Retro Music Friday.

Think Doctors are smart ? Guess again. I am convinced that in some instances M.D. stands for Major Dumbass and / or Douchebag depending on the situation at hand.

I have had an unquantifiable number of interactions of medical professionals. Some " get it " and some don't.

I found out yesterday that one I thought " got it " clearly does / did not. This is the point wherein my job is causing an exponential increase in my Vodka bills. I prefer Kettle One and believe you me, that shit ain't cheap.

* Note to self - find Package store that offers home delivery *

At any rate, as I was saying....I needed this particular Doctor to sign his name and nothing else to one, ONE piece of paper and fax it back to me. Easy enough for those of us with an IQ greater than a bowl of Corn Flakes, right ?

I had to call this Doctor three times. Three. Times. I left three messages. Three messages speaking to the fact that I needed him to sign the paper I had faxed to him and then take the very same paper and fax it back to me. I spoke with his secretary ( she is worthy of an entire blog post unto herself...no time for any witty literary observations about her right now.....but sufficed to say if you pay peanuts you get monkeys.) who advised me to call his pager service and talk to him myself...I know what you're all thinking...... " But Bunny, isn't that her job ??" You would think. I paged him via his answering service. No return call.

As flames were shooting from my ears I thought it best to wait until the next day and call again. I spoke with the secretary again and tried in vain to communicate my needs to her, which at this point was like trying to communicate IKEA furniture assembly directions to a baboon.

She suggested that since I was trying to procure this ONE piece of paper on behalf of a third party I should have the third party call him on his answering service.

I guess to this point I have failed to tell all of you, dear readers, that I was merely the middle man in all of this.

I got in touch with persons of authority in the third party and communicated my needs to them. And since it had been a few weeks without the third party calling me to request this piece of paper I thought all was good.

But last night - at 6:30 PM - while I was driving home. My work week done. - my cell phone rang.

It was the third party. They still do not have the paper in question.

I refrained from verbalizing a stream of obscenities and was quite proud of myself for sounding as professional as I did despite the flesh that had begun to melt from my face. . I assured them that I would handle this problem today - on my day off.

As my cell phone has not stopped ringing for oh.....eight months ( even on my days off )....I had had enough. After I hung up with the third party I shut my phone off.

As I pulled into the driveway last night I noticed that The Mister was in the back yard mowing the lawn. I stood at the edge of the lawn a significant distance from him and waited to make eye contact with him. After a moment or so our eyes met. We smiled at each other. I held up my cell phone for him to see it. He looked at me quizzically. I then - doing my best impression of Josh Beckett - launched my cell as far as I could. I think it landed in the woods. I then turned around and went back to the driveway to retrieve the remainder of my things from my car. The Mister ( love him ! ) shut the mower off and found my cell. He then came up to the porch, cell in hand, brushed the dirt from it and turned it on to make sure it still worked.

It did. He then set the phone down on the patio table.

Guess what happened not 15 seconds after he set it down?

IT RANG AGAIN !

The Mister laughed kind of this Oh-my-god-you're-right-this-fucker-never-stops-ringing-I-thought-you-were-just-being-a-bit-of-a-drama-queen-now-I-finally-get-why-you-appear-to-be-losing-your-marbles laugh.

OK, I got off track there.......

Here is an open letter to the Doctor who I'm pretty sure is going to give me an ulcer.

Dear Dr. (_____),

I realize that you are a very busy man. I have no doubts that I am a small pebble, an insignificant gnat if you will, in the grand scheme of things that require your attention. I am willing to overlook the fact that your secretary took the time to finish a piece of chocolate cake while siting at the reception desk before she chose to address me while I stood not two feet from her for at least ten minutes. Or that time you were 45 minutes late for an appointment. Or that time you were an hour late for an appointment.

I'm willing to overlook the cat fur that always seems to be stuck to your pant legs - or the fact that you don't seem to own a comb.

