Have you tried McDonald’s new bagel breakfast sandwiches? Do they all have hollandaise sauce on them? Because I’m pretty sure that I’ve had several of these with no hollandaise sauce on them and then this morning, I unsuspectingly ordered a sausage/egg/cheese bagel sandwich and took a bite and almost projectile vomited into oncoming traffic.
God, can you imagine the accident report on that? “What were you doing at the time of the accident?” “Hurling my guts out, officer. You see, there was this hollandaise sauce….” and that’s when the officer would affect a strange New York/Irish accent and say “You kin tell yer stahry to the judge, missy!” and arrest me.
I called McDonald’s and complained and they acted as though they’ve always been putting the sauce on it. Actually, she had to tell me what it was. I thought that they had accidentally put mayonaise on it or some foul white gel. So, I didn’t get a free bagel sandwich, because her argument is that they’ve always been that way and I’m too stupid to know the difference.
I secretly suspect that someone snuck semen onto my tasty breakfast and they are all in hysterics as we speak.
Well, maybe they’ve gotten over it by now… I mean, it is 11 hours later.
Esteban has declared that we will be cleaning the house on Saturday.
Oh. Boy.
I should be happy about this, but I am not. I’d rather be golfing. Or having my eyes picked out by vultures.
But at the same time, I know that I’ll be happier when the house is clean. I’m just not in the “Cleaning Nazi” mood right now. I’m in the “peace, love and happiness, man!” mood right now. I just want to wear my hippy sandals and walk around in my cute pajamas, pretending that they are actually clothes.
I have to tell you, though, I have the best fucking pajamas. I got them at the Avenue and I highly recommend them. First of all, the whole pajama system that they’ve got going on there right now is just fabulous. Everything is matching, but you can pick tops and bottoms. It’s like a big Garanimals for plus size women. They have short sleeve t-shirt tops, longer tops, longer bottoms, and short bottoms. I myself opted for pink flowered print boxer shorts and pink camisole top with a built-in shelf bra. Truthfully, my “rack” needs more than a shelf. I think the girls need their own bookcase. But it’s just enough support to make me feel like I’m not all pointing, er, south. And the top gives excellent cleavage. Esteban walks around very happy when I wear these jammies. Plus, I always have to suppress this urge to shake my bootay. Well, let’s just say sometimes I don’t actually suppress that urge.
Urges are good.
I suppressed a different kind of urge today.
I went to the drug store over lunch and physically had to tear myself away from the Rouge Pulp display. They’ve got a rocking red lipsticky kind of thing. I really want to buy it, but my face just isn’t used to that kind of red. It’s Estee Lauder’s “Pure Plum”… anything else and my face objects. It says “Listen, tramp, you might want to dress yourself up like a $4 whore, but I’m the one that has to be seen in this shyte, so you’ll just wear a respectible snobby lady’s lipstick and you’ll LIKE it? Understand?” My face often channels Sister Mary Gregory from Our Lady of Perpetual Polyps. It has been known to speak in tongues and hold Bingo sessions on Wednesday nights.
So I did not purchase the Rouge Pulp lipstick. I’m not sure when I’d actually wear that stuff anyway. I can’t go to work looking like Alan Cumming in “Cabaret”, now can I? Plus, would I pick up glare up from my monitor on my lips? Would I see their reflection in my monitor at work? Would I have the urge to start tonguing my phone headset at work? These are not questions I necessarily want answered.
Also, I’m worried that the Rouge Pulp lipstick would somehow accent my rosacea. Thanks to the gel which smells like ass, I’ve got a handle on it and no longer have Ragedy-Ann dots on my cheeks. And do I want to trade “fucking red face disease” to be the chick with the “red fucking lips”?? Hmmmm. Think not.
I think everyone is torn between two psyches. One of my psyches purchased my sports car and the other one shops for quilting patterns and fabric. Part of me wants to buy a black leather bustier and thigh-high boots and is all “Get your motor running… head out on the highway!”. The other part is wearing cardigans and sensible shoes and dreams of owning a sheep farm where I can weave my own expensive wool creations while listening to Enya.
Or maybe it’s just us Geminis.
It is so WRONG that McDonald’s is serving things with hollandaise sauce!!! It’s McDonald’s, not JeanPaul’s Bistro, for christ sake!
