From Sista Sharon…
Need we say more?
Need we say more?
Wednesday, April 30th 2008, 4:00 AM
This wasn’t what the doctor ordered.
Two thieves stole a handful of credit cards from a Ronkonkoma physician’s purse and used the plastic to go on a $10,000 shopping spree, police said.
The women - possibly patients of the victim - brazenly offered the doctor’s credit cards at Target, Wal-Mart, Sally’s Beauty Supply and CVS stores across Long Island on April 28, buying up cosmetics, wigs and plus-sized clothing.
Suffolk police investigators, having exhausted the rest of their investigative leads, now hope that security surveillance images taken of the two women at various stores will lead to their arrest.
“We’ve hit a dead end with our leads. So now we’re hoping for someone in the public to recognize these two particular subjects,” Detective Sgt. Richard Matero said yesterday. “We have some good surveillance images.”
The husky-looking women took the cards from the doctor’s office at the Long Island Medical Group on Hawkins Ave. in Ronkonkoma. Police did not release the physician’s name.
In just a few hours, the thieves crisscrossed Suffolk and Nassau counties, making stops at Target stores in Valley Stream, Copiague and Farmingdale; a Wal-Mart in Farmingdale, a Sally’s Beauty Supply in Valley Stream and a CVS in Seaford, cops said.
Store employees stated there may have been a third, unseen suspect named “Nell.”
Six different cards belonging to the doctor were used by the women, police said.
Detectives asked that anyone who recognizes the women from the surveillance images to call Crime Stoppers at (800) 220-TIPS.
The calls will be kept confidential, and each caller will be eligible for a $5,000 cash reward for information that leads to an arrest.
The above pic is what I used to think of my boss.
It’s not.
As I’ve said before, I hate to be the biggest asshole in the room, and, sadly, the older I get, the more I realize that I often am.
It used to only happen after I’d had 20 or 30 cocktails too many, but lately, as I gain on gay middle-age, it now happens without any chemical aid whatsoever.
I’ve become a curmudgeon. I bitch, I moan, nothing’s good enough, nobody loves me, I’m unappreciated, blah, blah, blech.
Does my boss occasionaly get on my nerves? Yep. But probably nowhere near as often as I get on his, and I seem to forget that HE is the one PAYING me. A not-so-minor detail.
So, after bitching and moaning about it for ages, I finally walked into his office yesterday and sat down and we did what adults are supposed to do.
We. Talked.
He made some great points. I saw a lot of things from his perspective that I had previously flat-ass refused to see.
I admitted that I am often a petulent and obstinate only-child and am prone to sulking, whining and generally pissing and moaning until and I get my way, and if I don’t get my way, EVERYONE SHALL SUFFER!!!!!
I also admitted that I speak at inappropriate times and often believe that I know more than him, even though (a) he’s the boss, (b) he’s actually pretty brilliant and (c) he’s been doing this shit a lot longer than me.
He explained why he does a few of the things that he does that feel like micromanagement on my end. What he said made sense. He said what I said made sense.
We laughed.
We actually laughed at ourselves and each other like a couple of old farts who’d had a feud over a game of shuffleboard and then refused to go to the community center at the same time.
And, are you ready for this shit?
I’m looking forward to going to work this morning.
Yep. It’s true.
He said one thing that I absolutely, totally believe. “Max,” he said, “We really make a great team.”
And he’s right. When we can stop marking our territory and get our pistons firing in time, we accomplish amazing things.
Yesterday, word went out over the legal staffing grapevine in Atlanta that several large and mid-size firms were laying off associates left and right, all on the same day. My boss is starting to get unsolicited resumes from attorneys begging for jobs because there simply aren’t any.
Meanwhile, our little shop is not only turning a profit, but our numbers are better so far than last year.
So, maybe he’s not Obi Wan Kenobi, but he’s not the Emperor Palpatine, either.
And I sure as hell ain’t Luke Skywalker.
