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A row of little question marks appears instead.

Issue Date: Wednesday, Sept. 08, 2004

Scene: Cheesy golf course or country club setting complete with aging child star (played by me… I wasn’t a child star… but go with it…). I have on a cute little golf outfit, something plaid, a sweater vest of some sort, a glove, and an unnecessary visor (it’s a bit overcast… perfect day for a commercial shoot). The fact that I have never swung a golf club of any sort is of no importance.

It is clear that this is a very important golf event, and I should be important. Everything is important or seems that it should be. The melting ice sculpture on the terrace with the creeping ivy is important. That silver haired man over there that just sneezed (off camera … Thank God!) seems very important.

My lack of golfing ability is of no importance for some reason… and the fact that I can’t remember my name is of no importance either.

It’s one of those American Express commercials. The camera pulls back through the pro shop and I smile winningly and say, “American Express, Never Leave Home Without It…” I slide the card across the counter to the golf pro to pay for … Lessons? Sex? The salad the old guy just sneezed on?

The card is shown… and my name is supposed to print on the bottom of the card. You know, when the clickity clack of a typewriter is heard during the real commercial?

But it doesn’t. A row of little question marks appears instead.

? ? ? ? ? ? . ? ? ? ? ? ?

And Stacy and Clinton from TLC’s What Not To Wear bust out from behind the camera and berate me on my choice of plaid.


I love how my little anxieties show up in my dreams* as shows from cable. Or better yet commercials. I majored in Journalism, minored in Sociology. It’s a sickness.

Speaking of sickness…

Mister is still suffering from the snuffaluffogusses/allergies and he went back to the doctor today, two more shots in his tookus. I have sad face right now. But I hope that our wonderful Dr. W will take good care of him, this is his second week of antibiotics.

He had this same crap last year right before he had his appendix taken out. Thank goodness he can only do that once. Good Lord, that sucked. I am not sure if it is something in the air, or flu, or what. But he gets chest bronchitis stuff every year about this time, and we aren’t even smoking.

But boy, howdy would I ever like too. Tobakky forest, yeeeehaw! Gimme sommadat!

Ahem. Pardon me, I must have stepped off of the redneck curb or something.

So…. This weekend, was lover-ly. I was big crybaby in Chili’s because Mister loves me so much that he cut some of his corn off the cob for me. If you know me. This is a big deal. Yeah, it made me cry. Shaddup… what are you lookin at?

*Wait just a darn minute it’s a day (or two) later and I have been doing everything but not updating.

This morning I got a call from this lady named Jennifer. Why is that important? It isn’t… stay with me. She is with American Express Financial Advisors. Apparently I won a lunch for 10 people at Cuba Libre. I was there in August for a debriefing with a committee and I put my business card in the little bowl to win a free lunch.

But oh ho Ho! I won 10 free lunches… From American Express no less.

Mister says this is because I am psychotic… I mean psychic.

Yeah… I got nothing.

I was actually going to rant on and on about how I was watching Sex In The City last night and how when SJP went to leave her stuff at Big’s apartment, she wanted to leave her little miniature hair dryer there, “Because she’s wearing her hair straight now, yanno.” And I was So Incensed by that for some reason.

Her hair is curly for goodness sakes!

Does any sane person think that she could really get that long curly hair straight with that little Chihuahua of a fucking hair dryer?

Hell-OOO! NO!

I tried it in London you bitch!

It does NOT work.

Um. I think I may need a nap.

… sorry.

Love you babies!


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

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