I’ve become a touch paranoid.
Yesterday I was at my brothers, playing with the puppies, completely disregarding their birthing experience I have since forever mentally blocked from my mind, and he was watching some boy show called Operation Repo. It’s like, where cameras follow the companies who repossess cars from people, which should totally be, like an extremely humiliating experience, except that these people are always, I don’t know, drunk, on meth, having sex with hookers or, like, drunk, on meth and beating the crap out of a hooker.
Either way, totally classy.
So anyways, I watched that, and have since become obsessed with the fact that they will show up at our house to repossess one of our cars, and I’ll be on camera, like, with no bra on, screaming at them to stop with some ghetto accent I didn’t even know you had, holding two kids in my arms.
I am obsessed.
I woke my husband up this morning because I swear on babyJesusinamanger, they were backing up into our driveway this morning to hook the tow truck up to my car. And my husband was, like, pissed. Well, first, because he thought that I said someone was in the driveway trying to steal my car, so he ran outside in his boxers with a hockey stick to try and stop them. Second, because it wasn’t the repo man, it was the garbage truck. And third, because he had to explain to me for, like, the billionth time, that we own both our vehicles. Sooo…apparently, that means they can’t repossess them.
Whatevs.
So in other news, I got weighed at my OBGYN yesterday. I don’t know why, but whenever they do this, I totally feel like one of those cows they weigh before slaughtering, like, to get my hanging weight. Which is totally deceiving, btw, because it’s not fair that you get charged for a whole cow by it’s hanging weight, with all the bones and crap you don’t eat still attached. Just like it is equally unfair to get my hanging weight, because I still have my Ugg boots and giant diamond wedding ring on. How can that be accurate?!?!?!
Anyways, before all that ridiculousness went down, I was stuck in the weighting room for a good 40 minutes. Which actually wasn’t that sucky for the first 20, because my BFF was there, so aside from feeling like a giant sausage sitting next to her, it was fun to shit talk for a bit. But, when she got called back, this super old lady sat next to me. Which, I don’t get, because there were plenty of seats spread out in the waiting room, why would you sit directly next to someone when you have plenty of less invasive options!? This never makes sense to me, and I am too chicken shit to move on my own out of pure disgust, so I was trapped.
And it totally sucked.
1. Because I sit like a dude since I can’t even really touch my knees together anymore, so I need space, yo.
2. She was actually really, really old. And, while it didn’t smell like she was decomposing or anything, I couldn’t help but picture how much it must suck to have to do a pap on her.
3. I was dreading her pulling out some sort of ancient hard candy to offer me out of her purse, which I would have accepted because I am a pussy, but not eaten, because I only eat gross shit out of my own purse.
But, turns out, I don’t think this old bat was the hard candy type. She had on this crazy hairy fur coat, which is insanity because it was 50 degrees out yesterday. And she had on red lipstick. Like, whore red. And she had a pink flip phone, and the ring tone, sweartofuckingChrist, was the Sex and the City theme, and she was on that bitch like 50 times. Ok, so….I don’t even have a pink flip phone. I have a lame black razor that has been thrown in the tub and toilet too many times. Not to mention, like she knows how to text!? My Opa was convinced for 6 months that every time someone left him a message on his answering machine, there was really a ghost in his house.
Maybe she was really, like, the Benjamin Button of skanky knocked up teenage girls?
Either way, the bitch totally didn’t offer me any candy, and my dog tried humping my right side all night with all the fur her coat shed on me.
P.S. Anissa. I love you. More than words. I can’t wait to sleep with you this July. I am bringing my push up bra. You rock. Thank you.
{ 48 comments… read them below or add one }
I no longer feel so bad about my OBGYN appt yesterday, clearly yours was worse…
Holy freaking crap-I have tears running down my face. I am picturing the look on the poor trash masher’s face as your husband comes running out in boxers and doing kung foo-karate moves with the hockey stick!
It is like in the movie theater-there are a bazillion other seats-go sit there for fuck’s sake!
Your hubby deserves a freaking trophy…#1, for all your crazy pregnancy dreams and #2, your hilarious.
My Opa used to fart and swear there was a ghose in the house…couldn’t understand that the sound was actually coming from him.
I’m glad I’m not the only one that feels bad for the doctor when a super old lady is in the waiting room. That’s a normal thought, right?
She can TEXT? HOLY crap! Aren’t they supposed to be arthritic and Parkinson’s ridden and need those phones with buttons the size of a peppermint patty? HOLY christ. What is the world coming to?
