The BLoG MuSe

Better than anti-depressants! … Sort of.

Category Archives: RaMbLinGs

Adventures with Captain Obvious

Let me tell you about the nice little conversation I had with one of today’s prized youth. Who I should mention was all hopped up on Mountain Dew (or something) and had eyes as wide as teacup saucers.

Basically, I wanted to jump over the counter and strangle him but then I remembered that I would never survive in prison because I could not be someone’s “bitch” and I’d end up saying something stupid (shocker there) and get shanked.

7-11 boy: You look tired

Me: *eye roll* Gee thanks. I am.

7-11: you also look cold… but you’re getting a Slurpee?

Me: well you’re just an everyday Sherlock Holmes now aren’tcha?  (you little crack head)

7-11: Who’s that? oh well my mom taught me to always comment women. Nice huh?

Me: For Fuck’s sake. I think she meant COMPLIMENT and by the way that doesn’t mean you should be Captain Obvious.  

7-11: (head tilt)

Me: and also, “you look tired” actually translates directly to “you look like spilt fuck” … just FYI. Did your mom teach you that? Did she?

7-11: umm no. OH!!! I LOOOOOVE this song. I sang it at prom with a bunch of people around me. They were throwing roses at me even. That was the good old days. I miss them!!

(great now I’m being served by Justin Beiber with bad grammar)

 Me: I hated high school but it’s good to know that there are actually people out there that enjoyed the experience.

7-11: Yes it was great. I was really popular.

Me: oh…. (long pause)… yes…. because that’s what’s important.

7-11: Yes it is REALLY important. You don’t understand the pressure on kids these days.

Me: as opposed to the pressure when?

7-11: you know, when you were a kid.

(don’t strangle him, don’t strangle him, don’t strangle him)

Me: give me my goddamn receipt. NOW.

7-11: Have a nice day! I hope you get some sleep

                     (Me too kid, me too)   

* Note to self: Slurpee addiction must be fulfilled at a DIFFERENT 7-11. For eternity.

Almost as scary as clowns

   For real, this is precisely the reason I am now afraid of marshmallows. I don’t want to end up skewered and toasted above a burning house.  Stay Puft dude and the Michelin man have both scarred me for life.

And you know what? I used to love S’mores. shitty.

If they’re not trying to kill me, they’re trying to impregnate rabid monkeys I think.

The building smells like spray paint. Or paint thinner or something of the likes and I am not only having a worser migraine now but also I might be a teensy bit high.

(my point here is that I cannot be held responsible for anything I’m about to say)

 Back to my highness… I think, somehow that already makes me a bad mom. My kid’s going to come out with a third arm or an extra pinky finger growing off it’s forehead like a unicorn or something. Why? All because I got all floaty at work from the fumes!! It’s totally cool though because I always wanted a unicorn.

Funny story about that. I always asked for a pony instead, even though what I really wanted was a unicorn. I just thought they would be a tad too expensive for my parents to afford, ponies are much more reasonable.

I figured if nothing else, I could just glue a Bugle on it’s head and call it a unicorn. You know? That’s what NPH would do. He’s a problem solver like me.  But these days I don’t think he’d do anything except for try to smoke or sex that Bugle… Don’t get me wrong, I love NPH but … he’s a little less sane than he used to be. Something about all the pressure of being a doctor at such a young age… I don’t really know because when I was 16, I was hardly saving people’s lives.


(he’d put a Bugle on that shit, that’s what!)

I digress. as usual. see how this euphoria is causing an out-of-character-like ADD?

So… How nice of me, I was willing to compromise. And you know what?  No unicorn, no pony. Which, is apparently a direct. Or indirect cause for my failing at motherhood. Already. But on the bright side of things, I’m totally going to get that Unicorn for real.

Also, I read somewhere that this is how they impregnate rabid monkeys! Yeah they fill the room with smoke/fumes/rohypnol/spray paint/paint thinner whatever they can find really and knock ’em out. What happens there is a case for Animal Investigators because I think maybe they’re not supposed to do that. The knocking out part or the raping. Just my guess though. Who knows, maybe it’s ok since they have rabies…??? Weird. I need some water…

   Here’s my unicorn. Love him. or her. I can’t see it’s business to tell you.

It’s like screaming fire in my living room.

Whenever I am somewhere in the house doing anything and I hear my all-time favorite commercial come on TV I literally have to drop everything I am doing to run in and watch it. It’s like crack. Except not whack. And I wouldn’t sell myself for it. Probably. Well maybe I would if the TV simultaneously popped out cups of Dippin Dots ice cream at me because THOSE are actually almost the same as crack.

Apparently I am alone in this feeling or at least Lobster and his buddies tell me I am but seriously, how can you miss your favorite commercial?! It would be like depriving me of my daily chocolate dose or my Sanity-Slurpees.

For real thouh y’all, I don’t know who Geico pays for their PR and Marketing but they are certainly getting their money’s worth because 2 of my favorite commercials belong to them and I come running to watch every.single.fucking.time they air. Every time.

And yes I am an adult, I just don’t act like one. (Lobster made a stupid ass point about how only children run in to watch stupid shit and then I might have gotten a little defensive and said something like “oh yeah well only losers like to eat Fritos and Worchestershire sauce together… no one can even pronounce that shit) So anyway, I don’t act like an adult. Very often. Except when I need to tell little kids that if they pee on the toilet seat the toilet fairy will know and find them in their sleep and steal their genitals and devour them like a sandwich. A delicious, genital-y sandwich. (genital-y? I don’t know I just made that shit up)

My all-time favorite: Wweeeeeeeeee!!!!

And also, my other favorite… basically I don’t get shit done because I’m always running to watch commercials.


UPDATED: I can’t believe I almost forgot… so I was telling my sister how much I lOVE, LOVE, LOVE the little piggy commercial and she told me she heard someone had it as a ringtone. Ringtone?!? DUH!!!! Holy.monkey.balls. I NEEEEED this right?!?! So apparently you can download that shit for free from Geico!!! Here it is in case you also love this commercial as much as I do (or any of their others because they are ALL there)

One Slurpee away from fat camp. Or rehab. One of the two.

If you are my Mother-in-law, I’d just like to say HI! Stop here now. There is nothing further to read. At all. No really. Go have some ice cream. Bye!!!

(And also, if you KNOW her… don’t you go telling her that there’s anything beyond “Hi” here for her. Or I will find you. I will find you and cut you. Hard. Because I’m like Charlie Sheen. Except without certain anatomy and a little less drunk (did I mention I WISH I was drunk though?))

Ok now that she’s gone I have to tell you about the fact that she thinks I’m a whale. A fucking whale. I know right? Ok here’s how it goes:

I’m still freaking out about learning about this pregnancy and baby stuff. I know, I know, you’re going “Duh” right about now. I get it. But seriously, you don’t know the torture involved and as if I don’t feel fat enough? My mother-in-law actually tells me I am. We she didn’t say it but you know, she did something that basically says “you’re one huge slurpee away from going to fat camp”

So you’re wondering what she did? Sigh… she goes out and buys me a couple maternity tops. Awww, bless her heart, that’s so nice and shit. Yeah shit. Precisely how I feel. You see I am not yet quite fat enough for the Queen Latifah clothes – she looks good now, I know but think back a few years ok – I’m just making a point here. So I don’t look pregnant I just LOOK like I had too many deep fried corn fritters.. Hmm… corn fritters.…. anyway… So I hadn’t gone out and even looked at maternity clothes yet but her being the nice crazy lady that she is, she buys me some. 

