I need to get some shit off my chest...I've been pretty pissy lately and need to rid myself of all this negative energy plus I'm just getting sick of having this shit on my chest. So strap on, or in (I don't know what the fuck you are into) and enjoy the ride, Chazz...
It really pisses me off that I have to remember to take a damn pill everyday that makes me a total bitch to make sure I don't get pregnant and then become a total emotional bitch...no one wins here. You might be asking why I don't just get my husband spade or neutered...that's easy my friend, I'm not giving him a free squirt into every random stranger pass...think about it.
Recently I realized that I need to add my big toe to my shave routine. My big toe had these long black hairs growing from it like it was breeding the worms from Dune. If you don't have beard growing from your big toe and your under the age of 30...don't judge you baby bitch because it's coming. You are also going to get some weird random hair that grows out of your chin, good luck with that...
I love people that insist on airing your dirty laundry in front of a group but conveniently leave out all the dirt bag shit they did at the same time you were making your bad decisions. Bitch, I was there at the event and I remember what a whore you were being too so let's try to take that into account when you rehash the evening's transgressions, assface.
Speaking of, I don't always make the best decisions and I often do things that pisses my husband off royally but I really don't understand why performing pretend fellatio on a popcorn bucket is that big of a deal. Obviously, my husband doesn't realize how much I love popcorn...
I have a bunch of other shit I want to say but I have a vodka and lemonade that is begging me to ravage it and that takes precedence...because if I'm great at anything it's at being an alcoholic.
Sincerely, Betty Ford
P.S. during the close of this blog, the husband asked, "Are you drinking again?" Why yes, I am, and lucky for you because after you just asked me "do I want to be a good wife" (his exact fucking words) and get up an hour earlier tomorrow to drive the boys 20 minutes out of my way before work so you can hunt in the morning and not kill a damn thing because your hunting spots suck asshole I want to drop kick you in the face...but I'm not doing any drop kicking because I'm half in the bag and can't get that much air.
P.S.S. I've never given a rat's ass about being a good wife any other time so why start now...guess who has an early meeting tomorrow all of a sudden?
Wednesday
WAR...
Bedtime wars used to refer to that romantic time when my sweet dude would wake me from a blissful sleep with his rock hard dagger in my back...I would pretend to remain sleeping as he fumbled with several of my body parts in the middle of the fucking night when he knew I had that big presentation and had to get up at 5am but this night, of all nights, is when he decides he needs to clean out the pipes at 3am...it's then that I throw the death blow of all when I mumble, as he begins to shock, "No dad, I'll be home by curfew". He rolls over, severely limp and I go back to dreaming of sugar plum fairies...
Me 1 Charley 0
In this story my sweet dude is Vietnamese, just go with it...
Now bedtime wars refer to every week night between 7:30pm and 10:30pm when Damien and The Good Son do everything in their power not to go to sleep...yelling, jumping, fighting, sneaking downstairs, coughing and demanding medicine, making preposterous statements like:
"Mom, I am drink"
"Mom, tell you something"
"Mom, me no dinner"
"Mom, I heard you call dad a dirty fucker this morning and now I'm afraid of how that might affect my future relationships"
I've been at work all day (not with the kids) and when it's my time to relax (not with the kids) I damn well deserve it. I need all this me time in order to be a decent parent on Saturday and Sunday. What don't these little mini lucifers not understand about STAYING IN BED!?! Is it fun for them to constantly hear my empty threats of orphanages, or not getting presents at Christmas, or releasing the demon in the closet that eats children who get out of bed. One person said, "Oh, it's because they miss you so much during the day that they don't want to fall alseep and miss you all night as well" I stabbed that person in the fucking throat with an ink pen and then I took their blood drained body and put it in my kid's closet because if that doesn't get them to stay in bed, I don't know what will...
Anyway, looking forward to 3am in the near future because I'll take that war over the current struggle for dominance every week night. On the weekends I'm drunk and passed out by 7pm so everyone's happy.
Me 0 Evil Minions 1,095
Me 1 Charley 0
In this story my sweet dude is Vietnamese, just go with it...
Now bedtime wars refer to every week night between 7:30pm and 10:30pm when Damien and The Good Son do everything in their power not to go to sleep...yelling, jumping, fighting, sneaking downstairs, coughing and demanding medicine, making preposterous statements like:
"Mom, I am drink"
"Mom, tell you something"
"Mom, me no dinner"
"Mom, I heard you call dad a dirty fucker this morning and now I'm afraid of how that might affect my future relationships"
I've been at work all day (not with the kids) and when it's my time to relax (not with the kids) I damn well deserve it. I need all this me time in order to be a decent parent on Saturday and Sunday. What don't these little mini lucifers not understand about STAYING IN BED!?! Is it fun for them to constantly hear my empty threats of orphanages, or not getting presents at Christmas, or releasing the demon in the closet that eats children who get out of bed. One person said, "Oh, it's because they miss you so much during the day that they don't want to fall alseep and miss you all night as well" I stabbed that person in the fucking throat with an ink pen and then I took their blood drained body and put it in my kid's closet because if that doesn't get them to stay in bed, I don't know what will...
Anyway, looking forward to 3am in the near future because I'll take that war over the current struggle for dominance every week night. On the weekends I'm drunk and passed out by 7pm so everyone's happy.
Me 0 Evil Minions 1,095
Friday
Just Me...
I'm not your average girl...
I cuss like a sailor.
I retrieve tonsil pods from the back of my throat and press them against my thumb and pointer finger to see if they smell as bad as the last.
I say dude on the regular.
I worry ALL THE TIME if I'm a decent parent or if I am just repeating the mistakes of my mother.
I wear bathing suit bottoms as underwear when I haven't done laundry.
I press my old earring holes to squeeze out that weird white shit and smell it.
I stick my gut out as far as it will go and model it when other girls start talking about how fat they are.
I have perfected the art of smelling my own breath.
I take the most devastating situations and joke about them at family functions.
I bite off my kids hang nails, toe or finger.
I spit up after eating, not in an anorexic sort of way but rather I ate too much.
I pick the never ending black head on my husband's back as if at some point a genie will pop out granting me three wishes.
I smell my finger after putting it in my belly button.
Actually, I smell everything. EVERYTHING.
I will make you feel great, even when I feel less than shit.
I'm not confident in my actions, even though I do them the loudest.
I have a lot of regrets.
I don't let those regrets define me.
I missed a lot of boats, and I'm not talking about Starcrafts.
I'm not perfect but I can tell you how to be.
I'm not your average girl, I'm exactly like you.
There is no such thing as average so whatever you are and whatever you do, embrace it because you and I...we are PERFECT!
I cuss like a sailor.
I retrieve tonsil pods from the back of my throat and press them against my thumb and pointer finger to see if they smell as bad as the last.
I say dude on the regular.
I worry ALL THE TIME if I'm a decent parent or if I am just repeating the mistakes of my mother.
I wear bathing suit bottoms as underwear when I haven't done laundry.
I press my old earring holes to squeeze out that weird white shit and smell it.
I stick my gut out as far as it will go and model it when other girls start talking about how fat they are.
I have perfected the art of smelling my own breath.
I take the most devastating situations and joke about them at family functions.
I bite off my kids hang nails, toe or finger.
I spit up after eating, not in an anorexic sort of way but rather I ate too much.
I pick the never ending black head on my husband's back as if at some point a genie will pop out granting me three wishes.
I smell my finger after putting it in my belly button.
Actually, I smell everything. EVERYTHING.
I will make you feel great, even when I feel less than shit.
I'm not confident in my actions, even though I do them the loudest.
I have a lot of regrets.
I don't let those regrets define me.
I missed a lot of boats, and I'm not talking about Starcrafts.
I'm not perfect but I can tell you how to be.
I'm not your average girl, I'm exactly like you.
There is no such thing as average so whatever you are and whatever you do, embrace it because you and I...we are PERFECT!
Sunday
Where's George Clooney?
Last Monday I had an experience that all mothers fear...if you are the mother of someone who was dropped on their head as a small child. My youngest shoved popcorn kernels up his nose...not one or two but THREE popcorn kernels. I don't remember dropping him as an infant but I drink a lot so who really knows...
I stayed calm enough to not swear while I freaked the fuck out. Especially since this same day I was called by the daycare because my oldest son had a 102 fever, and at this same time I had just started boiling chicken and at this exact moment my phone was beeping because the battery was dying and I couldn't get in touch with my husband or my mom or my mother in law or God...
After every unsuccessful attempt at getting them out at home there was no other choice, we were heading to the ER...but not just any ER, the real glamorous one that is located right smack dab in the inner city. Although there is a dire need for hospitals to accept everyone regardless of insurance status you have to be insane to go there. I get to go there for free thanks to my employer and when shit is free, especially a trip to the ER, that can make you reach the necessary insanity level. This is that story...
