Tag Archives: insults

Build an ark, fatty

What’s up, Retardo Montalban? Yeah, you like that one? I thought of it in the drive through at Dunkin’ Donuts. Sometimes I call the cat that, so you are not even worthy of an original insult.

In addition to my laundry and Zellweger duties, sometimes I like to take the car in for regularly scheduled service. The dealership pimps both Hondas and German Cars Assembled in Mexico, and today the waiting room was full of Honda people. Fucking Christ. They were all knitting and passing around Pampered Chef catalogs taken out of tote bags that came free with some mundane woman’s grooming item purchase. This one douche bag took over several chairs with her “scrapbooking” gear. She was mutilating photos of her children by trimming with a paper cutter and then bedazzling them on pages made out of what looked like wallpaper samples.

So I scrunched down in a chair, holding an issue of Travel + Leisure two inches from my face, to protect me from the Honda rays. I was reading about truffles and figs and suckling pigs with brittle skin and restaurants I’ve recently eaten at, and Scrapbook Lady started blah-blahing to Knitting Lady (I am doing a writing thing that John Gardner hates here) about how it would be so great to travel to places like “Europe.” And how she’d like to see the llamas some day. I am pretty sure you can go see some llamas in Jamaica Plain, but maybe she meant Lorenzo Lamas? At any rate (more crappy writing), a little man soon appeared and called me by my husband’s last name. He called it several times before I realized Mrs. Mr. H meant me. I asked him what kind of car he had, and he said a Honda. Jerkass.

Glamour kitty

Oh, internet. It’s a big day. I have so much fucking laundry to do, and so much work to do, and I have to ingest some calories, and probably make a few trips to eliminate waste, and the house is dirty, but that has nothing to do with the waste. And it’s almost Mother’s Day, and that means I have to go get a wall vase from Pottery Barn that someone has been coveting.

Yesterday I had road rage supremo, and I soon tired of shouting insults related to the term “colostomy bag.” So Hulk growl and roar. This actually seemed to frighten people, and it made me feel a lot better. It was a tough day. I had to go to a funeral, and Google Maps steered me to Main Street in Springfield instead of West Springfield, even though I clearly entered “W” in my directions. I have the print out. Behold it. I finally found the place I needed to be through sheer Spidey sense, and all was well, or at least as well as it can be at a funeral.

But get this, the cat has finally learned to talk. If I say “Who’s the Kitty!!!!!” she says “Mee!” We could do this for hours. If I say “Who loves Mommy?” she says “Mee!” If I say “Do you want cheap Canadian Lasik?” she says “Mee!” I am going to be so fucking rich. With all the money I save on Canadian Lasik, I mean.