Friday, February 5, 2010

Come and Get It?

Turns out I have a friend in phlem. I woke up two days ago and, out-of-the-blue, started coughing. I'm not talking about a sissy, putt-putt kind of cough. The resounding cacaphony of hacking and howling coming from my chest managed to scare two sleeping kitties into the air and off of the bed. They stared at me from the door, What the hell was that?

So what did I do? I rushed to Walmart and bought Mucinex, but not before I started obsessively thinking about one thing: A mucus mob-boss setting up house in the small, upper-east side of my lung cavity.

Oh, great, I thought, Fatty Mcfatterson Mucus and his whole family are gonna have a reunion in my chest. I tried, unsuccessfully, to hack those sons-of-bitches out ...

Talk about a great ad campaign. Now I can't cough without imaging those little bastards banging on the walls and complaining about the noise. You know what? Unauthorized visitors don't get special treatment. They get moved into an apartment next to the wannabe gangster who refuses to put a sound-dampening mat underneath his absurdly loud subwoofers.

But my suffering ends not here, ye, my loyal readers. It's Friday - the bar-equivelent to Monday. Not only do I work the longest shift every night this weekend ... it's Slutty Cowgirl Weekend. Wait. What?

Slutty. Cowgirl. Weekend. That's right: it's my own, personal version of Hell.

This is the first time Oscar's has booked a country cover band and, apparently in Man-land, it's also a perfect opportunity to exploit females. A skinnier, more toned version of myself probably wouldn't have a problem with the situation. Being that I'm not a skinnier, more toned version of myself, I am (pardon the pun) shaking in my cowgirl boots. Of course, I'm secretly hoping I'll make good tips this weekend because if, on top of being exploited, I make shit tips ... someone, somewhere is gonna die a slow and painful death come Monday.

So ... here's to hoping 'Family Mucus' straps on their chaps and joins me in celebrating the ultimate humiliation. Because Country happens to be my least favorite genre of music ... and men who enjoy country-themed exploitation tend to end up on my hit-list ...

[insert cheeky pin-up girl 'wink-grin' combo here]