Tuesday, January 31, 2012

You Can Make Up Your Own Title For This

The other night, the husband and I went to dinner with new people.  They weren't new at being people.  They were just new to us.  As in, we had never met them before.  Actually the husband had met them, hence the dinner date.

Naturally I was seven kinds of anxious because OMG NEW PEOPLE! and also because I spent time doing my hair when I should have been drinking wine.

Our dinner friends were lovely, and quite good at being people considering they were rather new at it.

But I thought you said...

Honestly, it's like you guys are on drugs or something.


I ate all the food on my plate.

This is noteworthy because I ordered fish.

I do no like fish.  But I wanted it.  And so I ordered it.  And I ate it.  All of it.

Weird, huh?

Gasp!  Weird food craving!  You must be...

Hold that thought smarty pants.


After dinner, I wanted chocolate ice cream.

This is noteworthy because I hate chocolate ice cream.  In fact, I hate all things chocolate.  Except chocolate.

Chocolate cake?  Gag.

Chocolate cupcake?  Gag.

Chocolate ice cream?  Gag.

Chocolate frosting?  Ga...okay one time I may have spooned chocolate frosting directly from the container into my mouth.

Chocolate syrup? Ga...okay, I like that too.

We went to the new people's house and had jolly good fun playing games, but the whole time the voices inside my head chanted chocolate ice cream, chocolate ice cream, chocolate ice cream.

On our way home at 12:30 in the a.m. I was all, "Do you think CVS has chocolate ice cream?"

The husband: Maybe...

That was good enough for me.  I cut across six lanes and swerved into the CVS justintime!

I selected a carton of Breyer's Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry (Now bursting with more sun-ripened strawberries!) instead of a carton of Just Chocolate because:

1. I hate chocolate ice cream (have I mentioned that?).  After two spoonfuls, the craving would be gone and then I'd be stuck with a bunch of gaggy ice cream.

2. The husband likes strawberry ice cream and I was trying to be thoughtful (although you should know, strawberry ice cream makes me gag.  in fact, strawberry anything makes me gag...except strawberries).

3. I love vanilla ice cream.

Here's what you need to know now:

1. It's been three days and all of the chocolate ice cream is gone.  Craving for chocolate ice cream is still here.

2. Vanilla ice cream makes me gag.

You may now finish your earlier thought.

Weird food cravings!  Aversion to certain foods!  You must be pregnant!

"You have to have sex to get pregnant."

"How does she look right now?"

*wipes mouth with paper found in trash*

"Like she just realized she's pregnant."

And, scene.

The point of this post is NOT that I'm pregnant (hmm...that sounds misleading. i'm not pregnant, people. seriously.).  The point of this post is that I'm out of chocolate ice cream so I'm eating vanilla ice cream.  But I'm eating it under protest.

I mean, sure it makes me gag.  But what am I going to do, just not eat ice cream?

I know.  The very idea is ridiculous. 

Also, if I turn up dead tomorrow, it's most likely because the chocolate syrup I smothered my vanilla ice cream in expired two or seven years ago. 

*If you can name the movie quoted above, I will give you a 1/3 carton of strawberry ice cream.  The husband's not eating it and I promise it's only mildly gaggy tasting.

Monday, January 30, 2012

My Soundtrack

This week's listicles topic by Bruna was a tough one: 10 Songs That Tell the Story of My Life.  I spent no less than four hours on YouTube listening to some of my all time favorite songs, many of which pulled out memories I had long ago tucked away.  It was tempting to pick songs that OMGIJUSTLOVE! but I wanted to choose ones that represent more than an isolated moment or that one crazy night. *wink*

The songs I chose don't tell a chronological story of my life, but represent themes, life-changing moments, or a period of time that in some way have shaped who I am.

1. Bye Bye Bye - N'Sync
Of course I had to pick a boy band song, considering I grew up in era of boy bands.  But, to me, this song is more than just silly lyrics and cheesy super cool dance moves by a manufactured group. Bye Bye Bye came out my senior year of high school, the only year of high school that was carefree.  All the other years are somewhat tainted by the abusive relationship I was in.

It's hard to give this song choice justice without explaining how oppressive that relationship was.  But to put it simply, this song represents freedom.  A time to sing loudly in the car.  A time to laugh and be silly.  An end to being controlled and belittled and manipulated.  A time to begin to discover who it is to be me and not the person someone else wanted me to be.

2. It's My Life - Bon Jovi
My senior class trip was to Europe.  We visited four countries - Germany, Austria, Switzerland and Italy - in two weeks.  On our last day we went to an amusement park where the rides looked like they had been assembled in the 1940s and hadn't been maintained, repaired or inspected for safety since.  Their one modern "ride" was Bungee Jumping.  As two of my classmates got harnessed up and began their ride up to the top of the jump, It's My Life started playing.

I'm not sure if it was planned this way or just coincidence, but they jumped just as the chorus started playing:

It's my life
It's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just want to live while I'm alive

It's my life

I wish I could explain the feeling that came over me in that moment. So many things loomed before us: the end of our trip, graduation, the end to everything we had ever known, and the beginning of the unknown.

But not just yet.  We had this moment to live.

I haven't seen many of my classmates since graduation and I'll probably never see most of them again. We've all gone on to live our lives.  But we will always share that moment when time stood still, where we were caught between the past and the future, and "lived while we were alive."


3. Intergalactic - Beastie Boys
I was a cheerleader for six years.  I have enough stories about those years to fill a book or twelve.  The days cheering for the TKA Lions and being a part of the most awesome sausage wackiest group of girls will always be some of the best of my life.  This song makes the list because it was the opening of our 1999 Nationals routine and I cannot think of it without thinking of those six years.

Can you guess which one is me?

4. F*ckin Perfect - Pink
This song represents my battle with depression, when my brain lies to me and tells me I'm not worth it.  I would give anything in those moments to believe that I am perfect.  Just the way I am.

