Thursday, February 25, 2010

To My Beloved Harbingers of Toxic Assets


Dear Homely Lateral File Cabinets,

My beloved harbingers of toxic assets,my precious repositories of dental records, I have my eye on you. You can't hide behind your practical beige- beigeiness any longer. I am unfazed by the poopish pallor of your factory finish. I do not care that you weigh 600lbs; your size does not deter me. I am a girl. - You can't give me a hernia.
(Can you? shit, I hope not).

When I look in your drawers, I see heaven. I have big plans for you my lovely oversized tuna cans.

I want to make you fancy- like this!

 Or, possibly this

Let me show you the world!

And if you resist?

I will put your big boxy asses right back on craigslist where you came from.
So watch it.

Love always,
(Or at least until the cheapskate "Client" forks over enough dough for a proper piece of furniture.)
Pygmalion T

images: i suck...no credits for any of them.sorry, sorry

Monday, February 22, 2010

I am Your Scary Blog Mother


Once upon a time, there was an unfortunate fireplace. This fireplace was a plain, square, big, blonde brick shit house of a fireplace. For nearly fifty years the fireplace had survived Hip Cats and Hippies and Yuppies and Hipsters unscathed.
If you take a moment to recollect the truly horrible things that people have done to their fireplaces throughout the years, then perhaps you would conclude that the fireplace was not so unfortunate after all.


But if you did that then the story would end here.



And while no one could blame you for wanting a quick end to this story, you are not getting off that easily.


So don’t do it...

Now then, on with the story. One day The Unfortunate Fireplace was minding its own business when some crazy oldish chick with bad hair and an unhealthy affinity for spray paint showed up.

Who are you and why are you here?"  asked the Unfortunate Fireplace

I am your Scary Blog Mother and I am here to transform you into a thing of beauty.” replied the crazy chick.


Thing of beauty.

Needless to say, the fireplace was skeptical, not because The Unfortunate Fireplace questioned its potential for beauty, more because the fireplace questioned the ability of anyone with hair so heinous to change anything for the better.

Do you have a magic wand?” inquired The Unfortunate Fireplace.

Wand, schwand!” said the Scary Blog Mother. I have paint, and the advice of commenters who have no vested interest in the outcome of this project, what more do you want from me?”

The Unfortunate Fireplace felt it best not to answer that.

So the Scary Blog Mother set about gluing and painting and swearing, and also whining.  For days this went on.  At one point, the Unfortunate Fireplace wished that it would spontaneously combust, as did the Scary Blog Mother.


But they persevered, and now the Scary Blog Mother is posting the results of the transformation on the World Wide Web so in twenty years when big, square, blonde brick shit houses of a fireplace are all the rage, someone can do a Google image search and recollect what truly horrible things people have done to their fireplaces throughout the years.


And they all lived happily ever after.

The End
Out-
T

images:http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3037/2843316137_f8153f7785.jpg?v=0, http://ankastreasures.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/fireplace.jpg

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Kinkos Blow (Up) Job

Let's pretend that this photo has something to do with the following entry without acknowledging the fact that I am just too lazy to take a relevant picture for you. Shall we?


Did you know that Hobby Lobby has custom frames (unclaimed for whatever reason) 80% off right now? I was shocked too; I thought that only happened in July. In fact, when I discovered them I was so overwhelmed with lust that I started making out with a handsome silver leaf devil right in the middle of the clearance aisle. It was embarrassing to say the least.

Anyway, it was not until I got home with a shit load of these gigantic things that I realized that most of them were not standard sizes.

Can you say DAMMIT?
All together now: DAMMIT!

Don't worry, this story has a happy ending.

FedEx Kinkos (or whatever they call themselves this week) can make photo enlargements, if you are willing to pay them a million dollars. I think it is understood that I am not. What they don’t tell you is that for the cost of a cheese enchilada you can print humongo images that you stole from the internets of your own compositions on rolled architectural bond paper. Maximum width is 36” for black and white and 40” for color in any length.

I’ll give you a minute to let that sink in.

Like crack without all the addiction/tooth loss issues, right?

I can imagine that about now you are wishing that you had my phone number so that you could call me for the hook up, (ok, maybe not. Shut up, it's my imagination not yours), but that won't be necessary. I am feeling all sharey this morning. Don't say I never gave you anything.

Kinkos Blow (Up) Job Instructions-

1. Optimize your stolen image lovely artwork to 300 dpi. (Here is a free program if you need it, you can also enlarge the image in inches to fit your frame. Cool, yes?). Then go Here and find the Kinko’s closest to your office so you can lie to your boss and tell him that you are running to the drugstore for feminine products and be back to work in a reasonable period of time.

Upload the image with instructions to the Kinkos dude who is not aware that he is about to be your new best friend. Then go give your new best friend your lunch money and he will give you your cool ass picture. Buy a can of spray adhesive while you are there.

2. Adhere your cool ass picture to foam core or similar sturdy cardboard you have taking up space in the front seat of your car. (Sayonara, Mr. Wonderful) and mount it inside your frame. I didn’t worry about glass mostly because I am cheap because I like the way it looks as is, but you can add it if you want.

3. A word of warning. The paper is not photo quality, it is blue print paper so you have to be a little careful (Read: Don't try it drunk) when attaching it to your foam core or you will fuck it up (Does that sound like the voice of experience talking? It is).

