We Need to Talk...

Dear Tequila,

It was really great to see you last night, I've missed you. Each time I see you it's harder to control my desire. I don't know what you do to capture me like this.

Sometimes, I'm scared to give in, because I can't get you off my mind, thinking about every delicious drink and shot. But lately things have been different between us...

We need to find a way for me to see you regularly, and without all the evil things you did to me this morning. That wasn't very nice.

Please don't take this the wrong way, I'm not asking you for anything more than you're willing to give, but I think we need to take some time off.

I need to be honest with you. I've been cheating. With Martinis. And Various Wheat Beers. I'm sorry, but they've been able to satisfy me without all the drama in the morning.

I must admit, when we're apart and I'm with them, I miss you. It's not the kind of 'miss' that makes me sad, on the contrary; it excites and prepares me, so at the first chance I get to give in to your tongue caressing and smoothy-goodness, I will be able to give you all of my attention.

Last night, I loved the way you gave yourself to me, $2 shot after $2 shot, and that's why we can't carry on like this on a full-time basis. The fire is just too hot. (ok that's cheesey, i almost barfed, but i'll leave it)

As far as I can remember, I don't think you ever denied any desire of mine, and I thank you. I hope you understand...and that we can see each other again soon...

A kiss on your sexy mouth,

Spicy Lil Pi

Good Morning, Sunshine

This morning was not my ideal morning.

It began with A Rude Awakening at 2:37am.
The cat was heaving.

Nothing like bolting out of bed at 2:37am to make sure she's horfing on the wood or tile floor instead of the carpet.

Alright. I give in.

That bitch is gettin a hair cut.

Fuck it, she's gettin shaved. (insert shaved pussy joke here)

There will be pictures. (in about a week er so)

Hell, she's already Ugly. How much worse could it get?

I had gone to the pet store earlier in the day to see about a new filter for my huge fish tank.

I wandered over to the wall 'o fish...

Ma'am can I help you with something?

I cringed. I hate being called "ma'am."

Nope, just looking, I haven't even set up my tank yet.

Oh really? What size...
Then my Gaydar went off.

I have to fill it up still and let it cycle for two weeks before I start buying fish...

Wow, you've done your homework, I don't really have the patience for that.
(Then you're in the wrong hobby, flame-boy.) I've killed alot of fish that way.

He damn near harassed me for 10 minutes and then tried to get me to buy the filter that's $30 more. (fucking sales people)

I finally made it out of there...

To the register... now register-boy reeked of gayness from 20 feet away...

Then he opened his mouth.

A pair of balls practically fell out.

I tried really hard not to laugh.

I love gay men as much as the next gal, but I wasn't expecting to find such flamers at my local pet store.

Neighbors?

I recently moved. I've been in my new building for close to a week.

I've seen plenty of Retirees in the common area.

Seriously.

This place is like living in a frickin' hotel.

I wouldn't mind retiring in a place like this, everything you need, and you get to see what's happening to some of those young people nowadays.

I've seen a few people under the age of 75...about 5.


The halls are always empty.

And quiet.

It's a little creepy.

There are Cadillacs, TownCars, and Crown Vics in the garage.

The Gold Crown Vic in the spot next to me is always there.

ALWAYS.

My neighbor across the hall has some shit hanging on the door:

. . .

A cute little welcome mat sits on the floor...

I haven't seen my neighbor yet, but I have a feeling it's someone's Granny.

Just a feeling.

The other day, as I returned home from my latest trip to Target, I heard someone playing music.

Loudly.

Thump Thump Thump Thump . . .

It was the apartment across the hall.

Huh.

Must be A Funk-Ass Ghetto Granny.

Maybe she's the one that drives the huge ass White Escalade downstairs...

Iowa: Target?

Iowa must be some hot shit when it comes to Terrorist Targets.

I saw a commercial on TV about making an emergency kit and a communication plan in the event of a Public Health Emergency, a BioTerrorism Attack, or Chemical Warfare.

Courtesy of the Iowa Department of Public Health.

But even if we aren't a big target, we have a PLAN.

It involves going to your local Walmart, or Target if you don't live in the trailer, and picking up the kinds of things you'd find in a bomb shelter.

Canned foods. Or you could be lazy and throw all the shitty canned food you were gonna give to the shelter but forgot and you need to tell the wife something, so instead you throw it in the 'Emergency Kit' mmmmm lima beans....

Can Opener. Imagine the levels of barbarianism we'd have to sink to without this little fucking thing. Not the electric one, you idiot!

