The library had quite the assortment of fashionistas today. I mean, was a third Sex and the City being filmed? Was SJP/Carrie Bradshaw being stowed away in the meeting room piled up on pillows, Botox, and martinis?
Our first contestant down the catwalk, was--well, MEEEEEEEE-OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW-- because girlfriend was looking HOT!
Ooooo, a hot mess!
Eat your heart out, Mr. Blackwell.
Is he dead? I kinda hope so, since, really, I don't feel like being sued. But, if you aren't dead, I'm a librarian, so after the student loan payment goes through, I'll give you my last five dollars, old man. If you really want blood from a turnip, I'll cut you a deal, I'll knit you a scarf for your old man neck so it doesn't get cold. Even? Good. MOVING ON.
So, hot mess girlfriend thought she had IT going ON. She strolled in the library wearing a hot pink halter top with it ALL hanging out. She even had hot pants on. She moved too fast for me to get to check out her footwear. Then again, given what was going on the chest region, who had time to check out the footwear.
Like Usher says:
Honey got them boobies like WOW WOW WOW.
Well, when you're 50 and you don't wear a bra, the WOW WOW WOW noise comes from your knees hitting the boobies. No amount of halter/support/whateveryouwanttocall it was going to help her. She wasn't in long. She must have sensed that we weren't on to her boobie/knee music jamboree.
The second individual strolled in looking like he wandered off the set of the Hangover 2. He had on a tux, with a cobalt blue vest, complete with bow tie. As he greeted everyone in the branch (I'm still not sure what this was about because at first I thought he was a politician, then I realized he was probably just nuts), I noticed a few teef up front missing. See, Hangover Part 2. He wasn't in the library for very long either, he needed to get his "papers" and then left. Whatever that meant. I'm not sure who walks into a library wearing a tux, says hi to everyone, then announces loudly that he needs "papers" and then leaves, but I don't care because it's funny.
The third dominatrix to stroll down our catwalk was the loveliest of them all. She insisted: "Sista, you give me two crisp dollar bills" through her mouth of no teeth while she jangled her change.
Now, let me add the disclaimer in here before the American Dental Association and every other hippie dippy nonsensical lovechild comes after me to tell me that I hate people with no teeth. Or that I hate poor people. Or that I hate: (FILL IN THE BLANK).
Here's what I hate: I hate people that are persistent jerks and rude. I have perfectly sweet and lovely patrons with the worst teeth on this planet, or, in some cases, no teeth. But, perfectly sweet and lovely patrons don't make good blog stories. So, before you get your panties in a camel toe or ruin those fancy WalMart tighty whities, think about that or just stop reading, ok?
Now that I have stepped off my soapbox and back on to the runway, Miss Crackhead America 2010 DEMANDED that this SISTA (I'm white, can I be a SISTA?) give her two crisp bills. To humor her, I looked in the change bin and till to see what we had. We didn't have the bills and the till was low on change.
Do you know what Miss Crackhead America 2010 had the nerve to do?
Roll her eyes at me and tell me I'm a fucking bitch.
Yes, I got a master's degree for this.
I'm actually telling myself that it's just the full moon. Because, I already drank a fifth of vodka this week. I'd like to not pickle my liver by the time I'm 50.