Thursday, August 04, 2005

Ready For the Booby Hatch

I wonder who manufactures those ubiquitous orange barrels that mark hiway construction... and what dirt they have on some highway official somewhere, to have gotten such a massive contract for placement? {{Mutters to self, "Why can't I ever have any good blackmail information?"}} LOL I can barely make it out my driveway (sometimes not even that, when I get stopped before exiting onto the street, by an irritated-looking, lime-green-vest-wearing worker-bee who has to be using some kind of drugs (perhaps lots of them) to stand out there in the blazing sun with nothing but a little reversible STOP/SLOW sign for protection from the over-amphetamined semi-truck drivers who are barreling down our country road to avoid the interstate hiway weigh station two towns down, because they have been driving for 72 hours and haven't updated their log book) before coming across those damnable orange barrels. I gather from the correspondence I have with folks around the country that this is not just a Mazoorah phenomenon, that orange barrels proliferate across the continent, despite the rampant, well-known corruption of the Missouri Department of Transportation. I admit, they need repair. We have horrible roads. Worst in the nation. {{Redneck cheer goes up, "Woo-hoo! We're numbah one!"}} But why, oh why do they increase proportionally to the amount of time/number of errands I have to run on any given day? {{Riddle me THAT, Michio Kaku, world-famous theoretical physicist LOL}} As I am sure you have gathered from this lengthy prologue, yesterday I had LOTS to do and little time to do it. So naturally, {{cue drumroll}} there were a plethora of orange barrels and green-vested drug-abusers between me and destiny (or at least destination LOL) Detours, delays and day-glo daredevils who sprinted across the freeway directly in front of me to retrieve an errant orange cone, (love child of two orange barrels who found one another on a dark and stormy night) which was flailing about in the wind, causing drivers to swerve around it, all conspired to make the journey harrowing and blog-worthy. It took me 30 minutes just to get through town, which is something, since the town is only slightly larger than a postage stamp, and has the locals' hackles up because the city is installing a {{gasp!}} stoplight. Installation has dragged on for months (probably subcontracted by the same company that has the goods on all public officials), adding to the frustration, as the trucks of various electrical and signal-installation companies block one or both lanes of the road. At last, I made it to the final stop, Walmart. There was some country music singer making a personal appearance and his large bus outside was blaring out honky-tonk tunes at ear-splitting decibels. A crowd of gawkers was blocking the entry, as he was signing autographs just inside the door, occasionally gracing the crowd with an impromptu overture, sung without benefit of instrumental accompaniment, or studio enhancement, which made his less-than-perfect voice sound rather tinny. Threading my way through the fandom lair, huffing and puffing from sprinting across the parking lot to make up time lost to road delays, and limping at having slightly twisted my ankle in said sprint, my own hackles were at maximum altitude, when I felt something go "sproing!" just above my left breast. I have not experiences breast sproing in quite some time, and paused momentarily, befuddled by this development. The river of acappella aficionados carried me unwillingly down the aisle, until I stumbled off to the side to discover the source of the sproing. My brassiere strap had broken. It was now disengaged from the cup, and was dangling jauntily down my back, as gravity tugged mightily at left-breast-yearning-to-be-free. I decided to continue my Quest for Completion, and kept on shoppin'. I did so somewhat Napoleon-icly, holding left arm across chest, to disguise the bared nipple and flopping bra cup under my T-shirt. By the time I reached the checkout, I was sweating, my ears were nearly bleeding from the country-music assault-on-sanity, I was limping worse, and was hunched over from holding arm in nipple-shielding position. {{ I ain't no Janet Jackson LOL }} I looked like Quasimodo on a bad day. By the time I got to my house, I was asylum material, crazed from the heat and hardship of the day. Me and my flopping breast made it inside to collapse onto the waterbed in front of the blessed air conditioner, to recoup and rejoice return to home sweet home.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Holy cow woman! I hope you had a margartia handy. Or at least some lemonade.

Have you ever noticed how those scary "stop/slow sign" guys really get off on what little power has been given them? They are repainting all of the crosswalks here and the other day the guy pointed at me & then held his hand out for me to stop. As if I wasn't stopping already. Sheesh!

8/04/2005 10:10:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Well, the breast debacle definitely lived up to the hype! LMAO!

8/04/2005 12:54:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

When I read about days like this one in other people's blogs, I utter to myself this is why I don't leave the house!!!

Just reading this made me want to double check that all the doors were closed :-)!

You brave, brave woman!

8/04/2005 03:35:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

LOL... still... :)

8/04/2005 05:40:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

LOL.... that was priceless!

And cheers to you for completing your shopping, regardless of any stray boobage. That's dedication to the art of retail cardio.

8/04/2005 05:42:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hello there Miss Martay-

Very funny blog. Your humor at the most dire(areah) situations is to be commended. I commend thee.

The davis california cousine

8/04/2005 09:32:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ha! That is so-o funny. The same thing is happening in my town -- there was a huge fight at the 500 sq. foot 'town hall' about the traffic light. OH THE HORROR!

8/05/2005 12:58:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

The snapping bra strap caught me by surprise.
Very funny stuff here! I HATE road work!!!

8/05/2005 09:41:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh gawd. I love you Marti! You made my day! Here in the mitten state, we regularly have reports of small cars disappearing into potholes. Our state flower is the orange barrel.

I will forever remember your sproing...LOL

8/06/2005 10:20:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Pennsylvania has a ton of those orange barrels and cones. They're permanent sights in some areas. And we have pothole hotlines to help curb the loss of small cars.

and SPROING!? I think I would've gone ahead and bought a new bra and top, just to treat myself after a hectic and hot day. (I know, I know, it was Walmart ... but at least until you got home...)

8/06/2005 07:32:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

It's the best when you have those barrels for miles and don't see any construction equipment or workers! Are they easing you in to the fact that there will be construction soon?

8/07/2005 08:55:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

My what a lovely scenario!

One question...why didn't you buy another bra at Walmart, and then find a secluded place to change into it so you wouldn't have to do the Hunchback Two-Step?

As Larry the Cable Guy sez..."Jest wonderin'."


P.S. The margarita idea from Buffi is good too!

8/08/2005 04:57:00 PM  
Blogger Unknown said...

Hi Sudiegirl,

The reason I didn't purchase another bra is because the ladies undergarments department is further back in the store than where I was going.

Purchasing ANYTHING at Walmart requires going through the main checkouts at the front of the store, so I would have had to do the Hunchback Two-Step (good one LOL) deeper into the store, go all the way to the front to buy it, go to the restroom to change, then go get the rest of the items on my shopping list.

I weighed the options and just got the stuff we couldn't live without (which fortunately, were fairly close to the front) bought them and scurried out - LOL!

Thanks for stopping by!

8/13/2005 11:11:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I tried to post as anon. knowing full well that anon. is always a woman but I don't think it took, so here's to you my dear, an island of Good Humor in a sea of I-Take-Myself-So-Seriously.

A breaking bra strap for me could be fatal--doubtless I'd fall over the the broken strap side and I'd never be able to get up again.

I'm passing on your bloig address to others who could use a stay on your island.

8/14/2005 09:44:00 AM  
Blogger Unknown said...

LOL Sandy!

Thanks for stopping by!

8/16/2005 07:49:00 AM  

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