You're so mean,
When you talk, About yourself, You are wrong.
Change the voices, In your head
Make them like you Instead.


Filled with so much hatred
Such a tired game.


Oh, Pretty, pretty please
Don't you ever, ever feel
Like your less than f*ckin' perfect.
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like your nothing
You're f*ckin' perfect to me.


5. Crazy Girl - Eli Young Band
Anxiety.  It's almost as much fun as the depression.  Especially when it makes me act outside my mind.  One of the hardest things about depression and anxiety is knowing the toll it takes on the people who love you.  Some days I worry the husband will get tired of it all and leave me.  When I say that to him, his response is something like this...

Crazy girl, don’t you know that I love you?
And I wouldn’t dream of goin’ nowhere
Silly woman, come here, let me hold you
Have I told you lately?
I love you like crazy, girl



6. Better Together - Jack Johnson

There are no two words more appropriate to describe me and the husband.  Better Together.  On a beach in Jamaica, watching t.v. on the couch, sitting in a airport for nine hours (on the first day of our honeymoon) because our flight has been cancelled...everything is always better because the two of us are together.

7. The Anthem - Good Charlotte
I have been a rule follower my whole life.  Played it by the book.  Did what was expected.  I don't regret being a "good kid," getting straight A's, going to college.  All those were things I was "supposed to do," and I wanted to do them.  Truly.

But then what?  I got a good job.  Made good money.  Worked long hours.  Was respected.  Admired.  There was very little risk to my life.  But there was also little reward.  Because in playing it by the book, I had sold my soul.

I don't think there is anything wrong with wearing suits, making speeches, sitting behind a desk, working hours dictated by someone else.  But it wasn't me.  It wasn't right for my life.

Because my life, my anthem, is to write.  And so I quit  my good paying job with the stability and the certainty.  I stopped doing what was right for everyone else and started doing what was right for me.

...Get a real job
That's what they said to me
But I could never, live the way they want...


'Cause I don't ever wanna
I don't ever wanna be, you
Don't wanna be just like you
What I'm saying is, this is the anthem
Throw all your hands up
You, don't wanna be you


8. This One's For the Girls - Martina McBride
This song represents my relationship with my friends and the journey we've taken together- a road lined with laughter and tears, good times and bad.  It represents memories of a more youthful time, the days we're living today and the life we've yet to live...all more enriched by the special bond that is friendship.

9. Livin' On A Prayer - Bon Jovi
This represents me and the husband right now.  I am not the only one who is pursuing my anthem.  A year and a half ago, the husband quit his "good well-paying job" and started his own business.  We are both defying convention, pursuing our dreams and yes, living on a prayer.

It might not work out.  We may have to go back to our nine-to-five.  But at least we gave it a shot.

It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not
We got each other and that's a lot
For love we'll give it a shot!

Oh, we're half way there
Oh oh, livin' on a prayer
Take my hand, we'll make it I swear
Oh oh, livin' on a prayer
Livin' on a prayer!


10. Amazing Grace
I think the lyrics to this song say it all.  If there is anything I would add, it would be this: "For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God." Ephesians 2:8

Friday, January 27, 2012

Whores Be Crazy

You know what's fun?  Finding out things people Google that land them on your blog.

Did I say fun?  I meant terrifying.  And also kind of inspiring.

Perspective matters.

Here are some of my favorite searches that brought Googlers to my blog.

1. Whores be crazy.
Yes they be!

2. Mom Thong
Cuz there's nothing worse than panty lines when you're rockin the mom jeans.

3. A picture of a person putting in a diaphragm.
I hope these pictures were helpful.



Also, if the person who searched that did so because they actually have a diaphragm, give me a call and let me know where you got it.  After Gertie exploded and I tried to get my prescription filled, every pharmacist I went to told me they've been discontinued.  If there's some guy making some in a basement somewhere, I want to know about it.  Unless that guy has dirty fingernails and food stuck to his beard.  In which case, never mind.

If you're new to my blog and are wondering if you entered the twilight zone or some kind of bizarre alternate universe, the answer is POSSIBLY.  Either that or you're drunk.  Probably that one. 

4. Adult Female Slumber Party 
We don't have pillow fights in our underwear! Let it go, dude.  Let. It. Go.

5. Congratulations you are a whore
Aw yay!  Way to go! You worked so hard!  And people said you couldn't do it.  You showed them!  Never let anyone discourage you from going after your dreams.

6. Help my brother get his shit together  
Sorry, I can't help you.  Cookie?

7. Baby Clothes for Whores
WTF?!!!!!!

These are the searches that scare me.

The next three just warm my heart:
8a. Bacon
8b. Bacon whore
8c. Crazy bacon


9. Rooster get well soon
Oh no!  I"m so sorry your rooster's sick.  Here, show him this picture of roosters rioting.  He'll be back to being the cock of the walk in no time.



10. Good to be a gyno
If you love spending your days elbow deep in vagina, then yes, I guess it is good to be a gyno.

11. Ideas to write about your most embarrassing moment
Tell them about the time you pissed your pants in public.  Wait...never mind.  That was me.  

You know what today is?  That's right.  It's....FRIDAY! Which means it's time to link up with Just Jennifer for Terrific, Grateful, Important Friday.

While there are many things that aren't terrific: a sick rooster, a brother who can't control his shit, whores trying to wear baby clothes, I think it's important to focus on the positive and be grateful for the little things: the end to mom panty-lines, a sweet girl achieving her dream of being a whore, bacon, being a gyno.  I don't know about you, but all of those are pretty terrific, and I, for one, am grateful.

 

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

I Acted Like An Adult. And I Didn't Like It

Remember the other day when I wrote this post about all the things I never said I'd do?  Well apparently I should have added Act Like An Adult to the list.  Although I thought it was pretty much implied when I said I'd never do adult-like things like laundry, cleaning, being responsible, etc.