Some old biddy can text? I can barely do it myself, freaking whore!
(a) I should’ve listened to Anissa when she said to pee first
(b) The repo dude with sneak up on your shit in the middle of the night. Um.. not that I know… I’m …..er…. just sayin’.
(c) Why you pickin’ on my granny? Damn.
And that was officially incoherent – Read (b) as: The repo dude will sneak up on your shit in the middle of the night.
kthnxbye.
I’m always amazed when old people whip out their phones and start texting on them. My mom isn’t even all that old and she just had to be told that if she wants someone to be able to call her on the cell phone she has to leave it ON.
So, I haven’t been able to read blogs all week. But today is Friday and our meeting is underway so I decided to catch up on all of my blog-reading. I was explaining to one of our grad-student helpers about blogs and was like, “oh, here, you’ll love this one.”
In any event, he is red as a cherry and loved the whole old-lady pap line.
I am pretty sure I just secured you another reader.
As soon as she started texting I would have handed her one of my business cards with all my blog info… then again, I’m totally shameless…
Omg i’m in tears that was so funny.
Adding push-up bra to my list too. Sponsor tees must be v-neck.
Each bit is funnier and funnier.
Old people at the OB’s office always creeped me out. I felt bad for the doc, but also the nurse that was just there to “watch” and had to see it all for nothing. and then clean up after it.
Eew. Lunch suddenly isn’t tasting so good.
First – Whenever I would get weighted at my OBGYN (when I was pregnant) and I either didn’t gain or didn’t gain too much, I felt like I had just been to a really successful Weight Watchers meeting.
Second – How big IS your diamond? Ugg boots are huge – what to you add for that, five lbs?
Third – Was the old lady Kim Cattrall?
Sounds like old lady watches SATC re-runs on TBS.
When I think I’ve read your best post, you go and write another one.
i always think about how docs must feel looking at old ladys va-jayjays let alone having to touch it. Blech
1) I believe that it is now your DUTY to run out in the lawn with a gun and a cigarette if your shit is ever repo-ed. I will be disappointed with you if you don’t.
2) It’s women like that who make me feel better about the doctor having to looking at my own cooter. At least mine isn’t sagging and leathery…just guessing.
I’m with Jen- sponsor tees should def. be sexy with pictures of dildos, right? Also- expect an open mouth kiss from me for the sponsor- then I will scoot in a chair far away and give you your space!
My grandmother says the ‘butt-warmed’ seats are good for arthritic tail bones.
And she talks all ‘long distance’ with the yelling and shit when I let her use my cell.
I need more frequent posts to get me through the days at my boring job! You have a few readers here at my office.
Hilarious!
too freakin funny. I love seeing old folks whipping out tech gadgets and putting us all to shame with how well they can use em.
Why do people want to be OBGYN’s? I can never figure that out.
Ok, so someone suggested that we come up with a celebrity combo name like — Brittissa or Anissany or BITCHWHORE..got any opinions?
Ok, you are only the 3rd person I am telling about my “personal” blog, LOL. Cuz I trust you! http://myhousewifelife.blogspot.com/
Old lady paps…..ughhhhhh….don’t remind me!
The last time I went to the doctor he wanted to weigh me, but I didn’t want to take the forever it would take to unlace my boots, so he just asked me to estimate what they weighed. And then the bastard didn’t believe me when I innocently told him 20 pounds or so.
xo
OK so my father who is only kinda old can’t text and just recently learned how to send an email.
Oh and I hate when someone sits right beside me at the DR office and totally HATE to weigh ins at the Gyno which I have to do soon or else they will not refill my pills and I may have to freak out and hubs will freak out because he isn’t gettin anywhere near my whoha if I don’t have pills.
Glad to know that Fiance isn’t the only person who runs outside in his underwear lol
the weighting room. Clever.
Why do they even weigh us? What the heck does it matter? Like we need confirmation that yes, indeed we are gaining weight?!
and I think you were sitting next to Kim Catrell. Just saying.
HEY! You won the Target gift card! http://oohlalamamafashion.blogspot.com
woo- hoo!
JERK!
The fur coat and the red lipstick was meant to distract from the cobwebs in her vajayjay.