I'm willing to overlook the fact that you display behavior much like that of a Muppet on crack. Cause really, I think you might possibly be on the spectrum and may be in need of services much like the ones I provide.

But all that aside, if you would be so kind as to fulfill this one request I have I can promise you I will remove myself from your uncombed hair. I'll make this easy for you.....I'm going to talk you through this much like I have to explain things to one of my clients..... Ready ?

Look through your inbox and find the paper I faxed to you. In fact it might be two papers as I also employed the use of a cover sheet.

Find it ? OK good. Now see the second page ? No - that is the cover sheet, put that aside for now....Nope. Put that down, we don't need the cover sheet yet. The second paper. Yep, that one.

Ok, now see at the bottom of the page ? The big X ? See it? No, look at the bottom of the page. The bottom. No, don't turn the page over. Look at the bottom of the page for the very large X. See it ? The Big X ? Ok good, you found it. Now get a pen. It's ok, I can wait - just find a pen. Got a pen ? Oooo, you're right, that is a nice pen. But lets not get distracted here....ok, ooop...I'm pretty sure that pen does not have a cap. It looks like a click pen to me. No, don't pull it apart,it clicks...no..stop pulling it....it clicks. Put your thumb on the end...no, the other end. Now press down. Hear it click ? Remember that for next time.

Alright, now...you remember the big X at the bottom of the page ? Ok now sign your name. No, not my name...YOUR NAME.

Wow, nice job writing your name !

Ok, now you need to go find the fax machine. Wait wait, take the cover sheet with you. The cover sheet....you put it down. Yeah, we need that now. Got both papers now ? Fantastic. Now the fax machine. I'm pretty sure the secretary knows where it is. Find it? Good. I know, just brush the chocolate cake crumbs off it. Now, remember that cover sheet, the one where I wrote that I needed you to sign the second paper ? See where at the top of the page there is a bunch of numbers ? Look at the top of the page...see the address ? Now look underneath the address...there are a bunch of numbers...the first one that reads PHONE next to it, underneath that one..see where it reads FAX ? The numbers....yep, those are the ones. Now put the paper you signed down in the top of the machine, no..the other way. With all the words down so you can't see them. It's ok, it doesn't matter what way in goes in there...just make it so you see the blank side of the page.

Now see all the number buttons on the top of the machine ? Stop touching the paper, it's fine. The numbers....no, stop touching the paper. See the buttons that look like a phone ? Those. Now press the numbers next to....what did you do with the cover sheet ? It was just here...where is it ? Well, we need to find it. Ooop..hold on, I think it fell on the floor. Ok, now remember the numbers next to the word FAX ? Stop touching the paper in the machine. Leave it alone, it's fine. Now see where it looks like a phone ? No, don't pick up the phone. No it's not really a phone, it just looks like one. That is really confusing, I know. Press the numbers on the top of the machine just like they appear right next to where it reads FAX. PUT THE PHONE DOWN ! FOCUS ! We're almost done here. Ok, did you press all the numbers ? You sure ? Ok, now press the green button that has the word SEND on it. No, the green button. No, not that button. The one that is green. Wait, are you color blind ? No ? You sure ? Just checking. Now press the green button. Yep, that one. You don't have to hold it down. Stop pressing it. Take your finger off it. Now wait a second...does it sound like a phone dialing ? DON'T PICK UP THE PHONE !

It's dialing, that's good. No....no the paper in the top of the machine is supposed to do that...no....don't pull it out. No - it's supposed to do that. See, look it comes out the other side ? I know, pretty cool huh ? Is it all the way through on the the other side ? OK ! We're done. Nice job. You worked really hard on that ! I think we can get a treat now. Wanna go to Starbucks ? How does a frappacino and a cookie sound ? Sounds good to me too.

As I am profoundly tired of listening to the 1-800-54-GIANT commercials on the radio I put my 80's box set in the car not long ago. I heard this song on one of the CDs last night. I laughed as it seems to fit my current situation to a T.

