Not A Man

Oh my god. OH MY GOD. I went out with Brad again last night. You know, my cute neighbor? It was a great evening until we got home and I invited him in for a nightcap. One thing led to another, and I had him in my bedroom soon enough. With my back to him, I slid my pants down to show him my new and improved tattoo, which he thought was awesome. But when I turned to face him, a look of shock and disappointment filled his face. "You...you have a vagina," he moaned. Well of course I do. It seems...this is so damn embarrassing and awful...it seems he was attracted to me because he thought I was a man who chose to dress as a woman. He said I was so masculine looking that the conclusion was obvious. Me, masculine looking?! I'm a little butch, and my breasts may be as small as grapes, but come on!

Now I'm just pissed off and sad. Gotta head to the office shortly for my regular Saturday shift, so I guess I'll take my pot with me and just smoke it there. I never smoke pot in the office on weekday shifts. (Well, never anymore.) Only on Saturdays. Then after work tonight I need to find a man who apreciates a fine woman like myself. Someone who can be attracted to my femininity. Gotta get my self-esteem back up. I am NOT a man. I have a vagina.

Busy Week

It's been a really busy week for me. So much going on, I don't know where to start!

I finally found my car, which I "misplaced" a while ago when I went out celebrating my status as Worst Owner/Dispatcher at Veterans Cab. It was parked in the alley behind Babe's, a club on Cary Street. It's a wonder it never got towed. I went to Red Dragon Tattoo and got the embarassing tattoo on my rear end changed. I was going to just have it removed, but the tat artist there convinced me to alter it instead. Now it says "Free To Enter". Cool, huh?

They called me back for a second audition at the Hispanic Liberation Theater. Even though my breasts are nowhere near Oprah's size, and I'm not even the same skin color, they seem to really like my ability to cry on cue during the dramatic scenes and the leg split I can do during the big musical finale.

My neighbor, the cute one I had to borrow money from a while back? We went out to dinner together. He took me to this great Thai restaurant, then walking along the James River downtown. It was an enchanting evening. When he dropped me off at home, I was ready to drag him inside and jump his bones, but being a polite gentleman he simply kissed me on the cheek and asked if we could do this again sometime soon. OF COURSE WE CAN.

Due to some problems at work, I had to get someone arrested. He didn't do anything really out of the ordinary, but he pissed me off so bad that I thought I'd teach him a lesson.

Got a package in the mail from Raul. He's still in Brazil, taking care of his mother, but he hopes he can come and visit soon. What was in the package, you ask? Awww, sorry, guys and gals, but that's classified information.

They opened a new factory here and are hiring people to bag M&Ms. You know, the melt in your mouth, not in your hand chocolate candy? I thought about going over there. Could always use the extra income. But it occured to me: how will I know which ones have M on them and which ones have a W on them? I wouldn't want to toss out the wrong ones. Or do they have a machine that separates them before they get to the bagging line?

More to write about--it's been a busy few days--but I've got to get ready for my second date with my cute neighbor tonight. Hope it goes as well as the first!

Audition Blues

Had my audition today for the Hispanic Liberation Theater's production of "To Oprah, From John". I think I did okay, but one of the other women auditioning, a large black woman, laughed and told me I could never be Oprah. NEVER. Several other women gave me crap for not looking anything like Oprah, for not knowing who Stedman is, for coming to the auditon dressed ina tank top and pink hot pants. Whatever. They're just jealous. The producers said they'll make their final decision in the next couple of weeks so cross your fingers for me. It's not Ginger, but it's just as cool.

Oprah and John Tesh

I checked into the Hispanic Liberation Theater down on Jefferson Davis Highway, and they've got an exciting project coming up that I'm really excited about. They are doing a play/musical based on the time Oprah Winfrey and John Tesh supposedly were an item, and they need someone to fill the role of Oprah. How cool would that be? Me, as Oprah! There's possibly a nude scene, but I think I can deal with that, even with my stretch marks and all. I wonder who they're going to get to play John Tesh. The script is REALLY long, and you know I have trouble remembering things, but I should be okay. The big musical number in which Oprah begs John not to leave, with dancing chairs and table lamps and a disco strobe light, should be a real hoot. Maybe evena hoot and a half. Gotta go work on memorizing my lines for tomorrow's audition. Wish me luck!

