It was no George Clooney ER...

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind was blowing and the sky was a frightening shade of grey...

No, seriously, this is Seattle, it really was!

So last night Donia and I were just chillin at the crib, havin a raspberry iced tea, watching a little local news. I, as usual, was trolling the internet and Donia, as usual, was in the kitchen. She was putting some dishes away and, being the small fry that she is, reaching on her tippy toes to get stuff on the top shelves. I heard a crash and a grunt and giggled as I asked, "Are you ok?" She answered with, "Yeah, Im fine. If I was hurt you wouldn't hear anything, I'm usually quiet at first if I'm hurt." "Not me", I said, "Id be screamin!"

Fast forward 10 MINUTES. I hear another crash and immediately a scream. I throw the computer on the table as she's saying "Oh God, baby, I hurt myself. Oh no, I cut myself!" I knew she was serious this time and not just playing off of our convo from earlier. I jump up and run to the scene of the accident: I see the vegetable slicer, with its large blade, on the floor, and her keeled over holding her hand, blood on the paper towel she'd grabbed. Fuck. Im frantically like, "Are you ok, are you ok!? Oh God look at it, are you ok?" She gets upset for a sec and says," I don't know, ok..." and as she looks down she panics and says "Oh God, I need stitches". She insists I look at the wound, too, but I'm already shaking and afraid of seeing the blood, never mind a gaping cut. Now, we are set into action and I immediately go into panic mode (I suck at this stuff!)

I run around like a crazy girl in search for shoes, purses, a towel for the wound, and her wallet. She is just silent and calm, holding her hand tight. We run out the door and luckily, thank God, we live directly across the street from the hospital. We run up and down blocks following signs for the ER. We walk in and, well, they take their sweet ass time even asking us why were there. I'm so out of breath, and the girl doesn't even bat an eye! I tell them, "She cut herself" and she says"...ok. Has she been here before?" Not, "how badly" or "let us see", just "Do you have her insurance card?" There was just no sense of urgency in this girls bones! I was wondering if Id walked in with half my face hanging off if she'd have made me dig through my wallet for identification and confirmed my address before even taking me in! Needless to say, she sucked. No one saw the wound, and we are told to go sit down. Its 10 minutes before anyone even stirs, and so I say, "Show them you're bleeding through the tissue, tell them its not a minor cut!" As she stumbles over to the counter, again, being ignored, a woman calls out her name. This woman must have been the triage nurse. She gets Donia's info, does her vitals, but can barely help her control the bleeding cuz she has no idea where the supplies are! She has us sit down 5 more minutes before she brings us to the suture room. Or, as I like to think of it, the worst room you can possibly be in. Stitches make my skin crawl, they make me itch just thinking about them. I hate looking at pictures of people with stitches. Like nails on a chalkboard for me. We are in the suture room 20 more minutes before this really cool kid came and did some survey for the hospital, asking about emergency contacts, religious preference (yikes! in case of death??), and demographic info. Finally, after another 25 minutes or so, the "Physicians Assistant" named Tom comes in to sew her up. He's dry and corny, but funny. Typical hospital worker trying to put a patient at ease. He looked like Dr Drew, which was fun for me. He threw the packaging of the supplies he used all over the counter, like a mad scientist. He even had some playful banter with a nurses aid named "Jojo" to keep us entertained. All in all, I sat at the other side if the bed and held Donia's hand while he gave her shots, cleaned blood, and stitched away. My head was turned to the wall, and yes, Tom, this is how I would like to stay.

She was very brave and I'm impressed by her. I would have been a stupid mess over nothing, but she keeps things in perspective so well. When asked on a scale of 1-10 how bad her pain was, she said 5. Later she told me, "Well, I couldn't say 10. 10 is like having a baby. Nina was a 10. I cant say I'm that bad". Ha! I would have answered 11 if it was me. Such a tough little champ, if she enjoyed sweets and girly toys Id have taken her out for ice cream and bought her a Barbie doll for her bravery. Thats what always got me through...
So now shes loopy and hurting and I have to take care of her. And by that I mean change her dressing, wrap it before her shower, and do all the dishes for the week, the latter being the most devastating one. I love her, but I don't love dishes. Oh, listen to me, going on and on about how I'm suffering through this injury...

