Thursday, July 2, 2015

Figuratively Speaking

I was doing a bit of online shopping looking lately and stumbled across this advertisement for some sort of torture-chamber undergarment, because clearly this lady is fat and needs this six-hooked, elastic-ed contraption to mash her body into a figure suitable to walk around in public.

Aside from that, does anything else jump out at you from this picture, Reader? 

Or is it just me? 

There's a good chance it's just me. 

Because that image made me want to dress up like Jasmine from Disney's Aladdin movie as soon as I saw that Camel. And I also noticed her very apparent "magic carpet." Aladdin, Jasmine and several friends could ride on that thing. 

I mean, as far as advertising techniques go, this one may be considered a winner because it definitely caught my attention. I even saved it to share with you. You're welcome. 

However, I couldn't tell you what the product actually is, nor did I buy one, because I do not need to call that sort of attention to my kuntz area, as it gets pah-lenty of attention as it is. 

And speaking of my kuntz, would you even believe it if I told you I actually got the job with the company I shouted out "MIKEKUNTZ!!'" to in my phone interview??? 

Hard to believe it, Reader, but YEP, it's the troof.  I'm going to be back in the workforce soon!! I start in mid-July as a Merchandising Manager for a young e-Commerce biz.  I'm going to be in on the groundish floor, and will reap many rewards for my contributions with this company once I prove my awesomeness, which should take about five days. Because of said awesomeness.  I've already been working - unpaid - on my strategies and contributions that will help drive and grow the business. I'm trying to knock some of the rust off of the hamster wheels that churn my brain before I actually start. 

I'm super-excited about the work, less super-excited about trying to correct my awful sleep pattern. Because it is a doozy.  I now go to sleep sometime between three and six in the morning, and get up, oh, in the early afternoon.  

They shouldn't make Forensic Files a nightly marathon if they wanted me to go to bed earlier.  I've been really hooked on watching hours and hours of those shows. And then it scares me and I have to get up and walk through the house and check that no one is trying to break in to Chez Bang Bang and diddle with my kuntz while they think I'm asleep, because they would be in for a surprise, because I'm AWAKE at 2 a.m., Badguys, so stay the eff away. I'm on high-alert.  And have been practicing kung-foo. Not really, but I think about doing karate chops to people, so I'm counting it. 

So yeah, not exactly restful sleep after I do finally turn off the hours upon hours of murdering shows. Last night I even managed to tolerate a half hour of Nancy Grace, because the story was compelling, but Nancy herself is so annoying and just makes shit up rather than reporting on any facts and says the same stuff over and over again, which annoys the piss out of me so I turned her off mid-way through and now I need to Google and find out more details about the murdering of a doctor-lady in Florida. You've created more work for me, Nancy Grace. Thanks for nothing. 

Let's recap here, Reader, because this has been all over the place. Our Top 5 take-aways are:

1/ No one needs underwear that details out their camel toes. Unless you DO need those underwear, Reader, and then I will try to find out the brand for you, because I'm a giver.

2/ I will become a productive member of society once again mid-July, abandoning my current "job" of spray painting every empty bottle in the house to turn it into a Pinterest project. 

3/ Sometimes talking about your kuntz in an interview can land you a job. And not just in prostitution. 

4/ Don't break into my house, BadGuy. You'll be the one getting an unpleasant surprise, right between the shoulder blades. 

5/ Nancy Grace creates more problems than she solves. 

Monday, June 22, 2015

Getting Dickered

Well, Reader, I think I've found the answer.  The reason prostitution was invented was because some gal back in the olden days had a garage sale and realized she could make more money with less stress and backbreaking work giving a ten-minute blowjob. And less dickering over the price. Probably. 

So yeah.  That garage sale was a lot of days of effort for very low return.  I guess not so surprisingly we had a lot of interest in electronics, video games, sports memorabilia and a bunch of collectible stuff my uncle contributed to the cause. But I guess not so surprisingly, no one wanted much of anything else. Meaning my stuff. So those tables of glassware and knick knacks are still pretty much loaded, like we never had a garage sale. 

Day 1, Thursday, had a good amount of people.  Day 2, Friday, yielded about 6 customers and equal amount of dollars.  We shut the door at 1:30 and went to the movies. Where we blew all our profits+ seeing Jurassic World in 3D and in the D-Box seats, so the ultimate way to see a Dinosaur's Gone Wild event and also the ultimate way to spend $37 on a matinee, not including popcorn. We movie-d like rich people, and not like a couple of unemployed garage sale losers.

