Archive for May, 2008

Serve it with a cheese-based dipping sauce and we promise to use utensils next time!

Ahoy! There have been many words in the last few weeks which I have meant to publish here but haven’t had the chance to. Fear not! Little has been missed! For most of these words have been some variation of “God DAMN we have a lot of crap” or “Seriously, do we REALLY need to keep that crap?” or “Man, do you need to go take a crap or something?”1 Yeah, so, we’ve been packing for our move this weekend which has been a little hectic and alot more malodorous than expected. Additionally, I have a lovely cold. Not a serious stay-in-bed-and-moan-over-the-snot-infested-status-of-your-sinuses brand of cold, but a sneezing-in-clusters-of-three-at-the-most-inopportune-times-like- when-you-have-a-hand-full-of-tiny-little-beads-that-you-intended-
to- put-away-for-future-necklace-making-but-didn’t-get-a-chance-
to-because-your- sneeze-propelled-them- all-to-the-far-corners-of-
your-carpeted-bedroom brand of cold. Good times! (Ahh-CHOO!)

We did manage to take a break from all the packing and the sneezing (though, unfortunately, not from the farting) to sit down for a food tasting for our wedding reception dinner. The Brit, Dochechka2, and I went in there fully intending to place our napkins on our laps, take small, polite bites of the food selections, chew our food to completion before swallowing, and not talk with our mouths open. I swear. Every intention. But, our behavior at the dinner last night could more accurately be described as a relay race to see who could stuff the most bacon-wrapped scallops in their mouth straight from the heated chafers, pound a vodka tonic and/or glass of champagne, and then make it back to their seat to stick the landing. I don’t recall who won the race, but I’m pretty sure the catering manager caught onto what was going on and made special notes about us in her file…probably something along the lines of “Note to self: These folks are simple, just wrap everything in swine and pan-fry it.”

1. There’s no way to put this delicately…I think The Brit might have accidentally consumed a skunk or some equally odoriferous gamey animal which is now making it’s way through is GI tract and announcing it’s progress quite frequently by means of rapid-fire flatulence. Stand back!
2. She’s opinionated and she loves food, so we put our money (quite rightly) on the idea that she’d be opinionated about food. She was our tie-breaking vote. And she ate the last friggin’ bacon-wrapped scallop. Bitch!

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And because fudgesicles taste better when you’re near naked

Dude!  San Francisco’s such a tease! He plays all cool, calm, collected, and coy with his fog and his near constant 50 degree weather.  But really, underneath it all, he’s just a hot and sticky slut…just as I suspected he was all along!  97 degrees F today!  Just knowing he’s capable of weather like this makes me love him even more.  To think he ALMOST made me reconsider my No Shorts EVER1 rule!?!  But I quickly came to my senses and, instead, decided to just forego the shorts and sit out on the balcony in my underwear eating icecream. Because that’s what you do on the one day of summer in San Francisco. 

1. Seriously.  My thighs do not enjoy The Shorts.  Never wear em. 
2. Those of you who are astute may suggest that the icecream might have something to do with the thighs.  To you I say:  Blow me. 

 

Or if all the bathroom stalls had been occupied

Note to self:  You think you’re saving time by combining the trip down the hall to the water cooler to refill your green tea mug (which, incidentally, is clear glass) with a trip to the bathroom to pee, but don’t.  Skeptical and/or perverse officemates will think that you’ve just emptied the contents of your bladder into your mug.  Which, let’s face it, you’d only do if you really, really had to.   Like in the event of a natural disaster or something.

Worse than Chinese Water Torture

I’ve decided that war is an unnecessary way to deal with our enemies.  All we need to do is gather them all up, provide them with a package to mail, and then shuffle them in to stand in line at my local post office when the line is 27 deep, there’s only one clerk working the desk, and (from the sound of it) approximately 30 other USPS employees having a raging kegger in the back.  

Seriously.  Fucking.  Annoying.

Because, seriously, that IS as good as it gets!

This weekend just past, The Brit and I had good reason to be on a large shuttle bus with several other formally, (mostly) tastefully dressed1 adults:  a good friend’s wedding.  And as we sat there, awaiting our departure to the land of burgeoning marital bliss, those of us sitting on the right hand side of the bus were witness to a flock of barely post-pubescent teens sheathed in all kinds of Wrong and Nuh Uh…namely neon-colored tulle, satin, and polyester.  For a brief moment, I thought the dresses, their matching cummerbunds, and their owners would be joining us on the shuttle, but alas, they walked past us to what, presumably, was their high school Prom.  At the Holiday Inn.  One of our fellow shuttle passengers leaned over her window and screamed out to the Prommers,  “DON’T DO IT!!  SAVE YOUR VIRGINITY FOR SOMEONE BETTER…TRUST ME, THIS ISN’T AS GOOD AS IT GETS!!!”  

I was laughing too hard, otherwise I would have added, “UNLESS HE TAKES YOU OUT FOR WINE AND CHEESE FIRST, IN WHICH CASE, GO FOR IT!!”  

 

1.  I was maybe showing a little too much cleavage, but what the hell!  You know what they say…when you don’t got it, flaunt it!  


Hark!

The madness featured here is mine and mine alone. It does not, in any way, reflect the madness of my employers, colleagues, patients, nutty family, or my colorful friends. The privacy of my employers, colleagues, patients, nutty family and colorful friends is sacred & deeply respected, so no names. All words Copyright © la cubana gringa, no method, just madness 2006-2010. All comments © their authors. Don't steal; it's not nice. (And my Grandfather knows people.)

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