*Wait, its my blog. I can do what I want. Ok, back to me...*

So, I insist on waiting on her hand and foot, and it's not even really that bad of an injury (so she says). I guess its just what you do for someone when you love them. *And when you anticipate you may need some waiting on someday and you wanna be able to pull the "remember-that-stitches-time" card...*

So, in case you were wondering, the exact story of how this happened was that she was going to make coffee and as she reached for a filter, the veggie slicer she'd put haphazardly on the top shelf came crashing down. She instinctively went to catch it, or at least stop it from falling, and it came straight down, Guillotine style on her finger. Sliced right into her. Had it been any sharper she may have lost some of her finger, I'm guessing. Also, had it not been made in 1954, and had we not just bought it 6 days ago, this crisis may have been averted. Oh well, live and learn. Lesson 1: Leah puts dishes away on the top shelves. Lesson 2: Maybe items that contain open and sharp blades/daggers should be put on lower shelves.

Quote of the night: Right before going to sleep, Donia utters, "I hate my mortal body". (As opposed to her IMmortal body? Yeah, interpret that as you will, it was way too New Testament/Sci-Fi Channel for me at that late hour.)

Were just thankful it didn't fall on her face or head, and that her battle scar will be mini.

oh, and it got us a three day weekend...

No I dont want a free fucking credit card, I just want my dignity back!!!!!!

As someone who's worked in the business...of selling, that is...I know the ins and outs of "special offers" that actually can screw you instead of aide. "Good deals" are not always good. "Free" is never free. But alas, we are told by our managers to "upsell". If you suggest something to someone, they are more likely to buy it. Yes, I have seen this executed and actually work, but I was not a good salesperson. I knew the person didnt want to hear my overly rehearsed spiel about how great the Margaritas were (but not the cheap ones, the over-priced ones.) The bigger salad is better (but not better for you). A Gift Card would make a great gift! Blah blah blah, I couldnt stand there with a straight face while the guests were just wishing Id go away and leave them to their steaks. I sucked.