Yesterday, I was forced to act like an adult, and I was not pleased.  Apparently the universe is under some delusion that I am an adult.  Where they would get such a ridiculous idea, I do not know.  I don't even play one on t.v.!

Honestly.

Okay, sure, one day I turned eighteen, and then eventually 21, and then 25 was all, "hey, hey, hey you're halfway to 50!" and then 28 led to 29 which will lead to ages of which WE SHALL NEVER SPEAK.  But I hardly think a mere number qualifies me for being responsible.

I mean seriously, I didn't stop peeing my pants until I was nineteen.

Oh stop judging me.  It only happens when I laugh really, really, really hard and the fact that I haven't had an "incident" in ten years means life has just gotten too damn serious.

So, the husband calls me with an urgent tone and begins talking urgently about things that sound rather urgent. Something about money, and bank account, and not enough money, and a mistake, and transfers, and more scheduled transfers, and was all, "you have to take care of this right away."

And I was all, "crapdammit!" because I knew this was one of those things I had to deal with.  I couldn't just ignore it, like a clogged drain, or dishes in the sick, or a broken garage door, or those rats currently making a nest in the corner.

I dragged my ass out of bed, which, I might add, is noteworthy for two reasons: It was before noon and I had cramps like a mo-fo.

I would also like to add that I would just love to see men try to act all adult-like when it feels like their uterus is being wrung out like a wet towel.

Let’s all take a moment to appreciate that visual.

And so began the phone calls and the searches for paperwork and logging into accounts and forgetting passwords and trudging upstairs, then downstairs and more phone calls, and back upstairs again and oh this is the wrong paperwork, back downstairs again and OMG WHERE THE HELL DID ALL THESE STAIRS COME FROM! and being on hold for twenty minutes and then accidentally hanging up on customer service and WHY THE HELL AM I DOING ALL THIS BEFORE I’VE HAD MY COFFEE!!

Finally.  FINALLY!  All that nonsense was finished but the adult-like fun wasn’t over.  I had to go to the bank.

That’s right.  I had to get dressed and leave my house.  I didn’t touch my hair, didn’t put on makeup, and slipped my chipped toe-nail polished feet into some beach sandals.  I looked like hell, but who cares?  All I needed to do was make a deposit at the ATM.  I had absolutely NO PLANS to get out of my car and engage with other human beings.

But you know what they say: When man plans, the bank says f*ck you.

I get to the bank, insert my ATM card and the machine spits it back out.  My card is expired, because of course it is.

I am forced to go inside and deal with a human.  Without makeup.  With my hair a mess.  With chipped-toe nail polish.  With a uterus that’s been wadded up like garbage and tossed about my insides.

Human: I see you would like to make a deposit.  Do you have a deposit slip?

Me: No.

Human: No problem.  Just fill this out and hand me your I.D.

Me: Great.

I begin filling out the form when suddenly I am bombarded by people.  One snips a strand of hair, another sticks me with needles and starts drawing blood while another takes my fingerprints and yet another swabs the inside of my cheek.

Me: What the hell is going on!

Human: You didn’t bring your own deposit slip.  We’re just verifying you are who you say you are.

Me: Is this really necessary?  I’m depositing money, not trying to empty my bank account.

Human: Standard security procedures.

A woman holding a Q-tip tells me to spread my legs.

Me: WHY?!

Her: Vagina swab.

Me: Are you freaking kidding me!

Human: Sorry for the intrusion ma’am.  Our vagina swabbers used to be much stealthier, our customers didn’t even know they were being swabbed.  Get in, Get out.  That’s our motto.  Well, it used to be, but well, bad economy, lay-offs, Wall Street, Lehman Brothers, Morgan Stanley, Charles Schwab…

Me: Okay, now you’re just naming financial institutions.  None of which have anything to do with my vagina being probed with a Q-tip.

Human: Actually ma’am, it has everything to do with it.  You see…

Me: You know what?  I don’t care.  Swab me.  Poke me.  Prod me.  Do whatever you gotta do in order to take my damn money and let me out of here.

Human: As you wish, madam.

And so I spread my legs...

Okay, that didn't actually happen.  But every time, EVERY TIME! I go to my bank, I leave feeling like I've been seven kinds of violated.

Being an adult is fun!

I wonder what next week has in store.  Anal probe by my insurance company?


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Before I Die...

Lists.  They do a blogger good.  Which is I'm linking up again with Stasha again for listicles (don't worry, I've finally learned the difference between a listicle and a testicle, but now I just really want a Popsicle).

Our topic this week comes from Ally of Two Normal Moms: 10 things you’d like to see happen before you die. She did give an alternative: "10 things that give you anxiety" but she figured we all didn’t have any little ocd habits like her, and she'd be left all by herself with a list of 20.

Silly Ally.  Doesn't she know bloggers are neurotic by nature?  We're also naughty by nature, but that's an entirely different list.

Because I am an overachiever, I shall do both lists.

10 Things That Give Me Anxiety

1.  What doesn't give me anxiety?

The End.

Oh fine.  I'll give you specifics.

1. Going to the beach (not being at the being, just the act of going to the beach).

2. My dogs.  I wake no less than five times during the night and put a hand on them to see if they are still breathing.

3. Parking on the opposite side of the parking lot at the grocery store.

4. Arriving too early to a party.

5. Arriving too late to a party.

6. Parties.

7. Wasting a cute outfit on an insignificant day.  (Okay, that one's kind of a joke, but I can think of few things in life that are worse.)

8. Being in a crowded elevator. 

9. Being in the car for long periods of time. Or short periods of time.  Sometimes, I just need to GET OUT OF THE CAR RIGHT NOW!

10. Being in a crowded subway with 47 layers of clothing and OMG my scarf is itching me and I want to take it off but if I move my arm I will smack five people in the face and who the hell is sucking up all the oxygen?  Why are we stopping in the tunnel!  It's going to flood!! The walls are going to collapse!!!!! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIIEEEEEE!!!!!

