Properly Pulling a Fizzygrrl

Hello my darling readers!

I have emerged from the bowels of sick Fizzy Hell!!!!  About three weeks ago I was struck down by a super jerky set of germs that have been having a dandy time kicking my ‘tocks, but it appears I am finally free-ish of their rage!

But, it has also been far too long since my last blog, so I shall keep shaking my fists at the evil germers for their selfish assholery.

My good pal, Dee Romito, who is fabulous and you should tewtally follow her blog by the by, created something on Twitter a month or so ago called, #PAFG, or Pulling a Fizzygrrl.  This is a delightful little hashtag that is used to detail all of the embarrassing things that seem to happen to me on a regular basis.  I have been absolutely thrilled to see other people adding their moments of OMG to the tag as well!  Nothing makes a gal feel warmer or fuzzier than watching someone else detail their own #PAFG moment.

In the spirit of these moments, I thought I should dedicate a blog to a few exclusive #PAFG moments that are too big for the 140 character limit of Twitter.

For example: Last week, after finally dragging my sick self to the doctor, I was schleping through Walgreen’s looking for medicines when saw an old woman looking for nail polishes and asking the cashier for pointers.  Well, ya see now, I happen to looooooooove nail polish.  I might even be a connoisseur of some sort.  Or a polish hoarder.  Either way.

So, I snap into action, start recommending brands to this fine lady, discussing skin tones, what colors will work, top coats, the whole nine.  She gets very excited, is thanking me all over the place, and as I drag my sickly self up to check out, she says it’s so nice to see someone love the products they sell as much as I do.

“Wait,” I stopped.  “Uh, I don’t work here.  I just really like nail polish…”

The old lady looked only slightly terrified, but I could hear all the Walgreen’s workers cracking up all around me.  Outstanding.

Also in my sickly state, I had given up the idea of being a quality mother who cooked lunch for her toddler and decided that after dragging Mr. Miles to his own doctor’s appointment, it was a Burger King kind of day.  As I am at the drive-thru window paying, the  woman ringing me up sticks her head out of the window and informs me my debit card was being declined.

Cut to me unleashing an unholy rant about the evils of debit cards and how mine never mother freaking ever damn well works and I am so sick of banks, and OMG I HATE ALL THE CARDS!!!!

And just as the woman looked like she was about to run screaming in the opposite direction, I finally noticed I had handed her our Health Savings Account card as opposed to my actual debit card.  Which I quietly handed over and it worked, naturally.

Good times.

But hey, you guys didn’t come to read just embarrassing tales.  It’s me.  You know there will be accidental nudity in here somewhere, right?

Like a few months ago when I went to get my hair cut and when the stylist whipped the protective cape thingy off at the end, we discovered that at some point during the cut, my left boob had fallen entirely out of my shirt and was just hanging out there for all the peoples to see.

OR.

A few years ago, my husband was called into work one night for some super Computer God late-night emergency.  I had been getting changed for bed as he was leaving, and just as I heard his car door shut, I looked over and saw his debit card sitting on the dresser.  Knowing he would be out super late and most likely need it for noms later on, I grabbed it and ran after him.

I dart out into the front yard, yelling his name, but he is already pulling out onto the street.  I race after him, flailing my arms over my head wildly, screaming, “DREEEEEEEEEEEEW!” as loud as humanly possible.

It isn’t until I hit the sidewalk by the street that I realize I am completely naked from the waist up.  I am in fact wearing only a denim mini skirt, and a look of shock and awe.

At that point, I am thinking, “Fuck the card, RUN!” and with my arms clasped tightly over the ladies, fled back into the house.  I don’t know if anyone saw.  I didn’t look.  I was honestly convinced that it was better to not look around and see who might be standing in their front yard that evening to see my enthusiastic booby flapping.

You would think that this would have made me the most horrifying thing in the neighborhood, yes?  Well, that is actually still debatable.  Embarrassing yes, but I think my neighbor tops me in public humiliating naked time experiences.

For my final tale, I am going to cheat a little, since it wasn’t technically my faux pas.  But since we did witness it, I am counting it as my own.

Picture it: (If in your mind, you just said, “Sicily, 1922” or similar, you are a badass.) It’s Christmas night, two years ago.  Drew and I have run the children’s all over the state seeing all the grandparents.  We are exhausted.  The kids are finally in bed, and Drew and I have begun the arduous task of unloading all the holiday bounty from the back of our put upon mini-van.

Drew comes running into the house laughing, and informs me he believes our neighbor is watching porn on his big screen with the blinds open.

 

Of course, I dance out to the porch to see.  It was late, I was tired, and for some reason, I found the idea of this hilarious.

Sure enough, there, right in plain site of our front porch is a High-Def looking scene of some of the hardest core porn I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing, playing out on a 60 inch screen.

I am struck by varying thoughts.  The mom in me is thinking, “Dude, if my kids happened to be outside and saw this, I would be PISSED.”  Watch your porn, just close your blinds, mmkay?

But then I am thinking how kind of pitiful that this dude is home alone on Christmas night watching ragey porn by himself.

Just as I was starting to feel sorry for the lad, I see something I won’t ever be able to unsee.

A pair of legs going flying up into the air from the couch, and it is this moment I realize, we are not seeing this dude watch porn alone on Christmas.

No, we are now watching extremely acrobatic sex take place, whilst the ragey porn plays in the background.

And all I can think is that someone gave Drew a high-powered laser pointer for Christmas…

But no, I shrieked, Drew laughed, and we scurried off in opposite directions.  Let me tell you though.  When you discover your neighbor is having a Christmas booty call and has purposely left his living room blinds open whilst engaging in this booty call, there is no recovering from that.

I can’t even tell you how awkward it is at the mailboxes, people.

 

So yeah, saying “Happy Birthday, baby Jesus!” with porn and casual nookie on display for your entire neighborhood?  Well, sir, you have #PAFG in a big way.

I am off now, but I hope you all are having a fantastic week!

Until next time,

Peace, Love and PAFG!!

 

4 Comments

  1. Enthusiastic booby flapping! That’s a fantastic turn of phrase.

    And after the Picture it, I had a brief flash of 2001: A Space Odyssey. The baby in space, not the ragey apes. Just so you know. 😀

  2. Aha! I wondered what PAFG meant! I saw it on Twitter a few times, but had no idea what it stood for. Now I know. And your experiences were hilarious. I actually giggled aloud a few times while reading. I’d love to share one, but I don’t think I can top yours. (Though I have revealed a few boobs in public in my time, thanks to my daughter, who likes to pull down my swimsuit.)

    Hope you’re having a good week so far! Glad to hear you’re feeling better!

  3. Oh this is classic! Wait til the girls are tired and talking to your knees. At that point, people complain for the occasional glimpse – all because you sleep during the day and some idiot for DISH knocks on your door….that poor boy is now scarred for life *sigh*

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