Category Archives: Man-Skeeter

Motherfucking Mondays! I HATE Them!

“Looks like somebody has a case of the Mondays.”  I swear to the baby Jesus and all that is holy, if anyone EVER says that to me, I’ll knock them upside their head with my 20 pound purse!

I give you my Bitchy Monday:

  • Wormy Kitty (as she is now called) doesn’t seem to be doing any better.  Might be because I am an idiot and wasn’t giving her the proper dosage of nasty ringworm meds the first two days.  I really need to read labels.
  • I don’t seem to be doing any better myself.  Feel like the fucking Typhoid Mary.
  • Woke up sick this morning, slept a little too late and had to go into the office wearing a ball cap because I had fugly hair from being a lazy bitch this weekend.  Also wore baggy cropped pants, a mismatched t-shirt and flip flops that didn’t even come close to pulling the “outfit” together.  I looked like a homeless person dressed me.
  • Now, don’t get all shitty about the above bullet point.  I give them beer money, remember?
  • The bandage covering my ringworm is irritating my skin (eew, that still grosses me out to say “my” and “ringworm” in the same sentence!).  Between welty skin, a fungal infection and my Lysol Arms, I’m a train wreck.
  • Was chastised by the non-BF yesterday:  “You sure do cuss a lot more these days.  It’s like your blog has taken over your real life.”  Oopsy!  Can’t have THAT happen, can we?
  • Forced Austerity Campaign has not been too much of an adjustment for me.  I didn’t opt out of my emails, but now I delete them all.  Okay, so I take a tiny peek at them and then I delete them.  Oh yeah, and I threw away my “Shit I Need To Buy” folder!  PROGRESS.
  • I know I really am overdue on a Man-Skeeter post but I’m so busy at work these days, I don’t even want to think about her when I get home.  Soon, my bitches, very, very soon.
  • Totally forgot to turn up my A/C this morning and came home to a super cold house, a shivering Wormy Kitty, two pissed off dogs and a condenser that froze up.
  • What would I do for a Klondike bar?  I don’t really like them, so yeah, probably nothing.
  • I just looked at my surrounding area and realized I have four bottles of nail polish out.  Three are pale pink with shades so insignificantly different from one another, it makes me wonder why I bought all three of them.  Oh wait, the Shopping Problem.  I fail.
  • “Forgot” to eat this weekend, except for some Cheetos, so I had two chicken biscuits and biscuits and plain gravy for breakfast, and a sandwich for lunch.  Damn, I’ve had my carb intake for all of September the last week in August.  Nothing but salad and apples for this bitch for four weeks!
  • I have to get up really early tomorrow, so I set three different alarms on my phone and I’m having my mommy call me in the morning.  I sure miss my “alarm clock dog” (Mr. Swirly).  For more reasons than that, obviously, but hell, that dog could wake the dead.
  • Going to start calling my girls The Nips.  Going braless?  “Taking The Nips on a walk.”  Breast self exam?  “It’s Jane Fonda time for The Nips.  Work it, baby!”
  • Rainbow is licking his penis (because he can), Blindie is licking her arm and Wormy Kitty is licking the crate gate.  I am surrounded by saliva.  It ain’t pretty.

“We accept you, one of us!”

“Gobble! Gobble!”  Only Bunny will get this shit. No way I’ll be a peacock!


Had a really cool temp working for me this week while the Office Mate was on vacation.  By the second day, I realized we are a LOT alike.  We’ve had some good conversations in between all the work we’ve been doing.  Today, during a break, she and I were talking about shopping.  She asked what I liked to shop for.

Me:  Clothes, jewelry, shoes, scarves, accessories, makeup and skincare. Um, and books that I will never read.  Oh yeah, and I love to window shop rescue sites for tiny dogs.

Cool Temp:  Oh, that sounds fun!  You sound like me.  My big thing is shoes, though.

Me: Some of the shit I bought still has their prices tags on them.  It’s shameful.

Cool Temp:  I love shoes.  There was an intervention before we moved into the house we own now.  I gave away probably 30 pairs of shoes that I never even wore.  I still had the receipts in the boxes.

Me:  Why didn’t I know you then?

Me: I’m on my third closet in my house.  Well, they are smallish but still.  Makes it difficult to pick my outfits in the morning.

Cool Temp:  I’m on my fourth.  My husband made me go through those shoes and get rid of them.