This is Words by Missing Persons.

1981, I was 5.

Lyrics are HERE.

Have a nice Friday all !

XO

Bunny

When You Care Enough To Send The Very Best, Don't Call Me.

So it seems that as of late our best-est cousin Steph has had quite a run of bad luck. Really.....bad luck of near biblical proportions. If she called me tomorrow and told me that she were swarmed by locusts I would not at all be surprised.

I spoke with her in depth not too long ago in the midst of another really bad day. Of course I was driving around with the Spawn-Of-Satan Unicorns in the back of my car while talking to her

[ Side note to Mumbles Mile here; Yes I drive and talk at the same time all the time and no..I still do not have a Bluetooth. I wanna get a Bluetooth...I really do. I just cannot seem to find the time to drag my ass to the cell phone store or Best Buy or any place else for that matter to acquire that type of technology. Sorry. I know how nuts it makes you when I drive and talk.
I KNOW...DON"T GIVE ME THAT LOOK !!! ]

and I'm all like " Honey, you wanna talk about a bad freakin' day ! ". But I didn't go there.....her Oprah-worthy drama trumped my mite-infested Unicorn dilemma.

I felt that I needed to do something to cheer her up. So I thought and thought and thought about what it would take to bring a smile to this face;

I realize that this picture does not speak to her being the owner of an eyewear boutique. Just believe me when I say that her sense of comedic irony runs as deeply as yours truly. Really, I think it's perhaps why we treasure each other to the degree we do.

At any rate, as I was saying......what could I do to make her a wee bit happier or maybe, just maybe, make her forget about whatever it was that was causing the exponential increase in her Vodka bills.

A Hallmark Card ?

Meh. Been There Done That.

Flowers ?

Yawn.

Candy ?

Not for the OG Whole Foods Shopper.

No. No. No. None of these would do. So then as it does, genius struck.

COMEDY ! That shit lasts for.ev.er. Yes ! Comedy ! Laughing ! Laughing is good !

So I bought her a book. Then I wrote her a letter. And with her express verbal permission I am posting the letter I wrote her here. Now please keep in mind that I do not ascribe to any of the tenants which I have written about in the succeeding letter. This is purely a piece of literary art was intended as such.

12 May 2009
Lamb,

I started thinking that letter writing was a lost art form so as I sit here polishing off an ice cream cone for dinner ( yes, I admit my dietary habits are atrocious - I won‘t even try to paint my eating habits, or lack thereof, in a positive light. When I‘m on Lipitor at 38 then you can say “ I told you so. “. Until then, just take solace in knowing that in this instance clearly you are a better person than I. Why am I eating an ice cream cone for dinner you ask? Because I‘m over 30 and I can. ), I thought I would take this time to channel my inner Bill and pontificate a bit.

It pained me considerably to hear the tales of unpleasantness and nefarious type acts that have recently plagued you. You sounded so pathetic when I spoke with you that well…..I just had to start drinking enough for both of us. Remember, that which does not kill you only makes you self medicate more aggressively. I guess into every life a little malfeasance must fall, but your recent woe-is-me existence is just total bullshit. You’re way too hot to be dealing with shit of this magnitude.
I thought I would try to give you a “ pick me up “ of sorts.
These are the new “After 30 Rules. “. Here goes;

Since you are over thirty I wanted to let you know that it is now perfectly acceptable to tell people to “ Go Fuck Themselves “. Really, I’m giving you permission to do so as you see fit, as often as and to whomever you please.
Although you should probably also know that “ Go Fuck Yourself “ can come in a myriad of forms….why just this week I told a middle-aged man in a Acura sitting next to me in traffic that he had a little dick. And it felt really good.

