Look sherriff, this is not just a local story. This creature has been spotted across this country.

It's so cold in my house right now that I'm wearing leggings under my nightgown. As if the nightgown itself wasn't sexy enough, I had to spice it up with some spandex! It's not a piece of lingerie, it's more like this:
with these underneath

If only I had some curlers! If there was a fire in my house--first off, I'd run to it because I'm so damn cold--I'd have to steal Dom's robe before I'd go outside. Is it weird that I think about those kinds of things? If I was forced from my home in the middle of the night for some disastrous reason, are my p.j.'s decent enough for public? Speaking of embarrassing--yesterday I called the number that I had written down as my doctor's office and asked for an appointment for my annual Pap Smear only to have the voice on the other line tell me that I had dialed the Sherrif's office. True story. This shit happens to me.

Anyway, It's really not a matter of fashion. It's more like, Are my bazoombas visible right now? I don't want the whole neighborhood to be "linin' up the block just to watch what I got." You know? I definitely don't want to be vulnerable out in front of the crazy FEMA trailor couple.

They're ALWAYS fighting. They obviously hate each other and just stay together for convience and someone to scream their frustrations out at. I just want to leave a Post It note on their car that says "Break up already!" Yesterday I heard her yelling, "You don't understand! I hate this fucking trailor!" Okay, first, yeah I do. I hate your fucking trailor. It's the hellacious redneck view from my front door and your bitching is all I can ever hear outside. So then he replies, "All white people are psycho just like you."

Whoa, back that crazy train up a minute. I am not nearly as crazy as your trashy girlfriend who is obviously just frustrated with the construction taking waaaaay too long. Seriously, are you guys trying to finish it with telepathy or something? Also, aren't you both white people?

Sorry, that chunky paragraph was just for them. That too would go on the Post It. And, "Don't park your car right behind my driveway." But then they'd know it was me. Eh, I feel bad for the girl. She was nice enough to come tell us that the dome light was still on in our car. And her boyfriend sounds like a genuine Slidouchebag. He was making laps around the neighborhood at about 80 m.p.h. after their fight while she was looking for her dog. I think he was trying to hit either.

The next time they decide to include the whole neighborhood in on their "private" affairs I'm busting out the popcorn and watching from my front porch with a giant foam finger that says "Go Psycho White Girl!" And if they wake up my baby? They're getting a poopy diaper in the face.

You really want some space, or are you and I going to go get drunk?

As you may recall from previous blogs this week, I went out on the town with the girls Saturday night. And by 'girls' I don't mean my boobs. Those are ladies. I mean the other stay-at-home moms that want some time away from changing diapers and whiny husbands and children. It wasn't filled with nearly as much alcoholic fun this go-round because, after a sit down with myself figuring out who I am in this relationship, Margarita and I have decided to see other people.

Margarita's an enabler. Margarita always wants me to do things louder and without thinking. If I'm out with a drink, I need it to be a good liason between my brain and my vocal chords. I don't need Margarita shutting off my filter and having me blurt out my bra size and sexual curiosities. Okay? That's why I took Rum out on Saturday.

Rum's a boring, fruity, fucker. You ever go out with a friend that's too timid to make any decisions or speak up and just shrugs any time something might be interesting to him or her? Yeah, that's Rum. That's me on Rum because when I ingest it, I become Rum's boring ass proxy. I only had 3 drinks the whole night and I wasn't feeling buzzed with any of them. It made me really miss Margarita's wild side, you know?

I did manage to fall off the curb of Heidelberg's though. That was completely sober. But again, classic Cassidy behavior...especially since we were trying to make a quick escape from Geraldine's new stalker.

He seemed normal at first and I even felt bad that he bought a round of drinks for a table of married women. But I certainly got the "creepy dude" vibe after this conversation:

Geraldine: "The three of us met online and now we're friends, we babysit for each other, and even work out at the gym together."

Stalky Creepsmith: "Oh, what gym?"

