MY V.I.P. FILE

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Monday, September 27, 2010

#26 HOW I ACQUIRED THE NICK NAME "BETTY BOOP"







When we (my children and I) lived in Culver City California I worked as a clerk in the Municipal Court.  My job, at the time of this story, was to collect the fines for traffic ticket.  It was the 70s and mini skirts/dresses were the rage.  The only problem was that slips were nonexistent because of the shortness of the outfits (soon you will see why this bit if information is important). 

The day I acquired my nickname I was wearing the SHARPEST olive green mini dress money could buy.  It had a large (PLUNGING) white collar, white cuffs and about eight ROUND white buttons (from PLUNG to hem).  I knew I looked Gooooood!

I was standing at the traffic counter finishing up the last person’s ticket.  The counter topped-off at about four inches above my belly button.  It was just the right height to rest my arms on the top of the counter; and do the required work.  In fact we had a very buxom (and shorter) lady who worked there.  She made a habit of throwing back her shoulders and parking her BUXOM on the counter (but that is another story).  Back to MY story.

It is also important to know that there were drawers just below the counter top.  Several of them with flat (another key word) drawer pulls.

A HANDSOME (30-something) gentleman stepped to the counter and I curtly (and with economy of motion) stepped sideways to the left to meet him.  At that very moment my dress caught on one of the knobs, and the side stepping maneuver caused every buttonhole to slip over the beautiful ROUND buttons.  There I was, laid open like a delicately filleted fish.

The man saw this FINE looking woman (ME) standing in front of him in my bra and pantyhose with my dress hanging open.  He also saw that I had a pair of olive green panties on over the hose (lest I inadvertently bent over to pick up a dropped object).   In addition to that he saw that I had CRUDELY draped (and pinned) a small, olive green scarf over and around a portion of my bra (so the plunging neckline would not plunge me into trouble with the judge)

Quickly, I turned around, buttoned my dress, turned back around and said, “May I help you, sir?”

He was standing there with a crooked smile on his face and replied,” You already did!”

TRUE STORY!  (Honestly!)

kt 2010

#26-HOW I ACQUIRED THE NAME BETTY BOOP


When we (my children and I) lived in Culver City, California I worked as a clerk in the Municipal Court.  My job, at the time of this story, was to collect the fines for traffic ticket.  It was the 70s and mini skirts/dresses were the rage.  The only problem was that slips were nonexistent because of the shortness of the outfits (soon you will see why this bit if information is important). 


The day I acquired my nickname I was wearing the SHARPEST olive green mini dress money could buy.  It had a large (PLUNGING) white collar, white cuffs and about eight ROUND (key word) white buttons (from PLUNG to hem).  I knew I looked Gooooood!

I was standing at the traffic counter finishing up the last person’s ticket.  The counter topped-off at about six inches above my belly button.  It was just the right height to rest my arms on the top of the counter; and do the required work.  In fact, we had a very buxom (and shorter) lady who worked there.  She made a habit of throwing back her shoulders and parking her BUXOM on the counter (but that is another story).  Back to MY story.

It is also important to know that there were drawers just below the counter top.  Several of them, with flat (another key word) drawer pulls.

A HANDSOME (30-something) gentleman stepped to the counter and I curtly (and with economy of motion) stepped sideways to the left to meet him.  At that very moment my dress caught on one of the knobs, and the side stepping maneuver caused every buttonhole to slip over the beautiful ROUND white buttons.  There I was, laid open like a delicately filleted fish.

The man saw this FINE looking woman (ME) standing in front of him in my bra and pantyhose with my dress hanging open.  He also saw that I had a pair of olive green panties on over the hose (lest I inadvertently bent over to pick up a dropped object).   In addition to that he saw that I had CRUDELY draped (and pinned) a small, olive green scarf over and around a portion of my bra (so the plunging neckline would not plunge me into trouble with the judge)

Quickly, I turned around, buttoned my dress, turned back around and said, “May I help you, sir?”

He was standing there with a crooked smile on his face and replied,"Honey, you already did!”  I can't begin to describe the reactions this produced by the rest of the office personnel who had just witnessed the unbelievable event.

