My BFF, Skinny Bitch, is a very confident woman. She has no body image issues what.so.freaking.ever. I know. She’s a freak.

When I met her, she had no boobies. Just nipples. Really. In fact, one time she made a crack about flashing a nipple at someone, and added “And I DO mean a nipple.” She was fine with that.

The one drawback is that she is a clothes horse. And? Certain clothing was off-limits to her because it required actual boobage to fill it out. Thus began the carefully thought-out campaign to get her some boobies. She asked opinions. SB didn’t want a gigantic rack, just enough to fill out her clothing.

She demonstrated by calling a girl over who had the right size A cups, and told her we all wanted to look at her cute dress close up, when in reality, we were assessing her boobies, and mentally cut and pasting them onto Skinny Bitch’s nipples.

Skinny Bitch was in bra and clothing heaven after her implants. She had never owned a bra before, and she found a whole lot of them on sale, because of their small size. She bought 25 of them.

The first time I saw her after her operation, she met me for an hour in a diner across from the bus terminal, as I wasn’t scheduled to work in her city that weekend.

Right in front of God and old ladies, she whipped up her shirt and showed me her new boobies. In the diner. She made me repeat the words “They are spectacular” (Big Seinfeld fan) I dutifully admired the spectacle, but drew the line at feeling them in the diner. I would take her word that they felt natural.

I was telling our mutual psychic fair buddy, Will-Yummy, about SB’s latest adventure, and warned him that she would offer to let him feel them. He may be gay, but he’s an excellent sport.

Sure enough, when we were working in her city, the three of us arranged to go out together after work, and before we left, she had to show him. And let him feel, because they were all natural feeling. He made the obligatory oohs and ahhs. SB was giddy.

I wonder if it occurred to her that he had nothing to compare them to. You know, him being gay and all.

My dear friend, Skinny Bitch, loves money. She loves to instill values of money in her children. To do this she does not just grant them their every wish, oh, no, she does not.

She tells them that until they have a job, they are poor. Their parents money is not their money. Makes sense to me in a Bill Cosby sort of way.

She is also a tad perverse with her parenting. She likes to mess with their heads a bit. Says it will make them stronger, but I know her, she does it because it’s fun.

One time, when Heartstopper was about six, Skinny Bitch sat her and George down and said she had sad news for them. Shaking her head sadly, she announced:

“I don’t think we can afford summer this year.”

Heartstopper, who loves summer every bit as much as her mother does, was stunned, and a tiny bit heartbroken.

“Can we go to the beach once?”

Her mother sighed, and looked like she was thinking hard to find a way to go to the beach under the unbearable burden of being unable to afford summer.

“We’ll have to wait and see.”

Oh, that pesky summer, and it having to cost so much to enjoy the warmth as you play outside.

Perverse parenting. She’s the master.

Skinny Bitch has two children, Heartstopper, and George. They call him George after George Costanza on Seinfeld. He plans to stay in his room forever and never move out.

When they were little, Skinny Bitch caught them smoking. Being the perverse parent she is, she made an announcement.

“Go to your rooms and pack your bags. I’m calling the police to take you to the Home for Children Who Smoke.”

There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Heartstopper emerged from her room with a pronouncement.

“I quit!”

Neither has smoked since, although Skinny Bitch took up smoking at the age of 32, when she was imprisoned in a halo for five months with nothing else to do.

Do you wear red on Fridays? I have, without fail, since the Support Our Troops campaign started. My red shirt has a yellow ribbon embroidered on it. That does not mean I support the war. It means I support the troops. I gave birth to one, I married one, and am a sister to two.

A blogging buddy, Lotus, has been forced to move because of mold in her present home. It has caught her unprepared for moving expenses, and there is a campaign on the interweb to help her out. Behold her glorious rack! And click!

Lastly, I have my own little button thingie for fans of Skinny Bitch. I plan to drag her arse to a computer when I visit and show her the love. When you click on it, it displays the posts that are categorized “Skinny Bitch”.

You can scoop the code from my sidebar, and show your love for Skinny Bitch on your very own sidebar.

I have to go now, and fall into my carb coma from eating a bagel. (Again)

If you cannot financially help Lotus, consider putting the banner up, or writing about the campaign on your own blog. That’s what I did, because I am beyond tapped. I’m IN THE FREAKING HOLE. That means I have to get out of the hole to be broke.

Or, just give this a stumble to give it more exposure.

Love, witchypoo.

There is about five minutes to slap up a post, so those who are unhappy may line up at the checkout for a full refund.

For those who are unfamiliar with my friend Skinny Bitch you will want to read this story about her, and even follow a link that introduces her around the middle of November, back when I had 300 page views for the entire freaking month.

I love the woman. She’s a comedic genius. She spent five months in a halo device for head injuries. Do a Google image search if you want to know how miserable this device is.