Hudson and I arrive and pass through metal detectors behind a couple that just beat the living shit out of each other and in front of a cracked out criminal with police escorts. We check in and stand in an area the size of a half bath with the most interesting and intriguing group of people I have ever laid eyes on...one man is holding his finger in a blood soaked rag, an elderly woman is moaning and another lady really just looks like she is waiting for Dr. Feelgood. Other than the company it all seems pretty uneventful...
That is when we are graced by Mental Patient Marcus who approaches the check in window like he is either going to murder it or eat it. He explains to the check in girl that he was just released by the hospital and doesn't have his medication. "I can't be released on the streets without my medication...mumble, mumble, mumble..." Our second guest is Dad of the Year Dave who comes right up on Marcus and yells, "I need medical attention for my son!" He then proceeds to grab his son's wrist and proclaims, "his wrist be broke!" His son wails out since the wrist he grabbed is said broken wrist all the while Marcus is still trying to get his red or blue pills (one pill makes you smaller, one pill makes you tall). Marcus whirls around and says to Dave, "Don't dip in my shit man." Dave, of course, has a retort, "You best step back man...you need to take your ass to the mental joint next door." They both are puffed up and I fear are going to start beating the shit out of each other in this 6x6 hell hole and I can't contain myself so I yell, "THAT'S ENOUGH! There are children in here. Both of you need to GET IT TOGETHER!" In all honesty, I think my animal mother instinct took over and I also think it didn't make a damn difference. These dudes could have cared less that I was going National Geographic on them or that there was children in a 6x6 room they were about to make their personal octagon. Miraculously, Mental Patient Marcus is summoned by the pill distributor and ironically the gal behind the check in glass says that I better go to another waiting room which I reply, "Umm, you think?"
The other waiting room had a nice little play area that I wouldn't have let my child play in if it was the last playroom on earth...we were joined by a mom who said fuck every other word which if you are at the bar is fine but we happen to be in a pediatric ER waiting room so not really a good look, Dad of the Year Dave joins us where he grabs his son's broken wrist on two more occasions to show the nurse it's broken, and finally a 15 year old who had her ass cheeks hanging out of her shorts and is brought in by an ambulance with another 15 year old that put a bullet in her head...how do I know that, you ask? Well, as I am checking my son in with the nurse the ambulance driver happens to share that information right in front of me and my THREE YEAR OLD SON!!!! Thankfully, the popcorn kernels up his nose somehow affected his hearing because he never once asked any questions about that.
We are called back and taken to the curtain rooms of chaos. We are surrounded by a child with a bandage wrapped all around the top of his head who keeps trying to crawl up his mother while she plays on her phone, a pregnant girl old enough to just be starting sex ed (that's 5th grade) and don't forget Dad of the Year that I hear the doctor ask when the break happened and Pops says around 5pm and the doctor seems perplexed considering the entire wrist has to be reset. I am overtaken by this overwhelming feeling of dismay when Hudson sneezes and a popcorn kernel pops out!!! We were starving and really hoped it would have materialized into a fluffy, butter-ific popped corn of goodness but no such luck.
It's then that my angel arrives from the darkness. He has in his hand the magic wand of kernel rescue and with a graceful flick of the wrist releases the other two kernels that have made their home in my son's nasal cavity. That is how I remember it anyway and is exactly what I am going to keep telling myself. No, I did not need to apply my entire weight on my son while this satanic nose utensil gouged and dug in my sons nostril only to cause a severe nose bleed once the kernels had been rescued. It wasn't like that at all, in fact it was a beautiful experience...like how you would imagine floating on a cloud might be.
All in all, we made it through the wilderness of inner city ER! We aren't stabbed, or zombies, no one dipped into our shit and I still love my son. I love him even though three days later he looked at me and slowly put a popcorn kernel up to his nostril...at which point I picked him up and dropped him on his head.
I stayed calm enough to not swear while I freaked the fuck out. Especially since this same day I was called by the daycare because my oldest son had a 102 fever, and at this same time I had just started boiling chicken and at this exact moment my phone was beeping because the battery was dying and I couldn't get in touch with my husband or my mom or my mother in law or God...
After every unsuccessful attempt at getting them out at home there was no other choice, we were heading to the ER...but not just any ER, the real glamorous one that is located right smack dab in the inner city. Although there is a dire need for hospitals to accept everyone regardless of insurance status you have to be insane to go there. I get to go there for free thanks to my employer and when shit is free, especially a trip to the ER, that can make you reach the necessary insanity level. This is that story...
Hudson and I arrive and pass through metal detectors behind a couple that just beat the living shit out of each other and in front of a cracked out criminal with police escorts. We check in and stand in an area the size of a half bath with the most interesting and intriguing group of people I have ever laid eyes on...one man is holding his finger in a blood soaked rag, an elderly woman is moaning and another lady really just looks like she is waiting for Dr. Feelgood. Other than the company it all seems pretty uneventful...
That is when we are graced by Mental Patient Marcus who approaches the check in window like he is either going to murder it or eat it. He explains to the check in girl that he was just released by the hospital and doesn't have his medication. "I can't be released on the streets without my medication...mumble, mumble, mumble..." Our second guest is Dad of the Year Dave who comes right up on Marcus and yells, "I need medical attention for my son!" He then proceeds to grab his son's wrist and proclaims, "his wrist be broke!" His son wails out since the wrist he grabbed is said broken wrist all the while Marcus is still trying to get his red or blue pills (one pill makes you smaller, one pill makes you tall). Marcus whirls around and says to Dave, "Don't dip in my shit man." Dave, of course, has a retort, "You best step back man...you need to take your ass to the mental joint next door." They both are puffed up and I fear are going to start beating the shit out of each other in this 6x6 hell hole and I can't contain myself so I yell, "THAT'S ENOUGH! There are children in here. Both of you need to GET IT TOGETHER!" In all honesty, I think my animal mother instinct took over and I also think it didn't make a damn difference. These dudes could have cared less that I was going National Geographic on them or that there was children in a 6x6 room they were about to make their personal octagon. Miraculously, Mental Patient Marcus is summoned by the pill distributor and ironically the gal behind the check in glass says that I better go to another waiting room which I reply, "Umm, you think?"
The other waiting room had a nice little play area that I wouldn't have let my child play in if it was the last playroom on earth...we were joined by a mom who said fuck every other word which if you are at the bar is fine but we happen to be in a pediatric ER waiting room so not really a good look, Dad of the Year Dave joins us where he grabs his son's broken wrist on two more occasions to show the nurse it's broken, and finally a 15 year old who had her ass cheeks hanging out of her shorts and is brought in by an ambulance with another 15 year old that put a bullet in her head...how do I know that, you ask? Well, as I am checking my son in with the nurse the ambulance driver happens to share that information right in front of me and my THREE YEAR OLD SON!!!! Thankfully, the popcorn kernels up his nose somehow affected his hearing because he never once asked any questions about that.
We are called back and taken to the curtain rooms of chaos. We are surrounded by a child with a bandage wrapped all around the top of his head who keeps trying to crawl up his mother while she plays on her phone, a pregnant girl old enough to just be starting sex ed (that's 5th grade) and don't forget Dad of the Year that I hear the doctor ask when the break happened and Pops says around 5pm and the doctor seems perplexed considering the entire wrist has to be reset. I am overtaken by this overwhelming feeling of dismay when Hudson sneezes and a popcorn kernel pops out!!! We were starving and really hoped it would have materialized into a fluffy, butter-ific popped corn of goodness but no such luck.
It's then that my angel arrives from the darkness. He has in his hand the magic wand of kernel rescue and with a graceful flick of the wrist releases the other two kernels that have made their home in my son's nasal cavity. That is how I remember it anyway and is exactly what I am going to keep telling myself. No, I did not need to apply my entire weight on my son while this satanic nose utensil gouged and dug in my sons nostril only to cause a severe nose bleed once the kernels had been rescued. It wasn't like that at all, in fact it was a beautiful experience...like how you would imagine floating on a cloud might be.
All in all, we made it through the wilderness of inner city ER! We aren't stabbed, or zombies, no one dipped into our shit and I still love my son. I love him even though three days later he looked at me and slowly put a popcorn kernel up to his nostril...at which point I picked him up and dropped him on his head.
Friday
Women...the shallow edition
How I describe myself...
My boobs are disgustingly gigantic, my upper arms are the size of most people's thighs, my ass is as flat as a pancake, I'm smuggling an inflatable tube above my pant line, I have back fat inherited by every one of my aunt's on my mom's side and I have what appears to be the making of a gunt...I do have nice hands and feet and my face is way better than J-Wow's. I'm funny and nice to people that are nice to me and sometimes to people that aren't nice to me because how on earth can you NOT like me and be nice to me!?!
