Friday, November 30, 2012

Rage-aholic, Reporting for Duty

It has come to my attention that I have rage issues. Particularly when it comes to roads and the assholes who drive on them.

If you want my opinion the test to get your driver's license does not ask the right questions. If I were in charge, the questions would look something like this:

1. Do you think the world revolves around you?

2. Do you think driving is the perfect time to:
a. pluck your nose hair
b. train a puppy
c.shave your legs
d. play "look, ma! no hands!"
e. all of the above

3. Are you an asshole?

4. Are you, in general, too dumb to function?

5. Do you think driving ten miles below the speed limit in the fast line is your right as an Amurican citizen?

6. In your spare time, do you
a. kick puppies
b. knock down old ladies
c. steal candy from children
d. all of the above

If you answered "yes" or selected choices a - e, congratulations! You are douchenugget and will no longer be allowed to leave the house. Ever.

Unfortunately, I don't rule the world (yet) and I'm forced to tolerate these driving menaces. And by "tolerate" I mean curse, scream, shout, and throw my hands up in rage. In other words, I turn into The Hulk.


Topping my list of driving behaviors that piss me right off is people who drive soooo damnnnn slooooow. I'm not asking to go 120 mph. I'd just like to go the SPEED LIMIT in the FAST LINE on 95. If you like to take in the scenery of trees, tire bits and rotting animal carcasses, there's a lane for you. It's on the right. Get yourself there immediately. Do not pass GO and do not collect two hundred dollars.

Speaking of slow drivers, here's a news flash: If you want to merge onto the highway you need to SPEED UP! As in, GO FASTER! I know word problems are hard, but this one's pretty straight forward. You travel north going 30 miles an hour. Everybody else also travels north but goes 70+ miles an hour. You need to merge with everybody else but do not speed up. At what time do you cause an accident?

Immediately. See how easy that was? If your foot is allergic to the gas pedal, I implore, stay home. Scratch your balls, pick your teen, clean out your toe jam. Just stay off the highway.

I reserve a special sort of fury for people who cut you off like they're in some big, important hurry then proceed to slow down as soon as they're in front of you.  So. Much. Rage.

I know what you're thinking. Instead of sitting around bitching about it, why don't you do something about it?

And to that I say, I couldn't agree more. In fact, I've already come up with a terrific plan.

Rockets.

The lack of rockets on motor vehicles is a huge oversight by car manufacturing companies. I mean, it works out well for fighter jets, right? Offending driver comes within view? Deploy rocket and BOOM! Problem solved.

I was all ready to patent this idea but then the husband informed me that he was pretty certain blowing up cars on the highway is illegal.

Way to poop on my parade, dude.

I guess I'll just have to get idiots off the road the old fashioned way: by calling highway patrol. Which is exactly what I did a few weeks ago when the car in front of me was swerving all over the road. I don't know if the driver was drunk, high, tweezing his knuckles, or had a toy gun shoved up his ass.

What? You haven't heard of that story? Apparently some guy decided driving would be the perfect time to pleasure himself. But he wasn't satisfied with a little up, down, up, down, left, right, over the river and through the woods action. No, he needed props to ensure his highway masturbatory experience reached full throttle.

So, he tied a string around his wiener and tied the other end to the trigger of a toy gun, which he shoved up his poop shoot. Every time he gave his wiener a little wanky wanky, it pulled the trigger and stimulated his...well, you get the idea.

True. Story. Honestly, people, I couldn't make this up if I tried.

Anyway, I'm not sure what the erratic driver that I witnessed was up to, but he was a danger to everyone else on the road and I have no patience for that shit. If you want to kill yourself, do it on your own time. Other people would like to live to see their great Aunt Sally's 80th birthday, or the football game they're headed to, or maybe they just want to get home, prop their feet up and eat a pound of bacon and a bag of Oreos. 

The husband dialed *FHP and I reported (via bluetooth) the bad driver. I know being a tattletale isn't very "cool" but in this case, it could save lives. And saving lives is like, one of the coolest things evah! So, yay me! I'll take a cookie please.

I'm not trying to be a bitch, it just comes naturally  and I get it. Really, I do. Driving can be scary-wawry. Especially on the big, bad highway where all the cars go zoom zoom. But if you haven't graduated to the big girl or boy panties, do us all a favor and move over. Better yet, stay off the road. The rest of us have places to be.