The thing is, she’s a tad perverse around her children. Note that I did not say perverted. She isn’t. At least not around children. Even when she tells stories that scream “Bad mother! Mean mother!” I am wiping my eyes from laughing. She has great delivery. Maybe it’s because I’m a little bit perverse as well. But I’m accomodating. I just saved you the trouble of looking up the word.

Besides being somewhat OCD, which I adore about her, she is also frugal to the point of being cheap. A few years ago, her even-more-gorgeous-than-her-if that-is-possible daughter, Heartstopper, asked her if she would buy some bandaids.

Skinny Bitch: “I bought you the nice Barbie bandaids and you used them all up in one day.”

Heartstopper: “Mom, I was SIX. Ten years ago. I learned my lesson. Plain bandaids are fine.”

Skinny Bitch thinks for a while, because, you know, she’s like that, and she recalls that she wants to show Heartstopper that she now has an A level life since she dumped the dirtbag she was seeing. (Dirtbag was every mother’s nightmare)

What does Skinny Bitch do? She goes out and buys several packages of Barbie bandaids to demonstrate that she isn’t cheap at all, no way, even if she did find them at the dollar store.

Heartstopper: “Moooom! Plain bandaids. Plain. I am so over that Barbie shytte.”

Skinny Bitch (at me, rolling eyes): “See? There’s no pleasing them.”

Bet you didn’t know that about me, did you?

Well, that’s because I’m not all snooty about it.

And, there were six other stars in the movie, all with equal billing.

And it’s a Canadian movie.

A documentary.

Oh snap. I know. Try to contain yourselves.

Truth is, over 200 psychics from my area were interviewed for this film. And only 7 were selected. So I felt speshul. Don’t spoil it for me.

Okay, I’m over it now.

I was really surprised that the film crew were so nice. And helpful. We had a potluck as part of the filming, because I held meditation groups at my house, and they wanted to get them some of that riveting footage. Who knows what could happen? Anyway, the crew stuck around afterwards to help clean up.

The director even hired me to teach an energy raising class in a fun way for her daughter’s birthday party. It was great fun for them and me too.

You weren’t likely to see it in your local theatres, unless it was during a film festival. There was one screening locally, and I was gobsmacked to later meet another person who had actually seen it.

It was a well done film, as are documentaries from the National Film Board of Canada. And no, I’m not linking it. Go find it yourself. Hah! It’s called “The Kitchen Goddess”.

I took Ass Burger Boy and Skinny Bitch with me to the screening. We had so much fun at the catered, celebrity-filled (real celebrities!) pre-party that we arrived late for the actual screening.

We had to sit in the front row, as those were the only seats left.

It didn’t bother me a bit to have a camera the size of my living room ten inches from my face during the filming.

Note: It is painful to see a closeup of your face on the big screen when you are in the front row. And for Skinny Bitch, it was doubly painful, because she had just gotten out of her halo, a device that is used to immobilize the head of patients with neck and head injuries.

But that’s a story for another day. I do love me some Skinny Bitch.

Shameless self-promotion: Show me some freaking love. Go on, vote. You know you wanna. You have to register first, but you will make me very happy. Check your junk mail folder for the registration confirmation. Oh, and if it says voting is closed? It is for 2007, but this award is for 2008. Click the button to vote for me. If you’ve already voted, thank you. Now Stumble me. I’m bossy that way.

If you’re not up on Skinny Bitch, you need to go for an introduction and for a follow-up

She’s totally worth it.

SB is not somebody you want as an enemy. She remembers wrong doings for a long, long time. Even unintentional ones. Her poor husband. He suffered through her pregnancy. Why? Because SB suffered through her pregnancy. This woman is tiny, not just skinny. There is not much room for a baby in her tiny body. She found it very hard to breathe at night, and could only breathe a little when she slept sitting up.

All the while that SB is throwing menacing thoughts of “You did this to me!” to Mr. SB, she is begrudging him his easy slumber and breathing. Sometimes she would wake him up and accuse him of taking two breaths. Two! The nerve!

When she told me about this, she acknowledged that she had a few scores to settle with Mr. SB, but she couldn’t really enjoy the torture she put him through because she was so miserable herself.

This is when the diabolical scheme was hatched. She decided that when she went through menopause, she would most likely be too miserable to enjoy Mr. SB’s torture. Yes, it appears that my very presence will trigger hateful schemes against your loved ones. I guess everybody has a talent. Who knew?

Her plan is to fake her menopause before she actually goes through menopause. That way, he will suffer twice, and she will be able to enjoy his suffering at least once.

I’m so grateful I haven’t gotten on her bad side. She’s scary that way.