11.  The movie Contagion.  Within in ten minutes of watching my head started hurting, my face felt puffy and my throat started to close.  True story.

12.  People who...wait, I think I was supposed to stop at ten.

And now... 10 Things I'd Like to See Happen Before I Die

1. My book gets published.  (And if it's not too much to ask...many of my books get published)

2. Make a living from writing.

3. We stop seeing gender, race, religion, weight, height, age, nationality, sexual orientation, political affiliation, disabilities, social class, wealth, superpowers, etc. and just see each other as people.  Period.

4. An end to animal cruelty.  Mainly because the thought of animals being hurt turns my stomach inside out.  But also so the ASPCA, the World Wildlife Fund and Sarah McLachlan will stop running those horrible commercials.  Seriously.  Those things should begin with a warning.

WARNING: The following commercial makes 90% of viewers want to stab themselves in the eyes with pencils and then throw themselves in front of a train.





This actually happened to me, you guys.  But instead of running over puppies, they ran over a cow.  With a tractor.  I already have enough horrible images running through my head at any given moment thanks to my brain; I do not need the t.v. adding any more.  I CAN'T FREAKING HANDLE IT!

5. Visit the Inca Ruins of Peru
Image source
6. Swim with the dolphins.  I've been wanting to this for twenty years which, of course, means my expectations for how awesome it will be are really, really, really high.  And we all know what they say about high expectations.  They make reality suck.  I'm probably better off leaving this on my wish list.

7. Visit New Zealand.  All of it.

8. Make a quilt.  It's become this crazy new obsession of mine.  Every day I scream at least three times, "I want to make a quilt!"
The husband: Do you want to meet me for lunch?
Me: I want to make a quilt!

Note to self: Learn to sew.

9. An end to depression, anxiety and other mental illnesses.
10. An end to all cancers.
And one more, because it's my blog and I wanna...

11. Wear a fabulous dress with some fabulous heels, gather all my real life friends and my bloggy/twitter friends at a fabulous location and party like it's 1999.


Friday, January 20, 2012

All Things Happy

Earlier this week I wrote about All Things Crappy.  While it was wonderfully cathartic and kicked my writer's block to the curb, I thought it'd be nice to balance out the crappy with the happy.

And so I give you...

Sweet Riley

I'm linking up with Alison of Mama Wants This and Galit Breen of These Little Waves for their Memories Captured linky!  I found this picture the other day when I was cleaning and organizing.  I know.  I quickly realized I was insane and went back to engaging in more worthwhile activities like twatting and blogging.


This photo (which is actually a photo of a photo) was taken five or six years ago.  As soon as I found it I put it on my fridge and it makes me smile every. single. time. I see it.

And so...I'm also linking with Just Jennifer for her TGIF linky: Terrific, Grateful, Important Friday! 


For those of you who prefer the crappy to the happy, don't worry, your regularly scheduled programming of snark, sarcasm and bitching will return shortly.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

#SOPAStrike

To find out more about SOPA and how it can affect you, click here and here

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

I Never Said I’d Do That!

It's time for Monday Listicles!

Yes, I realize it's Tuesday.  But I never said I'd play by the rules.

The topic for this week's list is 10 Things I Never Said I'd Do, But I Do Anyway courtesy of Greta  at Not Enough Patience and Never Enough Jewelry.

I couldn't think of anything to fit this list so I modified it slightly.  Here's my list of Five Things I Never Said I'd Do But Society and Polite Company Expect of Me.

Clean out the fridge.  I’m pretty sure I never woke up one day and said, “You know what would be fun? If I cleaned out the fridge today.”  I’m pretty sure I never even thought about doing it.  So why in the world am I up to my elbows in three month old food?  Hmmm, what do you think this is?  It smells like…OMG whatever you do, do NOT smell that.

What the…is this some kind of joke?  Who put a small fuzzy animal in the fridge?  Although totally NOT funny, it is rather cute.  Hey little guy, come here.  I won’t hurt.  I just wanna…

Okay that’s not an animal.  That’s a…you know what?  I don’t even want to know what that is.

Do laundry.  Separating whites, colors, towels, sheets.  That sounds like a lot of work, and honestly, who has time for that?  Certainly not me.  This solitaire won’t play itself.

Yes I realize there are piles of dirty clothes all over the house and wayward socks and a trail of towels,  but think of it like a game.  The Don’t Step on the Laundry Game!  It’s kinda like Step on a Crack, Break Your Mama’s Back.  But in this case if you step on laundry, you…um…I don’t really know what happens.  I’m about to win my 87th straight game of solitaire and I need to focus!

Here’s what we’ll do: If it doesn’t smell, wear it.  It smells a little bit, spray it with perfume and wear it.  If it smells like moldy socks, burn it, or whatever; I don’t know, just let me play this game dammit!

Show up on time.  You were the one who said we’d meet at eight a.m.  I never said I’d be there.  If you paid attention when I talk, you would know that I don’t get up before nine-thirty so the very earliest I could be there is eleven a.m.  And truthfully, I really hate doing anything before noon, so let’s make it one o'clock.  Okay?

Great.  See you at two-thirty.

Be responsible.  I don’t know who it is that keeps sending me pieces of paper in the mail with large amounts on them next to the words: You Owe This, but you can stop it.  I know it’s a scam.  Cable, electric, phone.  Psht.  Nobody pays for those things.  Honestly, how dumb do you think I am?

Oh, and what is this “loan” business?  It’s not a gift if you expect me to pay it back.  Didn’t your mother teach you ‘tis better to give than receive?

Lose gracefully.  Oh don’t give me that look. You were the one who wanted to play.  I’ll throw the cards, overturn the table and throw myself to the floor in a screaming fit of rage if it pleases me (which it totally does).  Don’t even try to tell me it’s not acceptable behavior.  I know you cheated.  There is no way someone could be that good at Go Fish.

