that Big Fat Twin Mamma (hereinafter Mamma) gave birth to happy, healthy baby boys last night. The new boys came in at a whopping 4 lbs., 12 oz. and 4 lbs., 9 oz. - I say whopping cause poor old Mamma has been on bed rest trying to keep those rambunctious rascals in utero until such time as they were big enough to whoop some ass upon arrival.

I also have it on good authority that said babies are being named Floyd, Jr. and Floyd, II - of course to be called "Junior" and "Deuce". I'm greatly looking forward to the days when the boys are older and start sporting their matching mullets which if they inherit their mother's beautiful curly hair might seem a little "Welcom Back, Kotter" but the twins will be style setters - I have no doubt about that. I'm sure they'll spend their teenage years driving around town in their tricked out truck mooning the local girls. Mamma will certainly have her hands full but they will know early on not to cross Mamma - Mamma is NOT to be trifled with - especially not after she's had a couple of martinis and with twin boys, me thinks Mamma's drinking is about to increase dramatically.

And they will of course be spending quality time with their Auntie Kitty who really has a magical way with children. Per the course for Kitty, she will wait until after their first tee-ball practice and say, "Hey Junior! Hey, Deuce! Mamma said you're playing tee-ball. Do you swing the bat like a girl?" At which point Mamma will have to remove the twins from Auntie Kitty's presence and immediately enroll them in gender identification therapy.

Of course, Auntie Floyd will only be allowed limited access considering her propensity to randomly use the word "penis" at highly inopportune moments. But Auntie Floyd understands. Just knowing her namesakes are healthy, thriving little buggers is enough for her.

Congratulations to the entire Big Fat Twin Mamma clan! And welcome to the world Junior and Deuce!

Have You Ever...

2005-07-22T11:55:00.000-04:00

So gentle readers, have you ever...

...plucked your eyebrows with the same tweezers you just used to remove a tick of your dog's ass?

...based solely on the smell of a fart, thought, "Wow...I must surely be dying?"

...told clients that you couldn't meet with them because you were caught up in court when actually you were sitting around in your pajamas watching Oprah while eating a big bowl of ice cream?

Ummmmm...yeah....me neither.

Hey Jackass...I'm Charging By the Hour

2005-07-20T14:34:00.000-04:00

Dear Asswipe Client,

I realize that you may or may not have some legal issues which you would like dealt with in a professional and successful manner. I realize that you are probably truly stressed by the rough hand some big, bad meanie out there has dealt you. I realize that under ALL that turmoil you have found it very difficult to reach out to the dreaded and evil lawyer for help. I realize that all lawyers should be in the bottom of the ocean or that according to Shakespeare, we should all be killed first.

But guees what, Jackass?

NONE OF THIS GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO SHOW UP TWO HOURS LATE.

That's right, Dick Smoke. Despite what thoughts might be floating around in the little pea brain of yours, my time is valuable. I do not sit at my desk all day merely waiting for you to appear so that I can listen to you whine and bitch about how society is either - a) racist; b) sexist; c) ageist; or d) simply cruel and out to get you. Cause really unless you show up with a certified check and hand it to me before you even open your yapper, I could really give a rat's ass.

Despite what you see on t.v., the world doesn't owe you shit - and neither do I. Matter of fact, it is YOU who owe me - that's right, you're harshing my buzz. You are sucking up my oxygen and ruining precious hours in which I could be drunk.

So the next time you think you need a little legal shoulder to cry on, call the People's Court cause I'm heading to the bar.

Sincerely,
Your Devoted Legal Counsel

And Now....A Little Something About Me

2005-07-18T09:55:00.000-04:00

Well, gentle readers, I've managed to subdue my liver after some careful bribing with a Bourbon and a Big Mac. He says he'll stick around a little longer if I promise to drink one glass of water per week. It's a hard bargain but I suppose one must do what one must do.

As I am currently wrapped up in full Harry Potter mania and therefore do not have a single original thought in my head that doesn't involve muggles or pensives, I thought it prime time to turn to you, gentle reader. That's right! It's time for Reader Email! (If you could please hear some sort of trumpet fanfare or perhaps Spanish Flea playing in the background, I would greatly appreciate it)

So, let's get right to it...

1. Exactly how many medications are you on?

Weeeelllll, hard to say, hard to say. On a daily basis? None. However, I would say that about weekly some guys in white coats hold me down and administer a few shots. I think that's just for the rabies though.

2. Is the POD (the Princess of Darkness) really all that dark?

No, she's blond. HA! But she does have a fondness for the color black and a general hatred toward all things pink. And I mean, HATRED - the color pink has been somewhat demonized by the POD. We are a pink-free zone.

3. So really, how much are you drinking and should I be concerned?

Ummmmm...I'm probably drinking a lot in YOUR book but in my book, I'm just drinking up to a "colorful" or perhaps "eccentric" level. No need for an intervention. (But if you are planning an intervention I do NOT want to be on that A&E show "Intervention" - their makeup person clearly sucks)

4. How's the new business going?

Well, I suppose okay...I'm broke...but people still call and I'm able to bullshit my way through their issues (ummmm...except for any clients that may be reading right now - your stuff I've got handled, no worries!)

5. Holy crap, does your family know you write about them this way?

Hell no! What kind of moron do you take me for? Well, actually Daddy and Skank Ass Cousin know about it but that's about it. POD would find it amusing but would probably devise new antics to be included in my commentary more often - and my heart (or heck, my liver) couldn't take that. If Captain Nutty knew, she would be forced into years more intensive therapy and I would be subjected to at least 2 more weepy phone calls per day over the 2 daily hand wringing episodes I already receive.

6. So is Captain Nutty really all that nutty?

Yes.....oh god, yes. You people have no idea. NO IDEA.

7. Are you as hot looking in person as you are in your pictures?

Yes....oh god, yes. You people have no idea. NO IDEA.

8. Aren't you concerned that with sharing all this information someone is going to steal your identity?

HAHAHAHAHAHA....GOOOD LUCK. If someone goes through all that trouble, I hope they take that $20 worth of credit and run with it. Party on me. Hell, here's my social security number - 334-58-0092 - have fun.