Editor's note: It should go without saying that this post is one of satire. The Sarcasm Goddess is not actually endorsing blowing up cars or any other acts of road rage, nor does she actually want to do harm to other drivers on the road. But she will call the cops on your ass if you're driving badly. So keep those hands at two and ten. Buckle up. Don't drink and drive. Don't text and drive. Use your turn signal. And above all Be Kind; Rewind.

Comment gems!
Spider bites on penis. Huh. Get out, dude. Just get the hell out.

Meme in ya butt. But of course. I mean, where else?

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

You Googled What?! - Thanks A Lot, Jennifer



Here we go again. People are weird. They google weird things. Google sends them to my blog.

 

Spider bites on penis
Oh, honey. He told you they were "spider bites"? Don't worry. I'm sure they totally are. Totally. Here take this cream for your hoo-ha. You're going to need it later.
 
“peed on the side” 
Is this like dressing on the side or boys on the side?
 
Meme in ya butt
I think I'll skip that one.

I love an Italian woman
My condolences

Why isn’t he putting a ring on it
Honestly. It isn't as easy as it sounds, people! Damn that Beyonce.
 
Can’t even look in the mirror Jennifer
Yeah, way to go, Jennifer.  Look what you did now, Jennifer. You should be ashamed, Jennifer.
Um, guys? Why are we so mad at Jennifer?
 
Boobs and penises
Can't have one without the other! Or something...

I miss you cute puppies
Aw, I miss the cute puppies too!

What is acceptable moaning and grunting in gym
If we can HEAR you, it's not acceptable. Grunt and moan in your own home on your own time.

Monkeys and fireworks
Please refer to comment about boobs and penises

Can french onion dip cause gas
Do I look like a doctor to you? Gas is gross. Please come back when you're less disgusting.

One boob out
Because two would be inappropriate.  

Donut playing kickball
Please let this be real life and not just the stuff of my fantasies.

Comment gems!

I'm crying laughing. It totally looks like a wiener. A wiener I left sitting on a plate on the counter last night. Also, I couldn't find the bloody parts, so I cooked a turkey last night, bloody parts in its bag inside and all. My husband will be laughing for weeks.

I am laughing so much. At least you know which end of the turkey to pull things out of - the one year I did it for Christmas (yep, ONE, was enough to put us off turkey for life) I pulled and chopped at the slimy dangly things only to realise that the majority of the slimy things had already been removed and lovingly placed in a bag. A bag which was then hidden in it's neck cavity. A bag none of us knew existed until we had cooked it and someone remarked how much it tasted like burnt plastic. Never, ever, EVER again.



Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Live Blogging - Yanking on Turkey Wieners

Since the process of thawing the turkey is always OMG Dramatic!, I decided to live blog the experience. I thought it unfair of me to keep the pomp and circumstance of  yanking on turkey wieners to myself. I'm nice like that.

Everyone knows that when I say "wiener" I mean "neck," right? If you've ever pulled a turkey's neck out its ass you know if feels just like a wiener. I assume. I've never actually tugged on a turkey wiener. Honestly, how sick do you guys think I am?

Speaking of sick, is it really necessary to shove the poor bird's neck up his bum? I know I've blogged about this before, but really? Really? If anyone knows where I can get a turkey with a clear anal cavity, let me know. I'd like one for next year, please.

As I said, I am live blogging, so check back often for updates. I have a feeling there's going to be A LOT. Bring wine.

Update #1
Well, the turkey's been thawing in the fridge for 68 hours and is still frozen. Considering this has happened every year for the past three year, this surprises no one. Except me. "This year will be different!" said the village idiot.

Update #2
Thought I'd give the neck a little yanky yanky and yep, still frozen. And so is my hand.


Update #3
Ew, ew, ew! I DO NOT remember the sac of blood! Or kidney? Or liver? Or what the hell? Oh you guys, I just pulled on the sac of turkey crap and whatever and a big red blob oozed between my fingers and there is blood on my hand.

THERE IS BLOOD ON MY HAND!

Vomit in my mouth forever.

Update #4
This is a disgusting holiday. I'm pretty sure that's understood and a completely unnecessary statement to make. But I was just covered in turkey blood so I'm pretty sure I can say whatever I want.

Update #5
The husband came over for a little rubby rubby. I was all, "I love you, honey, but I just spent the last ten minutes chest deep in the cavity of a dead bird, so, um, no. Also? F*cking turkey blood! 

