Oh no!

I had a rather frightening revelation of sorts recently that I didn't have time to blog about, although I meant to. I've just been so busy and all... I remembered it, even more frighteningly in the shower a little while ago. I just have to share it, terrifiying as it is.

Yes, I was in the shower, letting my mind wander as I sudsed up my hairas I often do. I get some of the best blog ideas there, where I can't do godddamn thing about it. But I digress.

So there I was...and I thought about my rather sadly comic life, and I thought that just the shit about Monster alone could give me 10 seasons of a sitcom, you know? She's a lot like that horny landlady from 3rd Rock from the Sun. Dresses like her too. Even Z says so. Anyhow, then I remembered that there revelation I had a few weeks ago.

Z and I have become Al & Peg Bundy, kinda. (Ok, I'll wait for Cat to pick herself off the floor and stop laughing) We are an upscale version of the Bundy's.

Now I don't dress like that or have that big of hair OR eat bonbons all day and I love to cook. I'm a GOOD COOK, Y'all! Z dresses better too, because, DUH, I wouldn't let him dress like that and he doesn't sell shoes. Don't I WISH? haha. (And Ari doesn't dress like a slut) Anyhoooo, there are a few similarities though. Like Al's reaction when Peg wants sex. Yeah. Painfully familliar that. And when Peg wants to go somewhere or do something. Uh-huh. Ouchy. Z sits in front of the TV zoned after work just like Al. But for the hand down the pants, it's kinda eerie.

Y'all may be wondering what triggered this relization. I mean, who would want to admit (albeit sadly) that they've become like that? Other than me, that is.

Well, we were flipping through cable tv and, for lack of anything better, came across an episode of Married With Children halfway through the episode. Right when Peg was trying to hint for a little nookie from that Al basssard. Z said to me "Hey Peg!!!" and I said "Yes AL?" which made him stop laughing at calling me Peg cause he got a good look at Al.

heh. I do what I can. It didn't make my realization that he had pretty much hit the nail on the head any easier to stomach,though. It hit me with the force of a sledgehammer and decidely startling. And all that?

The Pirate Wench

Yo ho ho and a bottle (or two) of rum!

Aye aye me hearties! ScarlettCyn the Pirate Wench at your service.

Well, I'm a pirate wench as a result of the quanity and quality of rum I consumed last night. At least I think I qualify as one. Sure feels like it, that's for sure!

I love rum. Almost as much as I love Amaretto di Sarenno. So imagine how happy I was to go to my friend Katie's BBQ last night and see the hard liquor on the table with not just Bacardi BUT Malibu... and a bartender of sorts behind it all! (What? It had been a very rough week, and I was feelin a little sinus-ey)

Yes, I was officially, completely and totally SHITFACED DRUNK OFF MY ASS for the first time in my life.. And I didn't even intend it to happen that way (or so fast). Allow me to explain.

I woke up yesterday with a mild fever and some aches and pains and a runny& congested nose. I felt like utter hell. My boss wanted to send me home, but I refused. SO he compromised by letting me leave somewhat on time.(4:45) By then I was slightly better, went home, changed, got Z and Ari and drove back into town to Katie's place. Up onto the roof we went to the pool area. (she lives in a fancy schmancy apt bldg). What was the nicest part of the evening is that when Katie saw me coming up the steps, she hopped up from where she was sitting, SQUEALED and literally RAN AT TOP SPEED to me and gave me the biggest hug I've had in AGES. About 25 people stared at our little spectacle. But Lord above, did I feel so loved by that greeting. I don't know that I've ever had such a greeting excecpt by Arianna when she was younger (or now when it's time to pay allowance).

She had caterers there and there was a BARTENDER making really simple drinks. (Screwdriver, champagne, wine, hard liquor on ice, etc..). I got happy seeing the Bacardi and also a bottle of Malibu. (because Im really fond of Rum) So, since everywhere else I've gone no one bothered to have rum, I. got. happy. I figured I would start easy and get a wussy drink like Rum and Coke.

BIIIG mistake.

