But you don’t pee outside in the rain.
(I’m the alphabitch, get over it. –C)
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Dirty Windows
W. Va. Fur and Root
a hillbilly diva's blatherings
But you don’t pee outside in the rain.
(I’m the alphabitch, get over it. –C)
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
W. Va. Fur and Root 
Ah, a glass door/window covered in pupkus!
And in our house, the TV, the sofa, the coffee table, the kitchen cabinets, my shirt …
Yes, there have been times I’ve arrived at work to then note basset hound slime down my shirt.
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Stupid dogs!
I do, so they can.
I opened the door yesterday when it was raining and they hit the edge of the porch and did a U turn. I slammed the door in their face.
Muriel!!!!
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“Amante”
Reminds me of a time spent one mid April in a little typical Mexican country hotel (garden in the middle, walk around balcony, frescos, etc) in Oaxaca w/ a charming chicana.
Life’s been good to me so far.
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Sagacious, HMOkeefe has a good “got drunk in Oaxaca story” that he should tell. If there was a charming chicana, he left that part out.
Anyway, for all my bitchin’ and moanin’, life has been good and is still sweet. Speaking of which, I have lots of sweet memories of Mexico. One involves a bunch of kids, an institutional-sized can of chocolate pudding, and a white sundress. And another involves [Connie self censors].
Janis, the puppies keep me from straying too far from what Buzzardbilly calls front porch crazy. I once fell in love with a basset puppy named Earl. I tried to smuggle him out of the Vet’s office, but his peeps were a little too vigilant. I carry on about the chaos of living with 3 dogs, but don’t have any intention of de-dogging. I’d get some more, but I kind of believe in “if you can’t feed ’em, don’t breed ’em.” I was genetically predestined to be one of the idle rich. Something went terribly wrong. Back to work. (sigh)
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Connie,
“Idle rich” — yeah, we were separated at birth. I have Dom Perignon taste on a Milwaukee’s Best budget.
I have 9 years till retirement. On May 7, 2018, the door won’t hit me in the ass. If I have to work post-retirement, it’ll be a short-lived stint as a Wal-mart greeter: “Welcome to Wal-mart. Here’s your cart. Now fuck off.”
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I ain’t working after retirement. Given the current state of my “portfolio” (bwahahahaha), I expect to be a burden to society. I’m holding firmly to the belief that if one is colorful and eccentric enough, folks will cheerfully throw cash at me. (Hey! I read The Secret! It could happen.)
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