Butch and Butch

I had the weirdest dream last night. I was having a threesome with Butch H and Butch B on a waveless water bed in a graveyard. I can't say it didn't turn me on, but still, it was strange. Tim did such a good job on that taxi song--maybe I could get him to write a song for me called "The Two Butches". Well, since I am kinda butch myself, maybe we could call it "The Three Butches" instead. What do you think?

Ginger Dream

Bummer. MAJOR bummer. I found out that if I want to audition for (and play) Ginger in the upcoming Broadway musical version of "Gilligan's Island", I would have to go to New York. Who knew Broadway was in New York? I sure didn't. You learn something new every day. No, I can't go to New York. You see, I went to NY on vacation several years ago and I still have an oustanding warrant against me there. Prostitution charge. But I was not and have never been a prostitute. I just told the guy that if he wanted to have sex with me, it would cost him $200. That's not prostitution. The guy said I wasn't worth twenty bucks. I know that, and you know that, but I wasn't going to admit it to him. So I think he just got pissed that I wouldn't lower my rates and that's why he reported me to a cop.

My uncle/father Butch Hatch says he could help me get the charges dismissed if we went up there. He says all we'd have to do is walk in the courtroom and ask the judge if I really looked pretty enough to get work as a hooker and it would get thrown out of court faster than my drivers get thrown out of Veterans Cab. (Which is pretty damn fast, let me tell you!)

But there's another problem with me playing Ginger. It turns out I would have to wear a short, tight dress for the role, and I just can't do that. I've never told anyone this before, but when I was a teenager I wasn't as thin as I am now. Hard to believe, I know, but true. I was a bit too much in love with food when I was fifteen. Smoking helped me lose a lot of the weight, and surgery took care of the rest, but I've still got these nasty stretch marks on my thighs. Can you see me up on stage in front of thousands of people with my stretch marks visible under the stage lights? No way. No can do. Plus, like I've mentioned before, learning all of theose lines might be a problem. I can't remember things very well.

So, my dream of playing Ginger will just have to remain that--a dream. I hear the Hispanic Liberation Theater on Jefferson Davis Highway is looking to put on a few major productions soon. Maybe I'll see what's up with that.

Stop Yelling At Me

I went to our office this morning to dispatch my regularly scheduled radio shift. (Remember, always use Veterans Cab, the greatest taxi cab company in Richmond, Virginia!) As soon as I got there one of my drivers called me and started complaining that another dispatcher was yelling at him for doing what I had told him to do. ("Whenver you carry a customer in your cab," I'd told the driver, "Always give them your cell phone number so they call you directly if they need another cab. No matter how long it takes you to get back to them, never let them call the main office because we want their money in OUR pockets, not another driver's or owner's.") So what if the customer had to wait three hours for a cab? Well, me and the other dispatcher got into a heated discussion, for about the thousandth time in the last several years. He wants to run the cab company like a proper business, which I just think is a ridiculous idea. If we did that, I'd have to start showing up for work on time...ON TIME. That's crazy. No one should have to be at work when they're scheduled to. Forty-five minutes, an hour, hour and a half late--that's totally okay, you know? And if we ran it like a proper business, then everyone who works there would be making a lot of money and that is just insane. My uncle/father Butch and I are the only ones who are supposed to be raking in the dough, not these other guys who put in a lot of hours and really try to help the company grow. Screw them. (Well, some of them. Not all. A few of them aren't worthy of my bedroom.)

Then, eighteen or nineteen customers called to complain that they weren't getting decent service when I was dispatching cabs. That didn't bother me--I try to get at least thirty or forty complaints against me in a day--gotta keep my title as Worst Of The Worst at Veterans Cab, you know--but a few of them really yelled at me. Screaming and stuff. One customer said that I'd made them wait two hours for a taxi cab to Chippenham Hospital and caused them to not get there to say goodbye to her grandfather before he died. So? Is that MY problem? She should have just called him on the phone and said what she had to say.

So please, people, STOP YELING AT ME. I've got enough worries in my life as it is. I've got an embarrassing tattoo to get rid of, my car still hasn't been found after a night of wild partying, and for some reason my computer keeps telling me I've got mail even though every time I go outside to the mailbox there's nothing in it. Go yell at someone else.