Hand gestures are also of acceptable use at this point in your life. Flip people off at random to desensitize yourself from the shock of it. Perhaps you may want to start with folks sporting McCain / Palin bumper stickers on their cars. Although in most instances these people are mentally retarded and well, one-finger saluting a retard is just bad karma. We may need to rethink this one. At any rate, giving someone the bird will soon be as natural as breathing or masturbating. You can even make up hand gestures of your own. Of course they won’t have any specific etiology, but the receiver of these meaningless gestures will think they must mean something and will be offended just the same. I’m calling this “ Offense with little effort or forethought “.

By now you should also be enjoying making total strangers uncomfortable. Take public transportation for no real reason other than to tell the person sitting next to you about your recent colonoscopy VERY LOUDLY AND IN GRAPHIC DETAIL. You’ll find that watching people scoot away from you with a slightly pained look on their face will fill you with an unexpected glee.

I’m sure you’ve been onto this for a while, but embarrassing your children can be quite rewarding as well. Although I have no children, I find that embarrassing my parents is equally rewarding. I’m sure the fact that I know a cross-dresser who dates a lesbian has shaved at least three years off my parent’s lives. I admit I get some sort of sick thrill out of watching them squirm, but I really regale them with the ridiculous but entirely true tales of my existence to make up for the indentured servitude I was forced to endure as a child…..but I digress.
Dance in the grocery store. Roll down the windows in the car and sing “ Wind Beneath My Wings “ loudly and off key while at red lights. Change your ring tone to Biz Markie’s
“ Just A Friend. “. Pretty soon those beautiful children of yours will be looking for alternate transportation to social functions and / or school events…..freeing you up for more drinking time. It’s a win-win all around if you ask me.

I guess it’s time for us to have “ the talk “ now…..you know S-E-X. “ Freaky & Frequently “ should be your mantra. I would suggest a hot pink, bobbed style wig ( for you….I don’t think hot pink is really your Husband's color….he‘s a Winter you know) and a crop for starters. Develop an alternate personality, perhaps named “ Sasha “. Remember to stay away from latex - it can irritate like a drunk in-law. Believe me on this one, I speak from experience to both parts of that equation.
Anal beads are a nice touch as well, but I would recommend that you at least take your husband out for dinner and a movie first. It’s been my experience that men need a little buttering up and copious amounts of alcohol before you “ bottom “ them.
And remember the three words that everyone likes to hear…….LUBE. LUBE. LUBE.

Unleashing your inner Diva should also be on the top of your To-Do list. You’re hot. You know it and so should everyone else. The more you spend on grooming and your wardrobe will get you into heaven faster. I find that pretending you are the star of your own reality show is the best way to achieve the swagger you‘ll need to accomplish this. Think
“ The Real Housewives of Golden Valley. “ . Although in your case it’s probably more like “ The Real Civil Union Men of Golden Valley. “ .
Sleeping until noon is also a must. You do need your beauty sleep after all, and your lack of available parenting will only teach your children to become more self-reliant. Again, another win-win.
I recently read an article with a high-powered female executive who stated something to the effect of;

“ When you’re in your twenties you are obsessed with looking older and having others take you seriously. When you’re over thirty you just want to look hot. “

So very true. This is a fully self-realized woman.

Every Diva has a few must-haves that need to be available 24/7. A great pair of panty hose, a tube of concealer, the perfect red lip stick, the number to a great restaurant on speed dial and a credit card her husband doesn’t know about.

In summation, I hope this little “ Pick Me Up “ made you smile and have a giggle or two. I hope you find a certain amount of freedom within the new “ After 30 Rules “.

And if I’ve not done what I had set out to do by writing you this letter and have left you largely befuddled, just remember that I love you. Even if you do hate IKEA.

XO
Me

And I included a personalized second part;

Please accept this small token of my affection. I felt that given your prior experience with the Thanksgiving house guests from hell I thought you’d find the enclosed gift amusing. I especially liked the chapter on alcoholics - hits close to home, you know ? As Brock would say, I think this will “ get you right in your wheelhouse. “ .