Also?  It’s impossible for you to have four 5’s.  Because I hid the five of hearts in my purse.  Which means you stole one from another deck.  Or!  You went through my purse when I wasn’t looking.  You’ll do anything to win, won’t you?

Is it just me or are all these things ludicrous?  It's called the Power of Lowered Expectations, society and polite company.  Live by it and you'll rarely be disappointed. 


Monday, January 16, 2012

All Things Crappy

It's been a week since I've written one word in my WIP process.  I'm in the middle of the second draft.  Everything was going great then WHAM!  Nothing.  On top of having writer's block I also think my manuscript is a giant pile of crap.  Which I know isn't totally true.  But I also happen to be in the middle of a super fun spell of depression which causes my brain to tell me that I flat out suck at life.  Also?  I'm anxious at night so I don't sleep.  I fell asleep for ten minutes last night watching SNL and woke up in total panic accompanied by a Tremendous Sense of Doom.  Add to that some serious PMS and life is one giant barrel of laughs.

In the spirit of all that laughing, here is a list of things that royally piss me off.

1. People blow their nose at the dinner/lunch/breakfast table.
Seriously?  Are you kidding me?  I'm trying to eat.  I can only assume you do not see this plate full of food and this fork making its way to my mouth as I ever so delicately try to shovel said food into my face. Why else would you do something so vile?

In my experience, this behavior has only been exhibited by people of the male variety.  Now I understand men are naturally more disgusting than us fragrant-as-a-rose females, but I refuse to accept this wretched behavior.  (In case you're wondering, the husband DOES NOT commit this despicable offense.)

To me, blowing one's nose at the table is the equivalent of pulling down your pants, hovering over my plate and defecating on my food.  That's how much of an appetite I have after you expel your face excrement while I eat.

Here's an idea, why don't I create a symphony of burps, farts, pisses and shits?  It'll harmonize quite well with the sound of snot fleeing from your nose, don't you think?  Did you notice how I said the snot was "fleeing" your nose?  That was intentional.  You're so disgusting even your snot doesn't want to be around you.

2. People who are too cocky to function.
For this one, I shall use a real life example.

One day, a guy I know - and by "guy" I mean he was male, I do not mean to imply he had the intelligence level of a person over the age of two, even though he is 23 - tells me he is leaving a pizza place when he sees a car full of crazy teens come flying through the parking lot.  He decides he's going to teach them a lesson about reckless driving and walk right in front of their 90-mile an hour car.

"I stepped right in front of their car and made them stop," he says with his chest puffed proudly like a dumbass dodo bird.

Uh, no. You were lucky they stopped in time.  Honestly, in a battle between you and 2,000 pounds of metal, who do you think is going to win?  Your intestines will be splattered across their windshield, but at least YOU SHOWED THEM!

I can only assume he told me this to confirm what I already knew.  That he is a complete and utter idiot.

3. My brain, when I'm trying to sleep.
When the husband decides to go to bed, this is what happens:  He lies down, he goes to sleep.

When I decide to go to bed, this is what happens:

You know what would suck?  Being lost a sea.  In a life boat.  Or worse.  Just a raft.  OR WORSE!  No raft.  Just treading water.  WITHOUT EVEN A LIFE VEST.  Which would be worse: drowning or being eaten?  DROWNING OR BEING EATEN?!  DROWNING OR BEING EATEN?!

My heart is racing and I'm literally grabbing the sheets as though holding onto the life raft I don't even have because OMGI'mStrandedInTheMiddleOfTheOceanWithoutALifeVestAndI'mGoingToDie!!!!

Think about something else.  Something happy.

Puppies.  Flowers.  Christmas.  Vacati...

Remember that time you had surgery?  That was pretty freaking scary, huh?  You know what would have been even scarier?  If you woke up during surgery.  That happens you know?  I hear it's the worse feeling EVER!  Like your body is on FIRE.  And being STABBED.  AT THE SAME TIME!!  I hope you never have to have surgery again.  BUT WHAT IF YOU DO?  WHAT IF YOU WAKE UP AND YOU CAN FEEL EVERYTHING?!!!  BUT YOU CAN'T MOVE.  AND YOU CAN'T TALK.  AND NO ONE KNOWS.  NO ONE!  AND IT'S ONE OF THOSE TEN HOUR SURGERIES.

WHAT WILL YOU DO?!!!

Okay, relax.  New topic.  Try vacation.  You like vacations.

White sandy beaches.  Strawberry Daiquiris.  Sleeping in a hammo...

What if, when you're at the airport, someone hides a pound of cocaine in your carry-on, but you don't realize it?  And when you go through security the dogs come after you. And the scary men with guns surround you and you scream, "that's not mine, that's not mine!"  But they don't believe you.  And you get locked up.  Abroad.  Like that t.v. show.  For forty years.  And rats nest in your hair, and poo comes out of the faucets and you can't shave your legs!  AND YOU CAN'T BRUSH YOUR TEETH!  OR PLUCK YOUR EYEBROWS!  OR WRITE!  OR READ BLOGS!!  DO THEY HAVE TAMPONS IN FOREIGN PRISONS?!!!    

This goes on FOR HOURS.  Until morning comes and my brain is so exhausted it finally shuts down, gets some rest and gears up for the next night of fun.

4.  My metabolism.
Hey you.  Yeah, I'm talking to you.  Where the eff did you go?

(Updated: 4b.  So I just read this after I posted it twenty or so minutes ago and realized an entire paragraph is missing here.  And I have NO IDEA what it said. So added to this list: I hate blogger. I think the next sentence is supposed to say something about having to watch what we eat and work out once we turn twenty-two while our metabolism sips pina coladas  and gets a massage from the cabana boy, but honestly, who the eff knows.  This day extra sucks.) 

I'm calling bullshit.

