So today is Valentines Day but Victor is in Florida buying Japanese swords and did not leave me candy, jewelry or flowers. And granted, I don’t like any of those things and think that Valentines Day is dumb but still, everyone else is out getting wined and dined and my husband is getting drunk and buying weapons. So I called him and told him that for Valentines Day I was going to buy myself a new confidence wig because I’m going to be screaming the c-word at the Mom 2.0 Summit next week and Victor was all “You have enough wigs” because he thinks wigs are like hall-trees. Like you just buy one and it lasts forever. Then I asked my four-year-old what she wanted for Valentines Day and she said she wanted to go see the Corpse Display at the museum. True story. This is going to be the best Valentines Day ever.
UPDATED: Holy crap, y’all It’s like $50 to see the dead body display. For that price I could make my own. Honesty, it’s like the Museum of Science is daring me to steal corpses from the funeral home. Which I would never do because cemeteries have less security because that would be wrong.
PS. My Valentines Day gift to you…a robot cat that you can force to say inappropriate phrases. My personal favorite is having the voice of Nigel say “Every time I raise my eyebrows I’m thinking about having sex with your stuffed animals.”
PPS. This post is somewhat lame so I’m padding it with a new letter from Nancy W. Kappes who really needs her own blog:
I got some shit to talk about hair. I was looking through old photos and saw one of my mother and went, “JESUS CHRIST in a rowboat!” (‘cause…well..he doesn’t need a rowboat, does he?) Anywhore, this photo was taken when my mom was younger than me and holy fucking shit! It must be at Thanksgiving ‘cause she’s laughing and waving a turkey baster……oh no. oh, fucking hells, no. AAUUGHHH JJJJEEEEENNNNNNNEEEEE! My dad was a physician! She must have been in charge of the abortion/insemination plans.
Okay, anyway, she totally looked like fuck, so I’m all, “Claire! Gettcher ass down here and help mama, sweetie!.” She takes a look and goes, “Shit. Grandma looks older than you. And you’re a big drunk!” Hmm. The thing was….her hair. I mean, she would go to the hairdresser once a week and get it “done.” JJJEENNNNN! SHE HAD A COIF! I’M OLD AND I DON’T GOT NO FOKIN COIF! I mean, Christ, I don’t go a month without dyeing it some funky-ass colour. Plus, it just is there. On my head. Doing nothing. Just there in whatever dumb-shit way it wants to look. Do YOU have a coif? I know you have rollers and a hair dryer, but shit the bed, fred! Does this mean I am doomed? When I turned 30, my sister was living in Boston and took me to the Snazzy Place in B’ton. Now, at the time, I could sit on my hair, and I liked it. BUT these bastards got me drunk and high and it seemed like a good idea to cut it off. When they were finished, it looked like someone had taken Mary Tyler Moore’s hair and put it on my head. I fuckin freaked out and started beating the shit out of some queen. THAT was the last time I have been to a “beauty parlor” to get my “hair” “done.”
Nancy W. Kappes
UPDATED part 2: I couldn’t find a good wig so I just restyled one of my old ones and added the Pink Panther glasses that came with Hailey’s happy meal. I’m totally ready for the Mom 2.0 Summit. I’ll be the whorey blonde hiding in the toilet.
Kristen: Did you get the dildo email? Someone needs to talk about the dildo people. This aggression will not stand.
Me: “So what exactly does P.R. stand for?”
Jordan: “I’m not even supposed to be on this panel.”
Ed: “I can’t believe you people are making me write down ‘dildo’ on my meeting minutes. Are any of you allergic to peacocks? Because I have a great idea.”
Me: “No, seriously…is it Puerto Rico? Is Puerto Rico ending?”
Comment of the day: Making a twitchy, British cat say “I like to drink the blood of children,” or “I’m going to get you so pregnant, bitch”? That’s what I call Valentine’s Day. ~ skinny malinky