Saturday, March 28, 2009

Couples Only Skate

Who could forget the disco ball, red carpet on the walls and asshole boys skating backwards?

The best song ever played at the Starlight Skate Center in Topeka Kansas on a Friday night, with the possible exception of “Babe” by Styx.

Now line up it’s time to Snowball!


Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Post Traumatic Snake Syndrome

Oh look, a kitten baking bread!

There is nothing traumatic about kittens. Unlike snakes, kittens are cute and furry; apparently, they like to bake bread. Additionally they don't smell like ass. Snakes do. (Smell like ass, not bake bread).

Nature and I have had an unspoken arrangement. I avoid nature. Nature avoids me. This agreement has worked out well. Now for some reason Mother Nature hates me, just like Mrs. Ebrahardt my preschool teacher hated me.

Mother Nature could have sent me a flock of cooing doves, or a playful woodland creature, or perhaps a fluffy kitten. Instead, I got an odiferous serpent, the smell of which will be imprinted on my brain for the rest of my life.

Mrs. Ebrahardt could have worn pants. Instead, she chose to wear long flowy skirts and then she got mad when she caught me instructing four-year-old boys to lie on the floor to get the best view of her garters and support hose. I still remember how mean she was and her horrible perfume.

For weeks after the garter incident, I imagined Mrs. Ebrahardt around every corner, silently lurking in the shadows trying to catch me being bad. A Garter snake so to speak, a big stinky Garter snake threatening to tell my mother on me. It freaked me out.

Finding a snake yesterday freaked me out. I AM STILL FREAKING THE HELL OUT.

I have developed a condition as a result of the shock. I think you call it Post Traumatic Snake Syndrome.

Have a look...

Don't worry this is not my butt. It is my shoulder. Ignore the freckles and liver spots those are not symptoms of my ailment. I am referring to the lovely red splotches. Someone less medically astute than I may mistake them for hives,

And yes, I am covered with them.
Thanks for asking.

I am now adding Calamine lotion to the list of odors indelibly imprinted on my brain.


Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Say Hello to My Little Friend

Snake update!!

It only took one trash can a golf club and some scaredy cat boys to rid the lobby of our unwanted visitor. No one died (not even the snake).

I am still upset that I missed the photo op, but this is a close facsimile. Apparently he is a Blotched Water Snake, common in this area and non poisonous.

Hansom' devil isn't he?



A Live Dispatch from the Office of Fussy & Bitchy Inc.

Oh, we got trouble
Right here in River City
With a capital 'T' and that rhymes with 'P' and that stands for 'penis'
That stands for 'penis'

Which has nothing what so ever to to with the fact that there is a BIG HONKING SNAKE IN THE LOBBY RIGHT THIS MINUTE BLOCKING THE EXIT at Fussy & Bitchy Inc. but it was the first 'p' word I could think of. 'Pool' does not really apply in this circumstance.

But then neither does penis does it?

There may be some innuendo there ...
Never mind.

We surely got trouble

Where was I? Oh yes, THE SNAKE! My new cell phone does not have a camera or I would show you a picture of this venomous serpent. I am sure it is an Anaconda, or possibly Cobra. The crappy phone does have a MP3 player. I could record Mr. Fussy Pants squealing like a girl.

That might be fun.

Do Mortgage professionals make good snake charmers?
We shall see.
I am sure some people are of the opinion that they make better snakes.

Let's just say I am the Marion The Librarian of the group.


Oh the irony of it all.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Princess Wee-Wee Is Not a Fetus

I am convinced that I have an embryonic twin lodged in my head.
Her name is Thumbelina.

My tiny baby sister that never was is trying to kill me. According to Google, This is a rare condition called Fetus in fetu. (Which for some reason brings to mind fettucine alfredo, but that may be because I have not eaten for three days). Who knows?
I know one thing, having an unborn child in your head hurts.

A lot.

It can ruin your weekend.

On the bright side, I am sure I will be receiving a phone call from the Discovery Channel any moment seeking exclusive rights to my story. I will be famous like the Octomom. Unless, of course, Thumbelina turns out to be an impacted wisdom tooth as BFSK (best friend since kindergarten) S. suspects.

That is what I think she said before she hung up on me.


*FYI: Do not EVER do an image search for "parasitic twin" in the morning. EVER.
Princess Wee -Wee is a little person not a fetus, but I love her name and I care about you.

** Edited to add that Princess Wee-Wee is not an embryo OR a fetus.-- Yes, BFSK S. I DO know the "diff."

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Putting Lipstick on the Pig

The old "new" blog template made me itch.
Maybe I will like this one better.
Maybe it will inspire me.
Maybe I will stop posting stupid crap.


Thursday, March 19, 2009

Sweet Sam

Look up and look around T-Mart shoppers! That flashing blue light is on in our Children’s Department, where we are proud to introduce the very first guest post from my favorite third grader in the completely wide world!

Nothing Rhymes With Paris

I was going too write a poem about Paris
Because Paris is the girl that I am
But, there is nothing that rhymes with the word Paris
So, I am changing my name to Sweet Sam

By Paris
Age 8


Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The Caped Cod

I want a cape.
A red cape like Superman’s
Only cuter.

