Get your own
 diary at DiaryLand.com! contact me older entries newest entry

2005-11-30 - 7:57 a.m.

IT'S RAINING (toothless) MEN

My sister and I are both divorced and keeping our eye out for Mister Right. Neither of us are sure that he exists, but we keep watch, just in case. Both of us get ample attention...it's just those who are paying it differ slightly between us. For instance, Teets works in a hospital in a position of power, and attracts handsome doctors, IT men and other upstanding career professionals. I work at a country radio station in an on-air position, so I attract...this.

Yeah. I know. I don't respond to this guy, mind you. I treat him with respect but make haste to get away as quickly as is humanly possible. The rough? As Teets minces her way betwixt the charms of the suave chiropractor and the extra tall, dark and handsome computer repair specialist, I'm turning tail to run from the above only to smack head-on into *this*.


Oh, uh-huh. Yeah. That's right, go ahead and laugh. I'd laugh too, were it not all truth. Alas, it's truth, and if it weren't for my strong independent nature, I'd most likely take my own life. See me, hiding in the ladies room, frantically sawing at the skin on my wrists with a spork (the only thing avalable at work)while this

sits in the control room, waiting for me to return so he can request "Ridin' With A Legend", his favorite "ghostly Dale Sr." song. I return after getting nowhere with my death spork and oblige Mullet McDipperson because I HAVE TO, and exit once again to "go make coffee", which really means "go weep silently in the promotional giveaway closet". Once collected, I return to my controls to announce the end of another non-stop 20 minute set of commercial-free tripe. I then put on Toby Keith and wish for death as I reach to answer my phone. It's "Dub"...

who's certain that I am a hairsbreadth away from taking him up on that offer to go frog giggin'. As fun as jabbing frogs in the skull with a miniature pitchfork sounds, I'm preoccupied with thoughts of whether or not a broken compact disc might work better than the spork did. I fake a break-up and disconnection with Dub just as Byrd arrives...

and I see, to my dismay, that he's carrying a plate of a dozen (oh my god) homemade treats consisting of peanut butter spread on Ritz cracker with a marshmallow melted on top of each...12 sticky Ritzes which I know have been painstakingly handled, one by one, by the tobacco stained hands of Byrd himself, who's hovering over me now absentmindedly scratching at a facial lesion resulting from his raging alcoholism as he encourages me to taste one, taste one, taste one.

Sure. I'll taste one, but I'll need a chaser. Got a bullet?


*some of this has been SLIGHTLY exaggerated...I'm not really suicidal. I did, however, have an experience with the Ritz "treats" by a listener who smelled of hot garbage and pee. By the way, Andy Griffith is a dirty liar. Neither garbage nor pee taste good on a Ritz.


free hit counter

5 comments so far

previous - next

about me - read my profile! read other Diar
yLand diaries! recommend my diary to a friend! Get
 your own fun + free diary at DiaryLand.com!