NBC and the NFL I am so DONE with you!

For one thing, what’s the deal with changing the Bears game from noon on New Year’s Eve to 7pm? I really don’t understand it. So, maybe the Packers have a slim to none chance of making it into the playoffs. Maybe it’s Brett Favre’s last game. By the way, didn’t he retire like seven times already? But, you are really screwing with my life. I had a very packed itinerary for the day and now who knows. I HAVE to watch the Bears game. I HAVE to wear my “Keep the Ball in the Fridge” shirt. Then I HAVE to change and get into full out New Year’s mashed up music party mode. I don’t doubt that I can do it, but I would have liked to have had the luxury of watching and stressing out about the game and then given some downtime to collect myself. Wipe my forehead with a ‘kerchief, hang out in the sauna, take a disco nap and the like. But, NO!

Oh no and then you have to pour salt into my wounds and put together a frickin’ ad for the game that highlights how Brett Favre is a hero and intersperse clips of the characters from Heroes? You are really pissing me off. Is Brett going to save the world with his last touchdown pass? I think not.

P.S. Well okay, I have no choice but to watch the game, so I am not really done with you.

I Wanna New Drug

As I strolled into the doctor’s office today I had one goal in mind, a prescription. In order to make that happen I wanted very little effort to be made on my part. I simply wanted the doctor to hear my scratchy “I smoke a pack a day/Kathleen Turner/Demi Moore” voice, tell me to open up and say ahh, write something on that fancy pad, and then tell me to be gone with my bad self. I would then shamon out of that joint. Is that too much to ask?

But, NOOOO! They decided that I would be a great patient for a resident to see! So he goes through a whole list of survey questions about my medical history that I already filled out minutes before and makes me answer them again.

Doogie: So, do you smoke?
Classy: No.
Doogie: Drink?
Classy: . . . Occasionally
Doogie: But nothing too crazy?
Classy: No.
Doogie: Do any other drugs? (Why do they even ask this? Do they think people will honestly admit that they did a speedball in their car before they made their co-pay?)
Classy: No.
Doogie: How do you feel?
Classy: Great! I was just really lonely and felt the need to waste a good two hours of my time by coming here to see you!
Doogie: Do you already have a gynecologist identified?
Classy: Huh?
Doogie: (Nervous) Do you have a gynecologist to do your yearly exam or were you expecting to have one today?
Classy: No, I am here because I am sick, not to here to get my chacha checked out.
Doogie: (Relieved) Oh, good.

I then proceed to hop up on the exam table, get minorly fondled, and am told to do a flexibility test where I lift my legs up in an oh so non-ladylike fashion (???). I won’t bore you with the details. He leaves to consult with the doctor with whom I actually MADE the appointment. He comes back to give me a strep test and in a matter of fact manner tells me that the results look similar to what I would see on a pregnancy test, as if I use them all the time and am very well versed in hoping that there is only one blue stripe and not two.

Finally, the doctor comes in and she is wearing a glittery matching blazer/skirt outfit and looks like she should be a mother on a soap opera. She goes through the same exam with me, but with a little less fondling. I get my Z Pack prescription, but do not shamon or shimmy out of the office.

Rockwell and MJ were right!

UPDATE!

CLASSY: 1 HERMAPHRODITES: 0

I was shocked and saddened by recent correspondence from my dearest brother Zebidiah Makacki Jalapeno Camlto:

As of today, I am prohibited from posting to your "ClassyandFancy" page. The Websense Enterprise reason given for the censorship: "category sex is filtered". This makes no sense to me Mr. Websense Enterprise Firewaldo. Now, I can read the blog (which contains little to no references to sex and written by my little sister no less...ewww!), but may not post to said blog because the assumption of what I might end up typing could possibly be viewed as "sexy"? Hmm, I never thought my sexiness preceded me, but I guess I'll take the compliment when given. I'm too sexy for this song.

Classy is sexy you say? Interesting? Perhaps. Funny? Possibly. Sexy? That is definitely up for debate. Although, in the past I have used the phrases “Doing her against the wall”, “Gettin’ it on”, “Makin’ some time”, and “Dry Humpin”, these phrases would appeal to a very sheltered 14 year old hermaphrodite*. I have mentioned my dream of employment at VIPs Gentleman’s Club. I have included pictures of a scantily clad Hugh Grant and Andrea True. I have talked about Old Style beer A LOT. While I find all of these things VERY SEXY, I am not sure they are on par with the general view of titillating topics. I guess they have a lot of hermaphrodites working at Websense and that my readers are too damn hot. But, I think you already knew the second reason.