Think about it.

There is no accessory more appropriate for Spring 2009 than a cape.
It takes Superhero powers these days just for me to get out of the bed.

I could be the Caped Cod (Holy Mackerel!).
A cape would be comforting, like macaroni and cheese without all the calories.

It may inspire me to do good deeds. Maybe.
If fashioned correctly a cape would cover my ever-expanding ass.

Nothing could say, “Back the hell off “like a cape.
Evildoers and scary homeless guys would fear me.
I will fight shitheadery wherever it lurks.

I am not so sure about ducking in to a phone booth to change clothes because phone booths are disgusting and not easy to find… I’ll have to work on that.

I know what you are thinking.
Please, no comments about it matching my tin foil hat.



Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Posted No Trespassing!

My refrigerator would make a good Leprechaun hideout. Until yesterday I had never noticed how little my refrigerator is. Until yesterday’s post that I forgot to publish until today I had never noticed how stupid my refrigerator AND my kitchen cabinets look without handles either. Blogging can be so therapeutic.

Anyway, when I purchased the refrigerator I did not ask for the midget model (Perhaps, I should be more PC and say little person?), but that is exactly what I got. This thing is the companion to the Easy Bake Oven I had as a child!

Lillaputionesque I tell you.

Now I am positive that Leprechauns hang out in there.
They are probably swilling my green beer and ransacking the produce drawer in search of Lucky Charms. Right. Now.

The sneaky little bastards.



Monday, March 16, 2009

Where, OH Where Has My Little Blog Gone?

Now then, where were we?
Oh yes, last time we were here (about a year ago wasn’t it?) I was bitching about the time change, which is still a problem because I have a hard enough time being on time.
Well, now, it is out of the question.
Fashionably late is now irritatingly absent, and try as I might I cannot help it.
The message here is do not invite me to lunch, or a party, or ask me to pick you up at the airport until October because I will piss you off.

In other news, I sucked up a bottle of Visine with the vacuum cleaner (sometimes I over estimate the power of the Hoover). Not surprisingly, the offender was stuck in the hose. A broomstick, a wire hanger, and an attempt to blow said bottle out of the hose like a poison dart from an African blowgun garnered no results. I did manage to stab my finger with the hanger and bleed all over the damn place, but the stupid bottle is still stuck. Unfortunate, because there are Styrofoam bits all over the floor from the latest "Denial is a Beautiful Thing-F$$K the Recession Darling, We're Still Rich!" home improvement project at the New Digs.

Since there is no way I will be installing glass tile in the kitchen anytime soon, I opted for a lovely mural. Well,“Lovely” may be reaching a bit, actually, “mural” is a stretch as well, considering I printed a photo from my computer glued it to foam core and tacked it to the wall.

It looks easy right? Well it wasn’t. I had to climb on top of the refrigerator to complete the installation. While I do not have a fear of heights, I do have a fear of falling and breaking my neck. To make matters worse, I cannot cut a straight line to save my life. You would think by now I would know my limitations. You would also think that I could count.

After eight hours of struggling with this behemoth, I ran out of tacks. Twenty minutes before this week’s episode of Big Love. It should have been one hour and twenty minutes if life was fair nevertheless, it is not.

Nor is it fair that even though I rushed to the Wal-Mart to buy tacks I still missed 20 minutes of Big Love. Worse still is the knowledge that everyone in aisle 15 at the Wal-Mart noticed my blood smeared T-shirt and the black circle around my mouth from sucking on the vacuum hose.

I am sure they thought I was a bong smoking taxidermist in need of more supplies for my latest dead Bambi project. I thought about trying to explain that I am actually just a harmless, albeit accident prone polygamy fan in the express lane with thumb tacks so I can climb back on top of my refrigerator before 7:00 pm.

On second thought I decided:

F$$k it. I am rich. I can be crazy.

Denial is a Beautiful Thing Darling


Saturday, March 7, 2009

Screw You William Willett

"Early to bed, and early to rise, makes Tobi bitchy, twitchy and snide"

Hello Daylight Saving Time?

You. Suck.

No offense, but you do.


Keep your sunshine.

I want my hour back.


Friday, March 6, 2009

Sinner - Sinner Chicken Dinner

I went for the nuggets-- I stayed for the shoes.

For reasons that are still not entirely clear to me, I needed chicken nuggets for lunch yesterday. NEEDED them I tell you. Never mind that I hate all things McDonald's. Forget that no one over the age of seven would willingly eat a chicken nugget.

I had to have them.

Unfortunately for me, there is a Marshall’s Department Store (I see you rolling your eyes) in close proximity to my neighborhood golden arches.

Six new shirts, two pairs of jeans, one smashing pair of spring sandals, and a felony violation of the No Shopping- Because You Are Poor Ordinance later, the soggy chicken nuggets were still laying in the front seat of my car where I left them.

The good news is-- I probably spared myself from ingesting about three kilos of artery clogging trans-fat.

The bad news is-- God is punishing me.

