Some of you may recall the shocking news about my dear friend, Skinny Bitch, getting dumped.

This was unprecedented, or in her words, fucking tragic. She never had patience for women with broken hearts before, because she could not relate. She was all “Wah, wah, get another one, the planet is full of men.” SB literally had no idea.

She loved Hearthrob, but he had already made a promise to his former girlfriend that he would travel to Alberta and try to make it work. Even though his heart wasn’t in it after Skinny Bitch’s call. A promise is a promise.

I told her that she knew what kind of a good and decent guy Hearthrob is, and that I know he loves her. It was the only time she ever expressed any insecurity about herself. Ever.

I’d been wondering how she was doing, but could never reach her by phone. She’s too frugal to buy a computer. A $16,000.00 diamond ring however? That is an investment. Oh, yes, she did.

She finally reached me between shifts last night. What she told me wasn’t exactly a shocker, because hello? Psychic. I had also seen Hearthrob announce on Facebook that he had a new telephone number. Not an Alberta number.

They have been inseparable since he got back. He treats her like the queen she is. They’re really happy, and I couldn’t be more thrilled for her.

Every once in a while, though. she remembers how he blew her off for another woman, and she gives him that look. And in her mind, you know she’s going “You fucker.”

And he just laughs. He knows her well.

1. ColdFX
2. Echinacea
3. distant healers
4. my snotty potty
5. finding Krissa’s phone

If you’re sensing a theme here, I was a total snotbag on Friday, loaded up on the above products, and enlisted the help of a distance healer. I lost two days of work, partly because of being a snotbag, but also because there were workmen all up in my workspace for two days.

I’m feeling much better now, and am planning to make a yummy ground chicken/gravy/dressing concoction, baked in butter puff pastry for supper.

Long ago, I used to sell cars. This was thrilling to me because I was the first female car sales rep in my region. I’m a groundbreaker alright.

Friday nights were a hoot. All hands were on deck, but nobody wanted to greet any customers. Why? You might very well ask.

The sales manager, Saucy Man, would gather us in his office for the weekly “sales meeting”. There was always full attendance.

The sales meeting would begin with Saucy Man producing a 40 oz bottle of Bacardi, removing the cap, and throwing said cap in the wastebasket with the same announcement “We won’t be needing this anymore.”

It was there that I learned to play bullshit poker, but with money, rather than cards. I forget now how it’s played, except if you were called on your serial number, and didn’t have what you said you had, you lost the money. We also made crazy bets, like one guy suckered me into a bet that he could drive a stick shift without ever stalling and without ever using the clutch. I figured he had forgotten about stopping, so took him up on it. He switched off the ignition upon stopping, thus preventing a stall.

It was there that I first learned the word “dirtbag”, a word I promptly used on the winner of aforementioned bet.

We ate lunch at the tavern, every day.

I saw some sleazy things go on in the dealership, and it wasn’t until much later that I figured it out. By “it” I mean, how did they live with themselves?

I myself, was insulted if someone distrusted me and assumed I was lying. It drove me crazy.

Most of them did lie and misrepresent the used cars. I was also indignant when they stole my deals out from under me.

Guess liquor is great for pushing that pesky conscience aside.

Fuck you very much.

comebacks to say to another girl you hat: I kind of think if you hat a girl, you would be supplying a service, and therefore should be polite. Or are you having issues with spelling? Google isn’t Twitter, you know.

couldn’t get disk out of vagina: How would you confuse a vagina with a computer? Or is that a typo? And why did that search term bring you here?

my dog has funny looking poop: Should I be happy for you? Or are you looking for medical information?

“first date” slut blog: Okay, I totally cop to this one, since I slept with my husband on our first date.

christy’s vagina: Christy comments here sometimes, but as far as I can tell, her vagina has not.

one of these day you little turds is gon: To what? I really want to know. Should your children be worried?

what kind of doctor checks my butt: That would be a butt doctor. Or, if you want to get fancy, a proctologist.

jc penneys manager is asshole: Could he need a butt doctor?

“imagine you did housework”: I imagine it all the time. Sadly, my powers do not include magical housework. I do bribe Ass Burger Boy to do some things.

When Dances with Shrapnel was in his teens, I foolishly asked him what he wanted for his birthday.

His only wish? A dirty T-Shirt.

I procured a T-shirt that totally cracked me up. It said: “Fuck you very much.”

He loved it. He wore it everywhere. One time, when he was waiting for his girlfriend to get off work, the manager escorted him off the premises because of his “unsuitable attire”.

He absolutely told everyone who asked where he got it: “My Mom gave it to me for my birthday!”

I learned something from this.

Fuck you very much.

My new motto.

I have a guest post up at Sarcastic Mom’s blog today. You might want the benefit of instruction I provide on the topic of “How to Blog When You’re a Lazy Douchebag Who Seldom Leaves the House.”