*This past weekend a voodoo necklace told me I was going to have two hermaphrodite children. Woo hoo! I love Jamie Lee Curtis and people I'm gonna have two!

Jus' do sumfin random

My mind works in interesting ways. I think it makes up conversations for me so I am entertained at all times. It hones in on the most random people or phrases so I can in turn share them with anyone who will listen, which is usually just me talking to myself. It remembers a lot of details from my past that come in quite handy when I want to give myself a little chuckle. Just a few little treats that I was blessed with recently thanks to me noggin’:

1) I was listening to NPR and thought I heard that the reporter’s name was Steak Paprikash. She said her name twice and I heard the same thing. I only wish that really were her name. I would listen to all of her segments very intensely and name my first born after her. I would become so knowledgeable about all worldly issues that I would totally win on Jeopardy, Press Your Luck, 10 Million Dollar Pyramid, and Beauty and the Geek.

2) While stopping by the local CVS Pharmacy for my daily supply of peanut M&M’s, the homeless newspaper vendor was singing the Andrea True Connection’s “More More More”, which is absolutely one of my favorite disco tunes. He kept repeating, “More more more, how do you like it, how do you like it?” I still didn’t buy the paper from him, but damn did I think his rendition was super swell.

3) I remembered that I still have my Conair Geometricks curling irons at my parent’s house. For those of you who weren’t that into styling your hair in what you thought to be in fashion during the 80s and early 90s, Geometricks were an adolescent girl’s crazy big hair dream come true. The curling irons had changeable tips that could iron your hair into spirals, zig zags, triangles, or everyone’s favorite, crimped. I even remember the jingle, “Smart girls know all the angles! They know five heads are better than one!”

These styling tools will come in quite handy for the 80s themed roller skating party I am in the
process of organizing. No admittance without a geometricks or Flock of Seagull’s hairdo. I may let it slide if you dress and sing like Rick Astley or Samantha Fox.

How not to Make Some Time with the Ladies

While recently at a bar in the Wicker Park area of Chicago I was pleased as punch sitting back drinking my Miller Lite having my back fried by an actual fireplace in the indoor room made out to look like a patio (what is it with me and fake patios?) when I experienced what I would call the Mecca of all pickup lines.

Please indulge me by letting me set the scene. The fireplace was roaring, the bar was crowded with your typical mid to late twenty/thirty somethings, some falling asleep at their tables due to the riveting conversation to be had, others just surveying the scene looking hoping to make some type of eye contact. The bar in the patio had this strange fake red curtain awning thing around it that I suppose was meant to make you feel like you were at the theater. Who knew that it was going to turn into theater of pain later that evening? The tunes, while expecting them to be lackluster were surprisingly good, some Hot Hot Heat “ Middle of Nowhere”, Stereophonics “Dakota”, The Pixies “Debaser”, and Built to Spill “Goin’ Against Your Mind” to name a few, all acceptable bar music fare.

So, I was in good spirits until this guy came up to my friend and me:

I had mistakenly made eye contact with him earlier, not on purpose mind you, but just because when I jam out to music I move my head around and during this motion I am bound to have some dude come into my field of vision. I guess the earlier eye contact gave him the sign that it was go time with my friend and me. So Dude comes to my side of the table and squats down and proceeds to talk to us.



Here is the conversation:

Dude #1: Hey ladies! What’s up! How you doin’?
Classy: Um, hey. Good. Thanks.
Dude #1: That’s GREAT!
Classy: Um . . .

[Uncomfortable silence]

Not so creepy normal Dude #2 walks up to the table, Dude #1 squats patiently.

Dude #2: Hey do you guys know a bar around here where we can go dance?
Classy: (very happy that she doesn’t have to talk to the Dude #1) Blah blah blah go here or there or there, want to hear my life story, here it goes . . .
Dude#2: Thanks. (leaves)

Dude #1: I can tell that you ladies don’t waste time and I do not want to waste your time so, I wanted to let you know that I have a girlfriend and she likes chicks.
Classy: (dumbfounded) That’s nice. (takes both index and middle fingers, places them together, and sways them to the left and in her best JT impersonation) Go ahead, be gone with it.
Dude #1: Well, she really likes chicks.
Classy: Go ahead, be gone with it.
Dude #1: (leaves)

In retrospect, I should have asked Dude #1 where his girlfriend was and that I wanted to inspect the merchandise. But, I was purely amazed by the sheer absurdity of the pickup line that I did not have the presence of mind to do so.

Dearest readers, care to share the best/worst pickup lines you’ve heard or said?