Tessie?!?!? I’m harboring secret lust for an Omaha bank employee, who’s older than my mother, named Tessie?
I’m gonna have some bizarre nightmares tonight… Maybe I need to focus on Bumb as the object of my secret lust.
Well, now that I’ve recovered from Tuesday night (and I didn’t kill the MMP. phew!) it’s Thursday Night!
Oh, right. You all don’t work with me and, therefore, don’t know about Thursday Night. Thursday Night was the original going out night. It’s not too crowded (as Friday and Saturday would be), and we all have various scheduling problems with Tuesday and Wednesday, so Thursday night became Thursday Night. We all go to a local pub to have a few pints and bitch about work. It’s great stress release. We’ve also come up with some great solutions to various problems, thereby making it a tax-write-off (for those of you keeping score at home. I’m certainly not.).
Well, that sounds fine, I’m sure you’re saying, and it was until we discovered Kareeeeeeoki Night on Tuesday. And the drink specials on Sunday at a different place (Us theatre folk tend to work Tuesday thru Sunday with Monday off, making our Sunday your Friday. Or something). So now I’m (as the superdupervisor) expected, no, required to go to all these various Night-out things after the show and still come in to the office at around 8:30 or 9am.
What’s the point to this post? Beats me. I’m just feeling old and grumpy, and this might be the first lightingtool-free Thursday Night in quite a while.
Oh, and Rue? I always thought you sounded like my great-aunt Tessie. Hmmm…
Disclaimer These Nights-out are almost always low-key, usually just one or two pints over a couple hours. Also, given the fact that I’m only 26, I fully expect to get flamed for complaining about how old I am.
Posters, please to ignore whining of self-absorbed inner child. I have given him chocolate and he will be quiet now.
Kallessa, it would be more accurate to picture me up on a ladder scraping paint off of the back of my house. And the chimpanzee was no help at all. Kept complaining that it was too cold out there. I finally had to give him a sweater. The fuzzy pink one my first wife’s mother knitted for me that says “Scum-sucking moron” across the front. Good thing chimps can’t read. I told him it said “Finest-kind Chimp”. Chimps aren’t big on syntax either.
FCM, you sweet thing you. When you picture me naked, and you know you will, just imagine Sean Connery’s head on Arnold Schwartzenegger’s body. That’s what I do. When I picture me that is. When I picture Doper wimmins I just imagine you all look like Sela Ward. Saves a lot of time that way.
Rue, we aren’t going to see a news story on CNN anytime soon about a guy pretending to be an Omaha bank employee named Tessie absconding with 17 million dollars, are we? You might end up in the slammer with a ‘boyfriend’ named ‘Big Peachs’. And then what would we do? Tell you what: if you send me a copy of the Lissa wiggle-dance tape, I’ll send you cigarettes, okay?
Not exactly what I had in mind when I posted, but, hey, that works, too! It would sure have saved me some embarrassing phone calls the next day: “Umm, yeah, Hi. Do you have, like, a Lost and Found box behind the bar? You do? Well, did anyone turn in a…that is, I left my…er, did anyone turn in…anything last night? Like what? Well, you know, like…ah…any sort of…er, any item of clothing? Say, a lace bra, for example? No? How about a pair of shoes? No? Well, umm, thanks anyway.” :hangs up blushing furiously:
It would be a shame if the image of Wintermute blushing over the loss of her lace bra was the last thing posted in this thread. So . . .
Snow White took a whole roll of film at Grumpy’s birthday party and mailed it off to get developed. Now she’s singing Some Day My Prints Will Come.
The prettiest nurse at General Hospital is nicknamed Appendix because only the doctors can take her out.
Then there was the little girl in Puerto Rico named Carmen Cohen. Her mom called her Carmen and her dad called her Cohen. Poor kid hardly knew if she was Carmen or Cohen.