How one friend describes me...
The liar is my best friend, you can see easily why she wears that title...because she is about as full of shit as I am! Now, go on and get before I splash water on you with my tail...
My boobs are disgustingly gigantic, my upper arms are the size of most people's thighs, my ass is as flat as a pancake, I'm smuggling an inflatable tube above my pant line, I have back fat inherited by every one of my aunt's on my mom's side and I have what appears to be the making of a gunt...I do have nice hands and feet and my face is way better than J-Wow's. I'm funny and nice to people that are nice to me and sometimes to people that aren't nice to me because how on earth can you NOT like me and be nice to me!?!
How one friend describes me...
"SUPER AWESOME! Witty, intelligent, fantastic mother, mediocre housekeeper, can drink like a fish."
~Notice she did not mention my body at all which means she agrees with what is listed above...she totally thinks I'm an Orca and that's hurtful...
When I said to this friend none of these things affect how I fit in a dress another friend said...
I tell you what… we buy you a Spanx and you will look great in ANYTHING.
I tell you what… we buy you a Spanx and you will look great in ANYTHING.
~Again, Orca status confirmed.
So, I could not be left to believe that the things I originally said could be true and reached out to someone I know will lie to me, she said...
Your boobs are round, full and natural. Something every small titty woman envies. Something even women with fake boobs envy. Nobody can ever say u have a big fat ass and ur arms are slim and look nice in sleeveless shirts no doubt. Your stomach is of a normal woman who's had one child pop out of her V that u ended up "getting ur asshole reconstructed" wow, and one who had to be removed by cutting ur body open. Your laugh is loud and infectious. People yearn to be around u and to be like u. U make people comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time but its wanted not annoying. Your face is naturally pretty and u don't have to put any effort into looking beautiful but when u do u look amazing.
The liar is my best friend, you can see easily why she wears that title...because she is about as full of shit as I am! Now, go on and get before I splash water on you with my tail...
Thursday
The time I blogged drunk decided it wasn't a good look and then read it sober and found it completely appropriate...
So, last week I proceeded to get completely annihilated on a weekday because isn't that what great mothers and wives do? Oh... Well, I was raised a little different I guess. Anyway, I never posted the below because at the time, in my drunken insanity, I thought it was terrible...I read it today and it's soooooo terrible that it's fucking GREAT! I might just get drunk tonight and go for round 2!!! The funniest part about the previous sentence is the use of the word might. Mommy LOVES her medicine!!!!!!!
Side note - I left the spelling errors because I think it truly expresses what a complete rock star I am on Tuesdays.
Tuesday, August 26th at entirely too early to be this loaded.
This an experiment...
I've been into the sauce and I'm about to blog. It could be a total nightmare or it might be the best 3 minutes of your life...similar to a one night stand. Let's see how it goes.
Some disclaimers ~ As I am typing this I have no idea where it might go and therefore am not liable for anything I might say about anything. In addition, I'm not that drunk, yes I have consumed three very large vodka and tonics on a random Tuesay night but the only thing being affected right now is my ability to find the period button, . See? Speaking of periods, I'm on mine...I thought you should know.
I have decided to purge in this post anyhtign that comes to mind...
Right now I'll have you know I hate smoking, the smell and the people that do it...however, I have just smoked three cigarettes so take from that what you will judgey mcjudgerton...maybe I am more buzzed than I thought.
This is not going well...maybe I should pick a topic. Hmm, how about people that you manage at work that talk to you like you are a retard.
I have one of these...I tell her a new policy or procedure or something I have handked for her out of kindness and she sits down in her chair, clasps her hands together as if to pray and says EVERYM'FGTIME, "well, I'm not certain how you used to do things but here we...." She does a lot of eyelash batting and nodding her head back and forth as if hse is going into some epilectic seizure. The whole time this scene is palying out I smile because all I want to do is back hand that smug look off her face and tell her that if it was being done the right way the million years she has been there then maybe I wouldn't have to tell her a different way of dpoign it.
Okay, this isn't working out. As I'm typing this I am thinking to myself, "are you really going to post this shit?" Seriosuly it's awful and I am having a hard time even typing it...at the same tiume I'm thinking, "I did say it was an ecperiment so they knew what they were getting into." Let's continue...
I'm smoking another cigarette...that makes four.
What else?
This is where it ended. I might have passed out or developed lung cancer or made a pizza but more than likely passed out as cancer enveloped my lungs while making a pizza...yeah, that's more my style. I'm a multi-tasker!
Side note - I left the spelling errors because I think it truly expresses what a complete rock star I am on Tuesdays.
Tuesday, August 26th at entirely too early to be this loaded.
This an experiment...
I've been into the sauce and I'm about to blog. It could be a total nightmare or it might be the best 3 minutes of your life...similar to a one night stand. Let's see how it goes.
Some disclaimers ~ As I am typing this I have no idea where it might go and therefore am not liable for anything I might say about anything. In addition, I'm not that drunk, yes I have consumed three very large vodka and tonics on a random Tuesay night but the only thing being affected right now is my ability to find the period button, . See? Speaking of periods, I'm on mine...I thought you should know.
I have decided to purge in this post anyhtign that comes to mind...
Right now I'll have you know I hate smoking, the smell and the people that do it...however, I have just smoked three cigarettes so take from that what you will judgey mcjudgerton...maybe I am more buzzed than I thought.
This is not going well...maybe I should pick a topic. Hmm, how about people that you manage at work that talk to you like you are a retard.
I have one of these...I tell her a new policy or procedure or something I have handked for her out of kindness and she sits down in her chair, clasps her hands together as if to pray and says EVERYM'FGTIME, "well, I'm not certain how you used to do things but here we...." She does a lot of eyelash batting and nodding her head back and forth as if hse is going into some epilectic seizure. The whole time this scene is palying out I smile because all I want to do is back hand that smug look off her face and tell her that if it was being done the right way the million years she has been there then maybe I wouldn't have to tell her a different way of dpoign it.
Okay, this isn't working out. As I'm typing this I am thinking to myself, "are you really going to post this shit?" Seriosuly it's awful and I am having a hard time even typing it...at the same tiume I'm thinking, "I did say it was an ecperiment so they knew what they were getting into." Let's continue...
I'm smoking another cigarette...that makes four.
What else?
This is where it ended. I might have passed out or developed lung cancer or made a pizza but more than likely passed out as cancer enveloped my lungs while making a pizza...yeah, that's more my style. I'm a multi-tasker!
Saturday
Fat Pregnant Freak Out...
First of all let me address the title...NO, I am not pregnant...fat and freaking out, sure but that's another post...
Sorry I have been away so long (Melinda) but I have really had some life changes that have stretched me thin and most mothers know when that happens time for you becomes scarce. This morning, I am going to ignore that my 4 year old is trying to make his own chocolate milk (we don't even have chocolate syrup so this should be interesting) or that my 2 year old is hiding somewhere and when your not potty trained that means a dump is on the horizon, AWESOME! I'll make a better effort to tell you about ridiculous experiences that happen in this so called life and that effort begins now...
I'm getting my hair done this week by my tremendously adorable pregnant hairdresser (adorable and pregnant never met when I was carrying my beasts) and she proceeds to tell me that she was recently thrown a surprise baby shower. I know what you are thinking, oh what a sweet concept and that is when I tell you the rest of the story (shout out to Paul Harvey)...The day had begun on the rough side. She was three seconds away from divorcing her husband and was so uncomfortable that day that she wore maternity yoga pants, a stretched out tank and no make-up. Her husband allowed this even though he knew about the surprise shower the whole time (they are still married which is a miracle after that stunt). They pull up to the venue and she knows right away what is going down and begins to sob, first because she looks like a sweaty beached whale and second because she hasn't even registered and has no clue what this shower might consist of. That, my friends, is when shit really hits the fan. Let me paint a picture for you...
You weigh close to 280 pounds, not really but it feels like it, and you are already sobbing because your husband is a selfish asshole who has no idea how it feels to be pregnant or even human. You walk into a baby shower set up as a surprise for you and scan the room. Clothes are hung by a clothes line, every item that you could possibly need for a new baby is scattered around the area and there are weird copy paper boxes with writing on the sides...you squint to see what isn't making sense here when you see the tiny neon circular stickers on each one of the clothing items, you notice there is not one item in the original box and the copy paper boxes have messages on them like, "Riley 6-9 months" only your baby is not going to be named Riley. That's because all of the gifts here waiting for you and your new baby are from....
A FUCKING GARAGE SALE!!!!!!!!!!