Fast forward to yesterday when I realized just how bad consumerism has gotten. Businesses want your money, bottom line. They dont care about you, they certainly dont care about your finances or bills. They are hoping you are dumb enough to have credit and use it frivolously. If you dont...well, theyre the first ones to offer you a special card that will help you pay for the things you dont really need. Case in point: Donia and I visited the mall yesterday. We had an errand to run there, one single transaction that would have taken 5 minutes. Neither of us could stand the thought of sitting in 40 minutes of traffic just to reach our destination, walk in, and walk out minutes later. We decided to walk around the Northgate Mall a bit and browse for summer clothes. We passed many stores before we came upon the first one that caught our eye-Victoria's Secret. Now, I know this sounds R-rated, but really, all Donia does is rave about their bras. She uses the word "quality" a lot when referring to them, so I know she means business. She wants things to last until the end of time. She wants the world to be coming to an end and still be able to use the toaster she bought 80 years prior and turn on the TV thats older than dirt. She believes in forever...with allll things. Im not much of a Victoria's Secret girl, Im fine with whatever I find wherever. All my girl friends have tried to make me feel bad or incompetent because of this. How could you not buy all of your undergarments from VS!!?? Its a sin! I always thought, 'How is it that this Victoria has monopolized everyone's boobs'? How did this happen that she owns everyones privates and only losers dont go there to outfit their naked bodies? Whoever she is, shes smart I tell ya, cuz every girl past the age of 13 has it ingrained in their heads that their breasts and asses will suffer terrible deformities, rashes and look awfully disfigured if they are not fitted into a super-expensive garment from VS. Why is this? Cuz their moms think the same twisted thing...
We enter VS and Donia immediately takes me to the supportive, quality bras. Black. White. Tan. This is what supportive looks like. Ok, fine, I think. My bras are old and I could use a new one or two. She immediately finds the sale (thats my girl!) that was posted on a sign out front. Jesus, depending on how big your girls are, you could pay up to 70 bucks for one of these suckers! She finds the 2 for $40 rack (no pun intended) and tells me "These are good". Ok, oh sacred guru of bras, lets get crackin. I find my size (which I will not disclose, thank you very much) and we head to the dressing room. Now comes the scariest part of all...the...salesgirl! The evil evil salesgirl thats so bubbly and happy to be alive in this glittery pink store that she almost explodes! She asks us if we found everyhting, if we had trouble, if we need help, if we are satisfied, if we wanna try them on, if we like them, and if theres anything else she can do just BUZZ her from the room and she'll fetch other sizes! She should have asked if well needed therapy after this session cuz I know I will. I now have PTSD from the horrific experience.
Jesus, I just entered high class shit here. I thought only Oprah was treated like this but no, the little people get it too. Only at VS, of course.
We answer "yes" to the trying on question, and she attempts to open ONE dressing room door. Does she thinks were friends that cant possibly want to not model our bras for each other, to want to critique each and every inch of them, to only know if we should buy them through the advice of the other? We werent holding hands or anything, so she wouldnt know we were together. Who knows what it was she was thinking, but I had to intervene. "Um, excuse me, ma'am. Hi, um, you see, as much as we love each other and have no secrets between us, etc.etc., we are indeed like all other women and would like to try our bras on ALONE. In different dressing rooms. Yeah, thanks, youre great. Oh, nope, thanks, Im fine, I can apply a bra to myself without hurting myself or screwing it up. Yep, Im good like that. What? Buzz? Yeah, sure, Ill buzz you..." Youre goddamn right I didnt buzz her! Fuck that, I can find new sizes. I dont need to stand there topless while she flits about the store looking for the perfect bra for me. Its just not right. Im a big girl and I can put my shirt on and leave the room and find the bra and return to the room and try it on and you know what? Ill not even think twice about those precious moments I made my feet take 50 steps to do it. Ill live the life of the less priveledged if this is what it entails.
Through my door I hear Donia emerge from her room and she's bombarded. "Howd they feel/look/snap/hold? Do you like/love/want/need to have it? Can I get you matching panties/underwear/thongs/robes/perfume/leggings? No? So just the bra? And it fit? Wow". I come out seconds later and before I can be swarmed by the Fairy Bra-girl, I grab Donia and we have a private pow-wow (which Im sure someone had to be taping and playing back somewhere at a faraway VS headquarters). I ask her if it was weird here and here and did it stick out a bit here and yes oh good cuz it did on me...and then here she comes. Salesgirl. Evil in the form of a tanned Prom-Queen wannabe.
Sometimes in life we make mistakes. Some are small; others, well, they can be quite devastating, leaving our life and everything we knew and loved in shambles. My mistake: telling her of my bra concerns. She immediatley looks at me like I just lost a loved one. Such despair and disappointment, such deep sympathy for what Im going through. She offers to get me a new size. New size, mind you, this is what she says. Well, shes a fucking lying fairy salesgirl with the remorse of serial killer and the heart of Satan. I put all of my trust in this girl and what does she do? She reaches into my chest and pulls my heart right thru it...past the boobs she claims to live to help! She stomps it on the floor and then spits on it, all the while glittering and smelling so lovely of the VS scent of the month. This sales girl tricked me, and I will never forgive her, as long as I live. As long as my boobs stay North and can be tamed by a normal everyday store-bought bra, I will hold this grudge. Her indiscretion: she came back with not the bra that I wanted, but a different bra that she thought would suit me better! As if she knows me! As if she knows my struggles in life! As if she took on my soul at that moment and knew what was best for my chest! Pssshhh. You dont know me or my body parts, little girl. You bring me back a hot pink soft fluffy piece of crap like this!? Shove it up your VS-clad ass!

I pretend to try the bras on, but I now know 3 things: 1. I dont like them and theyre different than the others, 2. She claimed they were "better" cuz they werent on sale like my others, and 3. shes a cheating whore.

