I just returned from a whirlwind 3-day trip to Ocracoke NC, with my wild child girlfriend and seven newly graduated high school seniors. This occasion prompted over 200 photos to be taken. For the past three years, since my body betrayed me and took an unexpected turn south at the intersection of Stout and Hefty, I squeal like a stuck pig if anybody tries to take my picture. Somehow, my buddy DL managed this feat and she’s still alive and kickin. Looking at those dozen or so photos she took of me got me to thinking I need to put out an ABP for my eyelids and my lips. How is it possible for entire categories of body parts to simply go missing? Trust me, I’ve yet to receive a ransom note. Just my luck, they recently canceled “America’s Most Wanted”.
And my chin! Swear to God, I USED to have one. Now, I can’t find it anywhere. And if they droop much further, my eyelids will soon be slow dancing with what remains of my lips. Do all of our beloved noses, chins, lips, butts, boobs, and legs suddenly wake up one day and say, “Shit, this old bitch is turning 50; I’m outta here. I’m headed to that runaway parts orphanage in the sky to see if I can gets mysef adopted by some purdy young thing.” Sure enough, at the entrance to The Home For Wayward Body Parts, are a long line of Jennifer Garners, Paris Hiltons, Angelina Jolies, and Keira Knightley. And let me tell you, these bitches are FUGLY! No movie deals or TV shows for these dog-faced girls.
Suddenly there’s pandemonium in the line as voices call out bids for the most coveted body part. Jennifer Garner paid $45,000 for some 28-year-old Vegas casino worker’s dimples. Paris Hilton offered $56,000 for some dumbass cracker’s pale, dead, watery blue eyes (yeah, she’s THAT smart). Brad slipped the auctioneer $64,000 to buy a pair of African witch doctor’s lips to enhance the countenance of his beloved Angie.
I don’t know about you other Menopausal Mamas, but I for one, am not going to take it anymore. The next time I encounter some floosie who could be Jay Leno’s sister, I’m marching right up to her and demand, “Excuse me M’am, is that MY chin you’re wearing?”
Today marks the halfway point in The Spousal Unit’s month-long business trip. I’d thought I’d be up every night with a big case of the willies, imagining all manner of things going bump in the night, but thanks to Baxter the Booger’s dogged devotion, it’s actually been OK. If you were a finger, would you want to insert yourself into a nose being guarded by a ferocious Booger? That’s what I thought.
The drive from Emerald Isle through Beaufort to Cedar Island to catch the ferry is a mini-vacay unto itself. It reminds me of the South Carolina low country, with one exception. Amid the geographical majesty and the waterways, are trailer homes, many surrounded by the flotsam and jetsom of their owners’ decline. All manner of chicken coups, abandoned cars, and defunct businesses litter the landscape. Hailing from the South, Texas, and the world of the professional REDNECK, I’ve decided that this special breed of local inhabitant should be honored with its own special moniker. I lovingly call them the ‘Waterbugs“. Lucky enough to live on or nearby the coast, they continue their slovenly legacy of unemployment, wife-beating, tatoo procuring, welfare-collecting lifestyle. So, here you are, living and toiling in the inner city of Baltimore or Boston, paying a $3K mortgage with the hope of getting a glimpse of the polluted sky once a month, while your Eastern North Carolinian brethren have a waterfront view and vantage point from their perch in their 1960’s single wide trailer, which they are renting for $295 per month, with all the food stamps they can eat. And this is multi-generational; their grandparents lived this lifestyle and as long as there are Democrats in Washington, their descendents will continue to enjoy this life. Ain’t America Grand? And they want to kill the social security we’ve paid into for 40 plus years? What a great nation!