Me:  So sad for you!  Hey, do you ever just go into your closet and STARE AT STUFF?  I love looking at my purchases.  It’s pretty twisted.

I’m a suck fuck, I know.  Now that I am on Forced Financial Austerity Campaign (well, I am if I want to save money to buy my Mini next year), it’s a damned shame.  I’d totally want to go shopping with her!  Where was she a couple years ago, damn it?!


Speaking of the Forced Financial Austerity Campaign (or “I’m Fucked” for short), that really starts tomorrow.  (Mom, if you are reading this, NO, I did NOT go shopping, except for maybe an adult beverage.)  After the hectic week I’ve had (possible aerial poisoning, exposure to ringworm, nasty fucking spider bite right above my left boob where everyone can see it (the bite, not the boob), realization that I cannot keep up compulsive shopping if I want to get my new car, and being pretty much getting slammed at work), I need a drink.  Fuck the diet tonight.  Must be in the air because the non-BF said the exact same thing!


The Cool Temp also asked me what my sign was.  No, not in a creepy-old-guy-wearing-an-open-shirt-and-gold-chain-throwback-to-the-70s-hipster-doofus kind of way.  I think she was trying to peg what my multiple-personality personality was.  Good luck with that, hon.

Me:  I’m a Pisces Queen.  I have just about every quality that is Piscean.  (Fuck, is “Piscean” even a real word?)  Except for the introverted part.  I’ll talk to anyone.  Wasn’t like that when I was younger, though. [Very obvious that I didn’t do my homework!]

Cool Temp:  Makes sense.  Pisces and Aquarius get along really well.

Found out she was born on the same day as one of my best friends was (Valentines babies!) and they both have the same first name.  If the non-BF ever read this blog and stumbled across this post, he’d ask, “What, are we girlfriends now?”  [I love Kevin Spacey and Denis Leary, and that still is one of my all-time favorite movies!]


On the subject of movies, another favorite is “Home For The Holidays.” I LOVE fucked-up, dysfunctional family movies, and Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.  Plus I really like Holly Hunter and that crazy Robert Downey, Jr.  “Go back to your own goddamned holidays!” Man, that is my childhood.


I just looked up Pisces characteristics and I am nothing like them at ALL.  I still swear I was switched at birth and now I think my mom changed the date on my birth certificate.  My mom still insists, “No, you are mine,” and always with an air of resignation.


Okay, well some of it fits.  But this???

“Pisces needs a dominant partner of role model in their life or they will very easily fall into a pit of self-pity and self-undoing. When they are independent and inspired by life’s events, their creativity comes shining through but they are unable to be on their own for long before they start dreaming in their imaginary world of happy people and happy endings. They need other people to keep them grounded and on the right track.”  From HERE

WTFEver.  I’m probably one of the most independent bitches you will ever meet.  That quality in and of itself ended a LOT of relationships over the years.  And the “Pisces and Business” shit?  No way.  This, however, is spot on:

“Pisces is the sign of mysticism, mystery and the spiritual unknown. Pisces live in two worlds, the real world and the spiritual or mystical world where they interpret what they see into what they want [I live in about four or five worlds, by the way]. They do this to avoid all the realities of pain and suffering in the world. They have extremes of emotions and feel both good and bad intensively. Pisces have formidable intuitive ability.”

Except that I avoid the realities of pain and suffering by being a smartass, having cocktails and going shopping.  Oh shit“I’m Fucked.”


Until my late twenties, I was pretty shy and not at all comfortable talking to strangers or doing things on my own.  A then-friend forced me out of this shell and she unleashed a lion.  Now, I’ll pretty much talk to anybody and everybody, even if they don’t want me to.

[Try traveling about 25-40% of each month – that will get you over the old “I don’t wanna eat by myself” fucking self-pitying whining!]

So yeah, I visit one of my local favorite restaurants for lunch today.  I’m always happy when they seat me next to a large party because I’m nosy as hell and love to eavesdrop.  This restaurant buys one of those monthly song system things and they change up the CDs accordingly.  I’m trying to stop inhaling my food (since I almost ALWAYS wait too late to eat and my blood sugar forces me to eat like a starved person who is served a filet mignon), and I take a break from inhaling my salad to listen to the music on the CD that is being blasted into the restaurant like I am in a concert.