At any rate, have I told you that I now possess a Rhode Island drivers license ? I guess this means that I now have a license to sound largely unintelligent when I speak, dress like I’ve shopped the clearance rack at K Mart and develop poor driving habits. Having lived in the Ocean State for a time I now realize why people hate Americans.
I guess you now possess a license to bitch and moan. Go ahead, you’ve certainly earned it. And if anyone gives you any shit at all, tell them to call me. My verbal kung-fu skills are razor sharp these days.

We miss you terribly. Time and distance can be cruel mistresses, no ? As I have stated previously, you are always welcome here - you are Brock’s “ sister “ after all.

So that’s it. I hope this package finds you well - and sober for the most part.

I am pleased to report that she enjoyed this very much. Very Much. I think she might have even laughed.

And lets all Welcome my newest reader...the aforementioned Bill - my brother-in-law. Yep, the Sharp Dressed Man Bill. That one. OK...one...two....three.....all together now.....

" HI BILL !!! "

Well....that is all I have for tonight.

XO

Bunny

Retro Music Friday.

More about the work situation and why it is currently kicking my ass.........

I have come to realize that there is perhaps little delineation between where my existence and some ( not all ) of my client's existences begin and end. I am so tied into their being-ness that it is as if we are all one in the same. In some instances, where there is little or no family involvement, I am their family. I make sure they have some place to go for Easter and have taken some of them home for holidays. Bought and wrapped their Christmas gifts and pre-planned their funerals with them. Sat in emergency rooms with them and calmed them when they are melting down. Clapped for them and encouraged them when they meet new challenges and picked up the pieces when things fall apart.

Don't misunderstand, I am in no way complaining. I am grateful for the experience of having these people in my life. I have learned many, many, many lessons during my times with them. Things that I would have never had the opportunity to learn anywhere else. I am so profoundly humbled that they place the amount of trust in me that they do.

But as I was saying, I am so tied to some of these folks that when one of them has a really bad week, I have a really bad week.

Like this week for example.........

One of my older clients...ok, who am I kidding here ? She's elderly. She old, old, old. And she has elderly problems. Take it from me, I've seen it up close and personal.....getting old is a bitch.

At any rate, I have been in the habit of taking this client's laundry to yet another client's apartment every week to get washed. She ( my old client ) is in an assisted living facility that has recently been taken over by another company who has decided to now charge for laundry service. And as my client is on a budget this was not a luxury she was going to be able to afford.

Of course I made the executive decision long ago that I would make alternate plans for her dirty laundry as the folks at the assisted living facility were doing a horrid job of it. I was getting really tired of continually tossing clothing that was stained beyond belief. Really, I could not in good conscience let her been seen in such a state. So I was ALWAYS buying her new shirts, pants, etc, etc, etc. So my boss and I decided that we would give another, younger and more independently functioning but largely unmotivated client a job. The younger client felt empowered by her new responsibility and ensuing income, I had clean clothing for my client. A win-win all around.

However I realized this week that the younger, laundry-washing client was in no way prepared, nor should she have been subjected to, the hell-spawn abomination that awaited me when I went to get the dirty clothing from my client's apartment.

Given that her closet was nearly empty, I had precious little time to return the bare necessities back to her. As I was taking an extra day off this week I had no other option but to take the steaming, reeking abomination in a laundry basket to my house to be washed. I really weighed all of my other options, but nothing else would have been feasible or would have fit my schedule.

I pulled into my driveway Tuesday night and The Mister ( because he is so freakin' awesome ) met me in the driveway to help me haul in the laundry - which filled the entire trunk of my Corolla. Upon my lifting of the trunk he stated;

" OH FUCK THAT SMELLS !!! " and then promptly pulled his Bruins hoodie up over his nose.

Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Of course I had been driving around all day with the putrid stench emanating from my trunk and after a while I started to think that it perhaps did not smell as badly as I had initially thought.