By the third day of the sale, Saturday, there was no fucking way I was hauling my ass out of bed at 8 a.m. to sit in my driveway.  I didn't care what I said in the ad. I was delusional when I thought I could garage sale for three days from 8 a.m. - 5:30 p.m.  

My friendie The Hoff showed up around 1:00 p.m. on Saturday and caught me sitting at the kitchen table, unshowered and in my pajamas, with the garage door closed.

"Um, is this a new way to have a garage sale that I don't know about?" 

She shamed me into showering and opening the door.  

All that effort netted about six customers for the remainder of the afternoon, and other than my neighbor buying a lot of my purses, we netted about six bucks for the effort. My neighbor, however, spent about $45, so I basically could have just invited her over for a cuppa coffee and sold her my purses for a lot less effort. 

At the end of the three days I was sore and stiff and exhausted and tired of getting negotiated down on the cost of all my stuff. Some guy actually tossed a brand new, never opened Star Wars Target-Exclusive-with-a-medallion-included-and-everything DVD set back with a hurumph of disgust because I wouldn't come down from the $5 price tag. Five bucks was just too damn much. 

I knew it was going to be like that.  I did. I just didn't think I'd get so annoyed. To the point that I'm ready to keep half of the shit I had planned on selling, because everyone can fuck off that thinks two bucks is one buck too much. 

So yeah. With all that, we're doing it again for one more day. This coming Thursday, because everything is already set up.  We're going to re-arrange the tables, take more pictures, get rid of some of my shit and add more collectibles and sports stuff and open the garage door. 

Probably before noon. 

But I can't make any guarantees.

p.s. - I need to give special mention to my Fairy Godmothers who stopped by before the sale, waved their magic wants, wherein that means they worked their asses off for eight solid hours helping me get tables set up in the garage, and then came back to help me on Opening Day. Couldn't have done it without you. Hillary Clinton nailed it - Takes a Village. I'm pretty sure a garage sale was what she meant.

oh, and p.p.s. - Didn't sell any hotdogs. None. Zero. Zip. Nada. So now I have 120 hotdogs sitting in my fridge.  Come over for dinner. You'll never guess what we're having. 

Monday, June 15, 2015

Trash or Treasure

Happy Day, Reader!   

Sorry to leave you for so long without a new post, I know you're crying out for entertainment! At least that's what I tell myself to justify the time I spend typing up words instead of doing More Productive Things.  This is productive, right? Because it makes my brain think a little bit. Very little, but I'm still counting it. 

I've been super busy lately.  Preparing my life for a bad-ass garage sale. Because I'm getting rid of stuff. The rule here is, if it doesn't fit in this space, it has to go. Because I'm never going to have a bigger house than this one, and so I'm done with hanging on to things for "one day."  I have even made the decision to pull out my china and use it on a more everyday basis, because what enjoyment am I getting from it keeping it in pristine condition in a box in the garage? Zero enjoyment, Reader. That's how much. 

It dawned on me recently what a waste it is to keep and hang on to stuff for "one day" while I was helping my friendie clean out her attic. There was a beautiful china set, and furniture and just stuff that people had to keep, and while today it's sort of antique-y and vintage-y and worth a couple of bucks, is it really worth it to clutter up an entire attic and let some other generation sort through it all?  

I don't have a next generation to sort through all my shit so it would either end up in someone elses garage sale, or get auctioned off for a nominal amount and someone would be cursing me because it became their problem.  

I've gone through a few estate sales in the area lately and they always leave me blue. It's some old person's life, spread out there with quarter price tags attached, and some of it is such shit no one even wants it for even a quarter. Collections and treasures and vacation memorabilia.  

I live a much more sparsely decorated existence than I have in the past. I have things out that remind me of a great vacation, a great person, a great time, etc. But the shit I have in boxes or that doesn't matter at all to me? It's going For Sale.  At least I'll get to spend the quarter that it brings.  Probably in Vegas. Next month, as a matter of fact. 

So come over, Readers! This Thurs-Fri-Sat.  Don't miss out on purchasing something from Chez Bang Bang! And I'm selling hot dogs, too! Get your wieners here!! 

I think that'll be my slogan. 

Saturday, June 6, 2015

Try As I Might.