Bottled water. Hell, the water in my place tastes so bad I have this on hand anyway...

Bedding for each person. Time to find that pesky sleeping bag, it's always hiding, and now you'll never find it, because now you NEED it.

Prescription Meds. Now, usually, you only have one bottle at a time. So in the case of an 'Emergency' you need to run to your bathroom or wherever you keep your precription drugs and collect them ALL . .

Important Family documents, in a water-proof container. If I find myself caught in a firestorm or a biological attack, I want to make sure they know who I am should I drop dead from breathing the air...

A whistle to signal for help. Which will really come in handy when everyone else is blowing their whistles...maybe we can make up a song!

They recommend 3 days' worth of supplies.

3 DAYS.

So, three days after I run around collecting my pill bottles, eating nothing but lima beans and stewed tomatoes, I'll be saved?!

Well, you could wait until the 'Event' actually occurs and then go loot your Walmart or Target. (learned that from those folks down in New Orleans)

It's good to know we have a plan.

Do you?

The commercial actually made me laugh. What are you talking about, I'm SAFE, I'm in AMERICA.

Doin' Des Moans

Mamma Pi was in town to help move Pi into her fancy new digs. (meaning she watched the movers move stuff)

Course I had to show her around Des Moines and the burbs.

We started at Phat Chefs, a place just down the street, for a drink and appetizer.

Flirtini: Wheat Vodka, Champagne, and Pineapple Juice.

All things I like, but put them together...

Tastes like a really strong wheat beer. Delicious!

Next up, Taki!

Pi loves sushi.

I totally rocked the chopsticks.

Then it was off to downtown Des Moines to enjoy the stylings of the High Life Lounge.

Nothing like a refreshing Miller High Life Light, baby!

I picked up this flyer:

I know it may make some of you boys squeamish out there!

But Pi likes nuts!

So she's gonna go try em out.

What the hell? Gotta do it once, right?!


Also Do Visit Chowdaheads and wish UB a Happy 1st Birthday!

There's a picture of the Pi!

The Chad Story

Once upon a time there lived 2 Chads: Geek Chad, and Cool Chad.

They were roommates. (hence the distinction)

They liked to party.

ALOT.

One night, the Pi was hanging out at a different set of bars, but we were all going to have after-hours at The Chad Pad.

I show up, and a few people are drinking in the parking lot, a few in the apartment, it was cold out so it broke up a bit early.

Then I noticed that Cool Chad was nowhere to be found.

Geek Chad: Oh? He's passed out in the back of my car.

But it's fucking cold outside!

He's out cold, I figure he'll be alright.

Is he at least sitting upright?

Yeah, I think so.

I'm going to go get him. We can't just leave him out there!

GREAT IDEA, Pi.

Geek Chad had a red Oldsmobile Achieva Coupe.

The Geekmobile.

Cool Chad was passed out in the backseat.

Fucking great.

It's 30 degrees outside, he's passed out cold in the backseat of a 2 door car, and I'm drunk.

I should've just let him be. But I'm too nice.

I go out to the car, climb in next to him and start shaking him a little...

Nothing.

Slap him. Hard.

Nothing.

After a little more of both, my hand hurt and he was sorta awake...drooling, babbling something

I was probably in the car for a good half-hour.

Cool Chad was in the Army. He was a buff mother fucker.

I am but a cute girl. Talk about a daunting task!

Getting his ass into the apartment, and then up the stairs was a buzz-killing challenge. By then he was babbling something about how I'm such a good friend and having to piss.

So I helped him into the bathroom, asked him if he'd be alright and he said yes...

So I left, closing the door behind me.

I went downstairs to talk to Geek Chad's sister...not half-way down the stairs, I hear a crashing sound...

I go back up to the bathroom...

Open the door...

Cool Chad had fallen backwards into the bathtub, with his pants hanging open, and had pissed on the wall, the floor, and a little on himself.

Well, that's just fucking great.

As drunk as he is, he manages to stand up and get his pants on.

I help him to his room, and he just sits down and falls backward.

Then he pissed himself.

Again.

So I took off his jeans. (I'm so NICE)

Naturally, this wakes him up.

But not for long.

The next morning, he didn't remember a god damn thing.

But he was curious about being pantless.

Pi's a Nerd, Part I

We're walking through a hallway, with a crowd of people, I'm not sure where we're going.

There are dolls? robots? something like that, twins, I think their names were Joey and Tommy.

An alarm goes off, red lights flashing, TOMMY'S BAD TOMMY'S BAD repeating over and over.