Well, I don’t know if she got the memo about how you buy your PRE-PREGNANCY size or what, I’m hoping that she doesn’t know that because otherwise she has some sort of asshole preconceived notion that I am hiding a very large woman in me somewhere. She buys me 4 tops, all extra large. Ok before you get all offended, please know that I find nothing wrong with XL at all. I admire curvy women – well except when you bitch and complain that you can’t wear a bikini while you gargle a Big Mac and suck down a Big Gulp-sized chocolate shake… I digress again…

Here’s the part where I have to swallow my pride. When I got pregnant I was between 130 and 135lbs. Not anorexic but definitely a happy size 3-5 (oh my god… yes I STILL buy my clothes in the juniors section, I’m struggling with the fact that I’m older than 25…BITE ME) So here we go. According to nearly every single maternity sizing guide I can find I would be a medium at most. Now I don’t know if you know this or not, clearly my MIL is part of the not… but apparently there is a big difference between medium and extra large in maternity world. By that I mean that the tops she bought me, would be big for DRESSES on me. I look like I’ve devolved into a 6 year-old dressing up in my mom’s Dad’s clothes. Exactly how big does this lady think I am?!?

The best part is that she told me that when she shops for clothes for me she “just holds them up and looks at them and goes with what “looks right’” so I’m wondering what the fuck must be going through her mind when she holds up this muumuu and thinks it will look great on me? Well… looks like I’m on my own for maternity clothes because my MIL thinks I’m a big gigantic cow. Moooooooooo.

p.s. – I bought some maternity clothes for myself, all sized medium of course and you know what?? They FIT. Not like a glove or anything because they aren’t made for people in the ‘awkward’ stage but they FIT nonetheless and you won’t have to search for me under YARDS and YARDS of fabric like a macaroni noodle in a table cloth.

p.p.s – If you did actually read this Marty, please don’t take me out of your will. I need your lifetime supply of dollar-bin gifts and also your coupons. Just sayin’

But every now and then he does something I would do and it’s hilarious

I’m always saying that my husband doesn’t always “get me” and by that I mean I’ll say something random like “I really wish I had a Storm Trooper outfit. I’d wear it to the mall and to other places where people would think it was awesome and they’d want one too! And also I would snazz it up a little with the bedazzler and pretty colored polka dots… You know because white is just so last year”

This is precisely the type of thing I would say and then he would either just shake his head and quietly wonder why he married me or he’d look at me very serious-like and say something like “did you take your meds today?” (with the obligatory head-tilt of course…to make it seem as though he’s not here to hurt me and he genuinely cares – even though we all know he’s probably terrified that at any minute I might just lose my shit and eat his face off) sorry i digress… his grown-up-ness is respectable… BUT STILL you would think he’d know me by now, nope. Still surprising him with my randomness after all these years.

However. Occasionally he does something that I would do and it makes me wonder what he was doing prior to it because quite frankly, I wish i had thought of that shit. Nevertheless he must know that I’m gleaming with pride. (And I’m making his Storm Trooper outfit as we speak!!! Do you think he wants blue rhinestones or green?)

So here it is… The random text message I get while I’m in the middle of taking a sip of hot tea and on the phone with a client:

And THIS is probably why my friends wish they could have me killed

Conversation with my best friend “H”

BM: Hey stranger! How’s it?

H: I’m sick…meh.

BM: Oh man. Sorry! Got the poops?

H: No a cold.

BM: A cold with the poops?

H: No ya dope, just a cold.

BM: Ohhhh I get it. You NEED to poop! Maybe if you poop you’ll feel better!

H: You’re a dork

BM: A dork who poops and isn’t sick! I think I might be on to something….


BM: See? You miss me dontcha?! ;0)

H: You Betcha

BM: Yessss!!!! I knew it. They all said you didn’t but I was positive that you still love me even if I did leave a booger in your minivan.

H: booger?

BM: Nevermind that. What’s for dinner?

(and p.s. “BM” stands for BLogMuSe… That’s ME!!…. NOT bowel movement sickos…)

And Now I know Why It’s Dangerous For Me to be Off My Meds…

My Sister and I regularly have convresations that I ask myself  “What must our conversations look like to other people?” Well, I still don’t know but I do know that a carnie shark would be like the coolest thing on the planet. EVER.  

Fish: so I think I’m going to do laser. LHE.

Me: So do they like point a shark with a laser on it’s head at you, or what? Because I’m pretty sure Sharks with lasers are dangerous. 

Fish: I’m sure 

Me: Do you think that you could take pictures or have visitors during the process? I’ve always wanted to see a shark + laser in action. 

Fish: Of Course.

Me:  How much do you think they pay the shark? Surely it’s not good for his health… he needs hazard pay 

Fish: Probably double  

Me: I bet they feed him the people that don’t survive too. That would totally be worth it for him. Lunch and a show. Do you think he gets pissed off when people won’t sit still? 

Fish: LOL

Me: seriously though, I wonder what happens when he gets all mad… does he like turn into HULK Shark? I’d totally pay to see a HULKY Shark with a laser. If so, he should really be in a circus and not a dermatologist’s office. I think he’d make more money there.

Fish: He could be a carnie and travel he carnival. We could catch him at the state fair 

Me: For real. But then do you have to pay the midgets for your laser treatment, or??… 

See full size image That’s our shark! He walks and he shoots his laser to give you amazing skin. But he also has a side-job as a carnie because he has a shark family to feed and they all don’t have lasers so they can’t just shoot their laser to kill their prey. And also, it has a laser sound effect when he does shoot stuff… you know, like *Pfew*Pfew* — FYI- the “F” is silent.

* And that’s about the time she stopped responding* I think maybe she realized the only way to get me to stop is to stop playing along. Except I didn’t stop…what a pain I am.  (*temporarily anyway… then the conversation continued on about flesh-eating cobras – FECs- and how the Bank of America = BOA = Boa constrictor… it’s really a long story)

You Can Totally Milk an Iguana

So yeah. Pretty much I think Craig has gotten used to my randomness. I ask him to please please please get me Stroganoff from Noodles & Co. for lunch because I pretty much feel that I need it  or I might die. Which is of course how I convince him to leave work, go out in the snow, and get me some heavenly goodness of comfort food. (mind you we DO have a cafeteria here at work but the food is marginal at best and they sure don’t serve Noodles & Co. Stroganoff or else I would eat there like every day. Can you die from too much Stroganoff? Nah…)

Anyway, I send him out in the cold. Oh and by the way… can you please pick up something for my sister?? You know, since you’re out anyway?? Of course he tells me yes because he’s my knight-in-shining-armor. So I tell him “THANKS BABE!! You’re my lunchtime hero and I will re-pay you in Iguana eggs”…. His response is “you’re welcome.”  NOTHING (!!!) about the Iguana eggs. Apparently he knows that I’m either full of it or that I actually went out and bought an Iguana at some point and I plan some kind of “squeezing-out-of-the-eggs” RITUAL like a crazy person… ? My money is on the latter of the two. He must know I am already squeezing the life out of that sucker as we speak. Funny though, I didn’t know you could get Iguana milk too, just by squeezing it? (Oh how my husband must love me.)

See full size image << Iguana. AKA: la victima. (see, that dude is squeezing it for eggs! cool huh? too bad he’s missing the ritualistic headdress and feather boa that makes his ritual genuine.)

See full size image << Look at what Craig will get out of the eggs I pay him in? MORE IGUANAS. YAY!!!! Sorry I couldn’t find any pictures of Iguana milk… Apparently because it is an extremely rare delicacy and I will make millions for the little bit that I did manage to get out. Awesome. I am going straight to EBay! Happy bidding friends! Happy bidding.

The Wedding Singer Really is a Sad Movie

The stupid things they don’t tell you about pregnancy (they hide it cleverly in books that you’d never touch until AFTER you get knocked up… no wonder people still keep doing it!)

1. You will be entirely incapable of thinking in a rational or sane matter and even the simplest of tasks will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life. Yes I know how to tie my shoes asshole, I just had a momentary lapse and forgot. THANKS. 