See, it was pretty dark, and I couldn't see very well. So I had no idea how strong it was. But it was tasty, and I polished it off after a time. I couldn't see that said rum and coke was about the color of weak iced tea. Uh-huh. By halfway through the second one, I figured I was pretty spacy, then I rememberd I hadn't eaten ANYTHING since the night before and it was now around 7:30pm. Katie kept it coming and by the end of the 3rd one, I was honest enough to admit I was well and truly wasted. She asked me in front of the smiling bartender "another one? Let me get you another one! To which I said "I think I'd better wait for the food, then maybe later" to which the GRINNING bartender looked at me coquettishly and said "But I have another TRIPLE right here waiting for you!".

Shit. He's been feeding me TRIPLES in HIGHBALL GLASSES on an empty stomach? OH MY GOD. Lets put it this way. I had to go to the ladies room and Ari helped me navigate down two sets of stairs during which time I kept thinking "Maaan am I wasted! Wheeee!" and frankly, I have no recollection how much time I sat there with what I am quite sure was a lame expression on my face but she was hovering outside the door saying "mom?????" a few times. I finally went back. by the time I got back, it was just about time for food. I ate and began to feel a bit better... right about the time Katie, my darling Katie whipped out the bottle she had hidden for me of Amaretto.

Katie fixed me 4-5 fingers or so worth on-erm-with some ice, personally. And like I can turn down amaretto? Um, no.I didn't turn down the other 3 she gave me either come to think of it.

I discovered that I am well and truly entertaining when I am drunk and immensly funny too. I think I was doing impromtu stand up in the middle of everyone.

Halfway through the rum and coke's earlier, I found a lovely older scottish gentleman and we were chatting. Actually, I would have talked about just about anything just to keep hearing that accent. Later, his 20 something son and I were chit chatting. (when I was drunk off my ass).

I was beyond tipsy.

I vaguely can recall buts and pieces of the drive home. I do remember stripping and diving under the covers, but not much after that.

I woke up pretty clear headded today, surprisingly.

Who was the sucker that asked me a few Inquisitions ago if I'd ever been drunk? Well, now you know. I turn into a comedian and performer.

Aren't you devestated you missed seeing it?


Wish You Were Here!

I've got some really fun and cool co-workers, y'all.

There is this really pretty and very serious and straight (or so I thought) girl I work with. She is always so very reserved and professional almost to the point of being a wee bit snooty.

Well, let me tell you I soon took care of that!

Yesterday she was standing in front of my desk and I don't remember exactly what it was we were talking about, but I said something a wee bit outrageous as usual and her eyes got the size of saucers and she cracked up and ended up laughing long, loud, and hard (2 of my favorite things!*wink*) hanging over the counter in front of me eventually wiping a bit of moisture from her eyes. I felt a perverse sense of satisfaction to have made her laugh like that.

Apparently it was just the icebreaker she needed.

Case in point today. She called me about something or other and I answered her question. Then I asked if her supervisor was there with her, because I had been looking for him to give him a message. She said yes and so I asked to talk to him. This was my reply:

"Yes, he's here, but he's in the middle of showing his thing......erm..... GASP!!!!!!!!" followed by a big ole GUFFAW from her which made me completely lose the composure I was barely hanging onto by a thread from the minute she said "he's in the middle of showing his thing....". At least I was not alone doing laps in the gutter, mind to mind.

La la la la la. See? Don't y'all wish you were working with me? One schmuck heard me talking to my boss, the CEO of the bank on the phone, and, well, I talk to him the same way I would talk to you, basically because he likes me just the way I am, which is professional and blah blah in front of guests, etc.. but, well, Real with a capital R with him. So, this fella was watching me all goggle eyed talking on the phone to him and when I hung up he said " Aren't you afraid of him?" and I was immediately completely confused as to just what the fuck he was talking about, so I replied with what I am sure was one of the most truly befuddled looks you've ever seen on my face "Scared of who?" and he said "Your boss. How straighforward you speak with him" I said "Why on Earth would I be scared of him?"

