Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

10 July 2012

Who's the beyotch NOW??

A little over a year ago, as I was being forcibly dragged across the continental United States and transplanted in a remote corner of northern New York, I made the ballsy statement, "I'm going to make New York my bitch."

It was my little way of making the best of a horrible situation.  

(I mean, what better way to fit in with the Amish than to decide to make them your bitch, yes?)

At the exact moment that I made that statement, unseen forces in the Universe started laughing their asses off.

Jesus, wiping his eyes and trying to catch his breath:  "Whooo... that was a good one! Oh my God, "I'm going to make New York my bitch."  Haaahahahahaaaaa!  I'm gonna pee!"

Karma:  "She's my favorite."

Jesus:  "Right?  I have some great video of her for the next Christmas party.  Hysterical."

Karma:  "Ooh!  Did you get the one where she almost beat herself to death because a leaf fell on her head and she thought it was a bat?  Wait til you see what she does when I drop a beetle into her hair!!"

I'm beginning to think that part of the reason the Universe likes to fuck with me so hard is because I find stuff like this so damn hilarious.

Judging by yesterday and this morning, I'm thinking it's a slow week for the Universe.  With nothing better to do, it's decided to have a few laughs at my expense.  

(In fact, just now, when I looked outside?  The clouds were forming a distinct "LOL" formation.)

Yesterday I drove an hour to my house cleaning gig, spent 5 hours sweating and cleaning (during which time a large beetle fell into my hair and I proceeded to slap the shit out of myself on the off-chance it was actually a rabid bat), then drove the hour home.  

*Sidebar:  Shut up about the bats.  They have found three cases of rabies in our county and I'm positive it's spread by bats.  Just because it was found in two raccoons and a bunny (I know, right?  I can't imagine anything more horrible than a rabid bunny) doesn't mean it didn't start with the freaking bats.  I am ever vigilant.

"It's just a little bunny rabbit!"

But first, I had to stop at the store.

Because a woman's work is never done, don'tcha know.

I ran in to the store, grabbed food stuffs for dinner, and ran back out to my car...

only to discover a giant freaking Suburban parked in the Compact Car ONLY space next to my cute little HHR, effectively making the option of me actually entering my vehicle from the driver's side door virtually impossible.



I fumed.

I steamed.

I yelled a very bad word.

I threw a mini tantrum.

People walking by cut a wide berth away from the crazy lady having a meltdown and screaming at the SUV.

I had to climb into my car through the passenger's side door and promptly become a contortionist,  which is never pretty.

I was touched inappropriately and partially violated when my gear shift gained intimate knowledge of my lady parts.

My right foot got stuck and I had to pry it over my head to get it under the steering wheel.

I accidentally set off my panic button, calling even more attention to myself.

I may or may not have cried on my way home.

This just in:  I'm never going to the Price Chopper again, which now makes two grocery stores that have kicked my ass and made me their bitch.

When I finally got home, my first course of action was to strip off my hot, sweaty, dirty clothes and fling myself face down onto my bed, allowing the fan to tickle away the disgustingness of my day.


I've got to tell you all, it felt sooooo gooooooood.

Like, making soft little almost sex noises good.

"Oh baby... yeah... right there.  That's the spot.  Come to mama..."

As I was moaning into my pillow, a loud knock suddenly startled me from my reverie and booted me out of my happy place. 

My dogs started barking like assholes and I shot off my bed, trying frantically to find something to put on to cover my obscene and sweaty nakedness.

I threw on a tank top and a pair of capri leggings (sorry, Misty, but I had no other choice but to wear them as pants at that precise moment) and answered the door.

My landlord was standing there, looking a little flustered.

Casually, as if he just hadn't heard me talking dirty to my fan, I said hello and equally casually, as if he didn't think I was a giant freak, he handed me my rent receipt.  We made awkward small talk and finally said our good-byes.

As I was in the process of shutting the door, I looked down just enough to notice that in my haste to dress myself, I'd put my tank top on at a crooked angle (it was a tank with thin straps, just to give you a better visual) and not only was one strap dissecting my right boob, but the right boob was also partially hanging out under the right arm pit, which, due to the fact that I don't know how to dress myself, was somewhere in the middle of my chest.

I slunk into my bedroom to assess the damage in the full length mirror and that's when I discovered the icing on the cake:

The back of the tank top was all rolled up, exposing about 6 inches of back fat.

Fuck me hard.

I feel a draft...

Really, Universe?  Really?

Moving right along...

This morning, I was awakened at 6 a.m. by the loud sound of what appeared to be someone dragging something heavy back and forth across the gravel driveway.

Maisy hurled herself at the window, barking like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.

Dan, rousing himself enough to bellow:  "Maisy!  Be quiet!  Get down!"

Me:  "Why the hell should she be quiet?  If they're going to move their shit at 6 in the morning and wake me up, they can listen to her bark."

Dan:  "What are you talking about?"

Me:  "Don't you hear that noise?  What the frig are they doing?"

Dan:  "Who?"

Me:  "Those stupid assholes who just moved in.  What the hell?"


Me:  "Jesus, Dan... are you telling me you can't hear that?"

Dan:  "Hear WHAT?"

Right at that second another loud rumble shook our house and was followed by a crack of lightning, followed by more loud rumbles.




Dan:  *snicker*

Me:  "If you love me, you will never mention this again."

Dear New York,

I am, indeed, your bitch.