9. What's with all the weird names of your friends? Can a fella get a little helping hand or a decoder ring?

Okay, I realize those that newly pop in may become confused by the nicknames. However, I would like to inform all that I really call these people by these names. Per your request, decoder ring coordinates follow:

Kitty and Cowboy Dan = best pals - both chicks (and no, I don't know why I call her Cowboy Dan, I just do)
Fat Baby family = other best friend - all spoken of in relation to Fat Baby because he is the center of our universe
POD = Princess of Darkness who is 15 year old little sister who lives with me during the school year
Captain Nutty = my mother...nuf sed.
Skank Ass Cousin = rather self-explanatory, I would think. Also serves as best friend and compatriot in many adventures (read: drunkenness)

I have other pals who comment that I do know in my personal life - Paradise Lesbian, Magoozie, Big Fat Twin Mamma and many more.

10. Should I be calling for help?

Yes...yes, you should. Matter of fact, what the fuck are you still doing here? Get me some help!

11. Are you really a lawyer? Cause seriously, your spelling and grammar really kinda suck...

No, but I play one on the Internet....and in my office, but don't tell anyone. I'm actually a 12 year-old repeating the 4th grade for the third time.

12. Seriously, for the love of all that's holy, please, please tell me you make this stuff up?

No. I wish I could tell you that I'm that creative but everything here is true....well, except for a little creative license here and there. OKAY! You busted me - in the Daytona post, I mentioned that Kitty and Cowboy Dan rode around in a little red wagon....it was yellow. So sue me.

Sooooo, that ought to help you out a little bit. Feel free to keep the questions coming. I'll feel free to bullshit my way through them.

Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot

P.S. Before you ask, Vladimir Poopshoot is one my many aliases and a key proponent in the fight to make A.S.S. a national holiday.

P.S.S. No, I haven't forgotten you, Dutch Porn Star. You will have your debut very soon.

P.S.S.S. Special shout out to Big Fat Twin Mamma - you keep those kids in there, you hear me! If you let them start calling the shots now, you'll never get the upper hand again! Sure, now they just want out of the womb a little early, but the next thing you know they're stealing your car, smoking the whacky weed and blaming each other for knocking up the neighbor's daughter. Keep your legs crossed and your ass on the couch, Mamma!

P.S.S.S.S. Another shout out to Big Fat Twin Mamma - Floyd is a great name for a boy...no really...I'm just saying.

A Cry for Help

2005-07-12T23:47:00.000-04:00

Dear Internet,

Hello, gentle readers,let me introduce myself - I am Floyd's liver. Floyd would like to be able to post right now but if any of you are still out there, you are well aware that her recent proclivity to drink has really dashed all hope for amusing antecdotes in recent weeks.

However, as you once found her occassionally entertaining...or at least as engaging as watching a walrus humping a rhinoceros, I turn to you in my hour of need.

For the love of all that's holy, someone give this chick a glass of water. And when she asks you to throw a little bourbon in there to make it "worth her effort", please slap the ever-loving crap out of her.

I used to be all healthy back in the day. All filled with bile and living a good life. Suuuurrre, Floyd and I have had our issues with fatty foods and a fondness for sugar. And suuuurrreee, the college and law school years were hard on us all - I mean the girl likes her Budweiser. But now, for the love of Jesus, Mary and Joseph (being a liver, i'm of course catholic), I'm pickling, folks, FLAT OUT PICKLING! I mean if you could see me now - no healthy pink glow, no filtering function, nothing. I think a piece of beef jerky could do a better job than me at this point.

After her recent ho'down at the racetrack, I tried to escape through her anus, but that butthole wouldn't cooperate. He said he had his own problems what with being fed nothing but chips and french onion dip for four days. I thought I could sneak out with that round of McDonald's but there just wasn't room.

And this just in, her kidneys aren't that damn happy either! They're threatening to go on strike and block up the whole urinary tract system. And friends, if you know Floyd at all, you know her urinary tract don't play no games. Those are some badass fuckers down there.

So, please, if you have a heart at all and if you see Floyd on the street, roll her ass out of the gutter and slap her silly. If you happen to see her with the whore dog, Cowboy Dan, tell her to head back to the rodeo and to get her own horse drunk and leave Floyd alone!

You, gentle reader, are my only hope.

Best regards,
Floyd's Liver

In Retrospect...

2005-07-10T12:43:00.000-04:00

I should have continued on my bender and not bothered with sobering up at all.

My deepest apologies to you, gentle readers, for my absence. It's been quite the hoot-a-nanny around here. I suppose I should start at the beginning.

After we last talked, Daddy's heart tried to leave his body the hard way, i.e. right through his chest. At least, that's what we thought at the time considering Daddy has previously gone the heart attack/bypass route. After a lovely 5 hour stint in the emergency room in which I deeply regretted having ingested Taco Bell for dinner that night, we discovered Daddy's chest cavity had managed to retain said heart but that his blood pressure was running amuck. We were sent home with a ream full of prescriptions and hardy slap on the back. At this point in order to preserve Daddy's sense of decorum, I will not mention the fact that they pumped him so full of dope that he acted like a drunk on tilt-a-whirl. I also won't mention his inability to walk or talk correctly and what he may or may not have done to my bathroom floor but I will mention my contemplated lawsuit toward said emergency room for not admitting him and leaving me to deal with his hepped-up-on-goofballs ass.

Anyhooooo, Cowboy Dan arrived on Tuesday night where we saw really no reason to delay or alter our Daytona-bound plans since Daddy was right as rain and promised me limited activity whilst I was away. Soooo, on Wednesday, we set out for the Nirvana of Redneckdom, otherwise knows as the Pepsi 400.

We met up with Kitty and other track friends and just as I was getting into a cab to hit some of Daytona Beach's fine, fine drinking establishments, I got a call from Daddy who was back in the old hospital. Luckily, Daddy is a race fan and refused to let me come home. So, I did what any reasonable daughter would do in such a situation....I got drunk.

Daddy had to stay prisoner in the hospital for a few days but was released with new drugs and feeling like he was run over by a dump truck. But he is on the mend and no permanent damage done...at least until I kill his ass if he doesn't take better care of himself (You hear me, Old Man? You're toast for cutting the grass).

I, however, continued to indulge in my worship of King Budweiser for a full 4 days with side offerings to Lord Jim Beam and Lady Kettle One. Daddy would have wanted it that way, after all.

So, let's review some Daytona debauchery, shall we?

