Hold the Whipped Cream

make me really grateful that I have a job and can pay my bills.

Starting today I’m putting myself on a strict budget. I’m using my limited math skills to set up a spreadsheet for my monthly budget, am cutting down spending, and am looking for a night/weekend gig to put more money in the bank… NOT so that I can shop more, as seductive a temptation as it sounds.

To Congress: get your shit together before it’s the Great Depression all over again. For once, I’m siding with Bush on this one. I’m sick of seeing Simon in a pissy mood every day.

I can’t help but smile every time the song “Semi-Charmed Kinda Life” comes on. For being a song about being a crystal meth addict, it’s pretty upbeat. 

I challenge you to play that song and not get the tiniest bit in a better mood. It cured my rush hour traffic jam blues yesterday— though the old man next to be thought I was on something (maybe crystal meth?) when he saw me singing it.

Today’s listing is a barter. I was going to post another Casual Encounter, but I got sick of wading through the disgusting ones. The title for this one was boring, so I’m entitling it, “I’ll Give You Puppies If You Give Me Apocalyptic Flood Supplies”

I WANT A KAYAK OR A COUPLE OF KAYAKS
AND GENERATORS OR MOST ANY KIND OF GUNS„,

I HAVE A LITTER OF PURE BREED AUSSIE PUPS 8 WEEKS OLD„
BLUE MERLES WITH BLUE EYES AND BLACK TRIS„,SHOW QUALITY [I’m at a loss for what tris and merles mean]

*********@YAHOO.COM

Guns, generators… and kayaks? This man should not be allowed to be in charge of living beings. I feel for the pups.

A couple of months ago, I was eating breakfast with the Big @ WT Sandwich Shop (aka the best toast, cheese grits, and cafe con leche you will EVER find, unless you’re in Cuba I suppose… and then it’s rationed) when a middle-aged man— my favorite demographic— whom I had never met before proposed marriage to me. I then informed him he would have to ask my father, and when he heard it was Simon he quickly recoiled into his corner and finished his demitasse.

A few short weeks later, I was eating breakfast with Simon and a member of the FL House of Reps (you know, nothing out of the ordinary), and when Simon briefly excused himself, he informed the politician that I was to be his future bride.

This dude, who happens to call himself J.U.I.C.E. (Just Understand I Control Everything), has mental issues according to Simon. I wasn’t hesitant to believe him, either, since spontaneous proposals haven’t been commonplace since Jane Austen invented Mr. Darcy— and because that would be normal for someone who nicknamed themselves JUICE.

Unfortunately, my betrothed was arrested yesterday for attempting to solicit sex from a minor. Two counts of Unlawful Sex Acts and two counts of Using a Computer to Commit Certain Illegal Actions. I’d go bail him out, but I just spent some serious dough on my Sarah Palin costume.

All the good ones never end up with me. Sigh.

I’m considering converting to Judaism stat so that I can still be young enough to go on a birthright trip. I’ve never been any further east than Prague, and I feel that I free trip with my future fellow Jews would be a great way to change that.

I find it disheartening that Catholicism hasn’t caught on to this marketing tactic. Why wouldn’t the Pope think it’s a good idea to offer free trips to young people if they sit through the same fucking Mass every Sunday? I think it’s genius. I commend rabbis everywhere for being so “down” with what young people want.

I’m not really sure why I continue to force myself to eat Smart Ones if I dread the sight of them every time they’re near me. I’m thinking of walking to Subway and eating something from their 6g of Fat or Less menu. Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki= much better than the shit congealing in the office freezer.

than replying to text message chain letters with sarcastic inquiry.

It’s like the person thought they were sending out the offending message in total anonymity, and when you reply with something as simple as, “Really?” they clam up like… well, a fucking clam.

“God loves you! If you really love God, then send this to 10 people NOW. If you don’t love God, then ignore this.”

Check. 

paying to see documentaries made by Michael Moore or paying to see a spoof about Michael Moore making documentaries.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, Google “An American Carol.”