Remember when I used to be able to eat an entire Hungry Howie's pizza and a fourteen gallons of ice cream, but skip the next meal and I'd wake up the following day skinnier than the day before?  I want that back.

So get off your lazy ass, suck the cellulite out of mine and get back to work!

And don't forget the bacon!

5.  People who hate their life so much they can't be happy for others.
Listen, I'm sorry your life sucks.  I truly am.  I used to be a lot sorrier until you started acting like a giant twatwaffle.  I'm beginning to think the only reason you even hang out with other people is so you can practice your little digs.  Which, by the way, are totally pathetic.  Here's an idea.  Instead of being a giant asshat, why don't you do something to fix your life.  Trust me, I too was once incredibly miserable.  But I didn't take my misery out on other people.  You could learn something from me, you know.  I'm pretty awesome.

***
I could go on, but I'm sure there's only so much inspiration you people can handle in one day.  You're welcome.

Oh oh!  Blogger now has comment threads so I can respond when you guys comment!  Yay!  So if you tell me all the things that royally piss you off I can respond with, "Yeah those people/things totally suck and you totally rock!"

Friday, January 13, 2012

I Think I'm Supposed to Lick Something Now

If this post makes less sense than usual it's probably because I'm concussed.  Which is to say I smacked myself in the face with a weight bench ala Clark Griswold.  You know, in Christmas Vacation when he's in the attic and steps on the board and smacks himself in the face?  I did that today.

But with metal.

In the interest of full disclosure, it wasn't an intact weight bench.  It was a weight bench in pieces.  The piece that I stepped on?  Is the piece that hurts.  Apparently.

It used to be a functioning weight bench but then one day I was all "Husband!  Why lift weights when we could eat cookies!"

The husband was like, "Excellent point!  Great ideas like this are exactly why I married you."

So we disassembled the weight bench and two years later it punched me in the face. And the neck.  And the collarbone.  It was a big piece.  I seriously cannot wait until I start to bruise.

I think I'm supposed to be leading up to something...

Or maybe I'm supposed to lick something.

It's all very confusing.

And it's Just Jennifer's fault.

A few nights ago I was on the twatter with the usual band of miscreants (@jenannhall, @coffeeluvinmom, @therobotmommy) when Just Jennifer is like, "I have a great idea for a linky!"

And then someone *cough* @therobotmommy *cough* was all, "Ooh what are we licking?!" Updated...there seems to be some dispute over who instigated the licking.  How about we all just agree that if the four of us are left in a room together for too long the world will implode.  But first, it will be licked.

And then things went downhill quickly.  And Just Jennifer was like, "No no no, not LICK.  LINKY.  As in a blog LINKY."

And we were all, "Ohhh.  A linky!  Why didn't you say so?"

And then she came through The Twatter and punched us all in face.

So, her linky is I'll Show You Mine if You Show Me Yours.

I know what you're thinking, leave it to Just Jennifer to come up with a dirty linky.

But don't worry, that's not what she means.  We're not supposed to show anything.  We're just supposed to lick things.  Wait...what? 

OMG you guys I feel nauseous and my head hurts and I really want to go to sleep.

Don't worry.  It's probably just the concussion. 

The purpose of this linky is to show you the behind-the-scenes-look at blogging.  My blogging, to be more specific.  The who's, what's, where's, and WOWS of my blogging magic.

Before we get started you'll want to suit up in full body armor.  You never know when a knife might come flying or a weight bench might sneak up behind you and karate chop you in the kidney.

Suited up?  Great.  Let's go.


This photo contains almost all of my necessary blogging equipment:

Laptop: One day I will be able to think the words and they will magically appear on the internets.  But for now, this is where the magic happens.  Take a look at that website on the screen!  For the Love of Writing.  Wow.  I bet the person who writes that blog is super awesome.

Mask:  The mask is very important for dealing with the dreaded writer's block.  I put it on and stare out the window.  Most of my blogging is done at my kitchen table which is in front of a bay window, or maybe it's just a window.  Either way, it overlooks the street.  It's super fun when people walk by, look in my window and see a crazy person in a mask staring back at them.  It was especially awesome during the homestretch of NaNoWriMo when I wore the mask and a Santa hat.

Wine:  I don't think much explanation is necessary.  Wine is an essential ingredient in composing a perfectly deranged blog post.

Knives: Because you never know when a home invasion will happen.  Or when "I'm Gonna Love You Through It" by Martina McBride is going to come on the On Demand Country Station.  For the record, a home invasion is preferable.

Cookies: In case you're wondering, yes those are the most amazing cookies on the planet.  Made by yours truly.  Also, there were two plates of cookies when I started this post.

Bacon: I know what you're thinking.  I ate it all before I could take a picture.

Moving on...


Sometimes I blog in the morning...if I've been awake all night.  In which case I drink coffee. Spiked with wine.

Kidding.

They taste terrible together.

Candle: day or night, there is always a candle burning when I blog. 

Knives: Pretty sure we already covered this.

Phone: my phone is supposed to be in this picture (I am constantly checking the twatter when I blog) but I have a concussion so STOP JUDGING ME!

Little White Things: What are those?!

Let's have a closer look...


Can you find the hidden messages?
 When the writer's block is really bad, I turn to The Words.  In truth, it doesn't really cure writer's block and I spend most of my time trying to come with naughty phrases to leave the husband on the fridge. 

Well folks, that's it.  The secrets of my blogging revealed.

Now link up with Just Jennifer and start licking!...or something.





FYBF

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

I Think the Word You're Looking for is, Sickness

Remember when it was Christmas and I wrote all these awesome sausage Christmas posts and showed you my super duper cool Christmas decorations?

Yeah...

And remember when, instead, I sat on my ass and tried to see how many cookies I could shove into my face at one time?

Let's pretend that never happened shall we...

Although the holidays are long behind us I wanted to share a little hobby of mine.  An obsession really.  And (as I read in a comment on a blog post somewhere once) it's better to be late than pregnant. 

