My time spent reading Live Journal is so limited these days, because it seems to be less popular at work than a partial birth abortion, and therefore IT MUST BE BANNED! And also, Corb and the kids keep me busy after work. So, when I do read, I want to be able to give something to those people who really put a smile on my face. And let's face it, when it comes to rewards nothing says loving like a little Rrrramlita in your oven (unless it's Dick Cheney stopping by your house to use your bathroom). Here was what truly earned her this first-ever award...sparkling dialogue, like this:
So I'm shuffling along amongst cures and elixirs, wearing fuzzy slippers and a baseball hat, nose so bright red Santa called and left a message, when I get approached by an older dude with a scruffy face and questionable hygiene. I barely spared him a glance as I was currently residing in my own personal world of malevolence and snot. I may or may not have been silently begging for Baby Jesus to smite me down amongst the Flintstones chewables; it's all a haze to me now. But who can forget this guy exclaiming, "Oh, cool hat!" and yanking it off my head to get a closer look?
Now bear in mind this is a complete stranger. Not even hot. And he yanked my motherfuckin' hat off my motherfuckin' head. Somebody had to die.
"YOU COCKSUCKER!" I shrieked and snatched my hat from his grubby paws while brutally pushing him away.
One must give props to someone who can find a way to scream out "cocksucker" in a public location, don't you think?
So, what does a "Golden Rrrrrramalita" look like? You'll just have to catch my attention to win one. The next winner will be named this Friday.
On another note, I'm sure you're all dying to find out what glittery adventure das Corbster and I embarked upon this week-end. Was it hopping a flight to catch some rays in Rio? Was it hobnobbing with the rich and famous, in some remote location that only the truly refined have access to? Was it screaming "YOU COCKSUCKER!" into the face of some homeless guy?
No, no, and...well, no. Instead, we watched the kids all week-end while Josie went off to Maine with all of her girlfriends, and played our own version of "While You Were Out."
See, Josie's dog, Emma, has developed an annoying habit of going upstairs to pee in the vacant bedroom, and the odor has taken on dimensions that rivals the combined scents of the crotch of Keith Richards three-day-old underwear, the decaying odor of Regis Philbin's dentures with a bit of salmon stuck in between the molars, and the latest scent in the Britney Spears perfume collection, "Crusted." I mean, the smell had just gone way beyond the pale, and it was going to take a heck of a lot more than just a can of Lysol to make things better.
So, Corb and I went to work, and ended up transforming the room. We ripped up the carpeting and replaced it with wood flooring, after deodorizing and sanitizing the wooden boards underneath and setting down a sub-layer. We added floor and ceiling moulding, repainted the walls, and add a new lighting fixture (but that was only because Corb thought he was being attacked by a bee and dropped the original ceiling light.)
I'll be honest, it was hard work, but I had a blast. Among his many other talents, Corb is damn good when it comes to renovating a room. The job's not quite done, but we'll be finished next Saturday. And, if the room stays Emma-free, we may work on other rooms in the future.
We experienced a break-through, tonight.
We were preparing for supper and talking about bedtime, and Theo turned to me, and said. "When is the new couch coming in? I don't want to sleep in that sofa bed, anymore. It's really falling apart..."