Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

"Smoke" Filled Ebay Packages, A Fight Over a Pink Barbie Wand, Dreaming About Oprah, OJ, and Jerry Seinfeld

Sonia plug your ears and go la la la for about the next two paragraphs or so 'kay? I hate it when I buy stuff from people on eBay and I open the envelopes or boxes and whatever I've bought just reeks of smoke. Yech.

I get a kick out of the one's that smell like pot though. Do you think these sellers have any clue that they're probably freaking out their local post office workers, setting off drug alarms all over the country, and that dope sniffing dogs are alerting to small, bubble-wrapped packages of used bras? Or do you think they're just sitting around watching television trying to fuck with me while they wrap their eBay stuff? Maybe the seller turns to her husband in between mouthfuls of some greasy home delivered Italian dish and says, "Dude, pass me the bong, I wanna blow some weeeeed into this Priority Mail box, heh, heh, heh. What am I supposed to say in their feedback, "Hey, nice packing there, smelled awesome, send me some seeds, man?"

I wonder if smokers even get that they're doing this. Beau and I have to gingerly pick these things out of their packages, spray them down with Febreeze and leave them outside for a few days, yuck. Do people realize how gross this stuff smells? it's like sour old yellow stink that makes your eyes water. I feel for smokers, I really do, I know how easy it is to start and how hard it is to quit. I watched my Mother struggle with her serious smoking addiction for most of my childhood, only to quit and then end up with lung cancer twenty years later. And my friend Susan and I lost our dear friend Coral to lung and then brain cancer ten years after she quit.

It's such an evil, insidious dis-ease/addiction. So so so so unfair and cruel. Plus no judgment here on my end from the gal addicted to shopping, the occasional prescription pharmaceutical, and sugar/fat/flour. It was hard enough for me to quit drinking Coke. Man that was hard, took me thirty years to break the habit, and Lord only knows how much of my Interstitial Cystitis can be due to my life long Coca-Cola habit. Bathing your organs in bubbly sugar syrup may not be the best thing in the world for them. At least that's what the Mormon's think.

But getting back to this bra I ordered. You know, it's hard enough to get over the queasiness factor of buying someone's used undergarment let alone having to think about the person who wore it looking like one of Marge Simpson's chain smoking sisters who work at the DMV. Do Marge Simspon's sisters chain smoke? They sure sound like they do.

Beau and I got into a very mini fight over a pink liquid glitter and pearl filled plastic wand yesterday. He was like, "Mom, you know this is my wand," and I was like, "No way Beau that's my Barbie wand," then he was like, "Un unh, you never had one, you got that for me back when I liked Barbies," but then I was like, "Nunh unh unh, I had a pink one and a blue and green one," and then he was like, "No way Mom! You never had one. I had the pink one and besides I still like it, it's mine, and I'm keeping it." Then he took it with him as he stomped out of the room and I was like all pissed off at him.

This morning, well, about fifteen minutes ago in Jacqui morning time, I came into my office and saw the pink Barbie wand sitting on my keyboard. I grabbed it, hid it in a file drawer and thought, "Ha ha, I won the Barbie wand!" Then I notice this big glaring red and black window open on my monitor that said, "Okay! All right! fine! You can keep the pink Barbie glitter wand, but you have to get me this gun and these lime green pellets!" There was another window right behind the first one with a picture of this scary looking black and silver gun all set up for me to just insert my credit card info and buy it.

Last night's dreams were all about being on Oprah, OJ, Nicole Simpson, children, Jerry Seinfeld and art. I won't bore you with them but it was sure fun sitting next to Oprah and Jerry and playing with paint and glitter. I'm so tired I want to let me head fall forward and bang down onto my keyboard just for the heck of it.

Okay, well, I'm off to see my WLS surgeon and his wonderful staff so they can strip me down, weigh me, poke me in my belly and jab some vitamin B in my ass with a long needle.

Love you,

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