Let's compare this recent Daytona trip to racing trips of the past...

I drank moonshine...again.

3 girls managed to consume 6 cases of beer over 4 days...again.

I managed to play piss poor poker....again.

I wrestled over whom I should marry, Dale Jr. or Elliott Sadler....again.

I rode around on a golfcart like I was the grand poobah of infield relations...again.

I did shots of some bizarro purple concotion at some pseudo bar set up by guys who were living in a tent for 4 days...again.

Kitty and Cowboy Dan were pulled around on a little red wagon throughout the infield like they were on parade...again.

I drank myself some rythym and decided I was the 21st century's answer to the Solid Gold Dancers....again.

I got my ass spanked a couple of times...again.

I enjoyed said spanking...again.

Oh, and there was some racing....saw that too...again.

A lovely time was had by all...at least from what I can remember.

OOOOOOO! Wait...here's a goood one. Soooooo, Friday morning, we all head to the Fan Zone which is a little happening spot in the middle of the infield at Daytona where one can commune with fellow racing fans and also pay $8.50 from some frozen fruity drink concoction. Me and my pals are sitting around the table enjoying the first drink of the day and Kitty suddenly gets an odd look on her face. She grabs the arm of my chair with sort of a panicked expression and begins looking around frantically. She bolts out of her chair...and WAAAAIIIIIT FOR IT....pukes right back into her glass. Right at the table. Without any warning. Filled the almost empty glass right full again. You will be proud of me though - amongst the sounds of shock and disapproval from the families sitting around us (and frankly, serves them right - the infield is no place for kids), I managed to hold in my laughter for a full 2 minutes....at least until Kitty could wipe the spittle off the tip of her nose.

True friendship? You bet your sweet ass.

I'm Here, I'm Here!

2005-07-08T10:34:00.000-04:00

I have not disappeared...just sorta hiatus-ed. I promise I will post more today/this weekend. I promise I will try to say something witty (but no guarantees).

It's been a very eventful few weeks including trips to the emergency room and drinking in Daytona - do I have your curiostiy peaked? Yeah, I didn't think so but come back nonetheless.

More later...

Still Breathing...Barely But Breathing Nonetheless

2005-06-27T15:43:00.000-04:00

I'm not dead yet. Despite trying to throw my body into some sort of alcohol induced coma, the old ticker keeps ticking. I did manage to sober up for a day or two last week and I've even managed to conduct a tiny bit of business (gotta make money for booze, after all).

I am currently planning on fleeing the state in order to continue my bender. So of course I will be attending the Pepsi 400 at the lovely Daytona International Speedway. I will be taking good old Cowboy Dan with me as it seems like I'm unable to bring forth a good puke-inducing-booze-related drunken rambling without her. Plus, I usually make her drink a 12 pack on the drive down to Daytona merely for my amusement - and trust me, it's amusing.

We will be meeting Kitty at the track and she drives her 38 foot motor coach up for our recreational pleasure. Yes, the motor coach is Kitty's - I told you the only thing keeping her from being a guy is the penis.

Anyhoooooo, I'll try to fill you in a little more later but for now I'm off to meet some new client who is so foreign that I can't understand a single word he says over the phone. Hopefully, I'll develop the ability to read lips in the next 10 minutes and I'll be able to comprehend what kind of help this fella needs. But frankly, who are we kidding - between my non-existent-been-drinking-for-two-weeks voice and his innate foreigness - we're screwed.

Wanted - One New Liver

2005-06-20T14:18:00.000-04:00

I suppose I managed to stretch my birthday celebrations for as long as I possibly could. So what the fuck do we talk about now?

I've been sober now for 26.8 hours and frankly, it's making me cranky. And hell, you think I'm cranky, you oughta talk to Cowboy Dan - Ms. Cranky Pants, indeed.

Cowboy Dan paid me a return visit on Friday night where we proceeded to get highly inebriated once again. This resulted with us being on the phone with various friends until approximately 2 am (Please note: time is approximated because I have no clue what time it was and I became unable to read the clock at approximately midnight). (Also please note: do NOT put me on the phone while I'm all up in the drunk and ask for advice - I tend to inwardly fancy myself a hot-looking Dr. Joyce Brothers (hey, it's my fantasy - I can do whatever I want)- with that in mind, all apologies to those who had to sit on the phone with my drunken ass - especially you, Gas Man - I know you got way more than bargained for.)

Phone conversations were conducted in the backyard (not including a short trip to the Paradise to inhale at least 4 Diva shots) and thankfully, I have not introduced myself to my new neighbors - and me thinks me won't be doing this at all.

We were also joined for a significant part of the evening by Skank Ass Cousin. Skank Ass Cousin has been woefully neglected by this blogger and I do heretofore apologize for such oversight. Skank Ass Cousin is like her name says - my cousin, however, unlike her name says, she's really not that skanky (except when wearing purple running shorts but that perhaps is a vision for another time). Skank Ass Cousin and I were really kinda raised together so she's more than just a cousin - more like a sister (minus the gothic tendecies and general insanity currently present in the POD). Skank Ass Cousin lives around the corner from me and is generally my partner in crime, i.e. a good 80% of my drunken adventures involved Skank Ass Cousin. I really don't know why she hasn't been mentioned before but perhaps it's just that I take her presence for granted. Well, no more! Rise up, Skank Ass Cousin and take your rightful place in Floyd's hell! (Please note: Skank Ass Cousin has it way worse than the rest of you as she is real kin and has to really deal with POD and Captain Nutty - may the force be with her)

Anyhoooo, the drunken evening progressed. The POD was deeply impressed by my ability to hold my alcohol until I found her online talking about "licking pussy" at which point I began to scream like a banshee and banish her from all technology until she turns 32 or can spell "pussy" correctly, whichever comes first. I think Cowboy Dan became a little less frightened of the POD over the weekend - well, at least up until the pussy thing - now, I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Sooooo, that's about it. And frankly, unless I keep drinking, I'm probably going to need some topical assistance - and I think we all know that my liver needs a little rest. That being said - I have received some reader email with some questions which I plan on answering - some with questions that I don't plan on answering. If you have any questions, shoot 'em to me. I may or may not answer them truthfully.

P.S. Cowboy Dan - notice how I didn't mention that you threw a cell phone at me or didn't know how to cook a frozen pizza? Thought that was very kind of me.

