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How About Some Takeout?

Last week I had visions of a scrumptious dinner that didn’t involve street people and couples with very young neurotic daughters; however, fate would change all that.

Turkeys at Ingle’s were 58 cents a pound. We bought a nice 20-pound tom and put him in the freezer until the night before I brought him out to thaw.

The huzbund spent the entire afternoon looking for the bird, and an elusive bastard he was. It was an eventful day, as the cat had the son of a bitch cornered three times in various spots of the house.

We still haven’t caught him, but I’m betting we’ll find him wounded under the table by Wednesday.

Fried Dyed and Laid to the Side

To celebrate one of my effing  birthdays, (I won’t mention which one, but in dog years I would already have overdosed on heart worm medication) I decided I needed some help from a professional. Desperate to find a replacement for my longtime hairdresser who at the time was taking a coma herself, I was thrilled to learn that I didn’t need an appointment at a new salon in town.
I was assured it was indeed a full-service establishment, and that my needs would certainly be accommodated.

Sunitha began by informing me that time was stealing my youthful look as Penelope was finishing up my caci treatment. I think it was supposed to be some sort of mud, but I’m a country girl, and once a cow patty, always a cow patty.

My texture was all wrong. My varicose and spider veins were doing battle with each other. They gave me a foil weave, but it clashed with my portwine stain.

They even removed my tattoo of Fago. With a belt sander.

After six weeks I was still picking off pieces of the paraffin body cocoon. The “painless” hair removal resulted in an upper lip the size of a Buick and a sixty day supply of Percodan.

Even though I see a different person in the mirror every morning, that boob job I got in ’75 held up mighty fine.

Itty Bitty Titty Dried-Up Uterus Committee

The First Ladies of Perpetual Objection learned today the hysterectomies they underwent were actually a ruse to have their uteri shipped off in a box to the troops in Afghanistan. According to unnamed sources, the parcel was received by jubilant soldiers who were eager to unwrap them post haste, and employ them as piñatas for this week’s birthday celebrations.
Note to self:
I have to pull the gizzard out of tonight’s chicken.

Part Deux..Can You Just STFU?

As promised, Miss Verbal Diarrhea came back for dinner last night; but only because she and the boyfriend showed up with an eight-pound slab of beef filet which neither knows how to prepare. Now, don’t get me wrong, this gal isn’t all bad, but she can yap more than a chihuahua that’s pissed off at the mailman.
Sooooo… Bildo decides he’ll slice this beautiful piece of beefy glory into steaks, wrap ’em in bacon and put ’em on the gas grill. (It’s fuckin’ 35 degrees out there, but anything to get this over with ASAP)
I’m over here cutting tomatoes; preparing a salad; when she chimes in with, “I like my steak with sauce… you know, like dipping sauce? I eat everything with dipping sauce and lots of ketchup. I don’t like seafood because it’s pink. My Nanny always made us eat on the back porch. I might like bear meat… which kind do you like… brown or black? That’s a nice knife; all I have are the ones I took home from Shoney’s…. you know, the ones with squiggly edges? Your cat looks just like mine, except mine won’t shit in his litter box.”

Have you ever face-palmed yourself hard enough to knock yourself out?

Can You Just STFU?

I know we all have that one friend…. but this chick that just left my house talked for three and a half hours non-stop. I even made her a fuckin’ cheeseburger to try to stifle that mouth. She talked around it, over it, and through it. She’s coming back tomorrow for dinner, so it’s a very good possibility that sock I found in the back of my closet this morning ends up in her chowder.