I emerge from the room when I hear her go fetch a bra for another girl. I am worn and tired, and I figure this is my only chance to get away unscathed. I peek around the corner, all super-hero spy sleuth-style, and I make a break for the original display of 2 for $40 bras. I can just get my size back and go. 1..2..3...RUN!!!! I am almost there when, fuck! There she is! And she has my original bras in hand! I have the fleeting thought of knocking her out cold with the torso of an underwear manequin and making my way to the register quickly, but I decide against it. Too risky. Ive gotta keep my head about me now. I cant let her win. Where is my sidekick!!!??? Oh God, Donia is gone, Im on my own, Im hungry and scared and praying I make it to tomorrow.
She turns swiftly and sees me out of my designated changing station. "How. were. they?" I hear it as if the world were in slow motion. I try to think fast, Im afraid of her, of what Ill say and how shell reprimand me and send me back to the dressing unit and make me strip and wear the pink bra and scream at me that I do want it and that Im a pussy and that no one'll ever want me if I dont wear it and like it! I answer skittishly, "Um, well, I, um, I guess theyre ok but I, uhhh, I like the first ones I had after all." She stares into my soul, full of disappointment. She wants to slap me and throw the bras at my face, but I can tell shes decided to be more professioanl than that. She sighs and says, "well, ok", and gently flops the bras into my hand. Shes defeated. But really, so am I...

I take them and know my life has been spared this day. I look feverishly around all the different VS rooms for Donia, when I finally see her staring blankly from a designer chair, her pink bag in hand. She is weathered, but not worn. She's made it farther than I have, and I envy her at this moment. She gets up and approaches me, seeing the worry and fright on my face. I tell her "Move, move, dont look back. Just keep walking". I get to the register and have to stand there for 7 minutes waiting. Why is this? Well, first off, all the sales girls are out fetching bras for topless and helpless customers, so only one cashier is available. Secondly, do you know how else they attempt to pamper you? Well, they start by killing 1000s of trees and dying the paper they get from them pink. They then wrap each and every indiviaual undergarment you buy in this paper. As if putting them in a bag touching each other will ruin their reputations, or soil their beauty. Of course, just because this is the shopping day from Hell, the girl in front of me must have gotten a gift card, cuz she bought more undergarments than a person could wear in a lifetime. Do I wanna have kids and fund their college educations? Nah, Im gonna spend that fortune on lingerie. Dumb, dumb girl. While Im sandwiched in between two crystal cases of gloss and perfume and oil and lotion and polish and rouge, I see the salesgirl I offended with my denial of her bra suggestions. She flashes me an evil grin, as if to say, "You think youve won, but I always win, bitch" As if she has the ability to curse my boobs and any other bra that ever touches them. And you know what, Im convinced she just may...

I finally get called over by the girl whose only dream in life is to cash me out and then pose for the VS catalog herself. Thats it. She'll do this and die happy. She is nice as I put my bras up there on the counter, but then, something changes. Like a chameleon she goes from fake tanned to EVEN DARKER fake tanned, and evil. She asks me how Im gonna pay. Ruh-roh, I smell trouble! She asks if Ill be using my VS credit card. As I start to say No....she cuts me off and asks if Id like to. No? Oh, silly her, is it cuz I dont have one? Yes, well, if you sign up you get coupons and discounts and free puppies and happiness and cruises to the Bahamas and everlasting true love and emails telling you about upcoming sales. All the while Im trying to interrupt her and say No Thank You, like a polite consumer, more than I ever got from people, but shes relentless. She doesnt shut up until shes told me everything this little wonder-card can do. I am finally able to squeeze in a 'no thanks' but it means nothing as I hear it leaving my mouth. She knows Im not confident. She knows I have no spine, no support behind my decision. She thinks she can crack me, and she almost can, but just then something rises up inside me and I grab her by her blond weave and pull her fake-lashed eyes close to mine and say "Put the fucking bras in the pretty pink bag, bitch. No! Dont wrap them! Throw them carelessly in! Theyre not newborns, theyre bras! Ok now, let me swipe my plain old BANK CARD and let me on my way!" She is visibly shaken, and I am visibly pleased.
On our way out the lovely sales manager is standing near the exit and flashes us a huge VS smile and says "Have a good day!" These empty words fall upon our ears and we smile back. "You too" we reply, all the while knowing we have single handedly escaped the store with half priced bras, and the blood of once shiny happy sales girls on our hands...

