Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Move along Folks, There’s nothing here to see

This post is not about the Fourth of July, Michael Jackson or the rooster that lives somewhere close to the window at my new office. It is not about my suspicion that someone has commissioned this rooster to do his very best to drive me insane by crowing eight hours a day. Every damn day.

We will not discuss the fact that I put a whole pile of unwanted items by the curb at the request of Goodwill because I am too freaking lazy to haul a whole closet full of unwanted crap across town to them.

This has nothing to do with the fact that I was emboldened by the idea of anonymity offered by the good folks at Goodwill, so among all of the unwanted ottomans, mismatched shoes, and armless dress mannequins was a platinum blonde wig.

I won’t even tell you about the pair of size 11 Lucite stripper shoes, the coordinating trashy ensemble size XXXL, or the pipe and silk smoking jacket I included in my generous donation.

This post has nothing to do with the fact that my neighbors ransacked my loot mere minutes after I placed it outside, and stole Every. Damn. Thing! We will not talk about my firm belief that my surfboard is now listed on E-Bay, or my loss of a tax deduction this year.

I refuse to tell you that now I feel compelled to explain to the thieving bastards in my neighborhood that the stripper get up was a Halloween costume, or at least it would have been if the DDHBF (Doo- Doo Head Boyfriend) would have agreed to play one of The Girls Next Door to my Hugh Hefner.

Who steals from Goodwill anyway? I have decided to avoid eye contact for the next ten years instead.

I considered writing about how I now believe in God, because Mr. Fussy Pants left for vacation yesterday , and that was the exact same day that the electricity was disconnected at the new World Headquarters of Fussy & Bitchy Inc. because someone (ahem) forgot to transfer the service. If that is not divine intervention, well then, I do not know what is.

I almost blogged for help when the electric door locks trapped me in the aforementioned office with six pissed off co-workers and no air conditioning. At the very least, I was going tell you how disgusting it is to have sweaty boobs.

If we were going to talk about boobs I could have told you that yesterday, for the first time since seventh grade math class, I removed my bra without taking my arms out of the sleeves of my shirt. I think that was the best thing I learned in the seventh grade. However, that is not the point.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I was going to admit that I spent the weekend repainting the kitchen for the third time in six months, but it was a holiday, and that seems pathetic, even to me. Pathetic and disturbing, because really? Three fucking times is ridiculous.

I know that about now you are hoping that I will shut the hell up get to the point. Except, there is no point.

The best thing about this particular entry is that it is not about CHEESE.

You are welcome.

Out-T.

PS- Have I mentioned that I am amazed that you take the time to e-mail me? And, how much I appreciate you?
Because I am, and I do.
I rully, rully do.


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