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A spoonful of sugar, bitches.

26 May

Its Memorial Day.

Time to remember those who gave their all for this country.

They deserve our thanks.

Evidently, they don’t deserve decent access to the VA hospitals.

I am seriously tempted to go off on a political rant here.

However, everyone currently in power on both sides of the aisle have known about this shit long enough for everyone to be ashamed, some more than others.

I am grateful, and have certainly not forgotten.

Enough said.

 

Its festival time at the beach in Southern California.

And that means to things.

Crafts and too many people.

Crafts in the beach cities all tend to follow the same two themes.

Hippy-chic and over-priced.

Ty-died stretchy pants, even those made from hand loomed Nigerian cotton, are not worth $95.

They’re just not. Seriously. Like, no BS, they’re not.

Even if the well-monied house frau trying to rip people off says so.

Which she does, pretty none stop.

Its annoying, but anyone that spends a few moments in her presence knows this one.

And the second item is really more of a pet peeve, but it IS my blog, after all.

WOULD IT KILL PEOPLE TO BATH AND USE DEODERANY?!?!

Glad I could get that off of my chest, now if I can just get it out of nostrils.

The “High Noon” moment, or “Final Stand off” of the BO moments this weekend occured in a parking garage in Santa Monica on Saturday night.

We had been out for a thoroughly awesome evening of good food, great company, a couple of drinks and a desert that put fresh coat of paint on the word decadent.

As we were parked on the 4th level down in the parking structure, we had to take the elevator down.

(SIDE NOTE – In Starbucks at this moment is a crying newborn. Someone stick a tit in that kids mouth and shut him up.)

The elevator occupants are myself and the girlfriend, a well dressed older couple, and some guy in a formal tuxedo.

Just as the doors are about to close, a hand with dirty nails stops the door.

And in she waddles.

Picture a 400 pound version of a cross between a homeless Mary Poppins and an Alzheimer’s ridden Wicked Witch of the North.

AND SHE STINKS.

This is a BO like I haven’t sampled, well, ever.

Fresh out of the can BO, BO invented by NASA. Seriously.

It was a LOOOOONG ride down to the 4th subfloor. I thought the wife of the elderly couple was going to swoon.

The guy in the formal tux was against the wall like a jumper trying to stay on the ledge.

Finally, gratefully, the doors open with a muted sound, like an apology from the gods for our shared punishment.

And she was gone, waddling her way out of our lives and into her smelly car.

And she didn’t even offer to grant wishes or curse anyone, nothing.

Can’t have it all.

Where would I keep it?

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Posted by on May 26, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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