I guess I was wrong.

I steadfastly refused to bring the basket into my house. So I there I was Tuesday night in my backyard wading through what ended up being six loads of laundry with blue vinyl gloves on. The Mister was standing by,Bruins hoodie still pulled up over his nose, and now occasionally gagging.

I was suitably annoyed by the situation I found myself in. The Mister would occasionally punctuate my annoyance with;

" Man, they DO. NOT. pay you enough ! "

and

" You have a one-way ticket to heaven hon. "

and

" Christssake that is just WRONG ! "

I ended up tossing yet more clothing and other things. They just could not be saved. Some things had to go through the wash with hot water, Tide and Clorox twice.

Then as I was standing over the dryer at 11 PM that night I realized that if I was annoyed I could probably scarcely imagine what my client must have experienced to have her laundry end up that way.

Kind of an odd lesson in compassion.

But because I can see the humor in almost anything.........

Here is " Take My Breath Away " by Berlin.

I'm sure you all know this went along with the movie Top Gun. Which is one of my Mother's favorite flicks.

1986 - I was ten.

There you have it.

Have a nice weekend all !

XO

Bunny

If I Were Me I'd Kick My Ass.

Late yesterday, after what was quite possibly my 18th hour of being awake ( not just awake but actively awake. I mean, really freakin' busy awake. not the awake but sitting and eating cookies while watching Oprah busy......REALLY freakin' busy. So busy I was finding it difficult to decide when it would be good time to pee...), I decided that Pink ( the singer, not the color ) was in fact, a genius.
More to the point, I felt that THIS song was speaking directly to me.
I actually said to myself last night " OH MY GOD, PINK SO GETS IT !!!! "

I have to say, if you get to the point where you think that Pink ( the singer, not the color ) must have some sort of cosmic connection to you - you are have reached the point where exhaustion has become delirium. Seriously.

Needless to say, The Mister was not home last night. Had he been here to witness my full-on decent into insanity....well, lets just say he would have pulled me off the 11:30 train to Crazyville before it left the station. I can't be too sure what methods he would have employed to accomplish this, but it could have involved shaking me like a red-headed stepchild.

Why the melt down ? Work has been kicking my ass lately. Kicking. My. Ass. Things are getting added to my To-Do list faster than I can check them off.
It sort of like when you decide to practice your tennis serve with one of those automatic ball machines, only the machine is stuck on high speed. And someone locked you in one of the raquetball rooms at the gym. And you only have a kiddie racket to defend yourself.
Yeah, kicking my ass like that.

I have since revised my opinion about Pink.


Sorry for the lack of posting lately. As I have stated, work has been kicking my ass.

Back to my regularly scheduled nonsense soon enough.
I might actually post a RMF tomorrow.

XO
Bunny

Retro Music Friday - The Deal With The Unicorns.

I should probably put the reference to the Unicorns in the last post in the proper context. I realize that perhaps it seemed a wee bit random.

Ok - get comfy people. This is a long story. Think Homer's Odyssey.

Feel free to hit the bathroom if you need to first...you know....get a drink while you're up. You may want to put your cell over to VM.

Ok. Here goes;

Myself and a co-worker ( " J " )** are co-case managers to a married couple.

Yes, mentally disabled people get married....they are just like you and I. Except they are constitutionally incapable of learning from their mistakes...which is largely why I am employed. If you think about it though, isn't repeating the same sequence of actions and expecting a different outcome every time the clinical definition of insanity ? So really my career entails keeping people from fitting the clinical definition of insanity......does that make me insane by proxy ???? And people wonder why I seem unbalanced at times.