Help With Kool-Aid

Can one of my readers/fans please help with something? I've been in the kitchen for the last several hours, trying to make some cherry Kool Aid. My problem is, I just can't seem to figure out how to get two quarts of water into that little paper package. Any suggestions or solutions?

Finishing The Puzzle

So I've been working on a big jigsaw puzzle that has taken up a lot of space on my dining room table. I finally finished it today, after two weeks. Two weeks seemed like a long time, but I got really excited and happy for myself when I looked at the puzzle box and it read "Eight Years And Up". Wow! Eight years and up, and I did it in only two weeks! I must be a super genius or something.

Why You Should Never Smoke More Than An Ounce In One Sitting

So I called my uncle/father Butch Hatch and asked him to order me a plaque so I could have something to hang on my wall proclaiming me the worst of the worst at Veterans Cab. Then, to celebrate, I bought a full ounce and decided to throw myself a little smoke party. I really only intended to smoke a quarter and save the rest for later, but one thing led to another and before I knew it I had gone through the whole bag. I didn't feel that high. Really I didn't. I was okay to drive. Or so I thought. I went to a bar on Robinson Street for a few drinks with a friend, and, well, one drink led to another which led to another and....now I know that a full ounce of weed topped off with nine Long Island Iced Teas is a VERY BAD idea.

When I woke up this morning, I was in a parking garage downtown. My hair was sticky, and even though I was still wearing my jeans, my underwear were missing. I went looking for my car, but couldn't find it. I thought I'd parked it at the intersection of Broad Street and Floyd Avenue...or maybe at the intersection of Staples Mill Road and Forest Hill...but whole chunks of my memory were just a blur. So I called a cab home. No, I didn't call Veterans Cab, because I didn't want my co-workers to see me like that. I called Napoleon Cab, a ratty little company that employs several of my former drivers. (Several of them are also my former lovers, but that's a different story for a different day.) The cab fare was $67, and my purse was missing just like my car, so I had to go next door and borrow the money from my neighbor. I hated doing that. My neighbor is a hunk, and I'd been thinking about trying to get him into my bed, so having him see me like that probably worsened my chances.

Getting in the shower to clean myself up, I caught a glimpse of my backside in the bathroom mirror and my jaw hit the floor. Apparently at some point during the preceding wild night, I'd gotten a tattoo on my rear end. It says....oh, this is so embarrassing...it says: "Warning! Biohazard. Do Not Enter." Now I have to find out how much tattoo removals cost. They're probably expensive, so I'll have to steal some more money from the guys at Veterans to pay for it. Oh well. Not the first time I've stolen from them. And it surely won't be the last.

Hooray! I'm The Worst!

Hooray! After months of working at it, I am now officially the worst radio dispatcher/ owner at Veterans Cab. (The coolest taxi cab company in Richmond, Virginia. No, wait. The coolest in the world!) I'd been fighting for the title with Rob and Harry, but now that they're both gone, the championship is all mine! I'm so happy that we get more customer complaints on my two radio shifts than on all the other shifts combined. See, if you really try, you CAN be the worst in the world at something!

Hello there!

Good day to all of you lovely people! For those who don't know me, my name is Heather Beveridge and I am one of the wonderful owners of Veterans Cab Association in Richmond, Virginia. The coolest taxi cab company on the planet! (We rock!) I thought it might be a good idea to start sharing myself with the world, so I've started this blog to express my thoughts, feelings, dreams, desires, experiences, etc. with all of my terrific fans! Yes, even you, Tommy.

So, first, a little about me...I love rock and roll, I'm 420 friendly--well, actually, 420 addicted--, and one of my goals is to play Ginger in the Broadway musical version of "Gilligan's Island". I know I'm not pretty enough and I will have trouble remembering my lines, but I won't let that stop me! You can do whatever you want if you put your mind to it. What else? Oh, I live in Powhatan County, Virginia, which is just east of Richmond. Or is it south? I was never very good with directions. I love listening to Glenn Beck and I am a proud member of the Tea Party. I am a bit of a nymphomaniac. My favorite color is red. My favorite tv show is "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader". (I learn so much watching that show. Did you know Washington is the capital of the United States? Who'da guessed?)

Well, that's all for now, to start. I gotta go walk the dog and smoke my medicine. Love y'all!