With that thought in mind, I give you...

The Sarcasm Goddess Christmas Village


My poison of choice is Department 56 Dickens Village.  When I was growing up my father collected the buildings and accessories and I would sit in the dark and stare at the lighted village and a part of me would be sad.  Because I wanted to shrink down and walk amongst the cobbled streets, my petticoats collecting snow and sludge, basket hung from one arm visiting the costermongers selling their wares.

More than sadness, though, I loved it.  And dreamed of one day having a collection of my own.

A year or two after the husband I got married, my dad bought me four buildings and their coordinating accessories.  Four years later it has grown to this.  Sixty-four houses and hundreds of accessories.

I must confess, not all the pieces are mine.  My dad moved into a smaller house this year and asked me to store his pieces and I figured, if I'm going to store 'em I might as well, display 'em, right!  He tells me all the pieces are now mine, but it makes me sad to think he will never display it again so I still say the pieces are his.  There are approximately ten other pieces not displayed because I ran out of room.  Guess we'll just have to buy a bigger house.


I created the backdrop from Styrofoam, painted on the mountains, "sculpted" the peaks at the top and attached blue lights to the back to create The Glow.
Oooh ahhh





Somewhere under the display is our dining room table.  Along with two six foot tables and a custom table the husband and I built.


I also created, carved and painted several levels and platforms.  I have no idea where we're going to store those.


 Several of the pieces are animated.  The one on the left shows Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Past looking in on Fezziwig's Ballroom.  The figurines in the window dance.


You may now commence praise and awe.

Monday, January 9, 2012

Please Be Gentle, I'm a Virgin

I have a feeling some of you are going to be sorely (no pun intended) disappointed with today's post.  No I am not writing about my first time.  I am participating in Monday Listicles, which our host Stasha aka Northwest Mommy says is not to be confused with testicles.

Which is honestly not as easy as it sounds.  Every time I see the husband's banjingos, I'm all, "Tell me again, are those testicles or listicles?"  You'd think after being married for six and half years I'd have figured it out by now.

You know how sometimes, you plan to write a post and three words in things go horribly awry?

Me too.

Today's testicles listicles topic, courtesy of Squashed Mom, is the Top Ten Strangest Jobs you've held in your life.

I'm not sure if I've had ten jobs, but let's start listing and see how far we get.

1.  When I was 19 I worked at my uncle's sub shop.  We had to wear hats.  Hats look stupid on me.  This hat was ten times too big for my head and I looked especially stupid.  That, however, is neither here nor there. Unless it comes up later in a trivia question.

I look young for my age.  This often causes confusion.  And embarrassment.  One of my coworkers was a 16 year old boy.  He knew how old I was, but one of the regular customers (who was maybe mid-twenties) came in one day, looked at me and said to my coworker, "You should tap that."

Seriously dude?  I repeat, SERIOUSLY?!

My coworker's face turned bright-red and hissed that I was 19, which made the customer's face turn red as he realized he had just put his stamp of approval on a felony. Way to go, douche-canoe.  Way. To. Go.

2.  One summer I worked in the dining room of the clubhouse of a public golf course.  Exciting stuff, lemme tell ya.  One day a customer orders a hamburger with onion.  When burger and onion are delivered he shouts, "Where's the onion?"

Me: Uh, right...there?

Him: I want onion!

I go back and tell the cook the guy wants more onion for his burger.  He gives me a HEAPING MOUND of onion which I deliver to the guy.

Him: What's this?!  WHAT IS THIS?  I SAID I WANTED ONION!"

The onion quantity on his plate was greater than that of one whole onion.  I probably should have asked him if he wanted a whole intact onion or told him he was mental and I could no longer serve him.  Instead I just ran away and hid under the bar.

3.  At that same place of employment a woman wanted to know what the Jerk Chicken Soup was like.

Here is how the menu described it:
Jerk Chicken Soup with rice, onion, red and yellow peppers and corn.

Me: Well, it's spicy has rice, onion, red and yellow peppers and corn and is cooked in a chicken broth.

Her (giant eye roll): Well I know that.  I want to know what it's like.

Me:  Hold on.  I'll be right back.

I ask the cook what the Jerk Chicken Soup is like.  He says, "It's spicy, has chicken, rice, onion, red and yellow peppers and corn and is cooked in a chicken broth."

Great.

Me (back at the woman's table): The Jerk Chicken Soup likes long walks on the beach and reading poetry, but can appreciate the occasional dirty joke.  Contrary to its name, it is very polite and hardly ever utters a harsh word.  Its parents hail from Jamaica but it claims no race, nationality, religion, nor gender and prefers to be known simply as Soup*.

Is anyone surprised I only lasted six weeks there?

4.  One summer I worked at Marshalls.  No lie, it was one of the greatest, most fun jobs of my life.  My co-workers were crazy lunatics and I fit right in.  My bosses were cranky old bitches two heartbeats away from death.  One of them had had two strokes at work.  I worried about her.  A lot.

My "department" was home goods.  Folding towels.  Organizing shelves.  Creating end-cap displays.  Oh what fun end-caps were!  It was mindless and I loved it. 

Most days. 

I was a team-player and willing to do anything asked of me.

Almost anything.

One day, I was reorganizing a shelf of pillows when I lifted a pillow...and realized there was a giant puddle of pee beneath it.  I dropped it and walked to the bathroom to wash my hands.  Pee was beyond my pay-grade.

5.  I once worked with a boss who tried to "teach" me how to find a ten percent increase.  This guy's ego was too big to fit through his office door on most days.  So telling him he had absolutely NO IDEA what he was doing was out of the question.  He actually asked me if I knew how to find the increase.  I told him three different ways and every time he told me I was wrong and then tried to show me some convoluted calculations.  He furrowed his brow and scratched his head and told me his errors were due to rounding.

