I'm going full-time shopper status at Cub, unless some really lame promotion drags me to Roundy-bow. The Quarry 'bow is way too frat/just-been-fucked Barbie pajama wearing kid heavy...the lines are always long, and the deciding factor was that they have a smaller selection of my favorite brand of Progresso. (Cub carries both Southwestern Style Chicken AND Manhatten Clam Chowder. Good-Times)
Be careful where you decide to...um, adjust. I just stood up for a stretch and an adjustment when one of the the ladies in Reinsurance "caught" me. Greeeeeat. Along with my penchant for "trolling" (walking around with my fly down) I'm liable to get fired. Baby P is definitely in a strangely cocktastic frame of mind. Nice...Image...
The next baby P gathering will be a Pajama Jammy Jam. We'll all wear our PJ's, throw a ton of blankets and pillows on the floor of the TV Room, eat popcorn, and watch crappy movies.
I'll be banned from the Jammy Jam due to the fly of my PJ's invariably being open. Ish to Pokey No.
I'm glad my satin PJ bottoms have no "fly hole". I'll just need to wear thick socks.
I think the type of movie that will be watched at this jam, will have to be something horrible, drecky, and 80's...like Raw Deal
I'm really jonesin' for a Spinach salad with crumbled feta and Raspberry Vinaigrette. Yes...I can get gayer.
I'm want a spa day. We're talking full body massage by a huge Norsk woman named Inga Slutsgaboda where she tosses me like a ragdoll (And giving me the occasional glancing touch to my HEY-OH!) we're talking sauna, jacuzzi...I've been sore for far too long. I need some of this bad blood to be released.
I'm finally getting my cable/internet service resumed. The only opening? Between 5-8pm this Friday. Fah-King A.
They told me I need to pay a $56 set up fee, which means the grand total to get this bitch fixed up is now at $350. Collateral.
I'd rather use that $ to fix my car. If anyone knows a mechanic that can fix a leaky head gasket for cheap, lemme know.
I'd rather use that $ to buy food or new clothes.
I'm really fascinated with the word "Bitch" right now. (No deeper meaning, folks) Especially with making inanimate objects or structures my bitches. Funnier if you say it with sort of a "Triumph the insult dog" voice. Ex: "Jyesssss, I'm going to mek ze Bad Waitress my biiiiiiiitch. Jyesssssss" or "Ahhhh, Chevy Impala??? Jou are my biiiiitch"
I want Spring to be here. Spring needs to be my biiiiiiiitch.
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'96 Saturn SL2. 106,000 miles. Maintaaaaaained, baby. Last time I brought her in, (Frassin' alternator) they said the head gasket was leaking and was repairable for a mere $400. ("But it's still drivable, yes?"/"Well...yeah, but you should get it fixed..." Wankers)
TODAY, was the early bird $16 oil change at the Slow-Ass Lube, and they managed to fucking break off my oil cap (Which they replaced free of charge) AND learn me that there was H20 in the fecking oil pan, meaning an engine flush stat (Or he said I wouldn't get more than 400 xtra miles out of it.) Bullshit, you say? Maybe, but I need my wheels.
Long story short: The early bird cheap ass oil change for $16 managed to become $76. Hooray for free enterprise.
That spa day is going to be a little further away than I thought.
GMWCKM- General Motors Wacks Off Midgets.
Mel...have I been indecently exposing myself again? I thought there was a fuzzy moment at G-Ma's where I got very cold.
I probably blocked it out of memory.
Sorry.
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