Regrets last a lifetime

Its a lazy Sunday and I am definitely following what the Lord himself would want me to do...being lazy. Reading the paper, sipping coffee, and looking at the world's worst tattoos. Just for fun and games, take a look at these links and say to yourself over and over, "Ill never get tattooed after a night of drinking..."
*serious warning: There are many graphic tattoos. Watch out around the kids. And my mom...*
**note: some are repeats, but keep scrolling, youll see new ones**

www.grupthink.com/topic/index.php5?id=2517&page=1
http://listverse.com/bizarre/top-20-worst-tattoos/
www.theginblog.com/2007/12/15-of-the-absolute-worst-tattoos-ever/
http://next-thing.net/?p=2656
www.litwc.com/2006/10/20/i-love-tattoos-but/

Pantsless and sad

Here's the question of the day: What would any self-respecting girl do to pamper herself for a hard week at the office while her girlfriend is out at Happy Hour with her friends? You guessed it---come home and walk around pantsless. Pantsless with a cozy couch, blanket, and a movie. Not just any movie, but a classic and #2 on my list of favs. Titanic. Ah, the nostalgic feelings it brings back of just graduating high school, casually dating Steve Magnanti, and experiencing the greatest love story of all time. *Not me and Steve...Rose and Jack* I hear the Titanic theme (not by Celine...I like the instrumental) and I get all flustered. Ive seen it at least ten times in the last 10 years. Kind of a lot for someone who doesnt really like watching movies over and over. But Leo. Uh, my unhealthy obsession with Leo lives on. Anyway, I got through almost the whole movie without crying, maybe just a couple tears here and there (or, say, every half hour). Then Donia arrives home with 10 minutes to go. Jack is dying (oh come on! If I just ruined the movie for you, too bad! Youve had 10 years to see it!), Rose is never letting go, and Im enjoying every moment as if it were the first time Ive experienced the grief that is Titanic. There is no sweet exchange between us of "how are you/ How was your day". Its simply:

Donia: "Hi!"

Leah: *hand in Donias face, eyes fixed on TV* "Not now, Im invested"

Of course, wouldntcha know, I keep the tears at bay almost the whole movie, and then bam! She returns home and the ending hits me like a ton of bricks! Rose going home to the Lord and her sweet Jack and her fellow Titanic victims, passing away so softly in her sleep. Im now almost sobbing. Donia tries to speak to me and I embarassingly choke on my words. So much for the tough girl facade...



That was yesterday, as was the repeat of Oprah's show on Puppy Mills (which I didnt see at its original airing). This added more tears to the night when at the very end of the hour (we were strong throughout), we both couldnt hold back the tears when they showed the man who had to choose which dog got executed daily. 40 A DAY he had to kill! And this is just one shelter, in one town, in one state! There are so many dogs who need homes that we kill 4 million animals a year that have nowhere to go! Yet, everyone who wants puppies goes to pet shops, and they partake in buying from puppy mills that abuse, neglect, and downright torture animals to make money! 10,000 puppy mills with hundreds of dogs being mistreated. It doesnt add up. Forget the idea of a cute little puppy, you can find them in shelters if you really look around and really must have one. DONT GO TO PET SHOPS! I felt at that moment that I wanted a house and a yard just to take in dogs. Of course, when I wake up today I know that I am not an animal lover, and though I would never want to see animals hurt, I would never be the person to take in the animals either. If I have to be honest here, its just not my calling. Some people have it and others dont. I love my dogs, but my passion isnt dogs. So, anyone who does feel it really should be rewarded for the work they do. It sucks that sometimes know what your calling IS NOT before you know what your calling is...thats where Im at.



That rounded out last night, and then we come to today for happiness and sunshine...brought on by the idea that SEX AND THE CITY premieres today! I had this fantastic idea that Id walk downtown and buy tickets EARLY for the show, just IN CASE it sold out. Yeah, haha...joke's on me. As of Thursday night, yes, an entire 24 hours before it opened, all of Seattle had bought tickets in advance and every show from 5 pm to 11 pm was sold out! So now i have to wait until tonight...LATE tonight...to see it! I could have seen it late Thursday (technically Friday) at midnight, but alas, my rockstar days are over. I was in bed by 10...