Congrats on winning the target gift card right out from under me. *grumble grumble* And amen to sticking with eating fuzzy stuff only from your own purse. Although once at the OB’s office I found an unwrapped mint at the bottom of my purse and popped it in my mouth. Only to discover it was BPI mint. BPI, of course, standing for Before Perfume Incident. Wherein I dropped my purse and cracked my bottle of Electric Youth or Axe or whatever it was I found at the Dollar Tree earlier that day. Seriously, sometimes when I cough I can still taste that mint.
Sweetjesusinamanger… didn’t you have that baby yet? When the eff are you due, because it feels like you’ve been talking about pregnancy for years and your baby should be at least a toddler by now.
Den and I went to the movies last night and this old, creepy man sat next to me and there were like 50,000 other open seats, and I was like what the capital eff??? I HATE sitting next to strangers at the movies! But I didn’t get humped by my dog when I got home…..lucky bitch.
Hopefully I’ll get to meet you at BlogHer, but I’m only going to wasted at the cocktail parties. You better have popped that thing out by then so I can buy you a celebratory drink!
That woman sounds so weird. Maybe she’s really cool? I dunno. If she had hard candy in her purse, what would it be? Werther’s Original?
Anyway, she shouldn’t sit so close to you. I don’t understand that at all. Bitch.
Holy crap you are funny.
And I love you.
Why am I always over here declaring my love?
And I hated that stage where it was impossible for the knees to touch. ugh.
I HATE when people sit right next to me in an empty waiting room. All of a sudden I start sweating and feel like the person can smell my breath and my BO and I have to work really hard NOT to look at them or act like it bothers me that they have sat next to me.
Damn, I have an OB/GYN appt this Thursday and now I am paranoid.
Please move in with me. I need a laugh. I will make cakes.
Thank you for linking to Anissa who in turn linked back to your mother-in-law story from February. Somehow I missed that one…and I was just crying, I was laughing so hard. I have linked up now, so no more missing the funniest damn story of the year. Seriously, my stomach hurts.
Isn’t a razor a flip phone too? Because I have a pink one. No Sex and the City ring tone, or hard candies in the purse though. (Cobwebs in the vajayjay… good one 3boys1mommy!) I am ALL about my personal space. I probably would have gotten up and moved. Cause I’m bitchy that way.
Yeah! How exciting that you are going to blogher! I am just outside of Chi-town! Maybe I’ll see you!
I swear to god I thought you were going to say that the really old lady pulled a hard candy from her…(not purse) self.
you crack me up.
ps- why doesn’t my google thingy update the last time you posted anymore??
I think hanging in the weighing room is like standing at the urinals for guys: you never sidle up next to someone. There must always be an empty space between you and some other dude. Thems the rules, yo.
50 degrees?
I pull out my yeti coat when it’s 70.
I wanna be a sassy old broad when I grow up. But I’ll totally offer you candy. Good candy, too, like a Caramello or somesuch.
The only thing worse than someone sitting right next to you when they don’t need to is someone taking the urinal right next to you when they don’t need to.
It’s like, “Umm… Hi! How are ya? I feel like a douche not introducing you to my old friend My-Dick, but then, I don’t ever actually want you two to meet. Sorry.”
Am I right? Am I right?? Hmmm, maybe the wrong crowd here.
P.S. Your Benjamin Button reference is a prince among the many Benjamin Button references of the world.
I was at a movie once with my Nana and cousin. My Nana was totally rooting around in her purse for something and finally came up with (I think) a really old Lifesaver that she pulled some tissue off of and put in her mouth.
You know when you are trying not to laugh and it just keeps getting funnier and funnier in your head until you can’t breath? It was like that.
Um, so it was like looking into a futuristic mirror or yourself? Cause that’s I’m reading between the lines here.
Oh, and for the record, my ass is now so big, I’m debating whether or not I need to go up a size in my MATERNITY pants. Yeah. What the hell is up with that?
I know how you feel about the repo thing.
A year ago May, when I was “happily married” and working an extra job “because I love working so much”, I traded in my *needs a 300$ brake job* SUV for a smaller SUV with nearly twice the payment. I am now a month behind. They call me weekly. I repeatedly confirm that I *will* pay them and they *don’t* want the car back (seriously, they don’t, I’m a slob and living in Vegas, people just ram into your shit for no reason leaving dents and dings and somebody even SPIT on my car once. The day I had it washed. fucker.) I bet if the repo man came for my car he would be all “oh hell no, I came for a 2008 Sante Fe, this shit looks like 1982 and {opening the door} OH SNAP grossssssssss”
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