Everyone panics and runs. The girl I am with ends up in a room about 20 feet in front of me. I'm stuck next to a half-wall.

There's a group of girls, wearing black, learning a dance routine. I know they're evil and I should avoid being seen by them.

I manage to get to the room where my friend is. It's a bathroom. Concrete floors and blue stalls.

There is an evil dancer in there. We fight.

Her head hits the floor over and over, yet she's still conscious. No blood. Finally she drifts off.

We hear the 'dance practice' break up. Time to go back to the dorms.

We get to our room. The door across the hall is closed.

I know, somehow, that our Floor Advisor has someone over.

The door opens. She's standing in front of the mirror, doing her makeup. A man is lying in her bed smoking.

Another is walking out the door. Sees me. Stops.

He looks familiar, though I can't place him.

He smiles. 'Hi, here's my card.'

I take it, look down at it...

It is gold. With a repeating decal pattern over it. The name at the top: CHAD CIAVARRO (complete with IP address, email address, and his url...)

'Chad Ciavarro?!'

'Yeah'

I read your blog, you fucker! (at this point I'm thinking our floor advisor had been Eiffel Towered) I'm Spicy Little Pi.

No shit? Cool, so how often do you girls come here?

Every Tuesday.

Well, then I'll see ya next Tuesday.

This chick and I leave, we have to catch a bus to the train stationand then to the airport. Though I don't remember taking a plane to get here.

'We didn't take a plane to get here. We won't fly out until tomorrow.'

Why's that?

Well we were here longer than 100 hours so we have to stick around a little longer.

That doesn't make any sense. Wait, where are we?!

Edmonton.

. . .

Pi wakes up. WTF.

The alarm is going off, 5:34am. SNOOZE.

. . .

10 minutes later: Blah Blah Blah 98 degrees today, heat index around 107, it's 79 degrees right now...a song comes one....'I think I'm CRAAAZZZY...'

Then my cat drooled on me. Time to get up.

Pi has never met Chad.

Nor has she been to Canada.

The only things she knows about Canada come from all the Crazy Canadian Blogs she reads.

Last night I watched that Global Warming bit on Discovery. Then I zoned out to Tsunami: Wave of Disaster.

Apparently information on how we're killing the earth and then footage on a major natural disaster that killed over 200,000 people makes me think of Ciavarro. (aww, how sweet)

Pretty Fucked Up way to start the day.

RS&H: Send-Off Party

One of our Ye Olde Sammich Shoppe Employees is going away tomorrow.

To the SLAMMER.

He's being INCARCERATED.

We only hire the highest quality.

At the other workplace, this infernal cube-farm, Pi's co-workers have been asking about her 'love life.'

'I'm dating.'

Oh really?! Have you had any lately?? (Drool)

Yeah, a few, would you like to hear about them?

Oh YES, DO Share!

Since pretty much everyone in the office is married with children they are Fascinated with me.

Single, attractive, 24?! The way they act, it seems none of them were ever 'Single, Attractive, and 24' so they poke and prod me like the test-monkey.

They even remember when I have dates. (even after a weekend) They ask about them, they even know the guys' names.

They remember more about it than my friends do. (gee, thanks guys)

Why?

'Cause there isn't anything as interesting going on in their 'blissful married lives.'

Such a shame. Is that was happens when you get older?

They also like to hear about nights out.

Oh did you go out last night? Really? Where did you go?

I tell them the story, they weigh in on if I should see him again, and then this look comes across their face. . .

I remember when. . .

(sigh) oh boy, here comes the nostalgic stories...

An exciting weekend for some of them is being able to sneek away from a children's birthday party to run down the street and have a beer with other parents.

'A.' As in singular. As in AN Beer.

That shall never happen to me.

HuMp DaY!

I received this last night at 10:02pm :

Damn, I was going to give my stinky little friend a bath but I lost his shampoo... and yes I do mean tits

You can only imagine what was going through Pi's head...

'Tits' actually refers to Tits McGee, a ferret owned by my buddy Naked Hummus.

Tits has a few odd behaviors, he is literally an ankle biter. If he hears that really bad cell phone alarm sound he will attack the nearest patch of exposed flesh....he races toward it, like a fly to shit.

It's freaky.

And the HuMp DaY Picture:

The Crotch Master Pose is specially designed to improve balance and abdominal strength...

Crazy Cat, Lady

My mother's cat, Sheba.

She's a bitch.

She doesn't like other cats.

She doesn't meow, she Whines.

