I will beat a bitch's ass!
Last night, I went to K-Mart (I’m not proud) and had the misfortune to stand behind a swarthy (no other word will do, plus it’s a great word that doesn’t get used enough, like “candyass” or “douchebag” or “lagniappe”) man who had a bug up his ass the size of an ant from Them!
Witness, if you will, the crapitude.
The cashier said, “Hi, how are you doing tonight?”
A noncommittal grunt from Swarthy McButthole.
“Could I get your zip code, please?”
“WHAT DO YOU NEED THAT FOR?!” he roared. The poor girl actually stepped backwards.
“Um, it’s for…”
“I don’t need to give that to you,” he barked. “That is a violation of MY PRIVACY.”
Um, how?
“Okay,” she said meekly. She finished ringing him up, and then she picked up one of the paper sneakers that K-Mart is selling to benefit the March of Dimes.
“Would you like to buy a---“
“DON’T try to sell me anything else,” he hissed. “Jesus!” Then he grabbed his plastic bag and stormed out.
I looked at the poor cashier, and she was blinking back tears. “Hi, how are you?” she mumbled, waving the price scanner over my kitty litter with a trembling hand.
“Much better than you, I’m sure,” I said, shaking my head.
My phone rang at work yesterday, and I picked it up and did my usual spiel.
Daddy-O, without preamble: “What’s crunk?”
Where does he GET this shit?
E-mail from my boy:
Holy God in a Tijuana beaver-bar downing body-shots off a syphilitic smack-whore with a suspiciously prominent Adam's apple! The insanity continues. I am sorry to report that there is apparently no career-prudent way for me to avoid staying late again tomorrow. (Kill me now.) I am, however, HAPPY to report that the CAUSE of all this lunacy will soon expire (our big goal is to get all our major mailings out the door by the end of March), meaning that even in the absence of our eventual new hire, gentler times lie ahead. (Belay that kill me now order.) In other happy news, it's M's birthday this Saturday, and by complete coincidence, she has decided upon a trip to the Huntington Gardens! We have, of course, been invited to join the fun, and as partial payment for working overtime every day this week, I have secured my freedom for the whole of the weekend. So, Saturday with C and M (and R, who managed to extend her stay!), and Sunday with just the two of us. Interested?
God yes. After last weekend, I’ve got the GTs.
In the process of uploading songs to my iPod Shuffle, I fell in love with Shudder to Think all over again.
I am wearing Comme des Garcons Spicy Cocoa perfume today, which smells like those Pacifica Mexican Chocolate candles I love, and I keep wanting to lick my arm.
I am craving salt something fierce.
I have read way too many chick lit books in the past couple of weeks.
I want to jump on my desk and shout from the joy I can’t seem to keep inside.
And I want some gum.
And if you got the origin of the title, you read way too many glossy magazines. But that's okay, because so do I, and I love you anyway.
EDIT, WITH DEFINITIONS AND CRAZYMAD GOOD NEWS
I Googled "crunk", and apparently it's a combination of the words crazy and drunk. I still don't know where Daddy-O heard it, or why he asked, because he had to get off the phone right after his query.
A lagniappe is a freebie or unexpected bonus.
GTs: short for "G tremors", this refers to the listlessness and ennui that overcomes me when I am sans boyfriend.
And last but not least, I am so happy because:
a) I have Friday off (thanks to working 10-hour days all this week);
b) I get to see G this weekend, thereby staving off another attack of the GTs.
c) Finally, I got an e-mail from one of the tour directors saying that they have an odd number of women on the tour, and as such, I get a single room to myself.
But wait! There's more!
Because I am a "special guest" (by which I took to mean that I've traveled with them before), I don't have to pay the supplement for a single room...which would be about $500 extra.
Holy fucking yay!
Oh, sure, the room will probably be the size of my closet (and I have a really, really small closet), but I don't have to worry about an Alaskan woman putting her stank feet on my pillow!
Okay, things are just too good right now. Please, please, please don't let this be fate's way of setting me up for a cosmic bitchslap that will knock my fillings loose.
ULTRA-PARANOID ADDITION THAT IS PROBABLY TOTALLY UNNECESSARY, BUT I DON'T WANT DEAR SWEET Y. GETTING IN TROUBLE, BECAUSE I WILL GO ALL KIMORA SIMMONS ON ANYONE WHO CAUSES SUCH A THING TO OCCUR AND YEA, VERILY, I WILL BEAT A BITCH'S ASS
I'm not supposed to tell anyone that I'm getting the single room without an extra charge, which I can understand because I'm sure they don't want people carping at them for not being the Chosen One, so that's a secret between you and me. I doubt anyone reading this knows anyone who's going on the exact same tour as me, but if you do, mum's the word.
posted by ~C @ 11:55 AM
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