I thought I had an addictive enough personality to do a "My Obsession Monday" blog. Not so much. Or maybe it is that I don't ever change my routine? I should look into that b/c I could be followed, profiled, and plucked off by a strange man with greasy hair. Hey, he might think I am his type due to my constant inability to wake in time to recycle the styling products placed in my hair the day before.
So, my effort to change your attitudes and get lots of sponsors was thwarted by my inability to be creative. I don't want to rant about my day thus far, because a majority of you guys have all ready gotten the e-mail version! LOL.
My weekend was lame, but not a complete let down. I was able to work a benefit auction for the Safari Club. Don't accidentally refer to it as the Sierra Club, their arch nemeses and one of our many in the agricultural industry. I did find out that, one a whole, they are jackasses. Plain and simple think their poo smells like roses. Case in point- I was the bid card hander outer. They were laid out in ABC order and I dominated my ABC's pre-kindergarten. Therefore, not a daunting task. Ms. Smith came to me, informed me of her last name (that was her real name, BTW) and then as I searched my 500 badges for hers she decides to help me with the alphabet. She says "ABC, S comes after R." It took all the control I could muster to not inform her in no uncertain terms that I could read, recite my alphabet and twirl my hair at the same time. It also took me two deep breaths to not inform Ms. Smith that she looked like her product... she was a freakin' taxidermist. She looked like she had been stuff and mounted more times than Bambi's mom. Her jack it to Jesus hair had me stumbling backwards for fear I would cough on her b/c I am sure inhaling that much Aqua net cannot be good for one's respiratory system.
I also noted that their function might be the only one where the statement "nice rack" actually had nothing to do with my cleavage. That saddened me. These people came in dragging racks of dead animals behind them. Toss them a loin cloth and we had a real live nomadic tribe wondering around.
The amount of camo was directly proportional to the amount of alcohol they consumed, too. Mind you, some of it was as tasteful as I can imagine it being. Some of it was over the top. Did you know that if your husband is an orthopedic surgeon and hunts that gives you a red light to wear camo leggings in public? I didn't either. News to me. This even was described to me as a high end, black tie event. I think that got lost in translation to the local who crawled out of a tree or hole to come to town and get free booze. Good thing moonshine wasn't on the menu, or I would still be there.
Also found out they are not the laughing type. I made a few jokes, or remarks as some might call them, and got nothing. I was again mustered my patience and didn't inform them that they weren't the first doctor/lawyer that I had ever met and they weren't going to be the last. Alas, I shut up, got my pay check and skedaddled.
Sunday found KC at the grocery. I need to plan better, buy a calendar or something. There was a huge sale, a sale so big it required a four-story tall inflatable purple gorilla to announce it. I had a hankering for Orange Roughy, a wonderful fish that I hope to make as well as my mommy can, but the hankering was put to bed once I saw the line. The meat counter was insane. Insane like paparazzi swarming Kim K crazy. No one had sense, they just scooped up what they could, pushed and yelled. Honest. One lady got served before another couple. That couple mad damn good and well sure that everyone in the vicinity knew they had been waiting and she cut. I assimilate them to the loud kid in first grade who tattles on everyone and alienates themselves because they eat their own buggers. That annoying. There was a scuffle. I left. The only time I find it appropriate to fight over meat is when you are single, horny and drunk at last call.
Peace out. I should figure out how to clean my copy machine. Big day at the office:)
No comments:
Post a Comment