Gus just vomited next to me. As I type, he threw up inches from my leg. Well, yes I just stood him up and shook him and pretended he was dancing in a club, and yes I spun him around while Donia played a tune on the guitar, but gosh! How was I to know he had a belly ache! Bad mommy=abuse case in the making.

This blog is, so far, boring and empty. Better luck next month I guess...

I dont even wanna unveil it yet.

Im having a dry writing spell

Although Im always pretty lame in my opinion. Lame is the new "cool".

Lovely June, hours from us. Kinda. Summer is here:)

A new place to call home

So I have started this new blog here on bloggers.com. It just seems more official to me, and now people without Myspace can read along two (Ive had to inquiries, but that was enought to warrant a brand new site). My dilemma is this: do I copy and paste all my old blogs from Myspace into the archives here (as I originally wanted to), or do I start anew with this blog and leave the old stuff to my Myspace life? I feel that if I leave them behind they will be forgotten. Those are some times I like to look back on (some are alcohol induced ramblings, others depict traumatic events ("the injury")). Right now Im leaning toward dragging all my baggage over here, just as I dragged it to Seattle, and all over the State of RI. You cant just forget things or let them go. You can grow from them, but you can never erase the tiny hash marks they leave on your life.

Welcome to the new grown up blog. And by grown up I dont mean Ill be writing intelligent posts. Theyll still be useless and boring and have as much impact as a feather off a building. Theyll pass the time, though, and for some, thats all you can ask for...

Oh yes, and P.S.
Please excuse the HUGE ASS FUCKING PICTURES located at the bottom of my blog. I thought theyd be tastefully done and moderately sized. I was wrong. Blogger.com is obnoxious. Ill prob take them down soon.

Ill have a grande ass and muffins to go...

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Today's ramblings will include depressing topics, happy topics, controversial topics, and most importantly BITCHES IN STARBUCKS! Why is it that you feel the entitlement to go into Starbucks, buy your coffee and super-fattening muffin, and then plop your deliriously smug ass at a table that SEATS 6 when you are only a party of 1? Where in your brain does it say, "This is a good idea". I go in with a party of 3, meanwhile, and we are forced to practically sit on top of each other around a table the size of a half dollar. Well, you know me, always out to make someone feel bad about themselves---I make it a point to loudly say to my friend, "Come here, you can probably squeeze in at this little table with us". I was sure the woman was within earshot. Low and behold, who gets up 2 minutes later, packing her magazine and blackberry and the rest of her crap into her tote? Thats right, lady-who-needs-five-extra-seats-to-be-comfy. Now, I know what youre thinking, maybe it was the last table? Well, it wasnt, but even if it HAD BEEN, my God, sit at the end, out of the way, sending off a signal saying, "Im just tucked in this corner cuz its the last table. Join me at the table if you would like. I dont bite and I realize this whole table isnt for me. That would be SILLY!" Or, do what she did and take up the whole goddamn thing, leaving 3 grown women to cram themselves where they shouldnt have to cram, and giving them no choice but to try and publicly embarass you. I was peeing today (oh come on now, I have to!), and I look down and whats this? Theres nothing more depressing than seeing a notch you had to make in your belt cuz it was just too big when you got it, and realizing youd no longer be able to use that notch if you tried... Had another dream me, DJ, Olivia and my mom were kidnapped. Another one! So I was thinking that Id start a campaign..."Friends Dont Let Friends Continue To Live In RI". Seeing as Im living here for now, Id like to convince all my close friends to move out here to BEAUTIFUL SEATTLE! Where theres music, coffee, and happy hour! Sure its illegal to text while you drive, but texting kills anyway! I figure if I ask everyone, my return rate should be at least 3%. So 3 out of 100 people will move here. I have less than half that many people to ask. So at that rate, in 5 years, maybe one of you will at least visit... Wait, hold it right there...I am getting visitors! Bailey and Meghan will be out in August, as well as Diehl, and possibly a visit from Jess! Guess the Lord heard my prayers after all... A big debate going on around here lately has to do with cappucchino and pasties. No, I didnt say pastRies, I said p-a-s-t-i-e-s. As in, what strippers call "shirts". Yeah, so theres these coffee shops (really tiny, only drive-thrus actually) called (cleverly enough) Hot Chick-a-latte, and Cowgirls Coffee, among others. They hire hot girls to wear bikinis or, even sometimes, pasties, and serve coffee to people. *Im guessing men on their morning commutes.* Anyway, some woman was up in arms on the news saying its bad for children, blah blah blah. She is scheduling a protest...and a clothing drive! In a very diplomatic and mature manner, the scantily-clad bathing beauty stated on the news, "Sure, they can send all the clothing they want over here. Were going to donate it to our local charity..." HA! Bikinis-1, insecure soccer mom-0. My feeling? Yes, its not the best for kids. SO DONT TAKE YOUR KIDS THERE! If you are unaware of which establishments practice this and you need a caffeine fix while the tots are in the car, dont pull around and call the girl a "heathen" (true story). Simply ask your questions, grab your coffee, go home, and explain to the kids that adults do things that children cant do yet. My God, free speech, free expression. If the business owner thinks this will make money and the girls willingly participate, then mind your own beeswax and take your business elsewhere. I have a feeling this woman isnt concerned for the "poor innocent children". Your "poor innocnet children" can pull up porn on your computer anyday. Shes upset because when she doesnt know, her husband and his buddies are drinking more coffee than any human should and flirting with the nice baristas on work time. Insecurity's a bitch, bitch. You dont like it, get to the gym. Those girls did, and they earned what they have. Or you could just put out more and then maybe your husband wouldnt be so hopped up on the idea of a half naked girl burning her you-know-what on steaming espresso. Ok, I have to get Donia from work and as it is, oopsie, Im late! Talk amongst yourselves, and Id love to know your views on the coffee shop thing. What if it were coming to a Dunkin Donuts near you?!