As I was saying....this married couple are moving to a new apartment very soon. So my co-worker and I have been preparing them for their upcoming move. We quickly discovered that this couple are hoarders. Well, maybe not hoarders.....but they seem to be under the impression that you must keep every gift that anyone ever gave you in your lifetime. I have explained to them many,many,many times that it is really OK to part with things. I seem to have the privilege of being the only person they will collectively listen to when it comes to tossing crap. I've found that the best approach with this couple is the " take no prisoners " attitude to tossing stuff. I go through closets / drawers / cabinets like the Tasmanian devil and give them about 2.3 seconds to decided whether or not to keep an item....no time to think in great detail on their part. Seems to be working so far.

At any rate, my client and I had spent about two hours earlier in the week going through bags and boxes they had packed ( Pyrex wrapped in polo shirts ??? ) continuing to toss, reorganize and repack some things. We made pretty good progress too.

As we were getting ready to wrap up the de-crapping party I turned around to spy a HUGE stuffed purple unicorn in the back corner of the room. So I asked my client....

( pointing ) " What is THAT ? "

To which she responded;

" A Unicorn ".

OK, I asked for that one....dumb question, dumb answer.

She continued;

" I have another one in the closet. "

So I said;

" Go and get it. "

She appeared fifteen seconds later with a white version of the purple Unicorn. I'm sure the look on my face as I stood in the presence of two HUGE stuffed unicorns could have most aptly been described as Epic WTF.

Then I thought to myself;

" They DO. NOT. pay me enough to pack up and move two HUGE Unicorns. No. No. No. No. No. "

The look on " J's" face read of ; " Oh. My. God. This is all you girlfriend. " She understanding very well that if anyone was going to convince them that perhaps it was time to part with the Unicorns it was going to be me. We've been calling my weird, Svengali-like influence over these two clients " Jedi Mind Control " .

After much talking and debating and perhaps a little bit of bribing I finally convinced them to give the Unicorns away, " J " and I both realizing that the only appropriate home for them being a dumpster. However I promised to find the Unicorns a good home.

So off I go, down a flight of stairs, trotting out to my car ( although I happened to have Hub's Highlander on this particular day ) with two HUGE Unicorns ( among other things ) under each arm.

Stop and try to get a visual of that for a sec........

I asked " J " if A)I would be eligible for workman's comp if I go ass over teakettle down a flight of stairs carrying two Unicorns and B) what would the internal incident report read if the aforementioned scenario did actually happen.

Fast forward ten minutes or so to " J " and I standing in the parking lot with a massive load of crap we pulled out of our client's apartment. We contemplated putting some of it ( including the Unicorns ) in the dumpster. However these two clients have a habit of spying on the coming and goings in the parking lot. So we knew they were watching us. And as I had promised to give the Uni's a good home I was obligated to drive away with them in the back of The Mister's car. Before I packed them up I started singing.........

" I always feel like.....( client's name) is watching meeeee....."

This is Somebody's Watching Me by Rockwell. 1984 - I was eight. Rockwell is Berry Gordy's son. Michael Jackson is doing background vocals if you listen closely.

On with the story......

I drove home with the Uni's ( among other things ) in the back of The Mister's car. He too saw the absurdity in my current situation and had himself quite a hearty laugh or two at my expense. I told him I was going to put them on the front lawn with a sign that read Free To A Good Home. To which The Mister responded " No. No you're not. " He doesn't want to be Those People, remember ?

Ok, so Plan A was out the window.

Fast forward to yesterday. I was still driving around with these freakin' Unicorns in the back of The Mister's car. I tried to donate them to THREE different charities with no luck. Apparently charities are no longer allowed to accept stuffed animals - you know - mites and shit. I also made way too many phone calls regarding this matter. Really. Occupying the top slot on my To-Do list yesterday was Rid Thyself of Unicorns.

Anywho.....I still had custody of these damn things at 2 PM yesterday. Yep. I spent nearly an entire day trying to rid myself of these things.

At one point I had loaded up The Mister's car with so much crap that the Uni's were now sitting high up in the back of the Highlander. Every time I drove over a bump their demonic looking faces bobbed up and down in the rear view mirror as if to mock me. It was really starting to creep me out after a while.