TRUE STORY!  (Honestly!)  kt 2010

P.S.
This is me in a little pink number (December 1973)
It was taken in the courthouse break room when I thought I was alone
(obviously I wasn't).
I found the picture on the bulletin board with the following inscription on the back,
"To the greatest fanny in the world."  
There were also several hilarious notes pinned around the picture (and even phone numbers).

The undies had a blue and white checkered design with pink flowers the color of my dress
.  And, look, Mom would be proud...I had my knees together!

kt 3/2011

Monday, September 20, 2010

#25-REGULAR DOSES


We all know that old adage, “Laughter is the best medicine.”  Well, I want to congratulate Sarah Pailin for providing us all with a REGULAR prescription. 

With all her experience in this area she will  probably claim she is also an expert in medicine.


(I'm not really politically inclined or or all that knowledgeable in this area, however I must comment on this person.)

kt 2010

Sunday, September 12, 2010

#24 PUSSY CAT PERILS










(My Cat will be featured in several of my blogs so I may as well introduce you to her).


 I have a Cat named “Kit.”  No, not “Kit-Kat", but just KIT.  The name works for her.  I found her under my truck one day when I was visiting my son and his family.  This small tortoise shell kitten was apparently waiting there for me to find her and take her home.  We were a match from day one.

She is a smart cat and learned how to let herself in and out of my back door.  When she first comes in she yowels at me and tells me about her day, outside.  Occasionally, she brings me trophies.  One time she brought in a half eaten bird.  Yes, I have talked to her about that. She put the darned thing in her food dish.  That was just plain gross!  But, at least she knew where it went.

Several times she brought live birds into the house.  I should be happy because she apparently listened to my lecture about not killing birds.  However, the release of a flying creatures in the house causes a big hullabaloo.  It is usually a race to see who can catch the bird first.  So far I am winning! (5 to 1)  She also released one small bunny rabbit which took US thirty minutes to catch.  I released him (the bunny) outside, and even though winded (both of us, actually) he streaked away.

Kit has been subjected to being on the edge of the fall-out from my many projects.  She has been spray painted, chased by a run away sander, struck by falling debris, startled by wayward ladders, and forgotten on top of my roof (NOT MY FAULT, she followed me up there).  Yet she still comes home.  However, she now watches my projects from a vast distance (like I said, she is very smart cat).  She is like a best friend.


I have a best friend like that.  Her name is Carol.  Although I have never spray painted her or stranded her on my roof top, I know she will always be there for me, no matter what.

See blog # 13 for the sander episode. (She will also be featured in future blogs, I’m sure).


kt 2010

#24-PUSSY CAT PERILS


















I have a Cat named “Kit.”  No, not “Kit-Kat", but just KIT.  The name works for her.  I found her under my truck one day when I was visiting my son and his family.  This small tortoise shell kitten was apparently waiting there for me to find her and take her home.  We were a match from day one.

She is a smart cat and learned how to let herself in and out of my back door.  When she first comes in she yowels at me and tells me about her day outside.  Occasionally, she brings me trophies.  One time she brought in a half eaten bird.  Yes, I have talked to her about that. She put the darned thing in her food dish.  That was just plain gross!  But, at least she knew where it went.

Several times she brought live birds into the house.  I should be happy because she apparently listened to my lecture about not killing birds.  However, the release of a flying creatures in the house causes a big hullabaloo.  It is usually a race to see who can catch the bird first.  So far I am winning! (5 to 1)  She also released one small bunny rabbit which took US thirty minutes to catch.  I released him (the bunny) outside, and even though winded (both of us, actually) he streaked away.

Kit has been subjected to being on the edge of the fall-out from my many projects.  She has been spray painted, chased by a run away sander, struck by falling debris, startled by wayward ladders, and was forgotten on top of my roof (NOT MY FAULT, she followed me up there).  Yet she still comes home.  However, she now watches my projects from a vast distance (like I said, she is very smart cat).  She is like a best friend.

I have a best friend like that.  Her name is Carol.  Although I have never spray painted her or stranded her on my roof top, I know she will always be there for me, no matter what.