I guess I should be packin all the time...

Thursday, May 15, 2008

No, not a gat. My camera! I just went 10 miles East to a treatment agency outside of Seattle and OH MY GOD its beautiful outside today! Its almost 80, sunny, just breezy enought to be comfy, and I am in the best mood of May 08. I have no one to share this with because Donia is still at work! I wanna just run out into the street and find someone who doesnt look too sketchy and ask them if theyd like to take a drive to the park. I just saw the most beautiful green trees and mountain ranges off in the distance. I dont even know what range it is-could be Mt. Shithead for all I care-it was gorgeous! Everyone bragged about "summer in Seattle", which I know isnt here yet, but if this is a preview, then Im HOOKED! They said it was "muggy". Muggy? Oh, you poor poor Seattlites. Come with me, Ill show you muggy. Ill show you I-have-never-missed-winter-so-much-i-just-may-commit-suicide-today hot back in RI. Fuck muggy, this is perfection... So, as I again love Gus because pee-pee pad 2 seems to be working, I put his food in his bowl and went to change in my room. I come back to find him out on the deck, nibbling at three bites of food he carried out there. Apparently his plan was to grab a few and run back and forth with them becasue his poor lil chihuahua self couldnt decide what he wanted more--FOOD OR SUN! Chihuahuas are sun-gods, they live for it. I had to laugh at how cute his puppy conundrum was (after the giggle, mommy moved his food bowl outside for him). Though we have a laptop, we dont have wireless internet, so I am sitting inside doing this, as opposed to out on the deck on my old skool lawn chair. You know the one---I got it from KMart a week ago and its the kind you can lay down in, or sit up, or have your feet up. Its like a craftmatic adjustible bed for the yard. Yep, 12 bucks and Im golden. Donia refused saying the chair was "weird". f weird, its perfect! Yeah you may stick to the strange plastic weave its made of, but i can get myself in 30 different positions to reach maximumu sun capacity. With my SPF 60, of course. Ok, gotta get out there with the dogs. For once Gus, that little fucker, has the right idea...