This is probably the most political blog I'm ever going to write, Reader.  I know, I know, you expect different when you come here. I try to keep it mostly about nonsense and vaginas, and in that respect I'm still staying true to thine own self and you.  But this time it's not about what's going on in my pants, but instead what's going on with Bruce Jenner's, or Caitlyn's vagina-area. 

Now, before you click off and go read more fun things about cute kittens and Pinterest projects, give me a minute. Or go and click off right now, it may save our relationship. 

I personally have a whatever-it-takes-to-be-happy-in-life opinion about it - I am a really really lefty liberal - but why why why do so many of my heterosexual friends have such strong opinions about it??

My heterosexual social media friends are of the opinion that they know exactly how, what, where and when Bruce Jenner should have made his transition, or are of the opinion that she should have never made a transition, or are so resentful that she is making money off of the news, or that she's doing nothing to move the LGBT community forward. 

Let me reiterate - these are heterosexual friends, who are not even part of the LGBT community. They have opinions on what she should do with her money, how it's affecting her family, and that she should have never had children. Some take the position of stating they will always refer to her as Mr. Jenner. That'll show 'em. 

These are usually the same folks who would never allow another person tell them how to live their life, how to spend their money, how to raise their children, etc. 

I haven't seen one opinion about Caitlyn Jenner's trangendering in my news feed from any one of my LGBT friends. Not one. 

Many posts concluded with how this wasn't a "courageous" act. Many many posts. 

I try to scroll past it all or just hide these newsfeeds, but sometimes the comments niggle into my craw just a little bit. 

The word "courage" seems to be their hot button.

Their picture of "courage" every time looks like a bloodied, limb-missing combat soldier. Soldiers are courageous. There is no dispute or doubt from me. 

But then I took the bait and made a comment. I try so hard to stay away from the bait. I really, really do. Maybe it's because I'm unemployed and have too much free time between kissing kittens and Pinterest projects.  I'm spending too much time on Facebook. 

My comment read something about "courage doesn't have to look like just one thing." I thought that was really toning it down. 

The next day he posted a comment about my comment, and said he "agreed, it doesn't have to look like one thing" and included pictures of firefighters running into a blazing building, policemen doing heroic deeds, etc. 

Which are all courageous. Yes, there is no doubt about that. 

But they still all look like the same thing, so his counterpoint wasn't very well made to me. 

So I took the bait. Again. And made another comment. 

This. Is where it all went bad.

To me, courage also looks like the addict standing in a room full of strangers and admitting they have a problem and asking for help. 

It looks like the battered woman having the courage to finally say, "Enough!" and leaving her abusive relationship with three kids, no money, no family support, not knowing how she will get by, and leaving anyway. 

It looks like someone who has lost a child, and having the courage to get up and face their one-less-child-world every day to tend to the rest of the family when they really want to crawl under the covers and never emerge.  

It looks like anyone who is afraid of being judged, shamed, embarrassed and humiliated, and putting themselves into the spotlight anyway. 

It looks like anyone who fights - mentally or physically - to just hold their life together when the seams are fraying faster than they can sew. 

I looked up the the definition of courage, because maybe I have it all wrong. The Merriam-Webster definition reads like this:

Full Definition of COURAGE

:  mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty
Per usual, it seems when I do say something that isn't about kittens or cake, it all ends badly. 

Not because of his differing opinion. Not because of Caitlyn Jenner's non-vagina, when he summed up as a "chick with a dick," which does offend me because it belittles a whole entire human being with a flippant comment. Still, we can be friends, despite that. And not because he disagreed with me.  But because one of his friends posted a comment calling me a "bitch" and "I hope you don't call this person a friend" and he "liked' the comment.  

He told me, "This is the first time I've been unfriended because of something someone else said. You're pretty sensitive." 

My response was something along the lines of, "Let's be clear, you're not unfriended because of something someone else said about me. You're unfriended because you supported/liked the comment. That's not a friend of mine, real or social-media. That's not allowed in my world. And also, don't confuse having standards of friendship with being "emotional" or "sensitive." 

I am fortunate to have a diverse group of people that I am friends with, both social media and real. I think it helps me to understand different perspectives. It also has made me realize I have some hot buttons that are pretty easy to push. And usually it's around bullying.  

Because all those comments are just bullying. They are meant to tear another person down.  