Had to text Bunny…

“Imaginary Liver”? Hell YEAH, I have one of those!

Apparently, I have a priblem with the Os in my keybiard.


I totally have a mosquito bite on my ass cheek.  While I am waiting to succumb to this illness, I am TOTALLY ordering in some bon bons and watching Law & Order reruns while waiting to die.  Not really, you serious fucks.  I’m actually waiting to see if the fucking spider bite I have is lethal.


I am so glad and so VERY blessed that my mom really overlooks all that is wrong with me and loves and accepts my “weirdness.”  P.S. She actually embraces that SHIT!

Totally Random Tuesday, One Day Early (Well, Not NOW Since I Fucking Fell Asleep)

I am going to have to just suck it up and make this Totally Random Monday from now on, I suppose.  No excuse this time. Sorry, y’all!

UPDATED: Okay, I fell asleep in the middle of writing this.  Guess it’s Tuesday after all. No mea culpa necessary.

  • I often buy cosmetics simply for the packaging or name of the color.  [OPI’s “I’m Not Really A Waitress” is one of my personal favorites.] Then I give them away when I don’t like them.  My friends just LOVE me!  Need a new mascara?  Let’s go to non’s house.  That bitch has a bag full of them!
  • While I was digging through The Black Hole (aka my gargantuan purse), I found a walnut.  What the fuck?  I also found a catnip toy (I don’t have a cat), five buttons, someone’s phone number on a slip of paper with “Call me!” and three hearts next to it in very obvious girly handwriting (???), Mr. Swirly’s collar, a golf tee, some potato chips and a dollar bill with “Who loves ya, baby?” Sharpie’d across the bottom of it.  I am not a packrat in any part of my life except for my purse.
  • Just looked at the “walnut” again and damn if it isn’t a rock shaped like a walnut.  Or else a petrified walnut.  Why the hell do I have a rock in my purse?  What am I, three years old?
  • Ain’t no way in hell any squirrel will crack through that shit!
  • I had a Me Weekend this past weekend (meaning the non-BF and I couldn’t be bothered enough to figure out a way to see each other, except for Friday night).  Since I hadn’t washed my hair on Sunday, I decided to poof it up in the back using my hand and the leftover hair products from Saturday.  Ended up looking like I had three Bumpits in my hair.
  • I totally took a bath, y’all, I just didn’t bother submerging.
  • When we go on road trips, I make the non-BF suffer through two or three CDs of the worst possible music mixes in the entire world.  Finally, he says, “Enough!” and takes over.  Even so, he always laughs at the hand motions I have for “Tarzan Boy.”
  • I love that song.  And I’m not afraid to admit it.
  • I can talk other people into and myself out of almost anything.  Years ago, a then-boyfriend told me I had missed my calling and should have been a lawyer.  I responded by telling him I still wanted to have a soul.
  • Blindie never really feels the insulin injection I give her, but because I usually say, “Quick stick!” she always carries on like I cut off her paw or something.  The apples don’t fall far from the tree in this house.  We are ALL a bunch of Drama Queens here.  Especially Rainbow.
  • Inspired by the aforementioned Bumpit bullet point, I have been poofing up the hair on the back of my head for the past half hour.  I got it so high, if I colored it with blue Kool-Aid, I swear I’d look just like Marge Simpson.  Only without the cartoon character face.  And the two chain-smoking sisters.
  • Bunny asked me today when my Austerity Campaign was ever going to get underway.  God bless her, she actually believes that shit!
  • Tomorrow, Bunny.  Tomorrow is a good day.  Nothing started on a Tuesday ever turned out badly.  Okay, I’m laughing out loud right now.
  • Drove past the new outlet mall today.  Took a left turn and went in for a spin.  I consider it a major success that I left without even parking.  Progress, bitches.  PROGRESS.
  • While I appreciate good food, I totally look at eating from an utilitarian perspective.  Being hypoglycemic, it’s a necessity.  If I don’t want to pass out or drive into a strip mall, that is.
  • I’d like to thank my mom for squeezing me out of her uterus many moons ago.  So I’m told, I was a “darling” child until I hit 15, and then I got mouthy and got an opinion.  Thank God for all concerned that only lasted a couple of years.  The mouthy part, not the opinion.  Truth be told, I had an opinion since the day I could talk.
  • I am worse than a pregnant woman when it comes to cravings.  I drove 15 miles one way to get a chicken salad sandwich for lunch on Monday.
  • Nothing is more beautiful to me than my dogs while they are sleeping.  Blindie just curls up into a ball and doesn’t make a sound.  Rainbow dreams out loud (like his momma) and often kicks one or both of his legs (again, like his momma).  I wouldn’t know about Mr. Tail, since the non-BF has been hoarding him for the past three weeks.  I miss him.
  • Every now and then, life comes along and kicks you in the ass.  Pay attention to that shit.  It’s the universe telling you what to do next.