Princess Leia, on the other hand…
Kisses,
Maxine
Some of the more intuitive Fart Blossoms may have noticed that I’ve been having some mental health issues lately - anxiety attacks over pending pop albums, depression over the fact that the fine state of Georgia won’t let me buy beer on Sunday and hypo-mania in between. So, I went to the VA.
Now, remember, Fart Blossoms, any time I say I went to the VA, you have to do the arm gestures like the Village People…
I went on down to the
U…S…VA
I went on down to the
U…S…VA
Got it?
Anyhoo, they hooked me up with a head shrink to talk about what was bothering me, and I was real excited. After spending all those years in New Orleans, and knowing half of that city ended up in Atlanta after Katrina, I was hoping for the best.
Imagine my disappointment when, after waiting for two or three hours, I was ushered into an office with not one jar of eye of newt, not one stick of incense burning, not one cauldron bubbling and not one shrunken head on a stick.
Instead there were a couple of chairs and a Dell PC. I sniffed in disgust.
I still tried to keep my hopes up, thinking this here was some new-fangled kind of head-shrinking - some 21st century voodoo shit, and that the spirit of Marie Laveaux would walk in and say, “What choo won, chil’?” and all would be well.
Instead, an Irish man named “Dr. McAllister” walked in (and no, Rocky Raccoon, he wasn’t stinking of gin), and sat down and asked me what the problem was.
I told him I needed some head shrinkin’ with some serious mojo on the side. Maybe a few dead chickens thrown in, to boot.
He blinked.
I waited.
He then pulled out my chart from my “primary care non-physician” and went over my symptoms.
“I understand you’re depressed.”
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
He frowned and looked back down at my chart. “And that you’ve been experiencing anxiety attacks.”
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
“Have you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s Madonna’s fault, but that’s not what I need the head shrinkin’ and mojo for, but that is why I need the dead chickens - you know, just to hedge my bets,” I responded.
He squinted at me. “What the…”
“Look, are you a head shrinker or not? I’m all for affirmative action and shit, but you’re the first Irish voodoo doctor I’ve ever seen, and I don’t know if you’ve got the proper trainin’ to shrink heads and fix mojo and shit.”
Dr. McAllister obviously wasn’t too bright, because he sat there, usin’ his mouth to try and catch flies, while I waited patiently for a response. He finally shook his head and started asking questions again.
“Do you drink?” he asked.
“Do you breathe?” I answered.
“Do you abuse drugs?” he asked.
“‘Abuse’ is a strong word…” I answered.
“Do you have trouble concentrating?” he asked.
“Ooh, look! Something shiny!” I answered.
“Have you ever tried to hurt yourself?” he asked.
“I pop my own zits, does that count? Should I get a little Korean woman to do that for me?” I answered.
“Do you ever think of hurting other people?” he asked.
“Do you ever wait in the self-check line at the Kroger?” I answered.
“Do you have trouble sleeping?” he asked.
“Only when I don’t drink or abuse drugs,” I answered.
I soon tired of this exchange. “Look, Doc. This ain’t why I’m here. I need you to fix a couple of folks for me - cast some spells and shit, ya’ dig?”
He scratched his head.
“Why don’t I just give you some pills, instead?”
I shrugged. “That’ll work, too.”
*****
So, I’m back and freshly medicated. I appreciate everyone’s patience, and if ya’ll hear of a decent voodoo priestess, let a bitch know.
Kisses,
Maxine
Imagine my relief yesterday morning, sweat beading on my forehead, when my shaking finger reached toward my iPod to press play and I heard THE BEST MADONNA ALBUM EVER!!!!!
Imagine the consternation of my co-workers as I left it on “repeat” all day yesterday. Imagine them tearing out their hair as I do the same thing for the next few months.
Yes, Fart Blossoms, it’s THAT good! It’s dancy! Sing-songy! Fun! Disco-flashbacks galore (remember the whistles from Donna Summer’s “Bad Girls”? They’re there!)! Bitchiness! Remixes! Bass!