2. Your bowels will stage a strike on you. You know since ALL you need right now is to be EXTRA bloated and miserable. Eating? No thanks I think I’m still digesting yesterdays breakfast.

3. You now have new frenemies where you DON’T  want them to be hanging out. You THOUGHT your butt was a one-man show but nope. It has buddies now that seem to be indefinite house guests… I should probably clarify that I’m talking the *gasp* hemorrhoids here. ouch! Bloody hell!  (pun intended)

4. The second someone asks you how you are feeling (with that empathetic head tilt) you’ll fantasize about strangling them except strangling wouldn’t be nearly as fun as something the Jeepers Creepers dude would come up with.

5. You’ll find it entirely acceptable and appropriate to eat 6 bowls of cereal and follow it up with a chaser of 3 full glasses of OJ and then a  box of Popsicles just because they looked and tasted like heaven and the cereal and OJ wasn’t enough?


6. Your Husband’s face will start morphing into things like  talking donuts (with rainbow sprinkles of course) red velvet cupcakes, and Lofthouse Cookies right before your very eyes in the middle of a perfectly normal adult conversation.

7. You will not be able to take any of your usual meds to keep you sane and functioning like a normal human being… Even though you probably really need the Prozac to keep you from eating small children or ripping your mother’s face off.

8. It will send you over the edge when your favorite restaurant runs out of the fried rice you’ve been craving for 3 days. Sorry little Chinese lady but honestly, who runs out of fried rice with 4 hours left before closing time? Bitch.

9. Those bitches that “just LOOOOOVED being pregnant” will make you want to throw them off a bridge into oncoming traffic because they gush about how “easy” their pregnancy was and they didn’t have morning sickness or gain 600lbs or anything. Really? That’s great, I’m NOT you so go play in traffic before I throw you overboard!!

10. Morning-sickness can actually be any-time-of-the-day-sickness which is sooooo much fun. And makes you so cute. Nothing says I’m sexy like puking your guts out in front of the man who did this to you. 

11. You WILL cry at every part of The Wedding Singer… Because you know, it’s just so sad…????

12. At the end of this lovely 9 month adventure, they expect you to shove a WHOLE PERSON out of your naughty bits…. Ick!? I don’t care how miraculous and beautiful it is… It’s still icky and now my vagina hurts just thinking about it… If it could, it would curl up into the fetal position, sucking it’s thumb and hide while saying things like “I’m not gonna do THAT. Nope. No way. You can’t make me!!”

There’s lots more on this list but… I’m exhausted and too tired to keep writing….Yeah Marsha, I know you had EXTRA energy every time you were pregnant. Well I don’t. so either rub my back so I can nap or shut the fuck up about your perfect pregnancy and your perfect spawn of Satan because I want to rip your face off your face. (?!? admittedly, that sounded a little better in my head. Not executed so well in writing.)

How to guarantee you will be in the dog-house for Valentine’s Day

I received the following e-mail today… I couldn’t help but think to myself “how romantic!” and then I was wondering how the conversation would go.

“Hey sweetie I really love you and for Valentine’s day I wanted to show you just how much. By giving you the gift of better skin… You know because I love your ugly face but it’s kinda gross so fix that shit.”

I also couldn’t help but think to myself there’s definitely an added value from romantic gifts like the following:

“Hey honey, I love you…but you could stand to lose some of that muffin-top so I got you a gym membership! You’re welcome”

“I also got you a bonus over-sized bathroom scale with digital read out and body fat calculation so that you know just how much you should go to the gym…and maybe stop eating all together too.”

And nothing says I love you more than “I forgot Valentine’s Day and I was too cheap to go buy you anything nice so ummm here’s some flowers from your garden.”

And my personal favorite…. “honey, your TECHNIQUE could use a little work, so I got you this fantastic book. I figured that not only would I insult you by saying that you suck in bed and that your blowjob skills need work but I added insult to injury by getting ‘Sex For Dummies’ instead of… Any book really because I’m an ass”

It’s No Secret That I People-Watch

So one of my favorite things to do is to people watch. It gives me lots of ideas, concepts and quite frankly it makes ms feel a little better about myself. I know, what the hell? It makes you feel better about yourself? Kind of an asshole thing to say except it’s really not. We all do this you just don’t realize it or you don’t want to admit it. Either way, I know you judgmental people sit there and compare yourselves to others. I know because I’m the queen of that country.

I can’t really help it you know, I wasn’t the cool kid that everyone wanted to be friends with. *gasp* I know…. Don’t tell anyone!! Essentially I blame all those skinny, much prettier girls in school who made me this way. Secretly I hope you all got really fat and had crack babies thanks to your herpes infections. I’m not sure how you get crack babies from herpes. But it happens, I know this. Also, I hope some of you have husbands who don’t speak a lick of Engrish and you are faced with an eternity of communication failure and you turn into a shriveled gnome lady on someone’s porch.

I digress… What I really wrote this post about was to tell you that despite it’s inherent weirdness, my people watching goes a step further into the creepy zone (but again, I know you all have wondered this yourself so don’t judge me!)

When I see a couple somewhere, anywhere but especially those fascinating couples who seem like the oddest fit… Yeah I wonder what their sex looks like. Ok, ok, ok. Before you judge me, I know you’ve wondered this at least once before. Especially when you see people who are freakishly tall or they have only half a body (that dude is my hero by the way but it still creeps me out a little when I watch him walk and do other things like play a game of pool or glide himself up a swing set like a spider monkey!

Anyway, when I see odd couples I always default to wondering what their sex looks like because I feel like it’s probably at least somewhat uglier than mine. Although mine isn’t ugly… Just sayin’…. But the dude that’s like 8 feet tall and his wife or girlfriend who is only 5 feet tall… I mean it must look hilarious right? He has limbs flailing all over the place and she well, she disappears behind his massiveness so you have to switch sides of your imagination and then it looks a little creepy because if you don’t put their height into perspective it looks like he’s a pedophile and she’s a 14 year-old girl. Ewww. And then you wonder if you should call the cops because he’s a creeper and it’s bullshit that he’s taking advantage of her trust as a person in a position of authority.

Then that reminds you of all the teacher sex scandals lately and wonder why it was acceptable in out day to sleep with a teacher? After all, us girls probably did it for better grades or because we have daddy issues or something and the guys. Well… The guys slept with their hot history teachers to make themselves cooler and couldn’t wait to tell their friends. Now if these kids sleep with their teachers, it’s a front-page news story and someone has to go to jail and register as a sex offender. And then people get all up-in-arms about it. Ugh, life was so much better back in the day I tell you!

And the dude with 1/2 a body! Really I have to go there because have you seen his wife? Yeah. Also he has like 1/2 a body and says he has genitals but really, what the hell does his sex look like? Huh. Riddle me that peeps… Riddle me that! (and good luck getting that out of your head because I know if you don’t know who I’m talking about you did just google him and go to You-Tube to see him in action… Walking not having sex obviously you perverts cuz who would look for a sex tape starring the “Man with 1/2 a body”…. Oh thats right… ME. I would. Oh well.

It Wouldn’t be the Same

A friend brought it to my attention that I curse A LOT and that my blog is certainly no exception. I agree whole heartedly! The idea of my blog wasn’t to be proper or grammatically correct or to be kid-safe. It was to be real and to be ME because otherwise I’d be just like everyone else out there.

Could I get my point across without saying fuck, shit, ass, and all my other favorite words? Absolutely. BUT if I wanted to write like anyone else or the way I have to be in the “real world” then I wouldn’t be spending money to have my own website and blog about my own random thoughts and ramblings. I write like I talk and I’ve never claimed to be classy or anything outside of who I am on the surface.

Make no mistake, my attitude has certainly cost me a good share of things in my life (and I have zero regrets if you were wondering) It’s also afforded me the ability to know that at the end of the day I didn’t sacrifice who I am just to make an impression. I don’t want to make an impression on this website other than I am REAL and that I will put it all out there because that’s what I’m about. This is me. Love it or hate it.