I have tried over the years to stay out of the fray on Facebook. I'm getting less able to do so.  Just this morning I had two cents that I couldn't stop myself from posting in response to a post from a conservative friend about the welfare state of America.  I really hope it doesn't result in unfriending, because she's peripheral family and I like her. I just don't agree with her. 

Because maybe I know too many people, including a transgender friend who is one of the kindest, most sensitive people I know, and a hardworking friend who fell on hard times and who needed to use welfare to stave off homelessness, and myself, currently using "the system" of Obamacare to be able to ~barely~ afford healthcare while I'm unemployed -  and I find it really difficult to sit silently by and let these quippy comments and posts sum up people - my friends, myself - with generalized statements that belittle and bully us into feeling like lesser human beings. 

So maybe I need to take a Facebook time-out. Until I can be trusted again to stick to posting pictures of cute kittens and cake.  

Oh, by the way, I guess I did get one comment from my LGBT-community brother about the whole Caitlyn Jenner situation. His opinion was, "Look, I'm not upset about how Bruce Jenner decided to come out about becoming a woman. I'm disgusted that she still calls herself a Conservative and a Republican.*" 

*I was corrected by my brother that he said both Conservative and Republican. Because apparently there's a difference and if I'm going to paraphrase, get it right. 

Monday, June 1, 2015

I Expect More From This Relationship

Dear June,

We started the month out at 47-degrees and damp. 

I had to turn on the heat.

And wear a heavy sweater. 

And wrap cats around my neck like a scarf. 

And put several other cats down my pants like modern-day leg warmers. 

Good thing I have so many cats. 

I didn't expect to be wearing them in June. 

The cats aren't happy. 

I'm not happy. 

This is no way to begin our relationship. 

I want to love you. 

I have plans for you and I. 

I bought a pool. 

It's waiting for sunny Naked Pool Days.

Please readjust yourself and try again. 


Trixie Bang Bang

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

You Say Tomato...

The mailman came to the door today and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what the hell I'd ordered in the little brown package he carried. 

Me to Brain: "Did I order something lately??"

Brain: "You've been ordering quite a bit of shit recently, actually, for an unemployed person."

Me to Brain: "Yeah, but that was just small $10 items to keep my spirits up, and it happened to be stuff I could use, too, such as a new pair of flip flops with a massaging bottom that feels nice on my feet, and an Ohio necklace to show where my heart lives."

Brain: "You didn't need that stuff. You know you didn't."

Me to Brain: "Shut the fuck up. Back to the original question. Am I still waiting for something else that I don't even remember ordering??"

Brain: "Just go get the package and find out and stop bothering me."

So that's what I did, all the while worried-wondering if I'd lost my mind to the point that I'm now ordering stuff I don't even know I'm ordering. I mean, what if I"m putting stuff in shopping carts all over the Internets and don't even know it until it shows up?? 

That's dangerous behavior, Reader. 

I opened the package and saw this little green box of Chaga, and it took me several moments for my brain to process what it was, all the while hoping when I opened the invoice it wasn't some $275 little nugget that I might have looked at (although I had no memory of doing so) and then accidentally bought. 

What I found instead of an invoice was a gift note from my friendie The Healthy Hoff, who ordered me some Magic Mushroom....Tea....because she felt sorry for me wanted to help me after watching me help her move shit  this past weekend from an attic in a vacant house she is trying to sell.  Wherein I say "I helped" I really mean "I looked through and moved boxes to the top of the stairs and she carried it all down. Three Flights. By Herself." That's how I helped. 

But I did brave potential spiders, webs and other possible scary things and only screamed once when I opened a security box and it was full of webs that may or may not have touched my gloved hand, and other than that I was brave. Even when I was fairly certain I was at some point going to uncover a carcass of some animal that had died up there, because there was a smell in a specific area, and I may or may not have seen some sort of animal poop on top of a box. I just tried to ignore all that evidence that pointed to Dead Thing and plunged ahead despite my concern. I'm brave like that, like a warrior. An Old Attic Warrior. 

My reward for bravery was Magic Mushroom Tea. And also because she probably wants to get me a little more healthy and nimble so the next time I can carry some of the boxes down the stairs. Probably that. 

I was a little skeptical about the tea, because there was An Incident.  I tasted something made from a mushroom while she and I were in San Francisco last month. That's where we ate at a vegan Asian restaurant and I put Rieshi Mushroom Medicine Soup in my mouth. The Offending Soup is the brown liquid with the silver ladle. The white bowl of deliciousness in the front was their won ton soup, which could have delightfully fed a small village. 