Update #6
Going back in for another wanky wanky. If I end up with turkey blood in my eyes or  mouth *gag*, I'm leaving the house and never coming back. 

Update #7
The sac of blood is out! *happy dance* *heel clicks* *jazz hands* 

Update #8
Annnnd, there's more stuff. The bag has disintegrated and its contents are spread throughout the chest cavity. This is just like hunting for Easter eggs but with more dead animal parts. 

Update #9
You guys! There are more red blobs! Big ones. Yuge! And squishy looking. Idon'twannatouchit.  Idon'twannatouchit. Idon'twannatouchit.  

Update #10
There's another one. Oh lawd, there's another. It's like this turkey hates me. 

Update #11
So. Much. Crying. 

Update #12 
Oh hello, box of wine in my fridge. Yes, I will be drinking all of you right now.


Update #13The turkey's neck is out. A bit of advice for the ladies: don't paint your nails the night before turkey wiener yanking day. The vigor and aggressiveness with which you will yank will rub the polish right off your nails.

The more you know.

Update #14
This year, I decided to do a wet brine in a bag as opposed to my tried and true, I know exactly what to do dry brine method. Because trying new and complicated things in already stressful situations is always a good idea. Basically, the process involves spending $427 at Williams Sonoma on a jar of brine and a few bags in which to stick your turkey. I boiled the brine last night and its been chilling in the fridge and getting all briney. It is now time to stick the turkey in the bag and cover it with brine. Any guesses on how many things will go wrong? My guess? ALL OF THEM.

Update #15

Got soap inside the bag. Don't even ask.


Getting 2nd bag...

There isn't a second bag. Not a big one, anyway. There are two small ones, but they aren't big enough to stick a turkey wiener in.

Rinsing out first bag...

"Yum! This turkey tastes like soap!" said all my guests.

Update #16
I just dumped brine all over the counter and floor because of course I did. 

Update #17Turkey is in bag, in pan, inside fridge. And all God's children said, "Amen!"

Whose idea was this holiday? They should have their neck shoved up their butt.

Monday, November 19, 2012

This Year, I Promise Not to Give You Worms

If you've been around my blog for awhile you know that Thanksgiving in my house is all about the dramatics. I don't intend for it to be drama filled. I intend for it to be chill and cool and "hey man relax, sit down, have a drink and just chillll." But what is it they say about the road to hell? It's paved with good intentions. And in my case setting my oven on fire, and super gluing my finger to my forehead, and yanking on frozen turkey wieners.

And intestinal worms.

And diarrhea. So. Much. Diarrhea.

Thanksgiving Day isn't even here yet and this holiday is already taking on a disturbing theme.

I was determined that this year would be different. In past years, I planned and prepped and wrote lists -  SO MANY LISTS! - but this year it would all pay off. This year everything would go according to said plans. I would remember to thaw the turkey. And I wouldn't lose my lists. And I would be the Thanksgiving Day WINNER!

But we all know my sanity hangs by a very thin thread and one small pull, one tiny tear can cause it all to unravel. This year's culprit of the Lose My Mind Spectacular is a small tear in the turkey bag. I noticed it when I took the turkey out of the freezer and put it into the fridge to thaw.

Gasp! Did you say thaw?

Oh yes I did. I remembered to thaw the turkey this year. Bonus points for me times a thousand.

But! (and what a big but it is) The tear got me to wonderin'. My turkey is exposed to the "elements." Is it growing evil bacteria? Will that bacteria fester over the next few days forming one giant bacteria villain? If I feed the bacteria villain to my family will they die? So, I did what any sane, rational person does in times of crisis. I turned to facebook. Because we all know facebook advice has never landed anyone in the ER.

As I suspected, people were most helpful.

My friend Scotty said: Depends...do you keep your fridge at room temperature? Is it full of howler monkeys flinging poo? If not...you'll be fine.

I responded that of course my fridge isn't kept at room temperature and it's obviously full of poo-flinging howler monkeys as that is a standard fridge feature. 

Kristi asked if I planned on feeding them a raw bird. To which I was all, of course not, I tried that last year and everyone had a fit. Way to be thankful guys. I have no choice but to cook the bird this year. Honestly, the things you do for the people you love.

And then, Jessica said: "The things you do for the ones you love." Like not giving them all worms or the poops? It can be tough. Just call it a Thanksgiving bonus.