I’m not shy and I’m not about to start now. I haven’t made my claim to fame by being classy and again, I’m not going to start now. There’s plenty of time during my adult life that I need to paint on a face to get by and be “grown up” but it’s not who I genuinely am and it makes me feel dirty to have to be “grown up” for any period of time. I do not pretend to be anyone I’m not and I never will. The people who know me and/or can appreciate that will stick around. End of story.

I am too a Princess!

I don’t know why it would come as a shock or surprise to anyone that I would need this immediately when I saw it in the store window. People who don’t even know me would assume I need it!!

Who the hell wouldn’t want this awesome crown for their birthday?! Needless to say I ended up going in the store and buying it for myself because I JUST HAD TO HAVE IT GODDAMN IT!!! Just be happy I didn’t wear it around town like I intend to on my real birthday. Which is this week. If Craig was embarrassed by me before, he’s fucked now.

Why Is Everything Cute When It’s Miniaturized?

Walking through the store the other day I realized I might have a problem. I looked down and realized that I had shoveled about 10 travel-sized items into my basket. Where the hell did I think I was going? Of course this didn’t occur to me until after I walked through the sporting goods aisle and I’m trying to figure out if I can buy the miniaturized versions of the tents on display. NO YOU DUMBASS, I DON’T WANT YOU TO CHECK THE BACK ROOM TO SEE IF YOU HAVE THAT ONE IN STOCK, I WANT THE LITTLE DEMO VERSION HERE ON THE FUCKING SHELF!!!!  The one that I can barely get my pinky into. WHAT IS SO HARD TO COMPREHEND?!

   Cute eh?

Now is also the time where I’d like to profess my extreme repugnance for Ugg Boots. With ONE exception. INFANT UGG BOOTS. Yeah I know, they’re still Ugg Boots but HELLO, they are MINIATURE so they are cute and I NEEEED THEM. So I called and told Craig about them and he’s like “You hate Ugg Boots” and I’m like “I know but they are so cute I think I need to buy them anyway” and then he says “what the fuck for?” and of course…awkward silence… “I don’t know they are just cute damnit! Why do I need a reason to buy cute Ugg Boots?” His response “You need a reason when you won’t be wearing them since they are for an INFANT and we don’t have any of those!!” Which then made me stop and think for a minute… I really wanted to buy these boots so I’m like “Well, I could steal an infant from the hospital and then put the infant Ugg Boots on it” I shouldn’t have to tell you that this sent him over the edge a just a little. “So you want to steal a baby from the hospital JUST SO YOU CAN PUT SOME UGLY FUCKING BOOTS ON IT??” And then I said “Well when you put it like that it does sound a little crazy… how about instead I buy SIX PAIRS and put them on Malibu, Payton and Amaya?” and then he says “Oh ok, so now you want to put UGLY BABY UGG BOOTS on the dog and cats? NO. FUCK NO.” And of course I retaliated with the only fair response I could come up with: “You’re the worst husband EVER! You NEVER LET ME DO WHAT I WANNA DO!!!”

These are them. If anyone wants to buy them and send them to me, I’ll pay shipping. Look how cute! EEEEK!!!

Superwoman is a Farce

Misery loves company. That’s what I hear, anyway and I’m sure that’s probably the worst excuse for omitting the whole truth from any situation whatsoever. I realized this somewhere about the time my very good friend, we’ll call her “Mama Duck” was telling me all about how wonderful it is to be a mother. Except the part where the whole reason I was over there in the first place was to “wife-sit” … which in a round-about and nicely put way, means that I am keeping her off the news and out of jail.

You see, I thought she was just an overworked, tired mommy that needed a break when she mentioned something about how the hours between 4-6 PM were like being a prisoner-of-war except better because at least as a POW you get they leave you alone for the better part of the day and they don’t know your name. Also, as a POW, no one insists upon being tucked in at bedtime because YOU DO IT BETTER THAN DADDY. (I have no idea who does it better in her house, it’s probably the one that doesn’t want to kill them all and then herself…  I’m making a point here) I digress, the point is that I really didn’t know that at EXACTLY 4PM on the dot it was like something goes off in these kids (GOD LOVE THEM, I certainly do) that makes them turn into evil little monsters that are flying off the walls and forcing us to run for cover.

You think I’m shitting you, but I’m not. There was 3 of them and 2 of us. We were outnumbered and I’m pretty sure that the laws of common-sense-warfare tell you if their team is bigger, you will be wearing the spilt macaroni & cheese and apple juice, even if you are SUPERWOMAN. Which you aren’t because no one can be Super woman. She actually only exists to make all of us female people (or race or whatever the hell we are, a gender I suppose) aspire to work ourselves a little harder  and to take just a little more onto our plates because damn it, if Superwoman can do it, SO CAN I. But you can’t, because you’re not Super woman. And here’s another little fun fact about Superwoman: SHE DOESN’T EXIST. She was just a normal person like the rest of us who put a cape on to tell her kid a bedtime story that got blown out of proportion and BAM. Just like that, cartoon that delineates how the rest of us are supposed to be. How can you even live up to that? It’s not even metaphorical, it’s just plain fucked. I can do a lot of things, I can be everything to everyone and I can cram an extra 3 hours into a day somehow. Did I mention I could Leap tall buildings in a single-bound? But goddamn it…. I’M HUMAN. So I can’t be Superwoman or Super-anything because by the time the day is over, I just want my pajamas, a soft pillow, and my blankie. Superwoman doesn’t even have that shit. Which I think makes me better than super woman. So eat that Superwoman and your cliché awesomness. I am not that. I am woman, and I don’t roar either because I’m not a lion, or Superwoman so let’s just get that straight. I had a point. It is gone. But Superwoman still sucks. Superwoman, superwoman, superwoman. (I’m a Brady Bunch kid apparently) There now I’ve said it enough. AAAHHH. Eat shit and die Superwoman because you made us all inferior and that blows ass.

You Shut Your Mouth When You’re Talking to Me!

WHAT? So I’m realizing that it sounded better in my head.

So what prompted that outburst? I don’t even remember but I know it was when we were playing board games during our little mini-vacay. Which means I was probably pissed because I was losing. Who the hell wants to win at YAHTZEE anyway? I do actually. I hate losing and that’s why I was coming bac with some snotty response.

So we’re playing games and having a good time and before I know it my sister-in-law comes out with a bag full of presents like she’s Santa Fucking Claus. It’s a birthday??!?!

Yep. Christmas on repeat except it’s all about MEEEE this time bitches. Not really but I like to feel special once a year so… there you have it. I am actually the type of person who hates birthdays and receiving gifts or making anything about me. I’m loud and obnoxious and say shit I shouldn’t all the time. Basically I’m good at being a jackass but other than that I do not make a good center of attention unless it’s in a negative way. What can I say, I’ve always been good at hiding until I’m making an assface out of myself. Assface? I just threw that out there but since it sounds good I like it!

Well, it’s not like they don’t know me and my personality… My sister-in-law and brother-in-law got me this game awesome game. I’m looking forward to playing this game. I figure I’ll lose big time…?? yeah….

I also really liked the decorations. These presents looked more appropriate for the queen of England than for a jackass like me but who am I to complain? I love pretty presents. In fact I didn’t want to open them but since that didn’t fly with everyone, I went ahead and opened them and did something else with the bows

I don’t know why everyone was making fun of me??

It was time for cake after that. YUM.

This post was a lot funnier when I started writing it but then I started writing in the middle of a game and now I keep having to stop writing and play every time my turn comes around which means that I pretty much forget what the hell I was trying to say so really I just wanted to post some pictures?? What the fuck. 