The Stars Are Murky

2005-06-17T09:22:00.000-04:00

So I've emerged from my 4 day drunken binger for a brief respite. I pick up the paper this moring to reconnect with the "real world". I of course flip right to the comics and horroscope section.

Where I am met with the little tidbit:

Gemini: "Buy something beautiful to please your lover." Well, smack my ass and call me Sally! I'm going to have a lover!

Holy shit. What do I do now? "BUY SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL"! What the hell does that mean? I don't even know my lover yet - how do I know what they want? Shit, shit, shit. Such pressure.

Is this one of those buy your fella a big present? Or is it one of those buy yourself something sexy and THAT is the present? And if THAT is the present, how do I know if he's a silk thingy kinda guy or a leather chaps and whip sorta guy?

I mean this HAS to mean that I'm getting a LOVER right? I mean what does my vibrator need with something beautiful? Right?

And holy crap, who exactly is this lover? (Please note: all references to "lover" should be read with the sound of some slick latin dude saying looooooooover cause that's how I'm saying it)

I mean I guess I'm going to have to leave the house if I'm to get a new lover today - cause you know I really don't want the new lover to be the exterminator guy (though I did see that once in a porn and it seemed to work out pretty well).

Who could this guy possibly be? And does he know he's all set up for a beautiful present?

Could it be the movers next door? They looked pretty hot. Perhaps I should go do the kindly neighbor routine and offer them a lemonade. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink - a LEMONADE.

Could it be my doctor? I'm trying to get in to see him and see if he can rectify this hacking "cough up a lung" illness that seems to be lingering worse than a case of syphillis. There's nothing hotter than a chick with voice like sandpaper and a cough like a coal miner. I think he's gay but maybe I'm supposed to turn him. I mean if Krystal with a K can take the POD maybe I'm supposed to recruit one for my team to even out the universe.

Could it be Gas Man? I mean it's quite clear that despite his protests to the contrary - he's clearly enamored of me. It truly makes no sense to keep denying his overwhelming love for me. It's a power bigger than the both of us, Gas Man, stop trying to fight nature. The quicker you surrender to the force, the happier you'll be.

Well, I suppose it's going to be a big day for old Floyd here. Perhaps I should take a shower. And of course, a waxing is in order - oh, what the hell, a little tops and tails spit bath could be enough. I'm overdue for my morning beer.

Wish me luck.

Can't Talk...Coming Down

2005-06-16T11:25:00.000-04:00

Well, gentle readers, I would love to enthrall you with birthday debauchery tales but alcohol is a funny thing - makes you do things you wouldn't normally do but mercifully makes you forget most of them.

With that in mind, I'll try to hit the highlights of my 2 day bender.

On Tuesday, I hit my home bar of the Paradise to ingest several shots which were generously sent my direction. My pals also plied me with gifts and hors d'oeuvres (which really is the way to my heart - just in case you wanted to know - I love me some mini corndogs). As you can well imagine, Wednesday was a little difficult. It seems all the brain fluid in my cranium had clearly been replaced with alcohol and therefore me head hurt a wee bit. I want even go into the nausea.

After some greasy food, I recovered enough to welcome Cowboy Dan to my little abode where the whole vicious cycle started up all over again. We hit my other local hot spot where well-wishers plied us with chocolate martinis. Now, I think we all know that I'm pretty much a straight-forward Bud Light gal but I suppose one has to break out of one's rut occassionally. Cowboy Dan would also like me to mention that she beat out Fat Baby's Mamma and Kitty in actually delivering a birthday gift to me closest to my actual birthday. Said gift is a bottle of tequilla and some margaritta mix - does she know me or what?

So here it is at 11:33 on Thursday and I'm still in my pajamas. God, I love working for myself.

To all friends, thanks for all the good wishes and nice comments - you all my birthday simply grand.

16 Candles*

2005-06-14T09:14:00.000-04:00

*Give or take a candle or two

Soooooo, I'm 35....and I have no words of wisdom. So please click on link below to see random racing pics of my life.

Me and My Pals

www.flickr.com

More of FloydsTailgate's photos

Random for Random's Sake*

2005-06-13T09:24:00.000-04:00

*Otherwise known as "No real cohesive topic here"

Some random thoughts submitted for your consideration, gentle readers.

1. From some reader emails regarding my last post about my client meeting in my home, I have come to realize something. A lot of y'all don't know that I'm not a complete moron. Seriously, I'm not...despite all appearances to the contrary. I really have done nothing, however, to dissuade you from the impression that my posts give to you, Internet Total Strangers. My posts are a reflection of my life but also really my reflections of my internal dialogue, i.e. the constantly running commentary that the little man in my head provides me. His commentary can get distracting but often I manage to function. But I've never really told you that I'm not crazy. So really you have no way of knowing that I'm not quite as incompetent as I may lead to you believe....well, hold on...maybe I am....okay, correction...I can fake normalcy pretty well.

2. So my birthday is tomorrow. I will be 35. 35 and single. 35 and childless. 35 and overweight. 35, single, childless, overweight, raising my semi-psychotic little sister. Yep. I'm putting alllll that into a personal ad. Come and get me! (the poor need not apply)

3. Speaking of the semi-psychotic, the POD has returned. Apparently, a "D" in World History is not sufficient for the ultra-snotty private school the POD is attending, so she is back for a two week run at summer school. Yep. She's realllly happy about it. Not as happy as me, of course, who enjoyed what? A one week vacation from parental duties? Yep. NIIIIIIICCEEE. (Please note: POD will be returning to Chicago at the end of the 2 weeks to harass our parental units for the rest of the summer)

4. So the POD and I went to see the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Mindless summer entertainment that was quite enjoyable. However, it has led me to a surprising conclusion. Now, I love Brad Pitt - he is just easy on the eyes. Not so surprsing. However, I think if I was to start playing for the other team I would go for Angelina Jolie. I mean - holy crap. It's just not natural to be that good-looking AND good with weapons.

5. So tomorrow is my birthday. Cowboy Dan always gets me nice gifts. And always gifts that are totally unexpected. Therefore, around my birthday time, I usually get random conversations with Cowboy Dan. Therefore, I submit the following:

Cowboy Dan: "Where did you go to elementary school?"

Me: "Our Lady of Assumption"

Cowboy Dan: "Was that Catholic?"