My poor boss. He is SO not the kind of boss to be terrified of the whole day long. True, I wouldn't want him pissed or anything, but still!

So, every now and then I have a real good chuckle, even if it is ME cracking myself up.

Wish you were here! Truly.


Off My Chest- Finally.

It really is an apt title for this post, I promise. Because I really must get this off my chest once and for all. 'Cross Your Heart' my sweet ass.

I. Hate. Bras.

They are a necessary evil. If I could? I would go without one more often than not. But unfortunately? That is just a long denied fantasy. That and my other fantasy of wearing strapless, or spaghetti strap, or a one-shoulder top. Or even a halter top for that matter.

I think the last time I wore a halter top was in 3rd grade. Right about the time these suckers came in.

Mind you, they didn't come in THIS big right away, but big enough, dammit. (Thanks for that little bit of DNA, Nana. I look just like you did, which is fine by me, but did I HAVE to get the bosom too? *wail*)

Some of you may be wondering what brought on my rant at bras all of a sudden. Well, it isn't so all of a sudden so much as it is my voicing of my irritation.

What brought all this on is the pain. Today I'm having a bit of a hard time moving my left arm even the slightest little bit and it's grating on my last nerve. Well, that and while talking with one of my best friends about ripping around in the morning in your under things trying to get ready for work, I realize that I realize I neglected to mention that I usually wait till the last minute to put it on and really can't wait to get my gorgeous bras off.

Because they really are special, my bras. I make sure that I wear the prettiest bras I can find in a G cup, believe me! But even so, the pleasure I get from feeling the pretty things and seeing them against my skin does nothing whatsoever against the pain I incur that is really beginning to get to me. Ok. It has gotten to me. Period. For example, ever since last summer, I have been having the most mind numbing (but not numb enough, unfortunately) blinding pain that shoots from my left shoulder, up my neck and into my head with just about any movement at all and makes even ME gasp out loud with it. Me. The woman with the high pain threshold. The pain is so bad it feels like it is deep in my bone radiating through the muscle. I think I've got a pinched nerve or something.

If anyone touches my left shoulder (Which for some reason? EVERYONE seems to want to greet me with a smack to my left shoulder. WHY IN THE HELL IS THAT?) This presents another small problem. I like to sleep on my side, when I'm not sleeping semi-face down. My LEFT side in particular. That is pretty much impossible now. I just know my left boob is the cause of all the pain. Pain that feels like some damn Viking Berserker has just swung a sword into you and left the *$#^&&*% thing there. Pain killers and/or muscle relaxers don't work. I know what would help me.

A slight breast reduction and a lift.

Now before the men that read my blog start sobbing uncontrollably (and you know who you are. Don't make me name names, hmmm?) I'm not talking about drastic loss of mass here. But I would like to have something semi normal. Of course, to me, normal is a D cup. Hahaha.

I'm serious. Don't believe me?

Once upon a time when I was stuck in the exam room with a sleeping baby Arianna, I became bored out of my mind… which is when my curiosity got the better of me…. So I plopped first one, then the other on the baby weighing scale. Imagine my surprise (and the expletive muttered quietly under my breath) to discover that each one weighed around 12.5lbs. You do the math, because it frankly makes me look down at myself in wonder.

Anyway, that was then, and the suckers were slightly smaller-slightly- and that was 24lbs I was supporting on MY SHOULDERS. It's kind of like having a fat toddler sitting on your chest and hanging on by the shoulders all the time. I figure it's probably closer to 26 or so now.

So. My Good Samaritan deed for the month is this: if you have smaller breasts. If you have average sized breasts and have always wanted to have implants. I BEG you… don't do it sistah. Just say no, like the Nike commercial. I also have one itsy comment.

Are you out of your damn mind? They're more hassle than they are worth.

Cheryl b. Stop sobbing now. They aren't going anywhere for the time being.

I think I'll sign out now and go scrounge up a nice strong pain pill, pray for a little relief and go pass out in my bed.

Good night. *whimper*

PS: Get a question in y'all. I have a Inquisition/Confession post almost ready for posting. You've got 24 hours…… GO!