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Foxy says the klassiest things

21 Jan

On Saturday our believed Foxy Luv turned the big 4-0.  My plans to shotgun Ensure and throw creamed corn at her were totally denied.  WTF!  She wouldn’t even head out for a booze filled night with me.  Why?  Because she was hoping to get some from her hubcap.

When I asked her if she was sure she was going to get some, she said:

I gave him Map Quest directions to my labial folds.

That’s our girl!  Always keeping it klassy!


A Shout Out (about anal) to Foxy Luv

15 Aug

The internet access we have at Widgets & Co. is on serious lock down.  I can’t tell you how often I see that menacing ACCESS DENIED message pop up on my screen.  We have zero access to Twitter, email, facebook, or any other site that’s halfway decent. You can blame my employment at Widgets & Co. for the decreased blogging efforts.  At Investments r Us I’d have my blog up all day long and felt free to write about all the idiots with whom I worked.  Now I’m afraid the IT Police will take me away and throw me into one of the rooms where the tables are bolted to the floor so no one can cause a scene.

On my first day the put the fear of God into me when they explained how strict their email use policy is.  You can be fired at anytime for any reason if someone accidentally sends you something inappropriate and you open it.  To this day I’ve been very cautious with my work email.  There’s no way on earth I’d send a message with the word anal (unless it was followed by ysis) to or from my work email.  Hell to the fucking no way!

But you know what I will do?  I will go ahead and send such a message to Foxy Luv at Investments r Us.  In my defense it was in reply to a message from another friend AND I didn’t realize it was going to Foxy’s message.  So, Foxy, when your ass gets fired for reading that message, I’ll be the first to tell you I’m sorry.  BUT on the flip side, now’s your chance to take up that career as a pole dancer you always wanted.

Here’s what the message said:

Don’t blame me!  I’m not the one that likes the anal fisting on a Saturday night.  That’s Foxy’s mom!  She’ll do anything for a dollar.  Am I right, Foxy?

P.S.  Your husband called, he wants you to pick up some more lube for tonight.  Looks like Anal Monday is back in play!

Klass Act: On the Road

15 May

On Saturday I traveled up to New York City with a few of my girlfriends.  Nothing says, “klassy” like being drunk by 11:30.  We are awesome.  Far more awesome, I should add, than the bathroom at the Macy’s in Hearald Square.  Good lord almighty, is that place a shithole.  Literally.  Walking in there was like walking into a sauna – that smelled like baby powder.  And poop.  Let me tell you something, the last thing a girl wants when she gets off a freaking New Jersey Transit train is to be in a powdery-poop smelling sauna.  No good.

The best part, by far, was when the five of us had a drunk lunch at Tom Colicchio’s (from “Top Chef”) Craftbar.  We easily spent 20 minutes discussing the merits of Tom Colicchio’s balls.  His risotto balls.  Foxy Luv went so far as to offer our waiter to go into the kitchen and thank “Mr. Colicchio” (as she called him) for his “moist and delicious balls.”  The waiter was not amused.  Though Foxy threatened to flip the table a la Real Housewives of New Jersey style, we were able to calm her down with promises of another drinks.

I too did my part in keeping it klassy.  Sure, I may not have shouted about balls and offered Tom Colicchio a ball rub, but I did manage to steal two little signs for the handicap bathroom.  Yeah, that’s right.  I said it.  Because you just never know when you’re going to need a “no smoking” or “employees must wash hands” sign for your guests.

Better than a Sharp Stick in the Eye…Sort of

2 Apr

Hey peeps!

It’s the Foxy – just living the dream in Smalltimore.

What does living the dream actually mean? Well, for me it includes taking the kids to the eye doctor. I know, right? But relax, it is not really as glamorous as it sounds.

Now – you can imagine how much two small boys love going to the eye doctor. It’s a treat to go with them, really it is. Luckily, their eye doctor specializes in kids – so he is very understanding and the waiting room is full of toys and stuff to keep the kids entertained. This is important, since because he is one of the few eye doctors in town who treats kids, he has a huge practice. Which means you tend to spend most of the time you are there in the waiting room.

