Mortgaging My Soul, Once Again

For those of you that are dedicated servants that can't get enough of my website, you may have noticed a small change I did this morning.  For those of you that are just beginning your life indebted to me and my sinful ways, look over to your right.  I was looking on the website and found a bog where I can throw links of blogs that are fabulous.  They are blogs that I read on a daily basis and I figured, hey, the world needs some more enlightenment.  Sure, my blog is utterly fabulous and I have, literally, 10's of people visiting my blog daily to read about my insights and my hotness.  So, feel free to browse the other blogs that are posted on here.  Sure, the people won't be as hot as I am, but they're pretty sweet.

I was watching "The People's Court" today as I normally do, and I found myself wondering something and coming to a stunning realization.  Well, two actually.  Judge Marilyn Milian is freaking hot and she kicks so much ass.  I mean, she can totally nail people and not be a total bitch (Like Judge Judy...but, I love Judge Judy for that very reason...).  And, the second observation is this:  It almost every episode, at least one of the Defendants are damned ugly.  Like this Defendant yesterday that looked like this weird collaboration of man/woman/giraffe.  I looked at her and was like, "My God, that woman has to be the UGLIEST person I've seen!"  I mean, her face was fine and everything.  But, her lower body was like a woman's, her upper body was like a man's, and her neck was like a giraffe.  I mean, it was like God was giving lessons to lesser deities on how to make a person and the Short Bus Deity made a major fuck-up and God decided to give the creation life just for kicks.  Because, as we all know, God does many, many things just for his amusement.  Not to teach humanity a lesson, show us patience/kindness, or  save us from ourselves.  He gets his jollies by kicking us in the nuts sometimes...it's what gets him off.  Sick and twisted, I know.  And, actually, I'm kind of jealous.  Because, as we all know, I love torturing people.  It gives me a sick twisted high that I can't even begin to describe.  Yes, maybe if I was raised slightly different, I would have been a cannibal, feeding on people's flesh and sorrows and dancing around the back of the house late at night while I bury their bodies.  Not...that I've ever thought about doing that or, heaven forbid...done that.....No one knows where my house is right...Right?

I was finally able to get my prescription for Elidel filled at Walmart.  I swear, I thought I would have to sleep with someone to get the stupid thing.  They did a partial refill for me last week but said that they were out and I had to come back Tuesday (ie yesterday) for the rest.  They didn't charge me for it and I felt weird having a prescription that I didn't pay for, so I wanted to go back as soon as possible, settle up the differences and to leave.  So, I came in yesterday 'cause, well, that's when they said they would have their shipment for me to get.  So, I came in around lunch time and, lovely, they still didn't have it, the delivery didn't come until later.  Fantabulous.  So, I got there today and I was waiting in line behind this lady that felt that *not only* should she pay for her drugs at the pharmacy counter (which is totally fine...), she had to pay for all of her other items at the counter.  Which, is fine...if there is no one behind you.  But, if there's a line behind you, bitch, pay at the cash registers for your other items and let us tend to our shit!  So anyways, while I was waiting behind Ms Inconsiderate Ho, there was this old guy that walked up next to the lady and demanded to get attention and get his shit.  So, while Ms Inconsiderate Ho was checking out all of her items, one of the ladies was helping Mr Inconsiderate Bastard.  Uhhmmm, excuse me?  Where in the hell were you while I've been waiting here bitch?  So, an old guy comes up to the counter and you automatically fall on your hands and knees and suck him off while I'm standing here, quite impatiently, behind Ms Inconsiderate Ho.  And, where in the hell does Mr Inconsiderate Bastard get off jumping in line.  I mean, maybe he thought I was with Ms Ho and went to get service, I'm sure that was the deal.  But, Ms Service Sucks knew I wasn't with that lady.  Bitch.

So, after whipping out my winky and my credit card, some one paid attention to me and I got my shit checked out.  I then proceeded to head over to the light bulb section, as, well, we needed light bulbs.  I was trying to think of a witty comment but, alas, there was nothing.

So, anyways, I was heading over there, zipping around 'cause of the pharmacy drama and this guy was pushing this cart in front of me and then stopped dead in his tracks, I almost plowed into him.  So, I jumped back, zipped around him, gave him "the look," and then proceeded to head off.  And, I'm assuming that his wife was in front of him with her own cart, stopped in front of me, turned the cart half way around, trying to say something to the guy, and I was almost smacked in the stomach with the damned thing.  I almost freaked out on her.  However, being the lovely and considerate person that I am, I just glared at her and chanted in my head something about her mother burning in hell and I bet Satan is having a grand time with her ass.

It's just the *one* thing I hate about going into Walmart during this time of day (noonish) is that there's old and slow people galore.  I just want to get my shit and run out of the store.  I'm not there to browse around, looking to find the latest bargain and see if they've used their amazing Roll Back Prices to save me .25 cents.  I'm just not that interested in that type of price reduction.  If I need it, I'll buy it.  If not, then I won't buy it.  Unless it's pretty and sparkly.  Like a new Party Dress for the weekend. 