I can breathe! No more anxiety attacks!
Thanks, Madge! I’m soaking in it!
Today is the National Day of Silence sponsored by the GLSEN.
I ain’t got shit to say. I hope you don’t, either.
I have an 8,000 word term paper due in a couple of weeks.
I haven’t written a word of it.
I haven’t researched a word of it.
I sorta need to get it done.
So, while Saint Gradon is gallavanting working in Las Vegas this weekend, I’ll be sitting in front of a computer screen, loaded up on caffeine, trying to parse together some semblance of order regarding the characteristics of good international managers (hint: they’re not like my American manager).
Until then, life is canceled. I’ll let you know when everyone can resume.
I will leave you with this text from an e-mail from my boss sent to me at 5:14 yesterday afternoon, just for giggles…
“Remind me – we still need to call the NY lawyer – please send me an invite for Friday – maybe around 10 or so.”
You can’t set your own fucking reminder?
So, after a few gin and tonics last night, I decided to come in the morning, print out said e-mail and write on it in Sharpie, “YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME. WERE YOU HIGH WHEN YOU WROTE THIS SHIT? I AM NOT YOUR GAWDAMNED TRAPPER KEEPER, ASSHOLE.“
Instead, I’m just going to be passive aggressive, and set the reminder for NEXT Friday.
Fucker.
Kisses,
Maxine
Atlanta’s Clermont Hotel is for sale, and Maxine wants it. It’s precioussssssss!
Well, it was.
It is now considered one of America’s Top 20 Dive Bars and Maxine NEEDS IT!!!!!!
They even have a stripper named “Blondie,” whose claim to fame is her talent at crushing beer cans with her breasticles!!!
We would, of course, rename it the real Maxine’s House of Ill Repute, and all Fart Blossoms would get in for free.
We figure they want about $10 million dollars for it, but they may want less if we don’t want the velvet wallpaper.
This is real estate worth owning, even in a recession! We could all be self-employed! Moguls!
We wants it!
We must haves it!
Our precioussss!
I’m just askin’…..
Welcome to church…
Kisses,
Maxine
I have been tagged with the “Fluff Five Meme” by Lumpy Lumps, so here goes…
Five Things Found In Your Bag…
This is my Ducati bag by Tumi. As you will see, it’s deceptively small.
This is all the stuff I keep in my purse, and it probably requires some explanation. On the first row, is my wallet, eye drops, Blistex, matches for when I fly, four lighters (I tend to steal them, but can never find them), a Snickers Bar and the tri-pod for my camera. The second-ish row has an extra pack of ciggies, my Beretta Tomcat, extra SD card and reader for my camera, some Post-Its, BlueTooth ear-thingy, my parking card for the parking lot at work, business cards and my video camera. The top row has my little box o’ pills, my crackberry, a titanium Smith & Wesson knife, the plug-in-thingy for my macBook, extra Imodium A-D for when I eat eggrolls and one of my iPods.
This all means that I have serious issues.
Five Favorite Things in Your Room…
My Elvis Doll
My autographed photo of Madge
My Keith Haring drawing (I would have sold it, but I have no provenance for it).
My grandpa gave me this album - “Music to Strip By - Part Fun Songs from the Golden Age of Burlesque” played by “Bald” Bill Hagan and his Trocaderos
My “Artist Formerly Known as Prince” Tambourine
Five Things You Are Currently Into…
1. Blogging
2. Communion
3. Counting the Tithes
4. Telling People “I Told You So” About the Recession
5. 5:00 on Fridays
Five Things You’ve Always Wanted To Do…
1. Win the Pulitzer
2. Win the Lottery
3. Get High with Courtney Love
4. Sing with George Michael
5. Get Drunk with George Clooney
Five People You Want to Tag…
Though art tagged…
1. Joshiku
2. Trailerpark Barbie (I can’t wait to see what’s in that bitch’s purse).
3. Red
4. Judy Finkel
5. Leeeeeeeeeeee
Kisses,
Maxine