For whatever reason, the Hissy Fit Gods had smiled on me the day of our most recent appointment and my boys were really actually very well behaved. This gave me an opportunity to people watch in the waiting room.

As I was sitting with my boys, watching them play, I could hear horrified shrieks of fear and protest coming from the exam room. Having witnessed the freak out my kids have when they need to have their eyes dilated – I knew at once what was going on.

Sure enough, about 5 minutes later, a sobbing four year old came into the waiting room followed by her six year old brother. Dad had drawn the short straw this day and had escorted the kids to their appointments. He sat down with his four year old daughter and tried to calm her down. She kept yelling that her eyes were blurry and she couldn’t see anything – in short, she was totally loosing her shit.

As I was thinking to myself, “Poor little thing…”, I noticed her big brother standing next to the chairs where dad and little sis were sitting. He was just sort of standing there, waiting her her to calm down. As her sobs started to subside, big brother sat down next to her. Very calmly and in a matter-of-fact tone, he said, “You know, you are going to have to have your eyes dilated again someday. They actually do it every year. So you will have to do it again, you know.”

Little sister started weeping all over again. He had just totally shattered her world. As the weeping and the yelling really got going again, big brother got up from the chair and strolled over to the aquarium to look at the fish. Just like, my work here is done and see those salty tears running down her sweet little face – yeah – I did that.

As a mom – I was horrified at his behavior. I want there to be harmony and love between siblings. And I feel strongly that the older ones should look out for the little ones and try to help them. Kum bay – freaking ya and stuff.

But as some one who thinks taking the piss out of others is an awesome occupation – well, I wanted to buy that little bastard a juice box and shake his hand. That was some top drawer asshole maneuvering – and at such a young age! It was like a hug from Jesus – it really was.

Observations from the Gym

16 Jan

Hey all!

Foxy Luv in the hizzie! Keeping it real here in Smalltimore.

Since we are at the start of a new year – it is resolution time. Normally – I never touch the stuff. But I have lost some weight over the last year and I am determined to keep it off – so I resolved to get to the gym 5-6 times a week. I know right – it’s a good one!

The other day while I was working out and hating it and wondering how I might be able to score some Maleria or a tape worm to help keep me slim, I scanned the gym to see who else was in hell with me. It was essentially the usual suspects. There were the requisite old people who are on aspirin regiments walking slowly, yet peppily on the treadmills. There was the very butch personal trainer who I suspect was checking me out (really – there’s nothing to suspect – of course she was checking me out. I mean – come on – its me.). There were the Man-orexic gay dudes, who despite booking at insane resistance levels on the eliptical, still had great hair going on. Kudos to them!

And then, what to wandering eyes should appear, but a 40-something year old dude (and I am being generous, he was clinging to his 40’s by his fingernails) in a fraternity rush t-shirt! Say what? OK – I love the movie Old School – I do. But that is because it features the very hot Luke Wilson, period.

Let’s be for reals here – a dude in his late forties wearing a fraternity rush shirt tells me A – he’s a cheap bastard who thinks a threadbare t-shirt is acceptable work out gear, or B – he feels Animal House is more than a movie – it’s a lifestyle. Either scenario is not something he should be advertising. And – here’s a shock – no wedding ring on his sweaty little hand. WHAT?

While I am sure Blotter, Roadblock, Corky, and the rest of the fellas back at the Kappa Kappa Jackass house are really proud of you for keeping it real – that really shouldn’t motivate you. Because Blotter, Roadblock, and Corky are 20 something morons who spend most of their time either baked or bitching about “fat chicks” and having to go to class at 10 o’clock in the morning. Come on guy! Give it up! You have a job, you have an IRA, you have a Honda, you have a mortgage. You need to loose your rush shirt and realize you are an old fucker. That’s the deal – embrace it.

How about a shirt that says I have “$150K in my IRA”? Or “I own a 3 bedroom, 2.5 bathroom home in an upscale area”? Or “100% Herp Free!” Or “My mom is dead”? Any of those would be chick magnets!