Me: "Is the Pope catholic? Of course, it was Catholic. What public school would have a name like that?"

Cowboy Dan: "Who was your fifth grade teacher?"

Me: "I think Mrs. Fischer."

Cowboy Dan: "Was she a nun?"

Me: "No. Thus the 'Mrs' part."

Cowboy Dan: "Were there nuns?"

Me: "A few."

Cowboy Dan: "Okay. Bye."

Me: "Bye"

The first person to guess what relevance this conversation has to anything will win some sort of prize.

6. Please observe that in the last comments "Anonymous" submitted some commentary on the smell of my house and Bob's piss room. "Anonymous", my ass. That is Kitty. Kitty has a cat named Bob. Bob had a piss room. A piss room that she asked us to sleep in. That was not possible. I have smelled some bad things - and I mean BAD "NOT FOUND IN NATURE" things but none as bad as Bob's piss room. Kitty spent oodles of cash correcting said piss room to become a more hospitable part of her home. And so, while she makes fun of me, I have nothing, I repeat, NOTHING that could rival the smell of Bob's piss room.

7. Cowboy Dan has complained that she and Kitty are never mentioned anymore. Well, now there you go - got you both in one post. How ya' like them apples?

8. I ventured to Costco's yesterday. And you may be asking yourself what would drive a semi-sane person to venture forth into that den of suburban families all hepped up on free samples and 75 cent hot dogs on a freaking Sunday? Well, I'll tell you what - Jimmy Spencer. That thundering dunderhead that the powers-that-be feel is a quality commentator on NASCAR This Morning. I've seen people with drool running down their chins conduct more coherent conversations than this alcoholic blow-hard. Seriously, the man looks like someone pulled the gin and juice out of his hands about 20 seconds prior to air time and told him to form a sentence or two. Jimmy was more fun when he was beating the crap out of Kurt Busch. Let him return to the jungle and roam free with the other gorillas.

Well, that's all I have for today, gentle readers. Stayed tuned to see what whackiness ensues tomorrow. (I just wanted to say "whackiness ensues" - forgive me).

P.S. A small side note, our friend Macek's mom is apparently pretty ill so I know you join me in sending good thoughts, vibes and prayers their way.

Riddle Me This

2005-06-10T13:48:00.000-04:00

Gentle readers, what is the proper decorum and etiquette of the home office? I'm meeting a client in my home for the first time and this has raised some puzzling issues.

Are candles unprofessional? Even when used to cover the smell of wet dog?

How 'bout capris pants? Wrong in the home office setting? Old Nave tshirts are appropriate anywhere, right?

Surely, if not capris pants, then sandals? Toes are polished so it's okay, right?

I mean who really wants to see me sitting in my own house in heels and dress slacks? Clearly, not the dog who keeps rubbing his molting skin all over me!

And what about background noise? Is it wrong that they can hear the dog licking his empty nut sack through the bedroom door?

Is it wrong to have the Foo Fighters quitely playing in the background?

So I have injection needles laying about the kitchen, need I explain that the dog is diabetic or just let them come to their own conclusions?

If there is a bad smell, is it appropriate to mention the dog's flatulence issues?

Will they notice that the hand towels in the guest bath arenn't exactly clean?

Can I charge them for parking in the driveway?

You know - they really don't tackle these issues in law school.

Things Contemplated

2005-06-06T15:05:00.000-04:00

Well, let’s talk a little more about my trip minus the POD discussion. The full title of this post is Things Contemplated Whilst Traveling Through the Black Hole Commonly Referred to as the State of Indiana (And Other Adjoining Locales). It’s a 12 hour trip folks, and I think none of us are surprised that long solo car trips make me a little slap happy. You should also note that I read all billboards (often out loud which annoys Kitty to no end – thus why I do it of course) and I often simply scan the radio stations to get a feel for what is on without stopping on any particular one. You should also know that I’m not so much an “aggressive” driver as I am a “competitive” one – just keep that in mind.

1. Hey, asswipe on the motorcycle, you have 2 wheels… I have 4, I win, get the fuck out my way before I make you regret not wearing a helmet.
2. Dear Backstreet Boys, I know it’s an old song but let me remind you of this little lyrical poetry – “Loneliness is tragical”…..guess what, you dick licks? TRAGICAL IS NOT A WORD! I’m all for creative language but this just don’t fly. (wow…just looked it up….”tragical” is a word…I now have to face the realization that someone in the Backstreet Boys is more literary than I am….I need a drink).
3. I laugh at you, o guy that hits his brakes when I fly up behind him. Sure, I’m flicking you off at the same time but I’m laughing nonetheless.
4. God help me but I like that Kelly Clarkson….she’s got spunk.
5. Hmmmmm….sign for Spencer County, Indiana reads “Home of the Famous” and they show a picture of good old Abe Lincoln…..and Santa Claus. Do they know that Santa isn’t a real guy? And even if he was, Santa sooooo lives in the North Pole and NOT Indiana!
6. Take me down to Paradise City, Axel, you plastic-faced motherfucker! ( Please read while picturing me flashing the devil horns sign and rocking head back and forth in appropriate rocking out manner)
7. Billboard reads: “Dino World. You missed us!”….ummmm, yeah, by a couple of million years.
8. I wonder if I trademarked the phrase “Fuckity McFuck Fuck” if McDonald’s would sue me? (Please note: you cannot trademark profanity but it’s an interesting legal query anyway, don’t you think?)
9. Okay, hey, country dudes that sing that Mr. Mom song…. your lyric “sweet potatoes in my lazy chair” bugs me. It’s either a Lazy Boy or an Easy Chair, no such thing as a “lazy chair”, you backwoods jackasses.
10. There’s a rattle in my right speaker…. what are the odds I blew a speaker? What are the odds I’m the only one to bring in a Lexus into the soccer mom land dealer with a blown bass thingy?
11. Passing a truck that reads “Purnell’s Old Folks Sausage”…. so clearly their product is made from the decrepit bodies of old people. Truly recycling run amuck.
12. Excuse me, nice Mr. Black Man, I’m going 80 and you’re flying past me, which means you taking a nice clip through Kentucky and frankly that might not be a good idea. Oh! You’re from Georgia…you clearly know what you’re doing – carry on. (Please read: with smart ass girl raising her black power fist who deserves to have the white elitist sassiness smacked right out of her by said Nice Black MAn)
13. Interesting…if you drive fast enough the raindrops don’t come in through the open sunroof.
14. Hmmm….it’s 5:00 and I’m in Chattanooga…time for cocktail hour with the Fat Baby clan.

