Excuse me?
Why in the goddamn does Monica Lewinsky have a fucking publicist?
I give blow jobs. And I’m pretty good. I’m cute, too (if the term cute can still apply to someone in her mid-thirties).
But, I have no publicist.
Monica’s publicist said Monica is job hunting in London and that she’s “not doing any press.”
Hmm…so does that mean Monica is seeking to give blow jobs in London, but won’t give blow jobs to the press?
Friday, January 26, 2007
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Comment of the Day, January 20, 2007
At the grocery store this morning, we had a brief conversation with the guy who works there, who’s kinda nice, but I wouldn’t let him baby sit Baby Kaos because I get a weird vibe from him. I don’t think he’s a child molester, but he’s a bit odd.
Here’s the jest of the conversation:
Him: “Wow! He’s really big! What does he weigh?”
Me: “Yeah! We went to the doc last week for the four-month check-up and Baby Kaos weighed over 18 pounds and was 26.5 inches long.”
Him: “Wow! He’s a big kid! Just wait until he’s a teenager!”
Zel: “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll be here twice a week for turkey.”
Him: “Who’s his doctor?”
Now, what the goddamn kind of question is that?
The grocery store guy has teenagers, so it’s not like I’m having a conversation with another mom in my yoga class about who Baby Kaos’ doc is and we’re comparing notes.
Yes, I revealed too much information about going to the doc last week, so I’m taking that one on the chin.
But, what the goddamn kind of question is that?
Here’s the jest of the conversation:
Him: “Wow! He’s really big! What does he weigh?”
Me: “Yeah! We went to the doc last week for the four-month check-up and Baby Kaos weighed over 18 pounds and was 26.5 inches long.”
Him: “Wow! He’s a big kid! Just wait until he’s a teenager!”
Zel: “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll be here twice a week for turkey.”
Him: “Who’s his doctor?”
Now, what the goddamn kind of question is that?
The grocery store guy has teenagers, so it’s not like I’m having a conversation with another mom in my yoga class about who Baby Kaos’ doc is and we’re comparing notes.
Yes, I revealed too much information about going to the doc last week, so I’m taking that one on the chin.
But, what the goddamn kind of question is that?
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Working at the Circus
Sometimes, talking with my Mother is like working at the circus.
My brother recently visited, and on the day he returned to the Desert Southwest, my Mother and I had the following conversation.
Mom: “Did you and the baby make it home ok?”
Me: “Yes.”
Mom: “How was the drive?”
Me: “Long, and I’m kinda tired. What’s up?”
Mom: “Well, I’m worried about your brother. He just called and he’s in Boise. Did you know he had a layover in Boise?”
Me: “No. I thought it was in Vegas.”
Mom: “Well, he’s in Boise, and then he has an hour in Vegas.”
Me: “Hmm…doesn’t sound like enough time to win any big money, but maybe he’ll hit a decent slot machine.”
Mom: “Well, it says here that he’s scheduled to leave Boise at 2:14 p.m. Is that Mountain Time or Pacific Time?”
Me: “Mountain.”
Mom: “How do you know? Did you look it up on the Internet?”
Me: “No Ma, I just know that Idaho is in the Mountain Time Zone.”
Mom: “Ok. And then it says that he’ll arrive in Las Vegas at 2:35 p.m. How can he get there so fast? What time zone is Las Vegas in?”
Me: “Pacific, Ma.”
Mom: “How do you know? Did you look it up on the Internet?”
Me: “No, Ma, I know that Las Vegas is in the Pacific Time Zone.”
Mom: “How do you know?”
Me: “Because I used to live there and I know.”
Mom: “Ok, so is Boise on my time zone or on Pacific?”
Me: “On your time zone.” (Note: In Arizona, they don’t switch time like the rest of us have to twice each year)
Mom: “So, he’s going to leave here at 2:14 my time and arrive in Las Vegas at 2:35 your time and so that’s 3:35 my time. Right?”
Me: “Right.”
Mom: “Are you sure? Did you look it up? Maybe I should call the airlines for clarification.”
Jesus you guys. Sometimes, I feel like I’m working at the circus.
My brother recently visited, and on the day he returned to the Desert Southwest, my Mother and I had the following conversation.
Mom: “Did you and the baby make it home ok?”
Me: “Yes.”
Mom: “How was the drive?”
Me: “Long, and I’m kinda tired. What’s up?”
Mom: “Well, I’m worried about your brother. He just called and he’s in Boise. Did you know he had a layover in Boise?”
Me: “No. I thought it was in Vegas.”
Mom: “Well, he’s in Boise, and then he has an hour in Vegas.”
Me: “Hmm…doesn’t sound like enough time to win any big money, but maybe he’ll hit a decent slot machine.”
Mom: “Well, it says here that he’s scheduled to leave Boise at 2:14 p.m. Is that Mountain Time or Pacific Time?”
Me: “Mountain.”
Mom: “How do you know? Did you look it up on the Internet?”
Me: “No Ma, I just know that Idaho is in the Mountain Time Zone.”
Mom: “Ok. And then it says that he’ll arrive in Las Vegas at 2:35 p.m. How can he get there so fast? What time zone is Las Vegas in?”
Me: “Pacific, Ma.”
Mom: “How do you know? Did you look it up on the Internet?”
Me: “No, Ma, I know that Las Vegas is in the Pacific Time Zone.”
Mom: “How do you know?”
Me: “Because I used to live there and I know.”
Mom: “Ok, so is Boise on my time zone or on Pacific?”
Me: “On your time zone.” (Note: In Arizona, they don’t switch time like the rest of us have to twice each year)
Mom: “So, he’s going to leave here at 2:14 my time and arrive in Las Vegas at 2:35 your time and so that’s 3:35 my time. Right?”
Me: “Right.”
Mom: “Are you sure? Did you look it up? Maybe I should call the airlines for clarification.”
Jesus you guys. Sometimes, I feel like I’m working at the circus.
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