And also – I can totally see your man nips in that shirt – it is that well worn. Ewwwww. Please – get a new damn shirt.

Foxy Loves Biscuits

1 Dec

Hi every one – it’s the Foxy. I am sure you all have been wondering how I have been keeping since Cath’s big move on up to Widgets Inc. Well – it’s been rough – I am not even going to lie. Investments ‘R Us has not been the same since her bitch ass flew the coup. I have been trapped with the wacky cast of characters you all know and love without my girl Cath to help me cope and it has not been easy.

But as spiritual people tend to say, when God closes a door, he opens a window. Now- I have always questioned this wisdom of this. Let’s say some one is very upset about said door closing. Open a window – they may leap to their death because of the grief. But – that notwithstanding – I do feel there is some truth to this. A new girl has joined our group – and folks, she’s a freaking hoot. Let’s call her Gumbo. Gumbo is from the south – and I mean the deep south. She has this southern accent to beat the band – when she gets really tired, I can’t even understand her half the time. She’s really funny and she also enjoys mocking others and answers to , “Hey whore!”, so we get along famously.

One thing you all know about me – I love Vag jokes. LOVE them. And I thought I had heard every nick name for the vag known to man; Who-ha, Cha-cha, lady bits, Sugar Walls, the P-word, the C-word, Va Jay Jay, Va-Jean, Va Gina Davis, Va Zsa Zsa, cooter, twat, satch, punta, feeza, the list goes on and on. But Gumbo has taught me a new one. And I must say, of all the vag nick names I have heard, I think this is my favorite. Are you sitting down? I am going to share it with you, for it is gold.

Apparently, in parts of the south, a lady’s twat is called – wait for it – a whisker biscuit. Whisker biscuit! How awesome is that? Ladies – ya’ll got you some whisker biscuits!

On the plus side – I love this. One negative – I am now off biscuits entirely.

Whisker biscuit!

Reunited with Foxy

1 Nov

One of the things I miss most now that I’ve moved out of Smalltimore is hanging out with Foxy.  I miss seeing her at work every morning, gossiping about the douche bags at Investments r Us, and making vag jokes.  I miss how she calls me Prostitution Whore, though I am developing a fondness for her new term for me: whore faced whore.  Nothing says, “I love and respect you,” like your friend calling you a “whore faced whore.”  She’s an angel.

After not having seen Foxy in some time, we were reunited yesterday.  We did some minor shoe shopping, and then we had lunch.  There, we immediately began drinking.  Know what’s awesome?  Foxy Luv hammered in the middle of a Sunday afternoon.  You haven’t lived until you’ve seen her telling the female bartender that she wants to get all up on her rack.  It’s really klassy.

Immediately following our klassy lunch, we stumbled out of the restaurant and down the street to the sex shop.

Ever been drunk sex toy shopping?  You totally should.  But when you sober up and look at the your purchases, don’t be surprised if you have buyer’s remorse.  Lord only knows who on God’s green earth needs that much pina colada lube.

Crack is Wack

1 Jul

We have all seen the damaging effects of crack. As a Gen Xer I clearly remember Nancy Reagan appearing on a very special Different Strokes telling the nation to “just say no.” For some people, like Whitney Houston, that message fell on deaf ears.

Seems like the cafeteria lady also decided to ignore Nancy’s little message. This morning she was totally high. It took her 10 minutes to ring up my coffee. First she ignored us for five minutes while she tried to staple some receipts. If I didn’t know better I would have thought that it was her first time using one. She then rang up my coffee at the wring price, stared at me credit card, then back at the machine. To fix the issue she turned off the register and restarted it. Then she rang it up again only this time at $950. Um, that’s a very expensive. She stared at the register, and tried again.

Yesterday she apparently fell while she was ringing up a lunch order. She then told my girlfriend to just help herself to some change since the cash drawer was over.

As much as I miss my daily cafe runs with Foxy and Disney and all of the wonderful mocking, there’s just nothing that can compete with a cracked out cafeteria lady.