For all those who are feeling sorry for Mr. SB, he is a gorgeous, hard-working man who is so besotted by their daughter that he believes every word that comes out of her teenage mouth. He overruled SB on matters of the daughter’s Dirtbag Boyfriend. For that, fake menopause is getting off easy.

Shameless self-promotion: Show me some freaking love. Go on, vote. You know you wanna. You have to register first, but you will make me very happy. Check your junk mail folder for the registration confirmation. Oh, and if it says voting is closed? It is for 2007, but this award is for 2008.

You remember Skinny Bitch don’t you? A total delight she is.

SB is the most practical person I can remember meeting. She loves money, and she adores saving it. In fact, I remember her catch phrase at one time was “Squirrel it away, witchypoo, squirrel it away.”

She took her own advice, bought a great house and invested the rest. This is not a frivolous woman.

I stroll into her bed and breakfast back yard to find her hard working husband doing some hard yard work. Then I notice this troll-like creature that is snurffling around the yard. (I know that is a made up word, but snuffling doesn’t quite do it justice)

This creature, this almighty wicked hideous creature, has short legs, noisy asthma, and one blind googly eye. To call it a troll is to dis the entire troll kingdom of trolliness.

So I ask Mr. SB “What in the name of very bad words everything gone wrong is THAT???” Yes, several question marks because I was that incredulous. Mr. SB, a very manly man I might point out, replied in a reverent tone: “That’s SB’s dog, Henry. She loves him.” (SB has him so whipped. She has that effect on all men.)

He watches with his customary reserve as I completely lose it. Just howling with laughter in a puddle of helpless laughy goo. I’m SB’s friend, we’re both nuts. No big. He’s used to it.

When SB gets home, I very casually ask her about the stab-myself-in-the-eye fugly dog thing. She’s all effusive, Henry this, Henry that.

SB: “I call him Handsome Henry!” For once, I am speechless.

She shows me his “trick”. It’s where he stands back, to judge if it’s safe to come near her, because sometimes, SB doesn’t want to be touched. She’s neurotic. Even the stupid troll thingie gets it.

Me: “SB, that isn’t a trick. It’s a behaviour. Everyone who knows and loves you has learned it.”

She still insists it’s his trick, then demonstrates how cute he is when his little tongue sticks out while his head is cocked. It looks much cuter when she is doing it.

Me: “SB, did you pay money for Handsome Henry?”

SB (reluctantly) “Ye-es.” I drag the details out of her, because, really,there is no way I can leave this alone, knowing her financial habits as I do. She paid about a grand for a dog that was unregistered, blind in one eye, has death rattle asthma, is incredibly stupid, and by the way? He needs special food. Special expensive food. And huge vet bills.

Me: (rolling eyes) “SB, I’ve known you for about twelve years now. I feel I know you well. I have special powers and all. For the life of me, I just don’t understand why you parted with so much money for Handsome <shudder> Henry.

SB: (in a very small voice) “I was afraid that nobody else would love him.”

See? How can you not love a woman like Skinny Bitch?

Shameless self-promotion:If I’m the Freakiest Blogger you read, show me some freaking love. Go on, click it. You know you wanna.

I talked to Skinny Bitch on the phone today.
I wanted to tell her I was going to blog about her.
She was all Say whatever you want.
She is the best possible friend to have.
I think I will list some reasons why:

1. She offered to raise my kid if I croak early.
2. She always insists I stay with her and not some
stank hotel when I am in her city.
3. SB is the funniest woman ever. Cracks me up.
4. She is both OCD and neurotic. An endless source of
Skinny Bitch stories.
5. She’s loaded, but she loves to clean.
6. She is drop dead gorgeous. So much fun to watch mens
get totally stoopid around her.
7. She’s even funnier when she is in a bitchy mood.
People fear her. I just collapse into a puddle of
helpless laughter.
8. She uses the jumbo margarita glasses to serve wine.
That way, her guests are puzzled why they got hammered.
“But I only had three glasses of wine” Three of those
glasses=one bottle of wine.
9. Skinny Bitch is afraid of Cheezies. Yet she loves to eat them.
She can always find somebody who is willing to feed her cheezies.
It’s so much fun that I would hate to suggest using toothpicks.
People will do anything for her.
10. She does not cook. Her husband does. She is afraid to touch
meat or potatoes.
11. She’s sharp as a tack, but her comedic genius is in her
delivery. A lot of people don’t get her, because they are
so hung up on her looks, and just can’t get past that.
12. I get my twisted kicks by ever so slightly moving something
say, on her coffee table. Then I watch her twitch until she
can’t stand it, and she has to LINE IT UP PERFECTLY, like it
was before I messed with her head. She knows I have done this,
so she tries to be sneaky about re-aligning the object.

Shameless self-promotion:If I’m the Freakiest Blogger you read, show me some freaking love. Go on, click it. You know you wanna.