I have issuuuuuuuues...

Scene: Dinner tonight at one of the area's nicer restaurants for the "Employee Appreciation" dinner.

Seated at the table are me, Sr., Jr., George, one of the night girls and one of the Bosses sons.

Sr., in looking around, notices that the Boss and his wife are at different tables.
He leans over to me and whispers about it...

"Hey. Didja notice that the Boss and his wife aren't sitting together?"

"................"

I'm pretty much speechless, lest I open my mouth and any one of the 4900 one-liners that have instantly entered my mind escapes.

I just nodded and let it go (by biting my tongue so hard my dead mom felt it).

Coupla minutes later, the bosses son makes the same observation to Sr.

Sr. says, "Yeah. I just mentioned that to her..."

And, I jump in and before I even know I'm gonna, I hear me say, "And when you did, it almost made my head explode because the first thing that wanted to come outta my mouth was, 'Well, maybe one of them's a little gassy tonight' and I can't say that..."

Sr chimes in with, "Well, ya just DID.", which in turn makes me start to giggle, along with everybody else at the table (thank Gawd), as Sr. turns 17 shades of red and actually begins to melt offa his chair to a possible hiding spot under the table.

Later on, as we're being served dinner, I hear a child's voice from behind me at another table say, "This smells like crab.", which it was.

At my own table, I say, outloud to myself, "Gawd, I need help." after hearing that.
That's because the first thing my brain gave me upon hearing that remark was to want to turn to said child and say, "Well, it's if it smells like fish that there may be a problem."

See?

Like I said... I have issues.

(And, for the record, I know the saying is something like "If it smells like fish, eat all you wish" BUT... if anything on me smelled like a fish, that'd be a problem, believe me.
What is with that dopey saying, anyway?)

(Oh, and before I forget... yes, three days, max. (I'm answering an earlier comment. Be right back...) One day coming in, one day here, and one day goin' away. That's the reason why I always loved that T-shirt that says "Never trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die." I'd see some guy wearing that and point out to whomever cared to listen that, yes, that is correct. Especially since mine's only three days, I keep tellin' ya's I ain't like most women and see now? There's proof. You can too trust me.

Is-sues.
I got 'em...
*giggle*)

Okay, I'm done...

So, at this dinner, I came up with a plan.
A plan that only I can fulfill.

Screw losing weight.
I'm gonna gain a bunch, tie a bandanna around my head, throw on my duster, stop censoring myself in public and become the new Sam Kinison with boobs.

It could work.
I have the bent-headed mind-set for it, I feel about the same way about women he did, screaming quite often would be no problem for me, and I love the kind of humor Sam did.
Comes naturally to me.

I'd love that.

Then, as my brain gives me these riffs, I could actually just let loose and say 'em.... God, that'd be awesome.
Such a sweet release, such a relief...

And, even moreso 'cause it's a female saying it.

Yeah, man...

*stares off, into the distance, imagining it*
(wearing the most shit-eatin' grin ever, btw...)

Anyway...

We're all home, they're all in bed, my house is clean, I'm (still) in my new sparkley sweater, sweats, and my bunny slippers and I'm about to go start simultaneously baking cookies and cleaning a carpet.

Oh, and it's sn-wording again.

Yes, AGAIN.

Did it yesterday, didn't amount to shit, is doing it again tonight and I don't care.

I don't have aaaaany place at all I need to be anytime soon, the house is clean, yadda, yadda, so sn-word, piss up a flagpole, okay?

Show up, leave, accumulate... whatever.

My and warm soft warm sweater, sweats, and slippers wave warm chocolate chip cookie smell in your general direction.

Keep it up and, I swear, I'll make hot chocolate.

The more you try to intrude on my world, the more "anti-sn-word" I'm gonna make it.

So there.

And, I still hold dear my dream of owning the world's largest, Tim-Taylor-more-power-arg-arg-arg flame thrower that I could stand outside with when you start your shit and melt your ass before you can even hit the ground.

Turn your ass right into rain.
Rain that has enough sense to drain away, unlike you, who hangs around getting dirtier and uglier as time goes by but who never seems to want to BE GONE ALREADY.

Know what I'm sayin'?

I'm saying I hate you, white shit.

Go back to wherever you were til the 21st of this month.

I didn't miss you and I won't ever.

I promise.

Now, piss off, howsabout?

(I swear by all that is Holy, I will live in Georgia, a place where snow is a novelty, a place where winter=50 freakin' degrees, before I die.)

Peace, y'all...

Posted by: Stevie at 11:40 PM

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