:: American Angst :: |
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Puttin' the FUN in dys-FUN-ctional!! It's the holidays! Time for Ding Fries Are Done! |
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This time, however, was not a wonderful call. It made my head hurt.
The phone rings and Gracie checks the Caller I.D. I see that it's Ms. Privacy Director. I answer and am accosted by the sound of someone singing Happy Birthday. It sounds sorta like a friend of ours, so I press to accept the call.
This was a mistake.
It wasn't our friend. Not at all. It was a sales person from PetCareRx and he was still singing happy birthday. Gleefully. I swear they pump pot through the air-vents there. He finishes singing and informs me that we are eligible for a great discount on pet medication due to my birthday, then hangs up.
Of course I'm bewildered. Also, my birthday isn't until October 24. This call occurred on September 15.
The FUCK???
So, yet again, George and I have decided that it's time to quit smoking...yes, again.
This time we feel that "Slow 'n Steady Wins the Race." Or, you know, prolongs the torture...whatever. But we have to try it this way, see, 'cause cold turkey didn't quite cut it last time. At ALL. We both came very close to getting first-hand knowledge of how a murder trial works. So this time we're consciously cutting down...resisting the urge to smoke each time it comes up and holding out as long as we can and then having one when we can't take it any more. We haven't been entirely successful, but we're getting there.
I worked from home the other day and was nearly out of cigarettes. I knew I wanted to have more that evening than what I had available to me, so I asked George to pick some up on his way home. I had to run some errands later (unexpectedly) and bought cigs while I was out and forgot to tell him, so when he arrived, we had the following conversation:
George: "Here ya go." *Tosses pack of cigarettes to me* "Actually, I bought a carton...but I locked it in my car, inside the console...thought if I had to go aaaall the way down to the car and reeeeeally had to work at getting to it, I wouldn't have so many."
Gracie: "Heh. I did too."
George: "You did what...?"
Gracie: "Bought a carton...and locked all but one pack in my car"
George: *Rolls eyes*
Gracie: "Well it just seemed so dumb to keep buying packs...they're so expensive!"
George: "I know...that's why I did it, too..."
Gracie: "So...basically, we have more cigarettes now than we did beFORE we decided to quit smoking?"
George: "Pretty much, yeah."
In summary: We = retarded.
Speaking of cigarettes, we had dinner with my parents the other night. We went to this neat little restaurant that just popped up in Atlanta called Nothing but Noodles. I'm surprised nobody has come up with this idea before; everything on the entree menu is noodles...Italian, Chinese, Thai, etc., with different kinds of sauces (and meats) available for each. Pretty nifty. After dinner we left the restaurant and, as we always do before going home, stood beside our cars talking and --those of us that smoke-- having a cigarette. The parking lot was about 10 feet below the restaurant's patio and we were on the opposite side of the lot, at least 50 feet away from any person.
See it coming??
In the periphery I hear this yelling. We're in a busy part of town so I don't pay it much mind. But it continues...constant...annoying. Like the back of my eye being scratched with a rusty nail. I scan with my eyes...turn toward the sound...and I see it. A teeny, tiny, itty-bitty little man (maybe about 5'6, 120 pounds, and roughly 70 years old) leaning over the patio fence. He's dressed like a missionary...too-short blue pants, ratty shoes, light blue, short-sleeved buttoned shirt, and a square, woven, 1980's dark blue tie. He's looking at us and he's pointing and his face is scrunched in barely concealed fury. I thought perhaps he was irritated because my father was leaning on the car next to ours. My mother had the same thought, as she whisper-yelled at my father to get off the car. Nope...the hollering and rage continued even after dad shifted his ass, so that wasn't it. And suddenly the noise of the highway died down a bit and we could hear the man's words (as could the rest of the patio's occupants) and they were these: "HEY! PUT THOSE OUT!" We all just sort of stared at him. To illustrate his order, he made a smashing motion with his fingers to denote Putting Out of a Cigarette. We still just stared at him bemusedly, as we would a monkey jerking itself off at the zoo. This, if at all possible, made him even more livid than he was a moment ago. He stomped his foot --no shit-- and repeated his demand, complete with hand gestures and a more angry face in case we didn't get his meaning the first few times. He then followed it up with a screeching, disgusted "THEY suh_MEHHHHHLLLLL!" Which sounded alarmingly like the Wicked Witch of the West's bitchy speech about melting.