Geraldine: "[actual gym name]" (of which she instantly regretted mentioning)

Stalky Creepsmith: "Which one? [Location A] or [Location B]"

I just got the feeling that I was going to be running on the treadmill one day and have Mr. Creepsmith wave a jolly "Oh, didn't realize you worked out here." I would probably trip, land my face on the track, and be promptly shot out onto the floor via conveyor belt. Not that I'm terribly worried about my own safety, he was all about G-dawg. He even gave her his card after trying to shoo Kelly and I away from the table. By the way "Stalky Creepsmith" is a step up. His real first name was Quitman. It wasn't a codename either. We saw the business card.

Long story short, one shit-hole karaoke bar and a near DUI arrest later abd we found ourselves at some honky tonk joint that played a combination of AC/DC, Country, and Booty Rap--of which everyone still line danced to. They even had a mechanical bull and a stripper pole. Totally a step up from "T's Toothless Karaoke Lounge." Seriously, the door hadn't even closed behind us before we walked right back out. It was a tiny room so filled with smoke that it made a fog that rolled off it's whopping 3 tables. And yes, there was at least one toothless man.

If Margarita had been around, I probably would have been singing karaoke on the bar and later been heaved off of a mechanical bull.

I'm Gene Simmons, and I wear more makeup and higher heels than your mommy does.

Well, I'm not rollin' in the dough I made from the casino on Friday night. In fact, I was down $10 in 20 minutes playing the penny slots. It wasn't even the Monopoly slots with the fun bonus games. Nope, I could have had more fun setting my Hamiltons on fire.

I blame old people.

That's right. They're are putting me on a level of pissed off that only an internet wide campaign against the elderly can rectify. And before you start whining "But Cassidy, they're old. You should respect them in their dying moments..." hear me out. I'm not talking about the Grim Reapers next poker buddies. I'm talking about the early 60s to late 70s bracket that think they're owed something for making it to said decade. No, I'm mad at the Grams and Gramps that are always pissy with me for being in their bubble of, say, 50 feet?

I'm through with that shit. I've seen too many Granny boobs to just be Zen about old men stealling the good slot machines and scowling at me. Naked Grandma even glowers at me for using an electrical outlet in the locker rooms. There are two mirrors with outlets at them and she doesn't need either of them. But she decides to put all of her hair gel and crap right next to me while she washes her bathing suit in the buff and while giving me the metaphorical finger?

Plus, old people are responsible for this:


After brooding about the slots, I did finally have the balls to play a table game. So then Dom and I gave all our money to the dealer at the roulette table. At least that was fun. That and being in the same hotel/casino as KISS!

Well, Mini KISS. They're a KISS cover band of dwarves and they were playing at whatever casino we were at. Blogdamn, I can't even remember where we were? I wasn't even drunk that night.



I think the one on the far right is Asian. Their lead singer is actually a girl, too. Our group said they saw them walking in carrying guitar cases, but I totally missed it. I may never again have the chance to see Gene Simmons's 1/2 doppelganger in person again!

Hello, Sleepy Bird! Oh, sorry. You go back to sleep, Sleepy Bird.

Wow, I haven't been tired like this in a while. I stayed up to watch the new "Robot Chicken Star Wars" episode. I guess 10:30 is too much to ask for these days. Especially after being out late on Saturday. I got 8 hours both nights, but maybe it's just the shift in time slots that's got me dragging ass. Anyway, a gallon of coffee and much eye rubbing I have decided to go ahead and blog, despite my complete inability to spell and or proofread it once I've finished. I've also spent several moments just staring at the screen without realizing it until I got jerked awake again by Michael banging toys on the floor and singing his rendition of "AAHHHH MMMMAAAAA OOOHHHHHH!" It's a classic.

But it's just a blog to tell you that I'm not blogging today. It's way more than my brain can handle presently. Well, have a great day. I've got some good stories to share from my weekend excursions, so keep coming back.