Now that I have the hang of it, I am seriously considering wallpaper.
Might as well think big right?

Out-
T.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

A Piece of Quiet


This is Mr. Fussy Pants
Mr. Pants would like a piece of quiet, but he cannot have one because he will not say "please".
All Mr. Pants will say is-
"GODDAMMITTOBI!?GETTHEHELLOUTOFMYOFICENOW!!”
And that is why his name is Fussy and also why he gets no quiet. 


Out-
T

Monday, February 15, 2010

Does This Post Make My Ass Look Dumb?


Tongue observations 2/15/2010
1. My tongue has a butt crack. 2. My tongue looks 100 years old. 3. This picture of my tongue creeps me out. 4. I always thought I had a cute tongue. I don't. 5. I have the shortest tongue in the entire world. 6. This gift is screwing with my self-esteem.

Some girls got flowers for Valentines Day, some got candy, and others had romantic candle lit dinners.

I got a tongue tattoo.

What the Hell?
If you are waiting for a punch line, then you know how I felt yesterday.
There isn’t a punch line.

I got a tongue tattoo.

The End.

Out-
T.

Friday, February 5, 2010

The Sisters Three

I love the sound of high heels on hard floor, the smell of good perfume, the luster of pearls, coffee in cups around a kitchen table, giggles, and stories and swears.

I especially love the swears.

In my life, when you mixed this all together, it only meant one thing. Court was in session.

The Sisters Three were together.

Eavesdropping is an art, in case you are unaware. It requires stealth, the ability to make one’s own self small and unnoticed. It is not hard to be small when you are four, it comes with the territory. Unnoticed is another thing entirely. Lucky for me, I had talent.

Judes is Number Two of The Sisters Three, sandwiched between Number One, who is, like me, a T and Mame who is Three.

As I recall these sisters were always up to something. I remember being part of quickly hatched plans and hare brained schemes on more than one occasion. Sometimes, those plans ended badly, hysterically usually, but badly.

“Do not tell your father that Number Three wrecked the car.  Do not do it.  I will tell him.  Do you understand me?” Judes warned.

I offered an affirming nod.

And I didn’t tell, really, I didn’t, not until exactly 5:16 pm when my father’s car pulled into the driveway.

“Hi Daddy, Mame crashed the car, and you are getting a new razor for Christmas, but I did not tell.

Do you understand? Mama is telling, not me. ”

I knew better, swear, but, there was something about the excitement that was irresistible.

I am still surprised they let me live.

Cat eye shades, cashmere twin sets, wool hound's tooth swing jackets, leggings like Mary Tyler Moore and that ability to make a bologna and cheese sandwich on pedestrian white bread look like a gourmand's signature dish, (I think it was the way that she licked her lips after each bite) all of this, is what I think of when I think of T.

I remember a baby boy born on the fourth of July. The same Fourth of July that I stepped on the glowing wire of a sparkler dropped on the lawn. I remember that T was our best Christmas present when she came home. I know that if you were to ask Two or Three, they would tell you that T was Granny's favorite. They may be right.

I am not sure about that.

Also, I am not sure if The Sisters Three planned to have babies three, within the space of about three months, but that was exactly what happened. The result was two more girls named T, and we became The Cousins Three.

It was T, on what was the worst day of my life that looked right at me and said. "Forever is not always. Enough never is. You can make it through this space between, because you have to. There are three people counting on you".

She was right.

I am going home now, to say goodbye to T. The Sisters Three are now two. If I could, I would tell her, that forever isn't always, but sometimes enough is enough. I would tell her she should leave now if she needs to, and that we will always remember, the times that came before this space between.


Out-
T

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Do I Have to Do That Too?


I have to do everything around here. I swear it is taxing.

This morning for example-

“You see Officer, at approximately 0-nine hundred hours I was on the balcony freezing my face off smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee getting a breath of fresh air and practicing Tai Chi, when I heard glass breaking below in the parking lot.

I spotted two suspects in a late model Ford Bronco, maroon in color, license number TXthr2367. One suspect was breaking the windows on the subject vehicle with what appeared to be a crowbar. I immediately shouted What the fuck do you think you are doing you assholes? Stop or I will call the police!

When they heard me, the suspects left the scene in the Ford Bronco headed eastbound on Stupidity St. I called 911, located the owner of the vehicle, questioned the Manager of the employment agency next door and obtained the suspects names, addresses, phone numbers and drivers license numbers from the job applications they had filled out moments prior to their crime spree, while I waited for you to arrive.

Here is my contact information in case you have further questions. Now, if you will excuse me I have to go back to the balcony to finish my coffee and cigarette work.”

“Thank you Ma’am for trying to help but I am afraid that there is no way to tie the suspects from the vehicle to the employment agency, so I won’t be able to use that information”

“Did I hear you correctly Officer? Did you really just say what I think you said?”

“I’m sorry Ma’am, but there is no way to use the information you provided.”

"Yes, I heard that part. Use the license plate number (Duh).  The car should be registered to one of the suspects (Insert deep sigh and eye roll here).

I mean did I just hear you call me Ma’am?
You DID NOT just call me Ma'am!
Did. You?"

"No"
"No, Ma..."

"Fine then Officer, are you going to go arrest these assholes criminals, or do I have to do that too?"

Out-
T