Needless to say, I didn’t make it home until Thursday.

Well, that's all for now....the good news is that POD will be back as of Thursday for a 2 week stint in summer school. God help me.

Tickle Me Sappho

2005-06-02T15:15:00.000-04:00

* Advance apologies to the following - bisexuals, lesbians, Mexicans, goats, strippers and gangbangers - I kid cause I love!

Well, gentle readers, I survived. Physically intact? Certainly. Mentally sound? Hard to say, hard to say.

In my 12-hour drive home yesterday, I pondered several topics, which I would like to discuss with you but I will first begin with a story illustrative of my week. However, this story requires a little background so please bear with me.

Not sure if I have previously mentioned it but the POD fancies herself a bisexual at this stage in her life. Now, personally, I don’t care if she fancies girl, boy or goat but I of course am concerned that POD feels the need to declare herself at the ripe old age of 15. I mean - I think it’s kinda not fair to play for both teams – I mean – pick a freaking side and stay on it – it’s only fair to all concerned. Confusion need not be added to the dating scene - thank you very much. But whatever floats her boat is fine by me.

While playing for both teams, the POD has found herself a gal pal. Her name is Krystal – with a “K” you will notice. Apparently, Krystal’s parents wanted to prepare her for a life on the pole and gave her a proper stage name right of the gate. Now, I have a few issues with Krystal – not because she is a follower of the teachings of Sappho but because she’s a gang member. Oh, yes, you read that correctly – a member of the Latin Kings (though I have been corrected to say Latin Queens since she is a chick - apparently I'm not as up on my gang lingo as I assumed). Krystal with a “K” has several tattoos at her ripe old age of 17 and is fond of telling all of the POD’s friends that “they better not touch her fucking girlfriend or I will fucking kill you” – she’s such a little love!

Anyhooooo, you can only imagine how well this is all going over with Capt Nutty and the Consort who revel in their suburban upper-middle class life (i.e. these people are so Wonderbread white they glow in the dark). Up until this point, the main fear in the Consort’s life has been that the POD will wear denim to the country club - soyou can see that a violent gal pal is really expanding his horizons - I can only imagine how he broaches this topic on the old links with his pals.

So this being said, I get to the point of my story and why my family will probably start proceedings to disown me at any minute now.

I’m sitting around with Capt Nutty and her little dog. Her little dog starts licking the carpeting on the floor. So what do I do? Waaaaaiiiiit for it… I say “Hey look, Mom! The dog’s a lesbian too!”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…..GET IT “LICKING THE CARPET”? RUG MUNCHING?……..OH SHIT…..CRACK’S ME UP – I’M STILL LAUGHING SO HARD THAT I’M CRYING!

Needless to say, Capt Nutty starting crying and didn’t talk to me for the rest of the afternoon. Of course, I was laughing so hard all day I doubt I could have heard her anyway.

Gooood times, good times.

In the Name of Ra

2005-05-25T11:35:00.000-04:00

As I have mentioned/obsessed over, I will be journeying to Chicago tomorrow to return POD to her roots (and in no coincidence, get my own roots done by the best of the best hair colorist this side of the Mississippi). This of course means a lovely (i.e. looooong) visit with my mother, Capt Nutty. This also means that I will be spending this evening with some sunless tanner products.

As I’m sure many of you southern gals understand, to Capt Nutty pale skin equals unhealthy deathlike pallor. My mother is a devotee of the sun god, Ra. Her altar is a Florida beach where she can set her carcass to baking for a minimum of 6 hours per day. However, in her simultaneous worship of Oprah, Capt Nutty has learned that turning one’s skin to the color of espresso is not good for you. It may even make you wrinkly – the horror! To equal out her worship of her two idols, she compromises and puts sunscreen on her face – to hell with the rest of her body, what has it done for her lately?

Now, since Capt Nutty has been forced into exile in Chicago some 15 years ago (straight from 8 years in Palm Beach, Florida for which she still yearns), her voyages to her beach altar have been limited. All was dark and gloomy for Capt Nutty until the skies broke wide open and her god revealed to her the glories of tanning creams, sprays, gels and other goops. You should have seen the celebration she threw when one of those spray-on tanning booths opened around the corner from her – people still talk about the debauchery and reckless drinking of that little fete.

How does this affect me one might ask? Well, when not worshipping the sun gods, Capt Nutty is holding court as the Queen of Passive Aggressiveness. So if I should offer my sunless skin to her majesty, I will be met with such comments like “oh, white is a very ‘in’ color this year” or “did you know the spray tanning booth is offering a two for one special right now? Isn’t that fun? Want to go right now? Oh, come on! Let’s go! It’ll be fun” (I hear – “please, please ghost child, let them spray your naked fatness with some chemical that will turn your nail beds orange and fill your crevices with god knows what chemical”).

Now, I can handle a couple of these comments but when she starts appearing at my bedroom door with a bottle of Neutrogena Fun in the Sun tanning goop and a pair of rubber of gloves, I draw the line. This inevitably ends up with me snapping at Capt Nutty with a “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, I DON’T WANT ANY DAMN SELF-TANNER!” This of course of makes Capt Nutty break into tears and moan about how she just doesn’t understand why I’m soooooo mean to her. Which is always but always followed by “I would NEVER have said something like that to MY mother…..but then again I loved MY mother.” I obligingly spend the next two hours exclaiming her virtues and my true love of Capt Nutty.

So you see, it’s simply good planning to go ahead and make myself look like an orange piece of beef jerky and forestall any such breakdowns – cause frankly there will be plenty of breakdowns without me having to bring the sun into it. This also explains why I will be bringing my own case of Bud Light in the car for the voyage…damn, I wish I would have gotten POD her learner’s license - what the hell, she's got a good head on her shoulders, I'm letting her drive. I advise all who value their lives to avoid I65 tomorrow.

Well, gentle readers, don’t forget me while I’m gone - I will be returning on Wednesday, if I can last that long. Try to muddle through without me and please keep me in your idol prayers to Ra.