Okay dude.  Whatever you say.

6.  I once worked with the devil.  Did you know the devil is a woman with gnarled fingers and enough botox in her face to paralyze the population of Texas?

Fun times that was.

Well that's it.  That's all my testicles.  Or is it listicles?  It's possible I've had more jobs but I think that's been a long enough trek down memory lane.

Make sure you check out the other testicles!
Crap.  I got it wrong again, didn't I?


*No I didn't actually say that.  I didn't grow a pair until my mid-twenties.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

And Then I Almost Died

I am back among the living, which is to say the holidays are over and I am back from vacation.  I bet you didn't even know I was on vacation, did you?  That was intentional.  I didn't tell the internets in case they decided to rob us while we were gone.  Not that you would rob us, just the internets in general.

I had all kind of posts planned for Christmas and New Year's and throughout my vacation, but I suck, thus NO POSTS.

So many things happened on our trip I could write a thousand posts about them, but that sounds like a lot of work, so here are some highlights.

1.  We went to New York City.  I have a love affair with that city that borders on obscene.  As soon as we step off the plane the husband and I breathe a collective sigh as if to say, "we are home."

2.  Every year the husband and I go somewhere cold after Christmas because we live in a place where it never gets cold.  I LOVE the cold.  My skin?  Does not.  You've heard of heat rash, right?  Well apparently I get cold rash.  My arms, my legs, my sides, my back, my stomach, other places... red, bumpy, itchy.  O. M. G.  the itching.  Every night when we got back to our room I would rip off my 42 to layers of clothes and start scratching.  It was exactly as sexy as it sounds.

Then I'd be all, "husband, rub some ointment on me."

And he'd be, "no, you're disgusting."

Not a true story.  The husband didn't say I was disgusting and there was no ointment.  But there was itching.  Lots of it.

Also, we all agree that the words "rash" and "ointment" are the two sexiest words in the English language, yes?  Especially when used together.

3. It rained one night when we were there.  This was the night we had tickets to a Broadway show.  Sister Act.  We decided to take a cab because a.) it was raining; b.) it was cold and my outfit did not allow for 42 layers of long underwear; but mainly because c.) I was wearing my new knee-high, high-heeled boots and did not want to get them wet.

Priorities people.

We left our hotel a little later than planned because someone *cough* me had to have her hair just right.  Because when people spend half their life savings to attend a Broadway show and sit in the dark to watch said show, they are going to be looking at my hair and deciding whether it has the right amount of volume.  Obviously.

I don't know if you've ever been to NYC, but it is faster to crawl than drive, especially on 5th avenue, 6th avenue, Madison avenue, Broadway, or anywhere in the general vicinity.  Especially if it's a few days after Christmas and a few days before New Years.  Especially if it's raining.

We hopped in a cab anyway.  Honestly, we had no other option.  We had thirty minutes to go 1.8 miles.  Our show started at 7:00 p.m.  At 6:47 I start to say we're not going to make it.  The husband tells me to believe.  He asks the cabby if he thinks we'll be there by 7:00.  He says, "sure!" and floors it through the intersection.  And another one.  And another.  And I saw my life flash before my eyes at least seven times.

We come to a stop and the cabby tells us it'd be faster to walk.  We only have two blocks to go.

Apparently "two" blocks means "a bajillion" blocks.  At least that's what it felt like.  It was 6:57.  There was no time to walk. We had to RUN!

Did I mention I was wearing knee-high high-heeled boots?  Did I mention we were in New York City where the sidewalks are insanely crowded?  Did I mention we had to run?

I tucked my hair ( MY HAIR!) under my hat and the husband and I took off.

Allow me to take a moment to apologize to anyone who is currently missing an eye due to the umbrella I wielded above my head as I tore through the crowd.  You should know we got to the show on time and it was awesome, so, totally worth it, right?

My legs were shaking when we reached the theater doors and the ticket taker looked at me as though I was a mental person about to pass out, which honestly wasn't far from the truth.  We go to the bar and I order a water, and a vanilla vodka and coke.  "Anything else?" the bartender asks.  "Some oxygen," I say.  He was not amused.

I leave the husband to wait and pay for the drinks and I sit on a bench and try to collect myself.  Which consists of panting and coughing and fixing my hair, and putting my heads between my legs, and panting, and bundling our umbrellas and gasping for air and panting some more. Right in front of everyone as they pile into the theater.

"Why yes I am part of the show.  You paid extra for this.  Congratulations."

Our seats are the second row from the top.  We must climb stairs.  SO MANY STAIRS.  I huff and puff my way to the top, collapse in my seat and feel very sorry for the guy next to me.

I tell the husband it's going to take me until the second act to recover and he says, "As long as you recover by the 'Sister Act'."

Hahahahaha.  That man is so funny.

I whisper to the husband that something is wrong with my throat.  I suspect that I have swallowed a bee and am being stung repeatedly, but I don't tell him that because sometimes it's good to keep the crazy to yourself.

To wrap things up, my throat stopped being weird, the show was awesome, and thirty minutes before it was over I had to pee. Not like, "I kinda have to pee and maybe I should go soon," but "OMG I HAVE TO PEE RIGHT NOW WHY WON'T THEY STOP SINGING KILL HER! KILL DOLORES AND THE NUNS AND GET THIS SHOW OVER WITH!"

Lots of other things happened on our trip, but I'll end this here cuz I know you'll want to re-read this two or twenty times, meditate on it and try to truly comprehend its awesomeness.

I also realize I've switched between present and past tense a bajillion times like a person who don't know no grammar and I feel seven kinds of awful about it, but the New Year is all about making excuses so allow me to say I am currently editing my novel, which was originally written in past tense, but as I add scenes and edit, I'm writing in present tense, because honestly I think it will make the story so much better but I'm not totally sure and it makes me feel all floopy.*

*A bajillion pieces of bacon to the person who can tell me who said that.