Tag Archives: Funny

Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

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Which is unfortunate, for this Baby at least, because the corner is where I feel most comfortable.

At one point in my Crazie life, I was the personal assistant to a young woman who ran a resort in Newport Beach.  One of the more difficult tasks she assigned was to plan and execute a successful bachelorette party for her.

Concerned that a corner-dweller like me wouldn’t know anything about such things, she wrote notes.  I’d walk in each morning and find one of these lying on my desk:

“Don’t forget that the party bus should be stocked with tequila and rum for the Horny Bull shots.”

“Don’t forget to stop by the sex toy shop and buy a gift for everyone.”

“Don’t forget to order the stripper.”

Like any good assistant, I looked up the proper etiquette for throwing a bachelorette party.  Here’s a bit of what I found:  “If your bride is a classic bachelorette party kind of gal, you’ll have to track down the perfect assortment of penis paraphernalia. May we suggest: penis mints, penis pasta, a penis ice-cube tray, penis cake pan, penis straws, and penis candles.”  Since strippers were involved, I did think it best to avoid the candles, but everything else was in place.

The doorbell rang.  I brought the stripper in, pointed out the bride, and then hurried to an out-0f-the-way corner.  This may come as a surprise to you, but I’m not a big fan of strippers.  Besides the whole “treating a person like an object” thing, they’re usually sweaty and this one danced until he dripped.  Somewhere in the middle of his gyrations his eyes locked mine and like a magnet to metal, he headed straight for me.

I peered around his six-pack hoping for a rescue but the crowd squealed its delight.  And let me tell you, there’s nothing a stripper loves more than a squealing crowd.  He pulled a dollar bill from his G-string and stuffed it down the front of my shirt.  Then, he lifted the bottom of my shirt and removed the dollar bill with his teeth.  (Blech!  Just writing this made me throw-up in my mouth a little.) Finally, when no new dollar bills appeared from me in his G-string he moved on to the delighted mother of the bride.

This is why, as Mayor of Crazie Town, I’ve passed an ordinance that all houses must be built as octagons.  Lot’s more corners to hide in.

 

Killer Shoes – Embarrassment Continued

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Would you laugh if you saw Lucille Ball slipping on a banana peel?  Evidently the tourists of Crazie Town would, because I’ve been asked to give more humiliating details of my ego killing shoes.

Last Friday, I was invited to lunch on the Plaza (Kansas City’s equivalent to LA’s Rodeo Drive) with several ladies that I used to work with at Big Corporation.  I knew these women would be wearing their hippest duds and I was looking forward to dressing up — as I’ve spent the last few weeks wearing tattered sweats, hunched over my keyboard, frantically working to finish my first novel by the end of the year.

Evidently, I’ve also spent the last few weeks stuffing my face because when I attempted to pull on my “cool” jeans, they wouldn’t fit.  I pulled out my industrial strength Spanks and tried again.  Success!  I slipped the Killer Shoes on my feet, took one last satisfied look in the mirror and tottered out the door.

I met my fabulous looking friends at the entrance to the restaurant and then, we paraded single file behind the hostess to a table in the back.  With a haughty smirk, I strutted my stuff past several booths of perfectly dressed Ladies Who Lunch.

BAM!  In a prat fall that would have made Lucille Ball proud, my feet shot out in front of me and I was on the floor.  I blinked a couple of times, wondering why my view had changed from people’s faces to people’s feet.  A woman in the booth I’d collapsed in front of, leaned down and whispered “I almost did that same thing.”  Was that supposed to make me feel better?

When I realized my friends had not noticed my ego-busting move, I climbed back up on my towering heels and shuffled quickly to the table.  I would have made a clean getaway, except the manager came over to see if I was all right.  I waved him off, with my left hand and spent the rest of the meal trying to ignore the throbbing in my right wrist.

There’s the story, my inquiring friends.  Oh, one more question that several people asked.  Did I finally shout a curse as I fell?  I am sorry to report that the two words that escaped my mouth were…Oh My.  I also vividly remember hanging on to my purse, evidently in case I was mugged while lying on the floor.

When did I become my Great Aunt Marjorie?  I guess I should be grateful I didn’t break a hip.