See blog # 13 for the sander episode. (She will also be featured in future blogs, I’m sure).
kt 2010


PS.
Since this was posted one more peril has been added to Kit's life, and it goes by the name of TOBY!
Look at THAT fool in the background.
He's tried to climb this tree three times.
This is ME ignoring HIM!
Guess what happened to the ladder I was standing on to take this picture.  Yep, one leg went into a mole hole and dumped me on the ground.  Kit looked on (and I think she was smiling) and Toby smothered me with doggy kisses.
kt  3/2011

Sunday, September 5, 2010

#23 "A STICKY SITUATION"



     I just completed another home project.  I am glad to say that it went smoothly (and my cat was unharmed).  This time I had to cut, trim and fit a back splash above and beside the sink in my bathroom.  There is always the potential for mishaps since I was using sharp tools.  But nothing was pierced, slashed, or severed.
     Working with quick drying adhesive was daunting but everything went off without a hitch UNTIL I STEPPED INTO A 
                                                     GLOB OF GLUE!
     Since I was wearing sox (and no shoes) I didn’t notice my impending dilemma.   I stood there for a few minutes holding up a panel with each arm, until the adhesive set (key word).   It didn’t take long.  When I started to move my foot I noticed a slight (ok, big) problem.  My left foot was glued into place.
     The adhesive had leached through my sock and glued my sock and (more importantly) my left foot to the floor. 
     I hadn’t put newspapers down because the floor was bare, since I removed the linoleum to put down new floor covering (ahhh, another project in my future).  Hence, I wasn’t going  anywhere, soon.
     The phone was setting on the tank of the toilet and I could have called 911, but I could imagine their response:


          Dispatch:          “Dispatch to EMT 1”
              EMT 1:          “Hey, Flo, whatcha got?”
          Dispatch:          “It’s Ms. T, again!”

              EMT 1:          “What'd she do this time?”
          Dispatch:         “Glued her foot to the floor!”
             EMT 1:                  (a chorus of laughter)
         Dispatch:          “Otis, your mike is open.”
             EMT 1:          “Sorry, (chuckle) we’ll get right over there (chuckle)”.


      No, way was I calling 911!     

     I took some contortions to reach the finger polish remover in the cupboard over the toilet, and a whole bottle of remover to extricate the sock from the floor (and my foot).  Now there’s nice clean shiny place on the ball of my foot.  I guess I sucked all the poison out of it like that stuff advertised on TV.  Maybe I should do the whole foot (or both feet).  Better yet, maybe I should market it.

kt 2010














#23-A STICKY SITUATION



 I just completed another home project.  I am glad to say that it went smoothly (and, this time, my cat was unharmed).  On this project I had to cut, trim and fit a back splash above and beside the sink in my bathroom.  There is always the potential for mishaps since I was using sharp tools.  But nothing was pierced, slashed, or severed.
     Working with quick drying adhesive was daunting but everything went off without a hitch UNTIL I STEPPED INTO A GLOB OF GLUE that had dropped from my carelessly placed adhesive gun.
     Since I was wearing sox (and no shoes) I didn’t notice my impending dilemma.   I stood there for a few minutes holding up a panel with each arm, until the adhesive set (key word).   It didn’t take long.  When I started to move my foot I noticed a slight (ok, big) problem.  My left foot was glued into place.
     The adhesive had leached through my sock and glued my sock and (more importantly) my left foot to the floor. 
     I hadn’t put newspapers down because the floor was bare, since I removed the linoleum to put down new floor covering (ahhh, another project in my future).  Hence, I wasn’t going  anywhere, soon.
     My cell phone was setting on the tank of the toilet and I could have called 911, but I could imagine their response:

           Dispatch:          “Dispatch to EMT 1”
              EMT 1:          “Hey, Flo, whatcha got?”
          Dispatch:          “It’s Ms. T, again!”
              EMT 1:          “What'd she do this time?”
          Dispatch:         “Glued her foot to the floor!”
             EMT 1:                  (a chorus of laughter)
         Dispatch:          “Otis, your mike is still open.”
             EMT 1:          “Sorry, (chuckle) we’ll get right over there (chuckle)”.







      No, way was I calling 911!     

     It took some contortions to reach the finger polish remover in the cupboard over the toilet, (fortunately I have practiced contortions in my bathroom before see #47) and a whole bottle of remover to extricate the sock from the floor (and my foot).  Now there’s nice clean shiny place on the ball of my foot.  I guess I sucked all the poison out of it like that stuff advertised on TV.  Maybe I should do the whole foot (or both feet).  Better yet, maybe I should market it.

kt 2010