Who does that? If the answer has ever been you, you're an asshole. No brand new mother wants a bunch of old, used shit that not only doesn't match but she didn't actually see the place where it came from which could be a total crap hole for all she knows. I just keep thinking about dressing my newborn son in a onesie with formula stains on it from a stranger and placing him so gently in a bouncy seat that has 10 year old teeth marks on it from some nasty ass toddler that did not emerge from my vagina. It's disgusting and I am not even one of those snotty, I need all new stuff because I'm too good for garage sales type of person. C'mon though, a surprise baby shower filled with all items from garbage sales? I would question if any of these people even like me. In fact, if by some miracle I get pregnant and someone thinks that will be a nice gesture since I'm already two kids deep and shouldn't really get a baby shower anyway I am going to freak the fuck out! Not only will I destroy the whole entire shower and everyone in attendance but I will actually eat the person that threw the shower and if you have ever seen me pregnant you know I could ingest an entire human being and still go on with my fat ass day like nothing ever happened...
Sorry I have been away so long (Melinda) but I have really had some life changes that have stretched me thin and most mothers know when that happens time for you becomes scarce. This morning, I am going to ignore that my 4 year old is trying to make his own chocolate milk (we don't even have chocolate syrup so this should be interesting) or that my 2 year old is hiding somewhere and when your not potty trained that means a dump is on the horizon, AWESOME! I'll make a better effort to tell you about ridiculous experiences that happen in this so called life and that effort begins now...
I'm getting my hair done this week by my tremendously adorable pregnant hairdresser (adorable and pregnant never met when I was carrying my beasts) and she proceeds to tell me that she was recently thrown a surprise baby shower. I know what you are thinking, oh what a sweet concept and that is when I tell you the rest of the story (shout out to Paul Harvey)...The day had begun on the rough side. She was three seconds away from divorcing her husband and was so uncomfortable that day that she wore maternity yoga pants, a stretched out tank and no make-up. Her husband allowed this even though he knew about the surprise shower the whole time (they are still married which is a miracle after that stunt). They pull up to the venue and she knows right away what is going down and begins to sob, first because she looks like a sweaty beached whale and second because she hasn't even registered and has no clue what this shower might consist of. That, my friends, is when shit really hits the fan. Let me paint a picture for you...
You weigh close to 280 pounds, not really but it feels like it, and you are already sobbing because your husband is a selfish asshole who has no idea how it feels to be pregnant or even human. You walk into a baby shower set up as a surprise for you and scan the room. Clothes are hung by a clothes line, every item that you could possibly need for a new baby is scattered around the area and there are weird copy paper boxes with writing on the sides...you squint to see what isn't making sense here when you see the tiny neon circular stickers on each one of the clothing items, you notice there is not one item in the original box and the copy paper boxes have messages on them like, "Riley 6-9 months" only your baby is not going to be named Riley. That's because all of the gifts here waiting for you and your new baby are from....
A FUCKING GARAGE SALE!!!!!!!!!!
Who does that? If the answer has ever been you, you're an asshole. No brand new mother wants a bunch of old, used shit that not only doesn't match but she didn't actually see the place where it came from which could be a total crap hole for all she knows. I just keep thinking about dressing my newborn son in a onesie with formula stains on it from a stranger and placing him so gently in a bouncy seat that has 10 year old teeth marks on it from some nasty ass toddler that did not emerge from my vagina. It's disgusting and I am not even one of those snotty, I need all new stuff because I'm too good for garage sales type of person. C'mon though, a surprise baby shower filled with all items from garbage sales? I would question if any of these people even like me. In fact, if by some miracle I get pregnant and someone thinks that will be a nice gesture since I'm already two kids deep and shouldn't really get a baby shower anyway I am going to freak the fuck out! Not only will I destroy the whole entire shower and everyone in attendance but I will actually eat the person that threw the shower and if you have ever seen me pregnant you know I could ingest an entire human being and still go on with my fat ass day like nothing ever happened...
End of the World To Do list...
As recorded by 10 year old me when I first learned in Vacation Bible School that some day, in the very near future, the world would end due to the sinful nature of mankind. The worst sin I had ever committed at the time was telling my mom and dad I wasn't crossing the busy highway to get to my BFF Cari's house. I figured with today being the day everyone, except you dirty ass sinners of course, will just float away like a hot air balloon to hang out and see for ourselves what Jesus is really doing (not wearing some dumb ass bracelet to remind him to make good decisions I bet) this will be the only chance I get to share this dynamic list.
- Make an end of the world mix tape - I can only imagine these "rockin' hits" would have included Livin' On A Prayer, Didn't We Almost Have It All (as recorded by a crackless Whitney), and the very appropriate (I Just) Died In Your Arms...
- French kiss a boy - at this age the boy I wanted to kiss was a trashy punk and last I heard was featured on a little site named Faces of Meth...way to shoot for the stars 10 year old me.
- Learn to whistle the part on Walk Like An Egyptian - I still can't whistle :(
- Shave my legs for the first time - seriously? I'm thinking about the end of the f'g world and I'm worried about using a razor...however, I do shave my legs and hoonaner today for the Gyno so I should at least show the same respect to JC.
- Watch Fatal Attraction - I knew it was a good one when I got sent to bed early on that movie night, thank goodness for Neverending Story (if you've seen my featured blog this week you know what I'm talking about)
- Meet Debbie Gibson - her perfume was the shit back then so I can't really argue...
- Find out what my mom's Cosmopolitan magazine means by lying under the bath tub faucet - oh you just wait until you figure this out...Best. Day. Ever? Yeah, pretty close!
Friday
This is when you should just smile and nod...
I have a lot to talk about...all of which are interesting and important to me which means also interesting and important to you (you are smiling and nodding right? If not, read the title)...have a seat (on my lap) because this is going to take a minute...yes, I have candy.
- I just quit my job (holy shit!). A job that I have been at for 9 years. I'm sad, excited, nervous, enter any other emotion here but most of all I feel bad for the folks I am leaving behind. This place is really going to suck without my inappropriate conversations and unwanted fondling. You don't find that in HR anymore...
- I am starting a new job and I am not sure if these folks at the new gig are ready for my inappropriate conversations and unwanted fondling. I'll wait for a few days before I really give it to them (literally or figuratively because I go both ways...)
- In the week I turned in my letter of resignation so did my direct supervisor. I am telling myself that my leaving caused her to not want to live anymore. I don't mind having that kind of blood on my hands...
- Needless to say, we are leaving this department in a bit of a tail spin...too bad they won't have me fondling them to cheer them up...they might report it's unwanted but the constant pleading to stop we both know is just for show...plus, I'm HR so the report will come to me.
- My husband, in his quest to become a professional softball player and Budweiser drinker, tore a bunch of shit in his knee yesterday. This right at the time when I'm quitting one job and moving to the next which also means quitting one employer's insurance and moving to another. I'm sure this won't be a medical claim nightmare...great timing dumb ass (that's a term of endearment in our home).
- I was chosen as a featured blogger today over on The Scoop on Poop but Blogger decided to take a gigantic dump on my special day and now I've been tabled to next Friday. This was after I decided to tell everyone on facebook that my blog is so awesome it will be featured today.
- Some sweet tidbits I picked up from facebook this week; 1) My cousin is getting married and sharing her day with her closest friends and family...2) I am not a member of either one of those categories apparently because I wasn't invited...3) When I shared my sadness about the missing invite, obviously hoping it led to an invite that I could just turn down anyway, the only thing that happened is two other cousins "liked" it.
God Bless America!
For those of you who cannot read Loconese this translates to:
"Hello kind sir! At this time, please refrain from using this doorway. There is fresh tile on the other side that may be harmed if walked on. This entrance will once again be accessible on Saturday. Thank you and have a nice day!"
Tuesday
Ready or not, here I come...
Just as I sat down to enjoy my 2.5 minute lunch break I stumbled across this:
I'll give you a minute...
Don't worry though, a thorough search has been completed and although more bones were found they are believed to belong to horses so no more threat of illegal dumping of plastic. I know that's a happy ending for anyone who could have very well starred in The Hills Have Eyes.
I'll give you a minute...
Now, let me put a 10 foot pile of manure in perspective with a 10 foot Harriet Tubman, a 10 foot bunny rabbit (Easter shout out), and a normal sized man next to a 10 foot fence.
How about telling me how anyone is allowed to build a shrine to horse crap for so long that it grows in excess of 10 feet? Maybe the town folk never noticed but The Law cleared that up for us, ""It was the biggest pile of (manure) I have ever seen. They've been putting it back there for years."
YOU KNEW THE ENTIRE TIME THERE WAS A 10 FOOT PILE OF HORSE SHIT???
I'm surprised that these people are surprised that bodies were found in it. You people are just asking for bodies to be dumped there...hell, I might stop by and dump the turtle for goodness sakes (yes, it's still alive).