I will however tell you about the sexgasm of fantasticalness that happened inside my mouth just now when I was eating my cake.  Red Velvet cake (aka Heaven) with Cake Batter ice cream (more heaven and a little OOOH) with Oreos  mixed in (ices the metaphorical sex cake in my mouth… which isn’t all that metaphorical since it’s actually a literal cake) Did I mention there’s sprinkles and a piece of kit-kat?? Sprinkles make me want to be 5 years old again when the most exciting thing ever was SpRiNkLeS!! All colorful and full of happiness. You can’t ever be mad or sad about anything when you have the happiness of sprinkles. They are almost equivalent to crack except that they won’t make you sell your body for sex and wind up homeless living in a cardboard box like a bum. Not that the world doesn’t appreciate it’s bums, after all we all have a place in society and without bums the bottom of the food chain would be the Jerry Springer population. And I think that might be scary. Now that I actually think about it, Crack and sprinkles are not even close to being the same.

Our elevator is a rainbow with a pot of gold at the end. Apparently.

Elevator etiquette is a lost art. Like many people I know, I work in a place where I must take an elevator to my floor… OR take the stairs but honestly, the lack of oxygen in that stairwell has to be pretty close to the same as Mt.Everest and I’m usually needing to sit down and take a break by the 4th floor; let’s face it… that’s not even close enough to ½ way to call myself anything more than pathetic. So, I ride the elevator which is an interesting event on its own. I’m constantly amazed by the lack of courtesy people seem to have and we’re not talking about in a strange place where you would never ever risk seeing the same people again like the yeti or something. NO we’re talking about work. Where you will likely be forced to sit next to some of them in a meeting. How awkward is that? “Hey I mowed you down to get into the elevator and then I hit the close button so you couldn’t get on but Hey… how can we work together to improve production?” LOL

I may be dumb but it just seems like common sense that if you are getting off one floor away from where you are now, you shouldn’t decide that you should hop to the “back of the bus” and then make EVERYONE and their 18 lbs of whatever they are carrying get out of your way. Secondly, We’re all going to the same place generally so it pretty much confuses the hell out of me as to why I have grown ass men RUNNING me over to get into the elevator before me. Really??? Chivalry is dead! Dead like Elvis. Where I come from its common courtesy to hold the door for whoever is behind you. I do this ALL THE TIME, so why on earth do I seem to work with so many people who let the door slam right behind them when I’m right there? WOW.

I’m not sure if we should all blame parents who seem to have stopped teaching their kids these things or if we should hold people accountable? Perhaps we should all go back to a time when we learned everything we ever needed to know? I firmly believe all elevators need a modified version of this posted in the back:

Everything I need to know I learned in Kindergarten (and a little elevator perspective)

Share everything. (Make room jerkface)

Play fair. (don’t kill someone trying to beat them to the elevator!)

Don’t hit people. (seriously!!)

Put things back where you found them. (Don’t chew your breakfast in my ear – ok so this doesn’t really go here but I needed it to go somewhere and I didn’t have anything else to say about this one…?)

Clean up your own mess. (please bring your own barf bag. Also, don’t spill your food from the cafeteria and just leave it for the help)

Don’t take things that aren’t yours. (wait your turn asshole)

Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody. (my toe would appreciate this gesture)

Wash your hands before you eat. (or after you use the bathroom, I don’t want to touch the buttons and get your Hepatitis A)

Flush. (well yeah.)

Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. (or cupcakes)

Live a balanced life. (do not stand RIGHT ON TOP OF ME. Respect my bubble)

Learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some. (but don’t tell your boss I told you to do the first 3)

Take a nap every afternoon. (preferably NOT in the elevator, it’s already pretty crowded)

When you go out into the world, watch for traffic, hold hands and stick together. (meh)

Be aware of wonder. (whoever farted is not the person you thought)

Remember the little seed in the plastic cup? The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the plastic cup — they all die. So do we. (Some of you will die sooner if you don’t learn some etiquette)

And then remember the book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: look. (L-O-O-K for others and hold the damn door if they are coming, don’t break your finger hitting the close doors button)

Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and sane living.

Think what a better world it would be if we all — the whole world — had cookies and milk about 3 o’clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankets for a nap. Or if we had a basic policy in our nation and other nations to always put things back where we found them and cleaned up our own messes. And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out into the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together. (well isn’t that nice)

– Robert Fulghum

They’ve thought of everything

Really?? As if the world wasn’t already full of people taking Prozac instead of addressing their REAL issues. (not that some crazies don’t actually need the prozac… I’m just saying, we seem to like it better than facing reality)

Now instead of addressing your own insecurity and trust issues or some very, very unhealthy S&M-like fetishes… You can throw your man into a CHASTITY BELT!!! oh yeah that’s right girls a freakin’ chastity belt for your guy.

Don’t worry, the logistics of urinating have been addressed apparently so it’s all good. As for the possibility of infections? They didn’t address that part and only someone as OCD as I am would even take this as far as worrying about that… However, you can rest assured that comfort ha been proven because some men have even been quoted on the testimonials part of the site saying “The CB-6000 is so comfortable that I sleep and go to work with it on!” ummmm…. I’m not so sure about that but the entire idea really creeps me out. IN A BIG WAY. Blech.

Is there anything they haven’t thought of yet? How about reinstating the institution of marriage and making it as hard for heterosexual couples to get married as they have for the LGBT community??

And Now I Know What A Pussy-Punch Is

C: I was waiting at the gas station to get gas and this lady in a big diesel cuts me off to get to the pump. The pump doesn’t even have diesel! That dumb bitch.

Me: Wow. Sounds like a hectic day getting gas.

C: It was! I wanted to… I wanted to yell at her. And then… Pussy-punch her.

Me: Whoa there killer. Really?

C: Yeah I know. Have you ever wanted to pussy-punch someone?!

Me: No, thats not exactly a practice that I regularly partake in.

…Yeah. Welcome to my marriage. But now that you mention it… I could think of a bitch or two that could use a good blow to the vag. After all, it seems like it would knock some sense into them. Crazy bitches.

Frostbite Isn’t Funny

(I wrote this last weekend but I didn’t have cell service in the blizzard to post it and then I forgot about it until now when I was looking at something else on my phone — feel free to skip it)
I just saw the Mother-Fucking Polar Express! – and yes I had to “M F” it so you’d get the full effect of my excitement!!!


No shitting! So we’re driving home in a blizzard (at this VERY moment actually, I’m trying to keep myself busy so I don’t worry about the slicker-than-boogers highway and all the extra weight — ahem! Trailer, not fatties — behind us because we’ve almost died like 6 times and I haven’t even done half of the things on my bucket list) we’re going at a snooze-inducing 25 miles an hour on I-25. Talk about a Loooooong drive home. So you can imagine my excitement when I look over and realize that even though visibility is so poor I can’t see the traffic in the south-bound lanes, I can see the most amazing spectacle I’ve ever seen!! Lights that would cut through the thickest snow and fog on the planet! One way up high, two more in the middle and more closer to the ground the lights emit beams that look like….Oh mylanta. The Polar Express! I totally saw it. You didn’t! But you also didn’t spend 14 hours of your Sunday standing on a frozen lake in the middle of a blizzard with temps hovering in the single digits and the windchill well below zero. Did I mention BLIZZARD? ugh. As if that wasn’t enough, add in the ugly, life-threatening drive home and I totally deserved that goddamn miracle. Craig said it was probably just a freight train, why you gotta rain on my parade?? If I say it’s the POLAR EXPRESS, it’s the goddamn Polar Express!!!!

Oh and also, frostbite is not funny. That shit hurts. Apparently I didn’t actually have frostbite because if I did, it wouldn’t HURT… But let me tell you something, it sure as hell felt like I did. I sure wish I had me some ugly ass – but I bet they’re warmer than shit – Ugg Boots right now! Maybe my toes wouldn’t fall off and become puppy chow. Craig says I might be exaggerating again… That’s what I do. But really I have frost bite so if you find a human toe in your dog’s next bowl of kibble, it was probably mine. You’re welcome.