So, I got back from shopping all damned day in Columbus (FYI, fabulous, but I'll get to this in a second) and I was sitting on the couch, talking with Mike while going through all of the spoils that I was able to plunder.  So, we were chit chatting, and I was telling him about this Chatty Cathy Diva that thought he was straight but, surely, he was not.  'Cause, no straight man wears a lime green shirt and flames around the Banana Republic.  But, anyways, I found *the* sweater that I've been looking for, this lovely silk cashmere sweater that is the sweetest thing you've ever felt.  Seriously, if they could make soul-wrenching-daddy-begging-sloppy-seconds sex into thread, it would be this fabric.  Gods...I'm running 3 stories into one...even I'm getting confused.  Ok, so, lets take this story in chronological order, as I'm loosing myself and, surely, my lovely readers.

So anyways, Melissa and I were in Columbus yesterday, shopping our souls away.  We got into the Banana Republic and I found this sweater that I've been looking *forever* for (see above sloppy-seconds sweater description).  So, anyways, I was all excited, then saw that it was a V-neck.

Fuck

I hate V-neck sweaters.  I never know what to wear with them as to hide my super hairy chest.  So, I pondered this quagmire for a moment and then unleashed my gay powers and I found the answer.  Wear a long sleeved button down dress shirt underneath it.  It'll also add some flare to the sweater as well.  Sweetness and I didn't even need the monkeys' help on this one.  However, since I primarily would be wearing jeans with this sweater, I needed help with the right color.

Double Damn.

So many to choose from.  So, I asked Melissa her opinion on which one would look best with dark jeans and a white button down dress shirt under it.  So, we pondered this and thought to ourselves, who, besides the monkeys, would best know this?  And, the gods smiled upon us and sent down the Lime Green Diva to answer our question.  So, he was fluttering by when I asked her this question and so, he spent a good 15-20 minutes not even answering my question, I almost lost my mind.  When I repeated my question to him (remember, dark jeans, white button down shirt), he proceeded to tell me that I shouldn't wear a white shirt.  'Cause, everyone does white, and it's just so done and boring, I should do other colors.  Well, that's fine, thanks for the advice, that's what my monkeys are for (FYI, for those that don't know, the monkeys dress me in the morning.  Thank you sister-in-law for that great gift hehe).  So, he kept on running around the store, showing me all of these fabulous undershirts that I could wear.  Yea, thanks, but that's not what I was asking *sighs*.  So, then he proceeded to tell me not to get the blue sweater or the green one, 'cause that was just boring.  I should go with "this" color and he points to this maroon one.  And, I stopped him and told him that I look horrible in red.  He then corrected me and told me "well, this isn't red, it's maroon."  Yea, I know that, dumb fuck.  But, chances are, if you look like shit in red, you look like shit in maroon, that was my point.  I don't care if you call it Pepsi-Cola-Lime, I still will look like shit in it.

So, literally, he stalked us for the 15-20 minutes that we were in the store, judging what we were gonna get and what not.  I swear to god, if it wasn't for this liquid sex shirt that I've been *LUSTING* for, I would have just dropped it and left.  He just irritated the fuck outa me.  I realize that he was trying to be nice and all.  But, seriously, I don't need coddled when I shop.  I can shop just fine with a friend and my monkeys guiding me, thank you. 

So, all in all, I found $13 jeans at the Gap, my orgasm sweater, another sweater at Areopostale, some towels that were on sale at Macy's, and some chocolates from Godiva.  Not even the boxed stuff, Melissa and I chose and picked the ones that we really wanted from their stash and had them make up the box.  Then we ate them before getting back home to get rid of the evidence...

So, I dropped Melissa off at her place and went home.  I was talking with Mike while unloading my stash of preciouses and I was talking about how hot the clothes would make me look and that everyone would think so.  (Well, Ok...hotTER.  I mean, I'm already hot.  Smoking, in fact.  But, as we all know, the clothing makes the man.)  So, he then proceeded to tell me that I didn't care what other people thought of me and my opinion was the only one that counts.  And, suddenly, the laws of physics and the word of God no longer applied and the whole universe went out of whack for a split moment.  Seriously?  I mean, how are you supposed to judge yourself if you don't have anyone to compare yourself to?  I mean, you're "not supposed to."  But, truly, how can you look at yourself and think, "Damn, I look fucking hot today." or, "I'm so giving and loving." or, my favorite, "I'm Fabulous."  'Cause, really, you can't know any of that without a ruler of some sort.  Like, when I say, "I look fucking hot today," I'm comparing myself to Michael Jackson, sans pigmentation or nose.  Or, when I say, "I'm so giving and loving," I'm comparing myself to Paris Hilton.  And, lastly, when I say "I'm Fabulous,"....well, who am I kidding, I don't need to compare myself to anyone for that.  But, to be truly semi-honest, you have to always compare yourself to other people and get their input.  Plus, it's so much better to have everyone dote on you, telling you how fabulous you are rather than you, staring at yourself in the mirror, chanting "But I'm so pretty...so pretty...sooooo prettttyyyyyyy."  Because, truly, who are you trying to convince?  The mirror or yourself?