When asked if the deceased were white or Hispanic Wyatt Earp had to say, "We're not sure which, but we know for sure they're not black"
Phew! We wouldn't want a Mississippi Burning sequel now would we? Good job on making sure the folks murdered and dumped in 10 feet of horse manure were definitely not black. I'm sure that makes everyone sleep a little more soundly in your Deliverance hell. How can one be so sure they aren't black anyway...considering they're dead, wrapped in plastic and covered in shit? On that note, I could care less if they are brown or yellow, black or white...
Don't worry though, a thorough search has been completed and although more bones were found they are believed to belong to horses so no more threat of illegal dumping of plastic. I know that's a happy ending for anyone who could have very well starred in The Hills Have Eyes.
Friday
High moral code...
I gave up booze for Lent and a couple weekends ago I had a plate full of activities that I would usually be bombed during, 1) opening day for the Detroit Tigers and 2) weekend long casino trip, on a bus, with a lot of drunks. It was going to be a test. Upon entering the weekend Satan, Anti Christ dressed as a friend, some devout Catholics shared that Sundays are indeed free days and with that line of thinking I had saved up enough free days to be able to break my promise for a few days...so I did. A LOT! It did not come without vengeance from God however because the entire casino trip I pissed out of my ass. I literally had to choose slots that were right outside of the bathroom because at anytime blazing 7's were erupting from my bum. Moral of this story - Break a promise to the Lord and hell will shoot out your bung hole.
Speaking of things erupting from people's bums...I was at the Sweet Spot (no it's not a strip club, it's a candy store you freak!) with some friends from work and one gal dropped a pack of Twizzlers...Upon bending over to pick up the chewy ropes of goodness her pants split. I am not talking a cute, tiny, easily hideable split...her entire ass was exposed to the world. Lucky for her she has a great ass, unlucky for her she had to walk all the way down the street to Ann Taylor's Loft for a new pair of pants wearing what appeared to be assless chaps. Moral of this story - A Twizzler in the hand is not worth a nekkid tush.
Recently my son had an appointment with a speech pathologist and directly after she asked me if my children have ever been taken away by PS (protective services) my son yells, "Punch. Me. Down!" "Kick. Me. Hard!" "Eat. Dog. Poop.". Good news ~ the gal was impressed with his vocabulary...Bad News ~ I think PS has been parked outside my home since the visit. Moral of this story - Spare the rod, the spoiled kid will tell people you beat them anyway.
Happy Easter everyone, from my son who I make eat dog poop (only when we're low on mac n' cheese, geesh)!
Speaking of things erupting from people's bums...I was at the Sweet Spot (no it's not a strip club, it's a candy store you freak!) with some friends from work and one gal dropped a pack of Twizzlers...Upon bending over to pick up the chewy ropes of goodness her pants split. I am not talking a cute, tiny, easily hideable split...her entire ass was exposed to the world. Lucky for her she has a great ass, unlucky for her she had to walk all the way down the street to Ann Taylor's Loft for a new pair of pants wearing what appeared to be assless chaps. Moral of this story - A Twizzler in the hand is not worth a nekkid tush.
Recently my son had an appointment with a speech pathologist and directly after she asked me if my children have ever been taken away by PS (protective services) my son yells, "Punch. Me. Down!" "Kick. Me. Hard!" "Eat. Dog. Poop.". Good news ~ the gal was impressed with his vocabulary...Bad News ~ I think PS has been parked outside my home since the visit. Moral of this story - Spare the rod, the spoiled kid will tell people you beat them anyway.
Happy Easter everyone, from my son who I make eat dog poop (only when we're low on mac n' cheese, geesh)!
Wednesday
I'm a good time...
My gay uncle had a heart attack and this is the conversation that happened after my mom bitched me out for not calling him to see how he was doing...
Sum: I called Uncle Aunt...
Mom: What did he say?
Sum: Well, he was a little offended that you made me feel so guilty about not calling. He was like, “Life is too short. That kind of sucks that she would use me as a pawn to make you feel guilty after I just had a heart attack and almost died”
Mom: Really?
Sum: Yeah, but don’t worry about it, I told him you just were worried that he felt no one cared...
Mom: I feel bad that he took it that way...
Sum: Don’t Mom, because that conversation never happened…he didn’t answer when I called.
Sum: I called Uncle Aunt...
Mom: What did he say?
Sum: Well, he was a little offended that you made me feel so guilty about not calling. He was like, “Life is too short. That kind of sucks that she would use me as a pawn to make you feel guilty after I just had a heart attack and almost died”
Mom: Really?
Sum: Yeah, but don’t worry about it, I told him you just were worried that he felt no one cared...
Mom: I feel bad that he took it that way...
Sum: Don’t Mom, because that conversation never happened…he didn’t answer when I called.
Monday
I have a headache...indefinitely.
We bowl with newlyweds...they were both married to complete assholes, divorced and have since found and married each other. They are in crazy love and having come from previous relationships where there was no romance whatsoever are making up for lost time. Their love and lust for each other has never bugged me before but then again I have never given up drinking for Lent before so probably by the time they start really loving each other I am piss drunk and motor boating a stranger (yeah, I've been known to do that). Anyway, this past Saturday the topic of sex came up and of course they have sex ALL THE TIME. My husband slinks in his chair and sulks as the topic is shared among the couples of sex, how much is normal/abnormal, who has to beg, who doesn't, blah, blah, blah...I keep silent because at this point it appears that everyone is screwing the hell out of each other and I am the wicked barren witch of the East who never gives my husband any play.
After that night I started feeling really guilty and thinking about when sex slowed down for us and why I'm in sex craze remission because at one time I was quite the fornicating freak show. That guilt didn't last long however because I started remembering things like this...
• The year is 1994...I let my boyfriend (who is now my husband) talk me into playing a game, just the tip...from that point forward there wasn't a place we didn't have sex...garages, golf courses, school buses, stranger's bathrooms, offices, driveways...the list goes on and that kind of variety lasted through 2004 which was the year of our marriage. I'd say that was a pretty good fucking run and I should kind of be off the hook for the rest of my life.
• The year is 2006...I gained 80 pounds over the course of 10 months and then had a human being rip out of my puss and asshole. Yes, my puss AND asshole...that does happen and they refer to it with a cute little term "4th degree tear". To give you an idea of what that might be like...for a short time in my life, as in 45 minutes after delivery, I had no taint. I'll give you a moment to fully absorb that.
• Year 2008...Another 60 pounds and this time a human gets surgically removed from my gut. This little peanut wasn't planned and I thoroughly followed the pullout method that got me through my entire high school/college career. We spent a good portion of his first days in NICU because he had wet lung. Before they sent us home they hooked him to a breathing machine and taught us CPR on a plastic baby because he was having a hard time breathing on his own. So, in addition to making sure my two year old already at home didn’t smother him I also had to make sure that if the louder than a fire alarm machine went off at any time of the night I was ready to push, push, push, breathe while I also tried to call an ambulance (thankfully that was never necessary but my oldest may have tried to smother him...that came later though).
So, just with those few bullets I think it is apparent that I am exhausted and my pussy is deformed...I think, I can't really get a good look at it anymore because my gut could be categorized as a gunt (I'll let you look that one up) which I thoroughly believe is because when they released the second human from my bikini line and replaced my intestines they put them in the wrong spots. Not to mention for a good romp session nowadays I need to have shaved which is hit or miss and the boys need to be sleeping which is also hit or miss and I need my pocket rocket that died somewhere between 2006 and 2008 and I don’t feel like brushing my teeth on the weekends just to run up to the sex shop and get a new one. So, to any of you that are on the fuck friendly roller coaster of life...GOOD FOR YOU! Keep that shit to yourself though because I paid my dues in the 90's and now you've required me to perform an out of the ordinary screw that I was planning on breaking out before I got my hair done!
After that night I started feeling really guilty and thinking about when sex slowed down for us and why I'm in sex craze remission because at one time I was quite the fornicating freak show. That guilt didn't last long however because I started remembering things like this...
• The year is 1994...I let my boyfriend (who is now my husband) talk me into playing a game, just the tip...from that point forward there wasn't a place we didn't have sex...garages, golf courses, school buses, stranger's bathrooms, offices, driveways...the list goes on and that kind of variety lasted through 2004 which was the year of our marriage. I'd say that was a pretty good fucking run and I should kind of be off the hook for the rest of my life.
• The year is 2006...I gained 80 pounds over the course of 10 months and then had a human being rip out of my puss and asshole. Yes, my puss AND asshole...that does happen and they refer to it with a cute little term "4th degree tear". To give you an idea of what that might be like...for a short time in my life, as in 45 minutes after delivery, I had no taint. I'll give you a moment to fully absorb that.