You know, I might be able to understand his Hitler-like stance had we been sitting directly beneath him and the smoke was wafting up to where they were eating, but that was not the case. Not only was the wind blowing in the opposite direction --away from him and every other patron-- but they hadn't even ordered yet. They had just arrived and were getting situated in their seats. And, like I said, we were at least 50 feet away and were obviously about to leave. Yet, Mr. Jackass continues yelling at us to put out the cigarette and repeats that they smell. My reply? Ohhhh, you didn't think I wouldn't reply did you?? Silly minions. Of COURSE I replied: "So do YOU...And ya dress funny." Which, let's be honest, wasn't my best zinger, but it made the other customers on the patio laugh. I then donned my Bitch-O-Rama personality by taking exaggerated puffs on my Cancer Stick, blowing the smoke out in an equally exaggerated fashion, and swinging my hips back and forth --with head thrown back and eyes closed, of course-- in the time-honored "Fuck-You!" dance.
Oooohhhh this did NOT please him. Not even a little bit. He = offended as hell. He threw himself into his chair and huffed angrily at his old biddy companions (who looked wildly embarrassed) and glared at us, while continuing to toss snotty comments in our general direction. George, who I have to tell you usually gets very upset in these situations --not because someone is being rude to me, but because I refuse to ever, EVER let it go and just walk away, and instead insist upon always, ALWAYS responding-- chose to back me up this time and offered to moon the guy. I chose to let him. "Ooooo, DO IT! His tiny little head'll pop RIGHT off his shoulders!! Do it...DO IIIIIT!!!" My mom, however, interceded right around the time George's belt buckle was undone and he was moving toward unzipping his pants. Too bad...would've been quite funny, though the resulting therapy bill for my mother would've been astronomical.
I just cannot believe the nerve of people. It's not like we were inside a restaurant, blowing smoke his way. It's not like we weren't in PUBLIC and FREE. It's not like the jackass couldn't have just stayed at home if he didn't like people doing silly things like making their own life choices that, by the way, had absolutely ZERO effect on him and his person...yet he felt completely within his rights to scream at us and insist that we adopt his lifestyle with immediacy.
Fucknut.
Someone Arrived Here Searching For:
i'm looking for sexy pictures of one person
my dog loves to lick peanut butter off my tits
do lizards masturbate?
twat head
spastic porn
what should i wear to watch hockey game
did barbara streisand do porn? [GOD I hope not. That would be the WORST PORN EVER!]
bowel movement porn
woman peeing on jay leno
american assfucker
his he doctor exam butt fuck
sleeping tushy
my wife fucked my dog
onstar pill
feces licker
girls that want to fuck in tennessee for free
burger angst
nude thunder thigh galleries
picture of american women poop in the toilet
husband forced by wife to have to pee like female
sexy naked women in peanut butter [George wants to know if it's Chunky or Regular? Cause it's just not sexy if it's chunky.]
banana nuts
goofy porn
"disco girls" nude
jiggles boobies
my wife's big ass pics
traffic reporters sexy
big farts from pretty girls
wish goot sex
shit farts butt sex
alien sex voicemail
enemas on sleeping girls
"boob size" and "lying"
poems for bathroom etiquette
my wife wants to fuck your dog [why MY dog? The hell did MY dog do to HER??]
pantyhose sex office grace
fuck my midget [YOUR midget?? Exactly how does one go about procuring their own midget??]
fat person on teeter totter
daddy long legs porn [w-w-w-whhhyyy??? or, you know, even HOW?! but also, WHY??]
chimp at last supper
christmas naked girls ornaments
american cops porn
granny sucks grandpa
i cannot get my ass clean
Shiny fart
i was there in my diaper when she walked in [Aaaaand, here's where Gracie's head explodes.]
Last 5 Entries:
How Much Are YOU Worth? - Sunday, Jan. 08, 2006 Perfume and Lazy Bastards.... - Wednesday, Jan. 04, 2006 Like Poop Through a Goose.... - Saturday, Dec. 31, 2005 Bling and Bullets.... - Thursday, Dec. 29, 2005 Get Into The Frickin Spirit.... - Friday, Dec. 23, 2005
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