Then as I was picking up yet more stuff yesterday I had all the doors and the hatch to the Highlander open while I was in the parking lot of an assisted living facility. I had so much athematic junk in my car.....including the damn Uni's....that I started to talk to myself out loud about how my life has become an exercise in ridiculousness. I realized now that it may have appeared to some that I was a crazy homeless person who had been living out of my car.

Ok, wrapping this up.

I finally found a kind individual who let me put the Uni's in their dumpster.

But if asked I will disavow any knowledge of the Uni's whereabouts.

My God that was a long story.

In the back of my mind I am seeing Therese sitting at her kitchen table, reading this post on my blog, laughing her ass off ( so much so that she's probably trying to call Todd over so he can read along, but she can't quite get the words out due to iced caramel macchiato spewing from her nose....) at the visual of me trotting down a flight of stairs with two HUGE Unicorns under each of my arms.

Xooo

Bunny

**There are many reasons that I am quite fond of " J ". Perhaps number One being that she and I had gone to Building 19 to buy furniture for the same two clients ( dudes.....if you've not been to Building 19...you're really not missing much. ). As we entered the building she had accidentally walked in through the out door. To which I remarked " Gee..all you really need now is raspberry beret. " To which she reached in her bag, whipped out a raspberry colored knitted beret and slapped it oh-so-jauntily on her head. Not only did she get the reference ( I can be somewhat obscure at times...) but she had a RASPBERRY BERET IN HER BAG !

An Affliction For Which There Is No Cure.

Today as I was leaving a client's apartment I uttered words I'm pretty sure that I will never utter ( in this particular combination ) ever again for the rest of my natural life.

The complete absurdity of the statement I had made eluded me until a co-worker pointed it out.

This is what my life has been reduced to. Pay close attention people. These are the warning signs that " The Crazy " is about to mercilessly infiltrate your existence.

Ready ?

Here it is;

" Hey Guys, it's been real. Now give me those Unicorns so I can get out of here. "

Needless to say it is a very, very long story as to why these words came out of my mouth in this combination. And if I tried to explain it to you....well.....you'd all be infected with " The Crazy " by mere association.

XO
Bunny

My Funny Valentine.

So it seems The Mister has a few admirers of the geriatric, female persuasion.

So we're all on the same page here....The Mister is the executive chef at a very shi-shi, country club-esque assisted living facility ( read: old people with $$ ). Lets just say he's not in the habit of making mac n' cheese on a regular basis for these people.

First there was " Mrs. M. ". As he tells it, Mrs. M was was " sauced " in the dining room one evening and very displeased with her meal selection. As most of the dining room staff are H.S. kids they lacked the sophistication to handle one plastered little old lady...they had to call in the big guns. The Mister had to go out and speak with her - you know...smooth things over with her. Ever since that evening he's been sexually harassed by her on a consistent basis.
By his own admission this behavior is both cute and revolting at the same time.

Today it seems that The Mister has picked up yet another groupie - lets call her "Mrs. A ".

The Mister had gone to work today and had been informed by a co-worker that he had a heart-shaped note in his inner-office mailbox. Thinking this co-worker was yanking his chain he went to investigate the heart-shaped note.
Sure enough said note was indeed in his mailbox.

The exterior of the note read something to the effect of;

" To ( The Mister ) - from your admiring friend. "

He also told me that this note " reeked like hell " from a significant distance. At first he thought the note had perhaps been spritzed with Jean Nate or something......but no....turns out the interior of the note contained a Yankee Candle Sage & Citrus car freshener.

The interior of the note went on to read something to the effect of how fantastic a chef he is and so on and so forth.
I guess Hubs got a pretty good ribbing from some of his co-workers today.

So yeah....that's that.
I can't say I'm really threatened or anything.
In fact I think these little old ladies ( although I've never met any of them ) are painfully cute.


Coo Coo Ka Choo.
XO
Bunny