The Man-Skeeter, Part One

The Office Mate and I were doing our Forced Fitness this afternoon and as we were walking around the track, I told her I needed to come up with a good nickname for the stalkery histrionic narcissistic attention whore girl I have known since probably the 7th or 8th grade.  We tossed about several names and just couldn’t come up with anything until the Office Mate suggested “man-eater.”  Immediately, I yelled out (yep, people love me at the gym!) “Man-Skeeter!  You can swat at her as much as you want but she never goes away!” (P.S. When I told my mom the name, she misunderstood me and thought I said Man-Peter.  “I really would prefer you don’t use such a sexual term.”  This is where cell phones and conversations with my parents just don’t mix.)

THIS reminds me of her!

[I love Charlie the Unicorn almost as much as I love the leapy little goat I am currently obsessed with!]

I texted the Really Cool Teacher Friend and told her I am starting a semi-weekly series about the Man-Skeeter.  She thought it was an excellent idea, as did I, so I present you with:

Man-Skeeter, Part One

I met her back when we were boy-crazy just-turned-teenagers.  It was normal and even expected at that age for girls to be all gooshy gaga over a different boy every two weeks.  I had guys after me and yeah, maybe a I chased a few.  What did we know then about the dance of love?  We were psychotic hormonal misfits, just like every other teenaged girl we knew.  Still, even at that time, I thought she was a bit too clingy.  I mean, yeah, I loved boys but I also had other interests.  They didn’t consume my every waking moment.  I was crazy back then, but I wasn’t that crazy.

We all grow up (well, most of us do) but she still seemed stuck in high school.  A guy could look at her for more than five seconds and she would think he liked her.  Then she would pursue him to the ends of the earth.  (Think Gigi in “He’s Just Not That Into You,” except on steroids.)

I got kind of fed up with her after her first divorce because she seemed to want to party every night and there were young kids at home.  I normally am not judgmental but shit, those are the precious years with your babies!  Hell, I can throw some shit down like the next motherfucker, but I didn’t have kids and I kept it (for the most part) under control.  So we eventually lost touch because I stopped making the effort.  Years passed.

Then my mom, bless her heart, gave Man-Skeeter a second chance a few years ago and told her my cell phone number.  (Nice move, Mom!  And don’t call me to tell me you are sorry again – the first 400 times were enough, thankyouverymuch!.)  Thus, the Man-Skeeter came back into my life.

It was okay for a while and then about two years ago, things were really crazy busy at work.  I had my assistant out for a good four weeks and I was trying to get my budget for the following year done, along with doing my assistant’s job.  The resentment of her needing me to approve every guy she had the hots for, the constant texting and phone calls caught up with me.  My mom came in to temp for me and type up all the market research I had done for the budget.  She got to experience first-hand just how awful things had become.

[By the way, my mom would make one hell of an excellent employee, if she were in the market for work.  I think it was around 2:30 when I asked her didn’t she need to go pee or something?? Thought her bladder might burst and I don’t want to clean up that mess in my office, jeez! I have a stellar work ethic, but not at the expense of my kidneys, for fuck’s sake. Old people, WTF?]

After the fifth “DENIED!” phone call of the day, and about 11 text messages – all updating me on the guy-of-the-month – she sends me a text asking me what had she done and was I mad at her?

I gave my mom The Look (The Look is pretty much when my brown eyes turn completely black because I am so pissed, I could spontaneously combust shit with my glare), and she said, “If she was a guy doing all this, you could get a restraining order for stalking.”

I reluctantly called her back.  This is when she tells me she packed some clothes and left her home to travel half-way across the country uninvited  to “see some relatives”/stalk the guy who just moved over a thousand miles away from her.  To “find herself,” as she put it.

Stay tuned for Part Duex, because it gets even better…