Crack Cookies

UPDATED: I’m not sure I should admit this. Actually I know I shouldn’t… But I’m going to because I tell on myself all the time anyway. I went to the grocery store like usual the other day to get two things: Cheese and Bread. Which actually means I went for three things right? Cheese, Bread, more Lofthouse Cookies.  So I get there, grab my bread, cheese and then…. *GASP*  They have no frosted, sugary pillows of goodness. NOOOOOO!!! This can’t be. I walk around the store for a while looking lost. Which apparently means that each and every Sprouts employee must ask me if I need help. OF COURSE I NEED HELP!! HELLLLLO??? Don’t you have my cookies? Not only do they not know what the hell I’m talking about they try to sell me some other cookies that are not NOT NOT NOT the same. Look. I’m on a mish here and I only want my Lofthouse cookies and if you can’t provide those then get me someone who can!!! UGH. Needless to say, my 5 minute quick-stop at the store for Bread and Cheese for grilled cheese sammies for dinner turned into an hour-long fiasco and in the end, I ended up with cheese, bread and a store full of people starting at me like a two-year old because I literally cried.  No, it was not like one of those little moments where it was cute and I was all sad because I was really craving a cookie. It was more like one of those moments where I cried, the steam was coming out of my head and the eyes almost popped out. I think they almost called the cops, or the national guard or someone that could taser me. I cried over freaking cookies after parading around the store for an hour begging for someone to tell me they had them, I must have them now… and no I’m not a crack head. I just wanted the damn cookies. The moral of the story? Either stock my freaking cookies or tell me ahead of time so I can go to Safeway so I don’t have to go all postal on your staff and make them think I’m a deranged crazy person. OOOOK???

Dear Lofthouse Cookie Company: thank you for adding 5lbs to my Holiday ass. It was totally worth it. Now I have to pretend I’m just going for another day at the gym and not trying to work off 800 Lofthouse Sugar cookies. I’m not worried about me though. I will be ok. It’s Amaya I’m worried about, she’s less than a year old and she’s turned into a fiend. Like a crack whore jonesing for a fix, she even shakes a little like she might seize if I withhold a bite too long. Great now my fucking kitten needs goddamn Cookie rehab!!! How much does that shit even cost?!? I already spent a fortune on cookies and now? A fortune on my gym membership and my cat’s rehab. Great.

And no, I’m not full of shit. I’ve included photographic evidence. Of my cat, not my holiday ass thankyouverymuch.

Contemplating it…

Checking for witnesses.

Taste Testing each and every freaking cookie!!

Ohhhh yeah! H.E.A.V.E.N.!!!!! Don’t mind my little nibble marks on the side of your cookie… If I let you have one at all and didn’t eated the whole thing, consider yourself lucky Ducky! QUACK!

Boats and Hoes

There are few things I am absolutely sure of. I am however absolutely sure that the guy next to me on my way home was pretty convinced that I was either trying really hard to break the windows in my Jeep or that I was being tickle-tortured and subsequently screaming at the top of my lungs. Either way, I would like to say that I was doing neither asshole. I am also fully aware – and was aware long before you paraded into my life – that I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. My goal is NOT to be Carrie Underwood when I grow up. I find it relaxing to sing-a-long in the car on a drive, OK?

    I realize that you are driving an Audi and that you have a STICK THE SIZE OF MONTANA UP YOUR ASS but loosen up a little or I might be forced to pick my nose while you look at me like I’m the most preposterous being you’ve ever seen. If Kathy Griffin were here she would tell you to SUCK IT. You know why? Because that is one funny bitch. Matter of fact, that IS someone I would like to be when I grow up. I’m pretty sure that she sings along in her car too but unlike me, she does it just for shits and giggles, not because she’s relating to the depressing ass “you broke my heart and now I have to break your face” song or the “Take this job and shove it” song because she has the best job in the world right? She gets to be what she wants to be and get paid for it. it’s AWESOME. Who wouldn’t want to be THAT when they grow up? She says whatever the fuck she wants, does what she wants and answers to very few.

 She’s my hero. Interestingly enough, her life wasn’t always like that. I read her autobiography and her road to fame was shitty. I don’t envy that part but regardless, she’s still badass.  So my whole point here is that what I don’t want to be when I grow up is a giant asshole who is so uptight that I can’t even appreciate a good belting out of “I WILL SURVIVE” after a long hard 14-hour day at work. Perhaps, when I grow up I shall become someone like Ben Franklin and invent gigantic stick removers for people like Mr.Audi so that they can remove the sticks from their asses.

Prestige Wor-Word-World-WORLDWIDE. Now. Are you going to invest or not?

So You’ve Resolved to Lose 200lbs and Become Brangelina. Good Luck With That.

Earlier today I found myself admitting to my husband that this is the first year that I’ve ever actually FELT like a NEW YEAR was starting once midnight rolled around. 2010 was a cluster fuck and I’m so happy to see it in the history books that I could practically pee myself. Probably not for the same cliché ass reasons that the rest of the world enjoys January 1 for though. Nope, this year I’m just happy that there might be a little relief in sight from the gigantic pile of steamy dog shit that keeps getting thrown my direction. I did not resolve to do anything in particular this year except to spend more time doing the shit that I want to do to make me happy (which is spend more time here annoying all of you) but for those of you that did make unrealistic resolutions to become sexy, here’s some advice:
1. You must commit to going to the gym regularly, but please remember that Spandex was not made for anyone who is not Kate Hudson because let’s face it… have you seen that bitch in Spandex? She rocks it. How? I don’t know but she does. When even an anorexic girl would look similar to creamed corn and doorknobs shoved into a trash bag, she looks freaking HOT… you don’t. You can’t pull off Spandex. Ever. Sorry.
2. Singing along while you run the track is not only welcome but also highly amusing for those of us who are on the elliptical watching you. You can’t carry a tune in a bucket but you sure can power walk the fuck out of those brand new tenny-runners!
3. Stopping at McDonald’s for a wilted, soggy, over-priced salad does not count as health food. End of story. Nothing purchased from ‘Donald’s can ever be health food. It might be a “better option” than the 1200 calorie burger and 2000 calorie fries but make no mistake, that salad has more calories than you think and will not send you to Hollywood Blvd anytime soon. You’re better off starving. Not that I’m saying you should be anorexic or anything but really… skip that drive thru.
4. Guys: we don’t think it is hot or sexy when you walk around trying to show off your muscles like you have something to prove. Steroids make your penis SMALLER so the only thing you have to prove is that your penis didn’t shrivel up, die, and fall off. Quite frankly we’d rather see Grandma Ruth’s sagging boobas than your “business.” EW.
5. Let’s face it the odds are against you. Out of all the other fatties that made losing weight and looking like a sex pot on 2 legs their 2011 resolution, only 35% of them managed to keep that goal through January. Follow through to July and the statistics drop down to a depressing 16%. So if you thought you were going to be Brad or Angelina, you’re going to have to work 4x harder than you thought and remember that there’s others trying to beat you out for the winning title.
6. Since you can’t eat cookies, cupcakes or ice cream… go ahead and just send it all to me.
7. When you fail, you could get back up and try again. But that would be cliché and also hard. So instead, just take a sedan-sized Prozac and eat a shit ton of cookies and ice cream. You might get fat again… maybe fatter… but at least you’ll be smiling while you enjoy. Also, the Prozac will make you not care that you’re fat, ugly and have lawn gnomes in your living room. Which is weird. Take those back outside before I call the asylum and tell them about your “friends”. Seriously!
HAPPY NUDE YEAR EVERYONE! Oh wait. Try not to run around nude until you look like Brad, Angelina, or Kate because the thought kinda just made me giggle (and gag) just a little.