The first astronaut on Mars was greeted by a race of strange looking creatures. They had green faces, fur-covered bodies, and they all wore tin hats. They told the astronaut they were Furries and then took him to their leader, who looked exactly like all the others except he had a large hypodermic needle attached to his tin hat. “What do they call you?” asked the astronaut. The leader replied, “Why, I’m the Furry with the syringe on top.” :smack:
Yeah, I tried that, but unfortunately, I wound up imagining Urkel’s voice, too - it just ruined the effect. So I’ll have to come up with another mental image. But I’m not very good at this, as the Urkel reference attests. So why don’t you just send me a photo of yourself in gold tights and a flowing cape - pick whatever shirt you like. And bunny slippers - ya gotta wear bunny slippers.
I’m all a’flutter in anticipation!! 
I think I could be Bumbazine’s long lost twin, except I am more like Schwartzenegger’s head on Connery’s (current) body.
I think the “Tessie” thing might have some potential. I rather think I could get quite a bit of mileage out of it if it weren’t for three factors:[ul][li]We already have far to many “insider” nicknames around here.[/li]
[li]We’re bumping up against the weekend and the end of the thread’s natural life expectancy.[/li]
[li]There’s really no easy way to twist it into a gratuitous shot at welby.[/ul]It’s that last one that gets me the most. If I can’t get in a good shot at welby I just don’t get very motivated. Maybe I should just play it safe and say something nice about FairyChatMom and let it slide, even though she’s probably still mad at me for that (unfortunate, accidental) typo in her daughter’s birthday thread. Yep, seems like a good idea.[/li]
FairyChatMom is a nice lady. There you go.
As an aside to no one in particular, I’d like to point out that too many puns make me want to rethink my plans for matrimony. Just sayin.’
Finally, as I take my leave of you, dear friends, I wish to remind you not to think of elephants, nor picture Ellen nekkid.
Ex (having no idea what the hell he’s doing this morning)
Aw, Ex, I could never be mad at you. Well, unless you called me at 2 in the morning and woke me from a sound sleep. Or if you took my last bottle of black cherry flavored water. Or if you took a picture of me and drew a mustache and devil horns on it. Some things are just unforgivable!!
Is it ok if we picture Ellen riding on a nekkid elephant?
Dang! Now that’s one strange opening line.
I’m picturing Kallessa standing on stage at the airport Howard Johnson’s lounge doing her stand up act. <Ba-Da-Bing!>
I’m also picturing a plate of ham leftover from last night’s dinner (I had company over for dinner) and wandering what to do with it? Ham and potato casserole? Hot macaroni salad? (Actually it’s like mac and cheese, cept it has pimento, mushrooms and chopped up ham) Ham and cheese sammiches for a week? I also have a wonderful ham bone which will go into a big pot of collard greens for Sunday dinner. mmmmm…
-swampbear (all hammy)
Just thinking, but if Winnie gets all flustered asking about a lace brassier in the Lost and Found (or Free Stuff) box, how would she go get it? If she can’t ask over the phone “Have you seen my bra?” (And would you like to?) (Sorry.) how could she march into a bar and say “I’m lookin’ fer mah bra!”
Although it is a bar’s Lost and Found, so who knows what you could find in there. (Look! It’s Hitler’s glass eye!)
I’ve found it helpful to vary my mental pictures Bumba. Half of the girls look like Sela Ward, half of them look like Mimi Rogers. (If they seem real young, maybe Sabrina Lloyd.) That way you can tell them apart when they’re all naked. Naked in a writhing mass of feminine flesh.
(The boys all look like stick-people with a the name as a lable across the stick-torso. Sorry but I’m just not motivated to put any more effort into the boys.)
-Rue. (in long pants)
Sounds like the dog cornered a squirrel and wasn’t sure what happened next. Happens to mine on occasion, at exactly that spot.
You go in and ask for it the same way you go into a sex shop and buy a dildo - you pretend it’s all perfectly normal and that you are doing it for a friend. In fact, you should say loudly and repeatedly something like, “I can’t believe she left her bra! That girl! She’d lose her head if it wasn’t attached to her shoulders! Ha, ha!” This is especially effective if you sucker a girlfriend into giving you a ride. Then you can add, “She was too embarrassed to come in. Look, there she is, waiting in the car!”