• Year 2008...Another 60 pounds and this time a human gets surgically removed from my gut. This little peanut wasn't planned and I thoroughly followed the pullout method that got me through my entire high school/college career. We spent a good portion of his first days in NICU because he had wet lung. Before they sent us home they hooked him to a breathing machine and taught us CPR on a plastic baby because he was having a hard time breathing on his own. So, in addition to making sure my two year old already at home didn’t smother him I also had to make sure that if the louder than a fire alarm machine went off at any time of the night I was ready to push, push, push, breathe while I also tried to call an ambulance (thankfully that was never necessary but my oldest may have tried to smother him...that came later though).
So, just with those few bullets I think it is apparent that I am exhausted and my pussy is deformed...I think, I can't really get a good look at it anymore because my gut could be categorized as a gunt (I'll let you look that one up) which I thoroughly believe is because when they released the second human from my bikini line and replaced my intestines they put them in the wrong spots. Not to mention for a good romp session nowadays I need to have shaved which is hit or miss and the boys need to be sleeping which is also hit or miss and I need my pocket rocket that died somewhere between 2006 and 2008 and I don’t feel like brushing my teeth on the weekends just to run up to the sex shop and get a new one. So, to any of you that are on the fuck friendly roller coaster of life...GOOD FOR YOU! Keep that shit to yourself though because I paid my dues in the 90's and now you've required me to perform an out of the ordinary screw that I was planning on breaking out before I got my hair done!
Friday
Random Rules of Life...
#39 If you walk into a bathroom and the toilet flushes immediately but there is no shuffling feet sound that is your sign that someone is shitting and to please give them privacy.
#40 If you choose the stall right next to them and there are 3 other stalls for your use, you are an asshole.
#122 If you buy a microwaveable meal for one dollar...that is what it will taste like.
#123 It doesn't matter if it has chocolate pudding in it.
#517 Never tell someone you are good at something if you don't want to have to do that something every fucking time they need it done.
#518 Expect to have that someone point out how not good you are at it everytime you do it.
#932 Your crotch will never smell like a flower...no amount of special kuka wash or arm pit spray for vajayjays or plastic container filled with vinegar will make that happen.
#933 It will smell less like Chicken of the Sea if you shave your muff occasionally.
#1524 The very first time you try marijuana will be the day before your first random drug screen at work.
#1525 Every positive random drug screen for marijuana is a person that has just tried it for the very first time.
#40 If you choose the stall right next to them and there are 3 other stalls for your use, you are an asshole.
#122 If you buy a microwaveable meal for one dollar...that is what it will taste like.
#123 It doesn't matter if it has chocolate pudding in it.
#517 Never tell someone you are good at something if you don't want to have to do that something every fucking time they need it done.
#518 Expect to have that someone point out how not good you are at it everytime you do it.
#932 Your crotch will never smell like a flower...no amount of special kuka wash or arm pit spray for vajayjays or plastic container filled with vinegar will make that happen.
#933 It will smell less like Chicken of the Sea if you shave your muff occasionally.
#1524 The very first time you try marijuana will be the day before your first random drug screen at work.
#1525 Every positive random drug screen for marijuana is a person that has just tried it for the very first time.
Are you talking to yourself?
Have any of you seen the show on I.D. channel, Who the [Bleep] Did I Marry? It's a show that explores stories of men and women who thought they were happily married until the day they uncover a shocking secret to uncover that nothing is as it seems. Go set up your DVR and come right back. This is one of those stories…
He was the ultimate man...the perfect specimen of muscle, charm, and endowment for female pleasure. The kind of man that warms up your towel in the dryer while you are showering, or tells you how beautiful you are when you have period bloat and haven't had your upper lip waxed in months.
However, you just can't understand why you have this soft voice telling you something is amiss...until one morning you wake up to piss and that once soft voice is loud and yells for you to break into his damn phone! "Oh now, that's just silly voice. I trust him. What could possibly be in his phone? He made me pancakes for dinner and did the dishes...that is true, honest, unconditional love..." WOMAN, I SAID CHECK THE DAMN PHONE! So you do...and your entire life and plans for the future and a relationship that was built over 2 years is crushed from one text message. A message that probably took seconds to write crumbles your existence. Now you know and now you must act...It's over and there is no coming back from it. The voice goes silent...
In the months ahead, you realize just how much this man was a stranger. You have no idea what you meant to him and what, if anything, you had. You feel foolish, emotionally beaten and even more outraged. You hate him but you hate yourself more for not listening to the voice. The voice that was always there. The voice that you buried. The voice that you never told your friends about. The voice that doesn't sugar coat and no matter how faint never goes away and never lies and doesn't shut up until you do what you are told.
The voice isn't special to the person in this story but of every female out there. (I see you...) We all have that voice. It is powerful and it should never be ignored. It can come as a warning to act, or a sign of great things to come or an internal shove to get over whatever obstacle is holding you back. What is your voice saying? It’s time that you listen…
He was the ultimate man...the perfect specimen of muscle, charm, and endowment for female pleasure. The kind of man that warms up your towel in the dryer while you are showering, or tells you how beautiful you are when you have period bloat and haven't had your upper lip waxed in months.
However, you just can't understand why you have this soft voice telling you something is amiss...until one morning you wake up to piss and that once soft voice is loud and yells for you to break into his damn phone! "Oh now, that's just silly voice. I trust him. What could possibly be in his phone? He made me pancakes for dinner and did the dishes...that is true, honest, unconditional love..." WOMAN, I SAID CHECK THE DAMN PHONE! So you do...and your entire life and plans for the future and a relationship that was built over 2 years is crushed from one text message. A message that probably took seconds to write crumbles your existence. Now you know and now you must act...It's over and there is no coming back from it. The voice goes silent...
In the months ahead, you realize just how much this man was a stranger. You have no idea what you meant to him and what, if anything, you had. You feel foolish, emotionally beaten and even more outraged. You hate him but you hate yourself more for not listening to the voice. The voice that was always there. The voice that you buried. The voice that you never told your friends about. The voice that doesn't sugar coat and no matter how faint never goes away and never lies and doesn't shut up until you do what you are told.
The voice isn't special to the person in this story but of every female out there. (I see you...) We all have that voice. It is powerful and it should never be ignored. It can come as a warning to act, or a sign of great things to come or an internal shove to get over whatever obstacle is holding you back. What is your voice saying? It’s time that you listen…
Toot, Toot!
That's my horn and "toot, toot" is me tooting it, my own horn, get it, come on it was funny...whatever, fuck off.
So why the narcissistic celebration? Well if you must know, over the past couple months I've been given a couple blog awards...yeah, people like me. The cool thing about these awards is it opens you up to other funny people out there in blog world...the not so cool thing is it means you have to do a bunch of shit and I think we have established at this point that I'm both lazy and bitchy so I haven't handled my blog award business. So I am going to that today...okay? Here we go...
The first award is (drum roll)....
No, it's not The Lick Old Lesbians Award. I made that mistake too and my upper lip still smells like Cream of Mushroom soup...was that too far Charlie? Anyway, it apparently stands for Laugh Out Loud and all the youngsters use this to communicate when something is tremendously funny...so much so that they actually laugh out loud. See? See how that works...those annoying little fuckers are tricky aren't they?
First and foremost I have to tell you who I make Laugh Out Loud and it's none other than Downtown Jenny Brown. She is funny so go there...NOW!
Next I have to state 7 unknown facts about myself...this is hard because there isn't too much of the unknown. Let's see what I can pull out of my ass...
Princess Muffintop - This chick has a body of a muffin and not just any muffin but a Blueberry Muffin...I fucking love Blueberry Muffins!!! There is another thing you didn't know about me. So, I guess you could say I would LOL, lick this old lesbian, only she isn't old and she isn't a lesbian. Oh well, she will make you laugh out loud so check her out, yo!
In perfect transition, Princess Muffintop also presented me with an award! (drum roll...yes, I will drum roll every fucking time)
So why the narcissistic celebration? Well if you must know, over the past couple months I've been given a couple blog awards...yeah, people like me. The cool thing about these awards is it opens you up to other funny people out there in blog world...the not so cool thing is it means you have to do a bunch of shit and I think we have established at this point that I'm both lazy and bitchy so I haven't handled my blog award business. So I am going to that today...okay? Here we go...
The first award is (drum roll)....
No, it's not The Lick Old Lesbians Award. I made that mistake too and my upper lip still smells like Cream of Mushroom soup...was that too far Charlie? Anyway, it apparently stands for Laugh Out Loud and all the youngsters use this to communicate when something is tremendously funny...so much so that they actually laugh out loud. See? See how that works...those annoying little fuckers are tricky aren't they?
First and foremost I have to tell you who I make Laugh Out Loud and it's none other than Downtown Jenny Brown. She is funny so go there...NOW!
Next I have to state 7 unknown facts about myself...this is hard because there isn't too much of the unknown. Let's see what I can pull out of my ass...