I just can’t help it. Reading Craigslist is like reading a story someone could never have the imagination to write. Today’s Craig-ly man is looking for a friend. To massage. In the water. He’s had training, ladies. The title of the ad is “Any water ladies wanna Watsu?” My only question is… whatsa Watsu? Sorry. Had to say it. Comments in the brackets.

Watsu is a type of water therapy done in a warm pool. Some say it’s physical, others would argue it’s spiritual or mental. It is by far the most profoundly relaxing activity I have ever experienced. I liken it to what it must have felt like it our mothers womb [or putting your head inside a giant vagina].
I have had several days of formal Watsu training and 20 years experience as a chiropractor. My desire is to empart my brief knowledge and perform Watsu on you and then expect the same in return. Knowledge of the human frame and or love of water would be very benefiscial. [nice spelling fucktard]
This is a non sexual type thing but is somewhat intimate [as in I may accidentally put my penis inside you]. I seek a curious and gentle soul to share this activity. If this message speaks to you please open the door.

What scares me is that I actually live in the same city as these people. It’s not like it’s some random guy from Seattle. He could be the door-to-door salesman that lives a mere door down from me. Or maybe Simon secretly picked up Watsu. Please don’t open the door.

It was about five degrees cooler this morning, and I got so excited that my outfit for work today was to include the new cardigan I got over the weekend. Unfortunately, by the time I completed my morning commute (which just got a litle longer, thanks to the 4 new speed bumps they put in my neighborhood during morning rush hour), the temperature had already creeped up into the upper 70s. Damnit. On the upside, wearing a sweater has allowed me to cool the A/C in the office. This way when my bosses decided to pop in for a visit, they can’t bitch about how warm it is like a little schoolgirl afraid that her hair will un-Chi.

A good thing about the slight drop in temperature: I can now eat my breakfast on my balcony instead of staring out a window in my dark living room (I rarely turn on lights in my house as my way of telling TECO to go fuck themselves). This makes for a much better place to write in the morning. Sadly, the guy who everyone in my building seems to hire to renovate their place (and who has been hitting on me literally, since the day I moved in) was rummaging through his truck right outside my balcony, and he attempted to strike up a tete-a-tete from one floor below. Maybe he’ll give me a discount on hardwood floor if I wear boyshorts and a cami onto my balcony tomorrow. Hey… use it before you lose it, I say.

to put off monogamous inclinations in one’s life until AFTER returning from a trip to see a certain sister, in which men in uniform are plenty?

In some ways, El Paso is like Vegas… only better. In some ways… it’s also like visiting the asshole of the country, a mere morning stroll away from Juarez, Mexico.

Two sightings this weekend which would be infinitely funnier, had I achieved photographic proof. For now, you’ll have to settle for my descriptive prose:

1. Middle-aged man selling various voodoo peraphernalia made of palm reeds on the side of Dale Mabry. I’m convinced that he saw me trying to take a picture on my Blackberry and promptly walked out of sight… and possibly put a spell on me.

2. Leathery-skinned, frizzy-haired woman who looked about 50— but could very possibly be a chain-smoking-alcoholic 30 year old— selling St. Petersburg Times in the middle of two lanes on Hillsborough Ave. What was wrong with this picture, you ask? Well, she wasn’t wearing any pants. Just because you wear a fanny pack over your long T-shirt does not make it into a dress (for those of you thinking she could’ve been wearing short shorts, I assure you there were no outlines of such under her fluorescent green T-shirt).

After practically living off of Craigslist during my brief-yet-unsettling days of unemployment, I decided to revisit it to see all the ridiculousness it has to offer outside its job section. Here’s today’s excerpt, taken from the Personals section in “Casual Encounters.” (The name alone says it all.) My comments are in the brackets:

Married white male visiting Saddlebrook Resort [which is in B.F.E. Wesley Chapel and has nothing more than a golf course to offer] this week seeks some NSA [No Strings Attached] fun with a lady (married, single, divorced, etc. - must be over 21). Love passionate kissing to get the juices flowing … very orally inclined … especially giving.

Discretion is a must. If a real lady [as opposed to a tranny/child] and you’re interested please contact me.

Thank you and I look forward to hearing from you.