She likes to roll around in her Kitty Weed, and she gets it often - twice a day.

She gets so much of it, she has a Weed-Reserve set up on the family room carpet. (she'll roll around in it between hits)

She likes to be brushed. Every morning.

She will only drink water from the faucet.

She is picky about her food. There are brands she won't eat.

She's been picking at the fur on her stomach. She now has bald spots. She even managed to get one of them infected.


The Vet doesn't know what's wrong with her.

Second opinion: She's neurotic.

She has Separation Anxiety. She doesn't like to be left alone, if she is, she starts to act out.

That cat has more toys than I did growing up!

Spoiled little brat.

At least I'm not Crazy.

Ye Olde Sammich Shoppe: Bitchin' Out

At every job, there are things that must be done correctly.

Sometimes these things are simple.

They may even be easy.

So simple & easy that they're often over looked.

Pi says, "It's so goddamn easy to do it right, so just fucking do it." (I'm so eloquent)

Which brings us to, The Mayo Scoop.

The Mayo Scoop is the ultimate symbol of the Franchise.

One scoop per sandwich, everywhere you go. Always the same amount of mayo. Always the same sammich.

Epitome of Franchise.

When someone doesn't use the Mayo Scoop, Pi is annoyed.

Saturday's transpirings:

WG: Why are you taking over my spot?

Pi: Cuz you're slow, you don't use the Mayo Scoop, and you make sloppy sandwiches.

Well, I make prettier sandwiches than most everyone here!

True, but you don't use the Mayo Scoop. And you're slow. I don't understand how you're slow if you don't use the Mayo Scoop! (the mayo scoop sucks, it really does and i'd love to shove it up jimmy's ass)

Fine! Then I won't make any sandwiches today!

Oh ok, then you can slice (meat) for the rest of the day. Oh wait! You're slow at that too!

What is this, 'Rip on WG day?!'

And don't even get me started on the paperwork!

Big O: Dude, you ARE slow at the paperwork.

WG walks toward the bathrooms/back of the store...

He's gone for awhile. We get a little rush, we make do without him...

Crew:Where's WG?

I dunno, prolly in the bathroom crying.

Big O: Srsly, he probably is!

WG walks back in, grabs his keys and his jug 'o water, and walks out the front door.

Huh....

Joe, a delivery guy: I came back and WG was out back, looking like he was gonna cry, he asked to borrow my phone so he could call his wife and have her come pick him up:

Dude, why you calling your wife.

I'm going home, they were making fun of me.

Are you serious, why are you being a little girl about it?!

WG became angrier...

At the Sammich Shoppe, we give each other shit. We do it all the time. I've worked at 5 different locations in 2 states, and it's the same at every store. (how's THAT for franchise, bitches?!)

Everyone's been pretty good at handling it - as well as dishing it out.

WG is sensitive. He doesn't handle the shit well. (I didn't know that beforehand)

He spewed some shit story to the people that weren't there about how him and Big O were having an argument and he walked out because he thought he was going to lose it and hit Big O.
(Big O prolly has a hundred pounds on WG, when he puts his Game Face on, he looks like he could kill little kids holding puppies)

A chick gave you a little shit, you almost cried, called your wife for a ride home, walked out, risked losing a 40k/yr job, and then lied about what happened?!

Awww, look:

He's just a Wittle Girrl.

What happened to confronting people and telling them what you really think? If you have a problem, why not just say so?

Highway Buddies

For those of you that actually pay attention while driving, you'll know what I mean when I say I had a Highway Buddy yesterday on my 40 mile drive home.

It's the car that's going exactly the same speed as you, and you follow them, or they follow you...

It's like your cars are flirting, passing and weaving together, in perfect harmony.

But how do you know they're your buddy and not just a Highway Fling?

When you move into the right lane after passing, and they follow you...instead of passing you...(aawww how sweet)

There are times when they get tired of you, a group of faster moving cars comes by, and your buddy decides they want to go faster, so they join the group, and leave you. (the bastard)

My Highway Buddy from yesterday spent a good 22 miles with me, even got off at the same exit...

That's when it could get creepy.

But he wasn't some creepy old guy or a douchebag....

I kept looking to see if he was wearing a wedding ring...(cuz i'm like that)

We drove half way through town together, then went our separate ways, but only after exchanging glances and a smile.

The creepy Highway Buddy is the one that rolls down his window and starts asking if you want to go out sometime and 'Where do you live?'

While his girlfriend/wife is in the passenger seat giving me the Evil Eye.