- I've never actually licked an old lesbian, I am not saying I wouldn't
- I do have a terrible habit of biting cheeks, face cheeks
- I have never bitten a butt cheek, I am not saying I wouldn't
- I cry when I'm pissed which thoroughly fucks up portraying how pissed I am
- I laugh when someone is pissed at me which thoroughly fucks up showing how sorry I am
- I'm not usually sorry
- I do apologize more than I should
Princess Muffintop - This chick has a body of a muffin and not just any muffin but a Blueberry Muffin...I fucking love Blueberry Muffins!!! There is another thing you didn't know about me. So, I guess you could say I would LOL, lick this old lesbian, only she isn't old and she isn't a lesbian. Oh well, she will make you laugh out loud so check her out, yo!
In perfect transition, Princess Muffintop also presented me with an award! (drum roll...yes, I will drum roll every fucking time)
It's the Cherry on Top Award just in case you aren't paying attention...my cherry was busted in the early 90's so to win it back means a lot to me. I've missed you Cherry...I also miss Tight Vagina but not nearly as much as T- daddy I'm sure, do they have that award? Sorry, I'm being ungrateful...
With this award I have to tell you three things I love about myself...this is hard too because I am usually so modest. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings but...
- I love my face! If you look past the lines, crows feet, sun spots, dry skin patches, 30 year old acne and a slight guido moustache I really am beautiful.
- I love my abs, I love my abdominals! (Do you know that commercial?) If you look past the stretch marks and 70 pounds of leftover pregnancy belly flab that looks like crinkled up papers they are really tight. I should get a belly button ring actually.
- I love this blog and I love the blogs I follow and I love you for reading!
I am supposed to give this award away but I need a Mountain Dew or something...check out my profile and click on any of the blogs I follow, you will not be disappointed! Do you want to know what is disappointing? That no sweet, problem solving alcohol will be hitting these lips this weekend...why oh why did I give up booze for Lent? So. Fucking. Stupid.
Wednesday
Things I'm going to start doing at the office...1st edition
- When someone asks what I am having for lunch I am going to say, "Dinner regurgitated from last night."
- When they don't believe me and walk over to my cubicle to see what I'm really having I will have a plastic baggy of chewed up bread/chips/chicken sitting on my desk and offer them a sample. (I learned that baggy trick from Intervention, thank you A&E)
- The next time I am in the restroom and another individual enters the stall next to me I'm going to ask who it is and whether they have answered me or not I'm going to say, "mmm hmm, I've heard of you"
- I'm going to have conversations with coworkers while my eyes are completely closed.
- If someone asks for my assistance I am going to state that I really don't have time but know someone that does, I will then reach into my desk drawer and pull out a sock puppet who will proceed from there.
- I am going to talk to myself so loud that the folks around me think I am talking to them...oh wait, I already do this...moving on.
- Every task I complete I am going to yell out, "Woot Woot...in your face task, how does it feel to be done task, shove it up your ass to-do list!"
- Take naps
- Start a show and tell that I will hold at my cubicle...just for me. "For show and tell today Summer I brought a water bottle that holds 24 total oz's of aqua." "Wow Summer that is fascinating and very hydrating."
Tuesday
Who invented running?
I have spent a lot of the new year looking at myself nekkid. Just standing in the mirror...facing front, turning to the side, using a mirror to view the rear, back to the front. I am doing this in hopes that the ever present spare tire I am smuggling under bloused dolman tops causes a fire to light under my pancaked ass to get me moving and change my body's current state.
Spring Break 2010 ~ I'm the hot one...
Although this ritual does cause the necessary depression, towel smothered sobs (I don't want to wake the family) and diminishing self confidence it is definitely not working. The P90x Cd's I had my brother burn for me haven't made it within inches of the DVD player.
So, I decided to take another route...I contacted a running friend and joined her for a Saturday jog. I was extremely nervous considering the last time I ran was close to a decade ago but figured everyone can run, right? Wrong! Running is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever tried to do past the age of 17. Let me replay for you the disaster that was my running experience...
I text her to make sure we are still "on" for our running date...secretly hoping she has been diagnosed with syphilis which has since made her blind...does syphilis make you blind or is that herpes?? Whatever, any blindness causing disease. No luck, she still has her sight as well as all other senses (I can't remember how many there are because on top of being fat I am also stupid, the cards are stacked against me). I ask what I should bring and she responds to only be concerned with how many sports bras I need to wear. Good point...
I show up, kiss her babies and we hold hands exiting from her driveway because it is covered in ice...that should have been the first red flag. We begin a slow and steady pace and about two seconds into our trip my ankle goes out...I giggle as I limp a few steps here and there and inform her something might be wrong with my ankle. Willing with all my might that my ankle is broken and then I have a valid excuse for not having to run anymore because at about one second into the run I was over this dumb shit. Ankle miraculously heals and we are back at the solid pace.
Fast forward some miles...some meaning one...
Me - "ugh, can we turn around now?"
Marathon Fucking Runner - "we don't turn around...we run an entire block which is a total of 4 miles"
Me (in my head) - "Please God, I don't ask for much but if you could strike me with lightning right now I will go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life and even work in the preschool class..."
Skip more miles...some meaning 0.5...
MFR (coincidence that Marathon Fucking Runner acronyms are MFR, I don't think so) - "Was that a dog?"
Me - "What, where?"
MFR - "I thought I heard a dog charging us..."
Me (I'm taking the liberty that you now know italicized font means this convo is happening in my head) - "Please God, I don't ask for much but if you could please have a rabid dog emerge and literally eat my ankles off I will army crawl around my neighborhood spreading the Gospel for the rest of my life..."
More miles...2 minutes from feared dog attack...
Me - "I have to pee"
MFR - "Do you want to stop?"
Me - "No, I should be alright..."
MFR - "Do you know sometimes runners piss or shit themselves because they exert their bodies so much during a race?"
Me - "AWESOME!"
I then proceeded to piss and shit myself.
Okay, some of this is a tad exaggerated. I did a lot of walking, even more bitching and a tremendous amount of begging to please walk again. The only good thing that came out of that running debacle was the sunshine skillet I inhaled afterwards as a reward.
Going back to being a complete dumb ass, I'm running again this Saturday with the same MFR that almost killed me last weekend. No, not because I felt so great afterward. What a crock of shit that is...you don't feel great after running, you feel tired and then for the next three days you feel like you've been vaginally assaulted by dudes the size of Fat Albert and then made to do the stair master...I am running because I want another sunshine skillet.
Bikini Bod...HERE I COME!
Spring Break 2010 ~ I'm the hot one...
Although this ritual does cause the necessary depression, towel smothered sobs (I don't want to wake the family) and diminishing self confidence it is definitely not working. The P90x Cd's I had my brother burn for me haven't made it within inches of the DVD player.
So, I decided to take another route...I contacted a running friend and joined her for a Saturday jog. I was extremely nervous considering the last time I ran was close to a decade ago but figured everyone can run, right? Wrong! Running is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever tried to do past the age of 17. Let me replay for you the disaster that was my running experience...
I text her to make sure we are still "on" for our running date...secretly hoping she has been diagnosed with syphilis which has since made her blind...does syphilis make you blind or is that herpes?? Whatever, any blindness causing disease. No luck, she still has her sight as well as all other senses (I can't remember how many there are because on top of being fat I am also stupid, the cards are stacked against me). I ask what I should bring and she responds to only be concerned with how many sports bras I need to wear. Good point...
I show up, kiss her babies and we hold hands exiting from her driveway because it is covered in ice...that should have been the first red flag. We begin a slow and steady pace and about two seconds into our trip my ankle goes out...I giggle as I limp a few steps here and there and inform her something might be wrong with my ankle. Willing with all my might that my ankle is broken and then I have a valid excuse for not having to run anymore because at about one second into the run I was over this dumb shit. Ankle miraculously heals and we are back at the solid pace.
Fast forward some miles...some meaning one...
Me - "ugh, can we turn around now?"
Marathon Fucking Runner - "we don't turn around...we run an entire block which is a total of 4 miles"
Me (in my head) - "Please God, I don't ask for much but if you could strike me with lightning right now I will go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life and even work in the preschool class..."
Skip more miles...some meaning 0.5...
MFR (coincidence that Marathon Fucking Runner acronyms are MFR, I don't think so) - "Was that a dog?"
Me - "What, where?"
MFR - "I thought I heard a dog charging us..."
Me (I'm taking the liberty that you now know italicized font means this convo is happening in my head) - "Please God, I don't ask for much but if you could please have a rabid dog emerge and literally eat my ankles off I will army crawl around my neighborhood spreading the Gospel for the rest of my life..."
More miles...2 minutes from feared dog attack...
Me - "I have to pee"
MFR - "Do you want to stop?"
Me - "No, I should be alright..."