Yeah, we ordered a lot of food. That's how we roll.

Anyway, the Medicine Soup made me want to claw out my tongue from my head. I made an actual "Pa-tooey" sound as I spit out this part of the soup onto my plate. Because I'm a lady.

This may have been a sponge. It would not chew into pieces. It refused. The Healthy Hoff kept insisting I just swallow it down, it's good for me. 

I've heard that before, Reader. I wasn't falling for it. 

So with that all-too-recent experience in mind, I had earned a bit of my Magic Mushroom tea skepticism. 

However, The Hoff generally does have my best interest in mind, so I did a little Googling about the tea, figured what the hell could it hurt, and made myself a cup. 

It stirred up and looked like this:

It had an earthy flavor, very mild in fact and not at all as harsh as the Rieshi Medicine Soup Incident.

I don't know if it was the boost of oom-pa-pa that I got from the tea, but all I know is that later on in the afternoon I had a phone interview for a company I am excited  about and I couldn't stop my mouth from spewing out words. 

They just kept pouring out. 

I knew they were too many words, but I was powerless to stop them. 

I was speaking to the CEO. 

At one point he asked me about my vendor contact with one of my prior suppliers and I said the name,  "Mike Cunts." I said  MY CUNTS. To the CEO. In an interview. 

READER. You can only imagine the horror in my brain and yet I was powerless to do anything about it at that point.

My Mister was in the back room and heard me loud and clear saying "MY CUNTS." He wanted to know just what sort of a job I was interviewing for. I know that' s ending with a preposition, but I just said MY CUNTS to a potential hiring person, so there are bigger issues at hand than my trying to rewrite that sentence. 

The guy's name is Michael Kuntz, by the way, I think it's pronounced like "Koontz" but I'm frankly not sure because he would say it really quickly, as if to avoid his own name. So I think I"m actually correct, but really? That's what I brought to the conversation. 

Thanks for the gift of health in a mug,  Hoff. I will continue to drink a mug full every day, and hope that I can control my mouth and avoid all references to cunts, twats, beavers or anything else that may paint a visual of My Flower during an interview.

Saturday, May 23, 2015


Has the world stopped spinning, Reader?? Something is definitely off it's axis, as it is 8:31 a.m. and I am up. In the MORNING, Reader. The REAL morning, not the morning I pretend happens at 1:00 in the afternoon. I'm drinking coffee, eating my organic oatmeal, cats are fed.  What the what is going on around here??? 

Well, I'll tell ya what. One way I get out of my own "woe is me" head is to do something for someone else. And so on Facebook, I offered up the one thing I can offer people at this point, which is my time. If someone needed help with something, they just had to let me know when/where/what. And my friend needs help today packing up an attic's worth of shit from a house she's selling, and that's what we're doing this morning. 

Now Reader.  I don't know if any of you have seen me move around lately. But as Kenny pointed out yesterday, after I'd spent the better part of the day staining the deck, I'm about one bout of hard work away from needing a wheelchair. When I forget to take my arthritis medication, which is more often than not because bad schedule on my part, I am soon reminded that I need it.  So yeah. Some days it's rough around here. 

However, if my friend thinks I can haul boxes up and down steps, I will be there. I may be better at the packing part, we'll see. 

Funny enough, all the requests that I did get from people for help all involved packing up shit because they're moving.  It's one of the things I'm the worst at, haha. Had it not been for my friends four kids doing a shit-ton of moving for ME, I would probably still be living at my old house.  But I can box the hell out of stuff, so we are going to get it done today.

So that's my morning. And a BBQ this evening. So yeah. Spending time with friends. Good day. 

Yesterday I did jump right in and start my porch staining, as I had so boldly claimed I was going to do. The only way to do it is to just fucking do it.   You can see from the picture below how much it needed a good drink of stain. I don't believe it's ever been stained before.  I have the entire railing and spindles complete. Just need to do the floor either today or tomorrow, as I have time. I'm super excited about it because I love love love my deck, and it needs to look like someone loves it. 

Now it does. 

The cats are less than happy because they're not allowed out while all this is happening. The spiders are less than happy, too, because several of them have been relocated. Because they aren't allowed to live on the porch. It's a rule.