Talk to Your Animals About SEX. You Could Save Lives! Or not.

So I started out first by getting a little drunk. That seems to help. Me, not them, obviously. Then I proceeded to line-up my dog and two cats, firing-line style in order to tell them all about the birds, the bees and other friendly (but diseased goddamnit) forest creatures.

Well, let’s just say that this went about as well as the time I quacked in public (we’ll save that for later) and Craig looked at me like my head might start spinning around or that it might just pop right the fuck off. Anyway, so I line up the feline and canine victims. Errr students and prepare my speech. It goes something like this:

“Girls, let me start out by telling you that it’s very important for you to not whore around. Mostly because if you do, you’ll get that petfection disease and it will cause one of your beloved appendages to FALL OFF and make your human-mommy DIE!!!

Also, two of you rarely leave the house which means that if you end up with the PFD (yeah, that’s right I made up that acronym for my made-up disease. SO WHAT?!?) if either of the two of you end up with the PFD I’ll know one of two things: 1. You are sneaking out and whoring around which I just told you not to do 2. You’re lesbian. Either way, just don’t have the sex because it MAKE CRICKETS TRY TO EAT YOUR EARS OFF AND THEN KILL YOU.”

Basically if my cats get the PFD they are either sneaking out or lesbian. Which might be a little weird because both scenarios make things a little weird since this entire post is going very differently than I planned. As for the dog, well she just better not whore around OR ELSE!!! And if she does become a little labwhore and she gives my cats the PFD I might have to take her fuckin chew toy and bury it in a sea of gigantic fingers trying to touch her paws and clip her nails.

This my friends is why you shouldn’t get drunk and decide to talk to your animals about the sex. Because it’s easier to just get them fixed!

Hold On To your Pants 2011!

HOLY SHIT Y’ALL! Someone was actually dumb enough to allow me my own corner of the web! I don’t know about you but I am ecstatic about this! I’m sure some of you are currently beefing up the fancy fuckin’ safe-mode features on your internet browsers to protect innocent eyes from my evil forces. Some of you might even be hiding under a rug hoping and praying that a syndication effort will force me into silence. Others of you are probably going “Holy Shit y’all! check this shit out!!” Let me just say that the latter of you are my favorite and why I’m pushing the envelope a little more. YAY ME. Have no fear though, I need the rest of you too in order to support a healthy balance.

Anyway, 2010 sucked a big penis. It did however birth my blogging beginnings which started with the annoying ‘random thought’ text messages I used to send to a few friends and loved ones which admittedly started out to be kind of annoying (shocking I know) but then it turned into something bigger. It blew up into a forum I could no longer maintain via text message because too many people wanted them. Who knew? After all, Craig thinks I might be a little nutty, or a lot nutty and that my random thoughts are just a little out there. I had no idea that anyone would actually want to read or hear my randomness and so  after a suggestion from a friend I started a simple blog making my random thoughts available to anyone and everyone who wanted to read them and no longer forced myself into everyone’s pockets via text even though I really liked being that buzzing fly that just wouldn’t stop with the chaos… even at 1AM. I gave in however and decided to start a blog and stop MOST of the messages. It went well for a while.

Well bitches, I’m here to tell you that I’m expanding! You should know that by now since you probably got here by typing or clicking my awesome link which I can’t stop typing and staring at because I’m really, really excited!

Navigation: To the right you’ll find the categories column at the very top (yep, put it there for ease of access. You’re welcome) you’ll find:

  • Arbitrary Musings: all the random thoughts that started it all. I will continue to add content here so check back. often.
  • Ramblings: My blog posts that are still probably just as random, just longer
  • Shit I Love: This is where I post and share awesome stuff I can’t take credit for because I didn’t write it or think of it. DAMN.

Stick around Folks, this should be fun! I moved everything over from my other blog, which was laboriously difficult so you OWE ME BIG. But still, it’s all here under one roof so that you have no reason to hang out anywhere else on the web. Even if you do, lie to me to inflate my ego. I like that.

Plastic From Hell

I don’t know who thought that plastic molded around the desired object and then crimped it shut to an inseparable oblivion all the way around was a good idea but let me just say it was an awful idea!!!! Awful!! No matter if you have scissors or not, which you usually don’t…. You’re guaranteed an embarrassing injury that begs the discussion about how horrible this plastic packaging is.

Plastic my friends, isn’t as recycle-friendly as other consumer products like… oh say a cardboard box or so? But noooooo cheap plastic that will spend eternity in a land fill is a better alternative. Especially when that plastic rips your hands apart and makes you resort to looking like a three year-old trying to open a package. Whoever invented that plastic should go to hell. And also, that packaging should be illegal!!!!!!!!!!

People Watching

I often find myself in a crowded place tucked back into the comfort of a corner or wall where I can sit idly and watch my surroundings pass in all their different speeds. Some people at Mach3… some at a slower more appreciative pace. All of them with an agenda of their own and entirely clueless as to how fascinating they are to me. Most of them, nearly all of them are so wrapped up in whatever they’re doing that they don’t even notice me. Those who do are greeted with a simple smile but still no insight into the inquisitive nature behind my purpose, to which of course there really isn’t one. After all…. I’m simply observing society. I wonder where these passersby are going… each of them. And what they’ll do when they get there. Who are they? What type of family did they grow up in? I know that I’ve had my own set of struggles and unique stories and if anyone ever asked me about certain things I would certainly burst out into tears, other things laughter and other things smiles. So surely, these people must all be the same in their way. They all have stories, past present and future. They have thoughts…. what must they be thinking?? Are any of them wondering about this lonely girl sitting at a table in a corner of the room by herself? Do any of them wonder what it is I am thinking?

People. People are so fascinating! So they all must have a history and of course thoughts. But perhaps the best part about people is what they DO. Their interractions with other people and what they do when they think no one is watching or when they think they are alone!! Oh boy. Thinking about this just makes me warm and fuzzy with giggles.

Nose Pickers, you’re awesome. I could write a whole blog entry just about you. In fact one day I probably will. You got a bad reputation somewhere along the way… In my opinion, as long as the finger doesn’t enter the oral vicinity… pick away!! It’s liberating! It’s freeing! and after all, it cleans out your nose WAY better than that dumb Kleenex ever could. Breathing is better. Ahhhhh…. feels good. Now go smell the roses!

Wedgie pickers, pick away. Despite the humor involved, no one wants to walk around with their underoos crunched up into an awkward battle of anus vs. fabric! Lets face it, human butt cheeks really aren’t meant to spread out like that. I’ll just leave everyone with that visual.

Moving on… Self Conversationalists. You are probably my favorite!!! No one appreciates the value that you bring to society. I do! You talk to yourself but try to pretend that you’re not. Some of you get a little embarrassed and shrug it off. Others of you go to GREAT LENGTHS to pretend that you weren’t. You are by far the funniest. I’m going to be honest with you… most of us don’t care that you were talking to yourself so you probably don’t need to stumble all over yourself and dump out half the contents of your purse or pocket trying to find your phone trying to act like that’s what you were doing. Save yourself the additional embarrassment and just own it. We all have little moments, it’s totally OK!

Other people’s teenage children: I was you once. I too thought I was cute and not at all troublesome, bratty, annoying, and all those other things adults accused me of. Guess what? YOU ARE. Go buy some clothes that fit, ask your parents to discipline you and take your cell phone away because whatever you’re doing while you’re out of your parents sight is surely something they would not approve of. Why do I know? I might be old, but I was once your age!

And the list goes on… People watching my friends, is the worlds best form of free entertainment! And you can do it anywhere. I used to do it in traffic jams! I’m telling you, American Idol had nothing on these people I used to be stuck in traffic with!!!