And I was all, Exactly. Now when they say I've never given them anything, I can say, "Sometimes it's the things you don't get that mean the most. Remember that time when I DIDN'T give you worms?"

I'm pretty sure that's what Thanksgiving is all about, you guys. Not giving people worms. 

It may be about diarrhea, though. The husband is thinking about running in a 5K Turkey Trot along with some of our friends on Thanksgiving morning. Every time I hear them talk about it I can't help but think about them all having the trots (which is pretty much the most disgusting image you can have about your friends and your husband).

I said this to the husband and he was all, "what are you talking about?"

Me: You know, the trots.

The husband: Huh?

Me: When someone has diarrhea they call it the trots. 

The husband: I have never heard that before.

Me: I FEEL LIKE OUR WHOLE MARRIAGE IS A LIE!

Then the husband looked up The Trots on Urban Dictionary and read things that were so gross, I covered my ears and ran screaming from the room. 

In conclusion, here's what we learned: Despite all my efforts, my Thanksgiving will never be drama free; sometimes the best thing you can do for people is give them nothing, especially when it comes to worms; and Thanksgiving and diarrhea may or may  not be mutually exclusive. It really depends on who's doing the cooking. In my house, it's me. 

My family is so lucky. 

Friday, November 16, 2012

How Do I Love Thee

Oh, Anxiety. How do I love thee. Let me count the ways.

There are lots of things I love about my anxiety:

The sheer panic.

The flapping hands.

The urge to flee.

The loss of control.

Waking in the middle of the night with a racing heart.

An impending sense of doom All. The. Time. and For. No. Reason.

But perhaps what I love most of all is the guilt. And feeling like a terrible person. Because the truth is, my life's not that bad. In fact, it's pretty good. Okay, fine, it's freaking awesome. Yet, thanks to my true blue, BFF, love ya like a sister, through good times and bad (especially the bad) friend Anxiety, I walk around with a Cloud of Woe over my head.

When my anxiety is raging, every single thing I have to do is a sign of the apocalypse. 

Need to go grocery shopping?
Why whyyyyyy is my life so hard?

No clean laundry?
What have I done to deserve such horrible treatment?!

I have to go to the post office to mail a package?
How will I ever overcome such adversity!?!!!!!!!

I would like to say I'm exaggerating, but anxiety turns everything into a crisis. Combine that with depression, and Oh Em Gee, you guys, it's, like, the best party EVAH! Totally.

I'm Italian, so I'm guilty by nature. But when the thought of getting out of bed and putting on pants and a bra paralyzes me or a cupcake recipe with more than four ingredients makes me burst into tears, the accompanying guilt is off the charts. Because my "problems"? Are nothing. Other people, lots of people, are dealing with real problems. Like, how am I going to feed my family tonight? And, where am I going to get money to pay for my medication? Or, should I sleep on the bench in park with the rapists or on the one in the park with the murderers?

Although I have no say in the things my mind chooses to get anxious over, it doesn't make me feel any less guilty. And when I feel guilty, I feel more anxious. Which leads to more guilt and...lather, rinse, repeat.

But last night, I felt like I had a breakthrough. I spoke with a woman I hadn't seen for almost a year. The last time we spoke, I found out she had breast cancer. Last night, I asked her how she was doing. She told me she's had eight surgeries in the last year and is having another one in a week. And her husband died a few months ago.

Wow. Just, wow.

I felt like there was a big neon sign over my head with the word PERSPECTIVE. In attempt to ward off my anxiety, I constantly try to maintain perspective. And while it is a brilliant exercise in futility, it does little to keep the Evil A at bay.

But last night, approximately thirty minutes after speaking with this woman, I entered the perfect storm of anxiety. People yelling, and anger, and confusion, and more anger, and MORE PEOPLE YELLING. Normally, that would make me crawl under a table and hide for the next seven days. But it didn't.

In the midst of the storm, I wasn't consciously thinking of the woman and the trials she was facing, but I think somewhere, deep inside my crazy brain, her situation was recalled. And the part of my brain that usually likes to FREAK OUT instead said, "This is okay. It's not a big deal. You have a good life, you are healthy, the people you love are healthy. This too shall pass.  It is okay."

And it was okay. And I was okay.

And for that, I am grateful.

***
To the person who inspired me to write tonight - you know who you are - thank you. You are an inspiration and a light in the midst of my darkness. I love you. Here's to mediocrity! ;)