On my way back to the office my cell phone died.
Fourteen days after the warranty expired.
Six months before I am eligible for a free new phone.
I will have to commit to two more years of service to the tune of $3432 to get a new one.
Alternatively, I could pay cash... (If I hadn’t spent it all).

I should have stopped at Neiman’s.
It totally would have been worth it.


Thursday, March 5, 2009

Girdle Interrupted

“Waiter, there is an old woman in my soup. If it is not too much trouble could you call 911 and refill our water please?”

I put on the dreaded panty girdle because I cannot hold my breath all day. I have tried. I look angry and slightly constipated. When I exhale, I look four months pregnant. The black pencil skirt tells no lies. I should have just worn pants, but I am a team player.

The restaurant I selected fit all of the criteria for business lunches with Mr. Fussy Pants (My boss). It was loud, cheap, with good food and no paper napkins. Our reservation was for one o’clock. The girdle of doom had caused a rash and a horrible itch by ten. It seemed logical to take it off and stuff it into my purse rather than walk around the office scratching my ass. The plan was to put it back on before lunch. I forgot.

Lunch went smoothly. I only had to kick Fussy under the table a few times. The investors we were meeting with seemed pleased. It was time to get the hell out while I was ahead.

I requested the check. The waiter went to fetch it. I was silently congratulating myself for a job well done. I exhaled. Unfortunately, at the same time I was breathing a sigh of relief, the old woman at the table next to me stopped breathing. She apparently swallowed wrong and started to choke.

The waiter came back with the check. When he heard the wheezing he stopped dead in his tracks and stared—At Me! I scanned the area. Everyone was looking...

AT ME!?!

Granny continued to hack.

Silently I reviewed the procedures for the Heimlich maneuver smiling inanely to project a feeling of calm control and digging through my bag for my cell phone. I reasoned that as long as Mee-Maw was coughing she was not going to die. The worst thing that could happen is that she would barf and frankly, I did not want her barfing on me (Go-ahead call me evil, I deserve it).

Calmly I pulled crap out of my purse and found my phone. If she stopped coughing because her airway truly was obstructed, I would need 911 or BFSK (Best friend since kindergarten) the nurse, to talk me through this.

"Are you going to do something to help her?" Estelle Getty from another table shouted at me. Everyone including the bastards at my own table wanted to know why I was not doing anything.


Do I look like Marcus Freaking Welby? What do these people think I am supposed to do?

I considered rushing to her side and screaming “Put your arms up! Put your arms up!" while shaking the crap out of her, because that is what Big Judes (My Mom) used to do to me as a child, but I know from experience that all that does is make the screaming person feel better. It does nothing for the person choking.

Instead, I reluctantly stood and patted the old bat on the back (It is no secret that I am missing the nurturing gene). This is the best I could do. As predicted, Granny seized until she yaked in her napkin. Lovely. I must say she felt much better afterwards.

I on the other hand did not.

I weakly sat back in my chair and wiped my brow with my own napkin.
Except that my napkin-- Was not my napkin.

It was the panty girdle.

As if I needed further proof that no good deed goes unpunished.



Wednesday, March 4, 2009

The Elephant in the Room

My obsession feelings for the witty and talented M21 are no secret. I would truly love to squeeze him, or marry him, or at least hang out with Mona if he would let me. Luckily, I am hundreds of miles away from the Maison21 atelier. This spares us both the embarrassment of trying to explain my inappropriate behavior to the police. It also spares me the expense of posting bond for stalking.

To his credit, M takes my unwanted advances in stride. He even allowed me to participate in the first Bloggers Design Challenge, so imagine my delight when I saw this.

I swear I heard the angels trumpeting when I read about it.

Do not even get me started about these... or what I would like to do with them.
Well, that was a little awkward now wasn't it?

In an effort to avoid being the proverbial bedazzled elephant in the otherwise tasteful room and to prove that I do have a modicum of self restraint. I am leaving this challenge to the professionals. Besides, I could never hold a candle to the talent of the esteemed HOBAC, the first entrant in the OCDD challenge, and another of my imaginary friends who so far has not filed a restraining order against me. Bless him for that.

But enough about me, go check it out and get busy!

Tell M that Tobi Tobivitch sent you.


Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Money Laundering

What does it mean when you look forward to laundry day for the possibility of finding lost change in the bottom of the washing machine?

A. You are thrifty and wise. You should be commended for your resourcefulness.

B. Obviously, you have lost your mind. No one cares about change. Just admit it is the spin cycle you are enamored with and seek help.

C. You need a hobby.

D. You are a freaking wing nut. When you start rifling through your friends couch cushions, or prying your teeth loose for the tooth fairy, keep it to yourself!



Sunday, March 1, 2009


And if I go,

while you're still here...

Know that I live on,

vibrating to a different measure

--behind a thin veil you cannot see through.

You will not see me,

so you must have faith.

I wait for the time when we can soar together again,

--both aware of each other.

Until then, live your life to its fullest.

And when you need me,

Just whisper my name in your heart,...

I will be there.

-Colleen Corah Hitchcock

I knew Lisa through her words.
Lisa was a gift generously shared with us by her daughters Teenie and Cam and her husband Dude.

Hold your memories close and whisper her name. I know she will hear you.

I just know it.