MFR - "Do you know sometimes runners piss or shit themselves because they exert their bodies so much during a race?"
Me - "AWESOME!"
I then proceeded to piss and shit myself.
Okay, some of this is a tad exaggerated. I did a lot of walking, even more bitching and a tremendous amount of begging to please walk again. The only good thing that came out of that running debacle was the sunshine skillet I inhaled afterwards as a reward.
Going back to being a complete dumb ass, I'm running again this Saturday with the same MFR that almost killed me last weekend. No, not because I felt so great afterward. What a crock of shit that is...you don't feel great after running, you feel tired and then for the next three days you feel like you've been vaginally assaulted by dudes the size of Fat Albert and then made to do the stair master...I am running because I want another sunshine skillet.
Bikini Bod...HERE I COME!
Friday
That's a shame...
I am approaching the deadline to get my alien implant removed that prevents unwanted tax deductions and I'm really struggling with my next move here. I have two kids of the male variety. I am pretty sure I'm done unleashing Satan's spawn out into the world but the dream of a daughter causes pause...
I think I would like a girl. A sweet, pretty, organized, quiet, no bone breaking or hitting or kicking or biting or wrestling, pig tail wearing, innocent little girl to cuddle, and play dress up or put puzzles together without mass destruction of said puzzle upon completion. I want to decorate a little shabby chic nursery and shop for frilly tutu's that she would wear with outrageous colored leggings. I want to have her grow up and we talk about everything and be very best friends forever and ever and ever!!!
There is one problem with this fantasy...I will be her mother!
She will probably arrive in this world looking a little like Joe Dirt screaming obscenities and already wearing cut off flannels. She will pull my hair and spit at me while we grocery shop and even the mention of cuddling will send her into a fit of rage that even my boys will cower away from. Her nursery will be a stone gray and the only song that will calm her epic cries will be Cop Killer by Ice T. She will request a black trench coat from Santa that she playfully refers to as Satan and play Mortal Combat religiously by the age of 3. She will grow up blaming me for whatever comatose state she has herself in at that time and I will continuously ask myself, "What did I do so wrong?"
Better go buy a bag of frozen peas because T-daddy is getting his Scrotum chopped up PRONTO! Phew, thanks for helping me with that one...
I think I would like a girl. A sweet, pretty, organized, quiet, no bone breaking or hitting or kicking or biting or wrestling, pig tail wearing, innocent little girl to cuddle, and play dress up or put puzzles together without mass destruction of said puzzle upon completion. I want to decorate a little shabby chic nursery and shop for frilly tutu's that she would wear with outrageous colored leggings. I want to have her grow up and we talk about everything and be very best friends forever and ever and ever!!!
There is one problem with this fantasy...I will be her mother!
She will probably arrive in this world looking a little like Joe Dirt screaming obscenities and already wearing cut off flannels. She will pull my hair and spit at me while we grocery shop and even the mention of cuddling will send her into a fit of rage that even my boys will cower away from. Her nursery will be a stone gray and the only song that will calm her epic cries will be Cop Killer by Ice T. She will request a black trench coat from Santa that she playfully refers to as Satan and play Mortal Combat religiously by the age of 3. She will grow up blaming me for whatever comatose state she has herself in at that time and I will continuously ask myself, "What did I do so wrong?"
Better go buy a bag of frozen peas because T-daddy is getting his Scrotum chopped up PRONTO! Phew, thanks for helping me with that one...
Thursday
I should have known better...
I've spent the greater part of today looking for a really good picture of Thing 1 and/or Thing 2 from the Cat in The Hat movie because I am quite certain their look for that flick was based off this guy...
These type of posts are what happens when someone gives up facebook and booze for Lent...
These type of posts are what happens when someone gives up facebook and booze for Lent...
Friday
Usually an absence like this involves a shit story...
I don't have a good excuse...My dog ate my blogger password? I've gone blind (no, not from masturbation...who has time for that)? My place of employment decided the QWERTY style keyboards were for cave men and switched the location of every key and now when I want to type "awesome" it results in "fartpop"?
None of these are true (for you slow readers..) I just haven't felt the writing fire. Sure some interesting things have happened that I should have purged on to this page, errr, screen like...
Until next time I'll leave you with one of my fat girl thoughts, "You have stopped yourself from eating all of the 3rd piece of pizza you've taken at the work party because you truly can't fit another pepperoni into your gut when you realize there is still creamy romano dressing pooling at the bottom of your salad bowl so you take a sliver of french bread to soak it up and eat it"
That is reason number 572 that I came in dead last to the weight loss challenge. I should be more depressed about it but I really could give a flying fuck...or a standing very still and calm fuck for that matter.
X, O & Donut Holes...
SumSum
None of these are true (for you slow readers..) I just haven't felt the writing fire. Sure some interesting things have happened that I should have purged on to this page, errr, screen like...
- I was told in front of my husband that I have great boobs and then being asked if I was married at which point I nod to my husband who is standing right next to me. To be honest, the girls aren't all that great, just big...additionally my husband really could have cared less, mostly because he sees how not great they are.
- We were invited as a couple by same dude who really likes my boobs to join him, his wife and a another random group of folks to a place they call "fun town"
- This brought back memories of my honeymoon where my husband and I were propositioned by a couple who were really deep in the swinger community, we declined (sorry to let any freaks down but it was our honeymoon for goodness sakes) and the guy gave us his business card in case we changed our mind...they conveniently live a few hours away from our hometown even though we met them in Mexico...this story is much better actually but maybe for another time.
- I came in dead last at our latest weight loss challenge at work, DEAD fucking LAST! I even ended with a negative percentage which means I closed out the competition at a higher weight then what I started...I've never been very competitive plus I really love bagels.
- My new year has not gone without shit, literally, my oldest son shat all over my cream carpet...it was a very interesting mix of diarrhea and mushy rabbit pellets and quite possibly the most shit I have ever seen released from a human being. The kind that as you tried to wipe it up it just spread more and more around the cream carpet, did I mention the carpet color is cream?
- As I'm dumping bleach basically on said shit stain my son stands there in amazement asking various questions, "Am I sick? How does all that poop come out of my butt? What is that sound your throat is making Mom?" Umm, yes you are sick...I asked that same question myself...the sound is me gagging and trying not to add puke to the monstrous pile of crap.
- This same son also broke a bone...we are currently living that hell as he needs to wear a cast from hand to bicep for the next six weeks. I have started drinking...more.
- My place of employ has cut us off from facebook and all other social networking sites which is the best thing to happen to my career...I have decided since to give up facebook for Lent because I think it's what Jesus would do.
- Look everyone I'm blogging, shove that up your ass network administrator!!! I am quite certain after that I will be blocked from this site on Monday.
Until next time I'll leave you with one of my fat girl thoughts, "You have stopped yourself from eating all of the 3rd piece of pizza you've taken at the work party because you truly can't fit another pepperoni into your gut when you realize there is still creamy romano dressing pooling at the bottom of your salad bowl so you take a sliver of french bread to soak it up and eat it"
That is reason number 572 that I came in dead last to the weight loss challenge. I should be more depressed about it but I really could give a flying fuck...or a standing very still and calm fuck for that matter.
X, O & Donut Holes...
SumSum
Wednesday
Are you trying to tell me something...
There was a time in my life when I had certain underwears that were specifically worn during my period. The point of that being I didn't want to goop up my hot little numbers that would be ripped off during steamy bouts of fornication. The point of that back story is there was a time in my life when I was particular about panties but that time is loooooooooong gone darlin'. In fact, any pair of underwear are fair play at anytime regardless of what may or may not be coming out of my va-jay-jay.
That being said, over the holiday break our dryer took a shit. My mom and my mother in law, the saints they are,jumped at the chance reluctantly offered to help do our laundry. Now, I am no fool and I hate doing laundry so I was all like, "hellz yeah, I'll drop it off now" and they were all like, "shit fo sho foo"...well, it was more like, "yes, bring it but you DO need to get your dryer fixed"...mmm hmm, I'll get right on that. Are you completely confused with where I am going here...wait for it because climax happens in...
5:
On Christmas Eve I reach into a stocking at my mom's house...
4:
In front of my own family, my brother and his family...
3:
On Christmas Day I unwrap a box beautifully adorned in bows and lace at my in laws house...
2:
In front of my own family and ALL of my in-laws to find on both occasions...
1:
A 5 pack of Hanes cotton hipsters.
That being said, over the holiday break our dryer took a shit. My mom and my mother in law, the saints they are,
5:
On Christmas Eve I reach into a stocking at my mom's house...
4:
In front of my own family, my brother and his family...
3:
On Christmas Day I unwrap a box beautifully adorned in bows and lace at my in laws house...
2:
In front of my own family and ALL of my in-laws to find on both occasions...
1:
A 5 pack of Hanes cotton hipsters.
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