Why You Want to Be Me, You Really, Really Do - Part 2

2005-05-24T18:14:00.000-04:00

1. What’s worse then stepping out the door on your way to an important business lunch and discovering that your “I’m a successful business attorney with lots o'money” shoes cause immense pain to your feet?

Discovering that once your feet get the teeny, tiniest bit sweaty, said same shoes make little farting noises with every step you take.

Yeeeaaahhhh, I‘m a keeper. A real gem. A prize to the legal community.

2. Get home from important business lunch and get lovely message from Capt Nutty. In preparation for the POD’s return to the great white north, Capt Nutty has scheduled a three way phone call this evening with me, Capt Nutty and the Consort and with the POD’s psychologist. Yippee. I really, really can’t think of a more fun and relaxing way to spend my Tuesday night. FOR FUCK’S SAKE, DO THESE PEOPLE NOT KNOW THAT THE FINALS OF AMERICAN IDOL ARE ON TONIGHT?

3. So last night the POD and I have a lovely little discussion – quite nice chat actually. I proceed to tell POD how I will miss her over the summer. The following is the verbatim conversation:

Me: “I’m really going to miss you over the summer. I’m going to be so lonely.”

POD: “Yeah, right.”

Me: “No, I mean it, I’ll miss you.”

POD: (in mocking tone) “Yeah, right – once I’m gone you can have all those guys over and fuck them at home.”

Me: (with properly indigant tone and facial shock) “POD! That is so not true! I have respect for my body!”

She looked at me. I looked at her........and we both knew I was lying.

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried, people. Couldn't...make...it...up.

An Ode to POD

2005-05-23T11:16:00.000-04:00

It has been brought to my attention that a portion of my reading public would like some more information on the Princess of Darkness (aka POD). A few readers have expressed an interest on knowing a tad more about the lovely POD – specifically the hows, the whats and the “for the love of all that’s holy, please tell me you’re making that up” information. I tend to forget that you are not all my family and bosom companions so you don’t get the endless amounts of spewing I put forth on the subject of POD (shoutout to Fat Baby’s Mama, Kitty and Cowboy Dan for their endless patience on this topic). That being said, a lot of this will probably be old/boring news to you so please bear with me.

POD is my 15-year-old sister. And no, we don’t have any other siblings. After many years of exciting and fruitless infertility treatments, Capt Nutty and her Consort (also known as my stepfather) decided to adopt. POD arrived when I was home during my spring break from college at the ripe old age of 20 (you read correctly – she is 20 years younger than me). I spent every college vacation from that point on heading home to spend time with POD (who happened to be the cutest baby ever born). After college and law school, I moved up to Chicago to be closer to the family and specifically POD. I have lived within a few blocks of POD since she was 5 (up until the time I uprooted and moved back to Atlanta last year). POD was always an interesting child – very stubborn and highly imaginative. She also happens to look a lot (and I mean, A LOT) like me (see above the “cutest baby ever” comment).

Anyhoooo, time went by and Capt Nutty came into the period we like to call “The Nuttiness that Shall Never End” and POD entered the “I Am a Crazy Teenager” stage. Throw in a couple of gothic tendencies and general lack of common sense and you’ve got yourself a fine mess. Well, being the only sane member of my family, it was decided that POD would do better living with me for a bit. Sooooooo, much to the POD’s dismay, she was shipped down here last December to go to school. It’s been good for POD and I like having her here (most of the time – I mean, hell, I haven’t killed her so we have to consider this a “win”).

So, I submit the following so that you, gentle reader, can get the full POD experience:

When she was about 5, Capt Nutty would drop POD off at the old country club for swim team practice. Capt Nutty shows up at the first meet and everyone is cheering on POD, yelling “Go Gadget! Go Gadget!”. Capt Nutty asks, “Excuse me, who is Gadget?”. Other parent says, “Why, your daughter of course!”. POD had told everyone her name was Gadget (named after a Rescue Ranger) and she would only answer to Gadget. (Don’t even get me started on how stupid these other parents were)
When she was 3, she insisted on wearing dresses but refused to wear underwear. It was an interesting year on the playground.
POD went through a period where she thought she was a cat. Now, I’m not saying she occasionally meowed and such, I’m saying she went through a three month period where she did nothing BUT meow and walk around on all fours.
Every card sent to me from Mandy for about 3 years was signed as “Sabrina, the teenage witch”.
After seeing the Hunchback from Notre Dame (the Disney version), she stood in the driveway offering to dance for strangers that were passing by (just like the ‘ho in the movie). But by far the best part was the fact that she had drawn a large wheelchair on the driveway with sidewalk chalk and wrote “Handicapped Welcome”. (I’m sorry but this one still cracks me up)
In second grade, she told her teacher she didn’t need to learn fractions because she wasn’t planning to come back next year. She said she knew how to read and that was all she needed from school.

As a teen:

She is completely obsessed with the Rocky Horror Picture Show and all things Lord of the Rings.
She smoked pot in the driveway of our house – never once did it occur to her that our parents might actually look out the window and catch her.
I won’t even go into her fascination with the Insane Clown Posse.
She has no idea that I read all of her instant messages - even when I flat out ask her about something I learned from sneaking behind her back.
She thinks she has been hired by an under 18 club in Chicago to work this summer. Riiiiggghhhttt….cause clubs routinely hire 15 year old girls to work security.

I will be leaving on Thursday to take POD home for the summer. I will be gone about a week and will return POD-less but probably worlds more insane for having spent a week with my mother. May God have mercy on my soul.

Sign of the Apocalypse #1

2005-05-20T10:32:00.000-04:00

I’m sitting in my office (i.e. guest bedroom) and I’m listening to the local “pop” station. Local pop station is giving away U2 tickets and I will just about do anything including whoring out my musical tastes to get me some U2 tickets.

However, I’m developing a facial tic from the “music”. If I hear one more Jessica Simpson or Ryan “Freakboy” Cabrera song, I will be forced to kill the cat. I think he’ll understand because he’s looking rather suicidal himself. His look is actually one of “Look, bitch, first you make me live with those overgrown throw rugs you call “dogs”, then you invite some kid who fancies herself to be an evil voodoo priestess to live with us and now, NOW, you invade my sanctuary to play some mind-numbing bubble gum crap songs. This irritates me so much I will now go take a crap during office hours. You can thank me later.”