This is why you have girlfriends.
Hm. Perhaps I don’t want to be one of your girlfriends, Wintermute. It sounds dangerous.
Thanks, everyone. We’re having a nice hurricane. Actually it’s just a really bad storm now, but we’re under warning to stock up food blah blah power could go out etc. I’m betting there won’t be anything to do at work, particularly if the power goes out.
Officially it’s supposed to begin this afternoon, but outside my window right now are sheeting rain and pretty high winds, so I’d guess it’s early.
Good theory E-Sabbath. Only a few small problems:
-
We gots no squirrels around here. (mentioned previously in the thread)
-
The gashing occurred in the house. She went outside to do what dogs do outside (bark), and when she came back in, her snout was intact. I went away and came back and her snout was less intact than optimal.
-
If she got chomped by a squirrel in the house, there would be obvious sign of dog-squirrel shinannigans.
That’s what makes it so mysterious. If she went outside with an intact snout and came in battle-scarred the mystery would not be mysterious. It would just be another case of Stupid Dog.
But thanks for the help.
I thought you had girlfriends for pillow fights and trying on lingerie together and stuff like that Winnie. Huh, live and learn. (But oddly, right now in my head you and Lissla and having a pillow fight in your jammies.)
-Rue. (thinking)
P.S. Come on people! Let’s hit Page Three before this thing dies out! We can do it! In recognition of Talk Like a Pirate Day: Arrrr!
Well lets see what I can add to the party…
Um… not really into clubbing.
Never left my bra anywhere really strange although a funny thing happened to me on the way to the OR last time I gave birth…
We’re too far to the northeast to get anything but a little rain from our friend Isabel.
The dog is fine as are the cats although we did have some excitement when they coralled a tiny fieldmouse under the shrine this morning and Parallax had to catch it and he released it into the hanging gardens of Babylon.
I don’t do wiggly dances… I might cause an earthquake or put out someone’s eye! It’s for public safety! Honest!
Avast ye there…
And to quote a MMP from bygone days ‘I got nuthin’
I’m not a pirate. Can I be a wench? I’ll even wear one of those dresses that makes all the cleavage (like a need a dress to help me have cleavage… )
I feel the need to defend myself a little. So, just for the record, I was always the sensible one, the level-headed one, the mature one. I’m the one everyone else comes to with their problems. I’m the one you call when you need someone to take you to the gynocologist or when your boyfriend breaks up with you. I am the boring and responsible one; I’m not the one who gets into trouble.
I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs, prescribed or otherwise. I don’t go home with guys I meet at bars, heck, I don’t go to bars. I always wear undergarments in public places, and if I do lose them, it’s generally in the dryer.
In otherwords, I’m a frickin’ nun.
So, not nearly so interesting as what you were imagining, but a far more acurate picture of me.
However, Rue, the bit about the pillow fights clad only in skimpy longerie? That part’s true.
Survey time.
<Babwa Wahwah voice>
If you had to have a stereotypical pirate physical handicap, which stereotypical pirate physical handicap would you have?
</Babwa Wahwah voice>
I think I’d have to go with the missing eye/eyepatch thing. I don’t want no hook hand or pegleg.
Yar matey!
Could I just have really bad teeth? You don’t have to chew rum after all. If not, I’ll take that mole on the shoulder that looks like a stuffed parrot.
Shiver me peg-leg! or something! Yar!
Avast, you scurvy landlubbers, there’s nary a good pirate among ye! Heave ho, matey and show your colors. Be ye for us or agin us, you’ll learn to fear the name of our dread Pirate leader, Rue DeDay* and his faithful dog, Lucy, 12 pounds of snarling death! As for me, I’m a sea dog from way back, a gen-u-ine Captive Pirate Princess, a swash-buckling flower of femininity who knows just what to do with a drunken sailor. Arr, pass the rum, me hearties, I’m parched.
*an excellent Dread Pirate name.