I’m an adult. I drive a car, I have a job, I pay my bills and I even vote. I make responsible decisions and for the most part live a pretty normal life. While I consider myself a “kid at heart” and I love to joke, laugh and completely take things more light-heartedly than most I still always manage to do the right thing act mature when I need to and know where to draw the line in almost all circumstances. Admittedly, I tend to blur the line more than I should and honestly, I enjoy it. I say things to get a rise out of people. Whether that rise is to make them laugh, gasp or look at me and say my name very seriously… and if they add in my middle name… BONUS!!!  Anyway, as I was saying… I also know when I really should act appropriately and be on my best behavior. Just because I KNOW when I should be on my best behavior however, does not necessarily mean that I WILL be on my best behavior.

Which brings me to the way I am feeling right now…

I am so far beyond every bit of overwhelmed feeling there could possibly be inside one human being of stress, anxiety, anger, more stress and frustration that I want to throw myself onto the floor and have a conniption fit. I want to kick and scream and cry like a toddler and not give a damn about who sees or who cares what I look like. I feel that I should be able to do that right now if I want.

Because sometimes… sometimes life just warrants you – normally a completely rational and perfectly sane adult – to want to act like a child. Screaming and crying over F***ing Froot Loops OK? What is so freaking wrong with that? I realize that I’ve grown past all that but occasionally I need to peel off this mask, rip off my clothes and lose all control of every tiny bit of composure I’m suppose to have left. Why? Because I’m an adult. I drive a car, I have a job, I pay my bills, I vote, I donate money to good causes and I always, ALWAYS make responsible decisions. I always do the right thing and yet, my life is the same shit storm of crazy every single day. So for just once, this one day, if I want to have a crying fit on the kitchen floor over sweetened, colored, fruity rings of multi-grain cereal I will damn it.

1st Annual National Unfriend Day

Seriously? So you’re telling me that we as a country have become so irrationally self-absorbed and lost in our social status that we feel the need to solicit and comercialize an official day to de-friend the unnecessary a-holes on our Facebook, My-space, and other social networking pages?!? I’m just venturing out on a limb here, but I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in saying “WHAT THE F***ing F***?”

It really wasn’t enough that Hallmark capitalizes on all the other holidays (major and ridiculous alike) that used to have REAL meanings? NO… Now… Now we need to have an actual day where we recognize that some of the people we “friended” on our Social Networking sites are just there because they (or if we’re being honest… WE) want to see how many kids we popped out since High School, if we made anything if ourselves, became a Doctor, Lawyer, or just a homeless jackass… maybe perhaps even got *gasp* fat? No… we have to actually face up to that tiny little facade that some of us were actually enjoying hiding behind. Because let’s face it, there’s only a few reasons why any of us actually use it any more right? We keep in contact with some people we don’t get to see or talk to as much as we’d like. Then there’s always those other people that Facebook stalk other people (creepy much?) you know who you are! And then… there’s the serious and fully dedicated users… others well… some of them just have nothing but time. Really, I could go on and on we all know all about the different types of Facebook users out there and who should be on our friends list and who shouldn’t…

The bottom line is that most of us do try to take the time out of our busy schedules to occasionally cut out a list of people that we consider to be “toxic” and/or unnecessary to our everyday lives and that also includes our virtual social worlds too. So…. riddle me this then world… why in the name of Playstation, Bigscreen TVs and all that is ruling my life, do we need to call up the freaking media, AGAIN (you’ll learn that I have a very strong aversion towards the media) and tell them that we’re going to declare November 17th as National Freaking Unfriend Day????

You know… since we no longer value anything of ethical or moral value at this point in our nation’s history any more I guess… Goodbye fat cheerleader “friend” from High School, I actually think you’re a bitch. Goodbye co-worker from hell… you were just a frenemy… I only accepted your request to see if you lied about your “Sick Leave” and also… please pass a note to your cubemate, I’m defriending him as well because he farts a lot, goodye stinky!

Office Memo Gone Down the Toilet

We received the following e-mail memo from our company, the e-mails that follow are way too funny NOT to share….



Recently, we have experienced fire alarms at multiple locations across the country, prompted by burning popcorn. Not only is this a hazard for our employees, but it has the potential to keep local fire companies from responding to more serious accidents and fires.

 Effective immediately, employees must remain with their items during the entire time of microwave usage. Do not place your food in the microwave and walk away.

 Employees who violate this guideline will be subject to disciplinary action from their managers. 

** click the Read More link below for the rest of the story**


C: No popcorn children! I can relate, my wonderful husband will put popcorn in for 10 minutes, then go outside. The smell stays in the house for days.


AM: LOL! 10 minutes?!? Who on Earth thinks that popcorns goes in the micro for any longer than like 3 maybe 3 and a half minutes?? OMG


C: In his defense, he makes the main course whenever we have friends over for dinner, and quite well! Popcorn… is confusing. 


K: Ummm not really, technology has evolved and for men… they invented a button on the micro that says POPCORN, go figure and all you do is push and it will do everything for you! LOL


D: That is too funny K, just like putting down the seat after they use the restroom…..such difficulties for their little brains.


K: That reminded me of my husband when I put the toilet protector on so Troublemaker couldn’t open it. He was there for the longest time trying to figure out how to open it! LOL. You mean they didn’t teach you that in college? What a site to see a grown man wiggling around like a little kid trying to open the potty LOL!


AM: OMG that’s NOT NOT NOT funny!! I avoided going pee at my friend’s house for the LONGEST time because her toilets were smarter than me! (she had the lock thingies too)  The first time I went in there I even had to flush the toilet and wash my hands so they didn’t know that the toilet out-smarted me. Almost a year later I finally had to admit that I was dumb because there was no way I could make it any longer…. Too many glasses of ummm water? …  and about an hour Doogie -her hubby – asked me (he was the one who had to show me how to use the darn thing) how I managed this whole time and I had to finally admit that I was a FRAUD! And that I faked it the first time and I was usually DYING by the time I left for the past year.  my friend laughed so hard I’m pretty sure she almost peed herself!


K: That is too funny! You pretending to go potty! I am over cracking up! And after a year? you’re funny! 


AM: I’m Glad you find pleasure in my pain! No wonder my bladder and kidneys are messed up. Too proud to say the baby-proofing is smarter than me. What has this world come to?!? 

K: For Real! That is HILARIOUS!! You can’t be too proud, Arbitrary Musings! LOL


AM: You would have done the same thing!


K: I can see maybe a couple times but not for a YEAR.


AM: I went in there fumbled around for a while and just couldn’t get into the stupid toilet. That thing had outsmarted me and choked down my pride like it was a filet mignon. I had no choice but to FAKE IT!! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND.

K: That is SO FUNNY! Oh man, you faking it. SO FUNNY!!!!  

AM: I didn’t fake it for a whole year. I faked it ONCE. Then just held it for a year!


K: I understand but I don’t know if I would have faked it! IT IS STILL FUNNY THOUGH!!


AM: Their bathrooms became like Caves of Forbidden Secrets!! You NEVER ENTER! NEVER! EVER!!!! Even if you gotta poo! Don’t DO IT! NOT WORTH IT.


K: They are hard to figure out, really I know what you mean. The only reason I knew is because I read the instructions.

Oh man, if you gotta poo, you’re DONE for!!! Your hubby would have to get you new pants! You certainly couldn’t fake that!


AM: NO You hold it! No matter what the cost is!!  Now quit picking on me! I need to be productive leave me alone!!

K: Ok Ok Ok but you know I luv ya! Too funny! Bubble guts the whole time huh? I’m just sayin’ … OK back to work.


AM: STILL, you HOLD IT. Besides, you know how if you hold it long enough, the need just goes away after awhile? (it comes back with a vengeance later though. You don’t want to be there when it does)


But you just pretend it’s your first date with someone like Brad Pitt and then you can make it.  But if you got bubble guts, you just gotta text the hubby or a family member to call with an emergency!! You GOTS TO GO. PEACE!




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