While adjusting my radio dial to said pop station, I happened to swing by the easy listening station. They were playing the B-52’s. Can someone please, please explain to me how my “I loved you in college” band is now on the easy listening station? They used to be alternative! They used to be whacked out crazies with beehive hairdos! And now they’ve been commandeered by some middle-aged, “listen while in the office” bullshit station.

And notice I cannot even bear to discuss Ashlee "Trying to Revive the Fe-Mullet" Simpson cause some shit just aint' funny.

Holy crap, I’m singing along to Kelly Clarkson…I have to go now… I have an appointment to put my head in the gas oven.

P.S. I'm tired from all the air quotes I put in the post...please forgive me...I am addicted to the use of air quotes. I'm seeking therapy.

Where Were We?

2005-05-18T09:58:00.000-04:00

After checking back, I realized that we left off on number 45 of the Top 100 Things You Don't Really Care to Know About Me list. So withouth further ado...

46. You know those cans of Pillsbury crescent rolls that when you open them they decompress with some freaky new age technology and pop open? Yeah, they scare me - the popping scares me. I make POD open them.

47. While I do want a baby some day, not so sure about the husband part. (Am excepting applications for love slave, however)

48. I went to catholic school most of my life. Not only am I not catholic, my great-grandfather had a deep fear of all catholics. What can I say - he was old and baptist - not always a good combination.

49. Current pet peeve - Carnival cruise lines is using Iggy Pop's Lust for Life song in all of their television commercials. I dig that song however I don't think the folks at Carnival have really listened to the lyrics. Let's review some, shall we? "Well, he comes Johnny Yen again, with liquor and drugs, and a flesh machine, I know he's gonna do another strip tease" and of course my favorite line "that's like hypnotizing chickens". Oh yeah - Iggy Pop equals family fun time on Carnival. Someone should be fired - idiots.

50. The nickname "Vladimir Poopshoot" was born out of a New Year's Day pajama-wearing, marathon session of Trivial Pursuit. I share said nickname with Kitty, Fat Baby's Mamma and Fat Baby's Daddy. It was the attempted answer to the question "Who was the first U.S. chess champion?" and frankly, Bobby Fisher was too boring of an answer.

51. Brittney Spears annoys the ever-living crap out of me yet I find Christina Aguillera refreshingly skanky.

52. I don't eat vegetables. I find them to be God's idea of laugh - the "eat this filling farting stuff and stay away from my animals" laugh - but I'm on to Him.

53. When I was a kid, I did a wicked impression of Jimmy Carter....but it just isn't timely anymore. Sigh.

54. I find most people who think they are funny are truly NOT funny and should just sit there quitely - and try not to smell too bad - unfunny people have a certain scent about them.

55. For shits and giggles, I "googled" my name - apparently, besides being my neurotic self, I am also a black, male child molester in Conneticut....and I weigh a lot less in Conneticut.

56. I will totally judge a man by his shoes - in the unacceptable shoe columns are Capezzio jazz shoes, black tennis shoes worn with white socks and any shoe that makes me think "Ahhh! Miami Vice - now THAT was a show!".

57. If he ever decided to stay awake for more than 5 minutes, my cat could probably kick your dog's ass.

58. A large percentage of family friends and acquaintances believe the POD is actually my illegitimate child birthed when I was 20. For the record, she is not my illegitimate love child even though she has my oily hair and basic body shape (god help her)......I'm sure her living with me doesn't really help those rumors.

59. Since Buffy and Angel went off the air, I find myself watching more and more American Idol....someone please stop the madness.

60. I am vertically challenged and horizontally cursed (for the metaphorically impaired, short and wide).

Well, that's all I have for now. Been trying to post this for two days but Blogger kept telling me they "couldn't find my blog"....HEY BLOGGER! IT'S RIGHT HERE, YOU JACKASSES! Blogger sucks donkey balls.

Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot

Floyd's Tailgate

Freaking Mondays

Just When You Thought It Was Safe...

In the Church of My Captain

Lord Deliver Me

Twitter Twiddle

So....Where Was I?

Welcome to the Captain Nutty Show

Invasion

Header? Who Needs a Stinking Header?

So Where Was I?

Another Point of Order

Point of Order

Goodnight, Sweet Girl

Peace Be With You

Sunday Smells

Mistletoe, MistleHO

Conversational Worry

Fa La La La, La La La La

We Could So Hang Out

Firmly Committed to Non-committance

Help Me Out, Allanis

Talla-SUCK-dega

Any Takers?

So Where Was I?

And I Didn't Have To Go Through Labor

I Went To The Woods And Thoreau Was A Whack Job

Purging Purgatory

Like Sands Through The Hourglass

How Enlightening

Find The Crack Whore, Win A Dollar*

Work? What's That?

Randomnisity

She's Not Trashy, She's Your Baby's Mamma

Just Call Me Molly Ringwald

Song of the South

Just Call Me "Rolly Polly"

Happy Captain Nutty Day

A World of Confusion

And I'll Tell You Another Thing...

Blameless

A Marketer's Wet Dream

I'm NOT Goofing Around On A Work Day

StopYour Breathing...It's Annoying

An Open Letter To Sally

Putting the Spring in Spring Break

Put Away the Sharp Pointy Things

A Tactical Error

Oh Joyous Holiday

Look At Me! Look At Me!

Farewell, Old Buddy

I Got Nothing

The Price Is Right

POD's Big Adventure*

Still On Holiday Mode

Just a Drive-By Cranky

Concerns of the Season

I've Got Your Roasting Chestnuts Right Here*

Sausage In Your Stuffing? Just Say No

Stuff THAT In Your Turkey

Have You Ever?

Permanent Damage?

Help Me, Pfizer! I Need You!*

Sybil's Got Nothing On Me

Cultural Sensitivity Starts At Home

Oh, My Aching Balls

A Tuesday Manifesto

*Tap, Tap*....Is This Thing On?

As Al Capone Laughs

Katrina, You Bitch

I Fell In Love This Weekend

Oh Bristol, How I Love Thee!

Life and Times of a Gothic Princess

Functioning

More Therapy In My Future

Passive Aggressive? Me?

Have You Ever....*

If You Believe, We Put a Man on the Moon

Have You Ever...Part Two

Sign of the Apocalypse, Part Deux

Tap, Tap....Is This Thing On?