My weekend felt long but was super short in reality. I really didn’t get much done except one huge task. On the other hand, I did eat my way through about 1/4 of my weight in shellfish, and I had some lovely bread along the way.
Someday, I’ll go too far, and the shellfish allergy will overtake me. You heard it in here that all my jewelry goes to my mom for distribution, and the rest of you bitches can fight it out for my clothes, shoes, accessories and purses! The scarves belong in whole to Cherry.
So, yes, I spent half the day Saturday and ALL DAY Sunday washing blankets. The dogs’ blankets. Lazy motherfuckers just sat there and watched me do it, too. P.S. to Rainbow: You better stop pissing on stuff or the diapers are coming back and I AM SO SERIOUS ABOUT THAT SHIT!
Some vows are stronger than others. To me, these are the vows of girlfriends. Those transcend any situation in life and they live on, tying us together and never letting us forget we are one in the night, that we aren’t really ever far away from one another. I go on quality, not quantity. There are about four or five true good girlfriends I can really count on, and I feel better each day knowing that they are there for me, no matter what. Perhaps you have more (good for YOU!), but I think four or five is about all I’ll ever need in my lifetime. I hope those bitches know they can count on me, too, til the end of my days. I love you all.
My current ridiculous obsessions: Window shopping for sweaters and “removing” the scab in my left nostril that won’t seem to heal (probably because I keep removing the scab, duh – idiot!). Why are these obsessions ridiculous? (1) It gets cold here in Dallas about three days out of the year so what is up with all these sweaters? and (b) even though I don’t want to look like I have a bloody booger hanging out of my nose, if it is ever going to fully heal, I need to leave that fucker alone.
My mom and dad finally consented to take a vacation with me and the non-BF. This makes me as happy as a clam who didn’t get picked for dodgeball by moving an inch away from the digger’s foot. My mom seems excited. My dad? I keep checking for a pulse. Oh well, I’m sure he will get more enthusiastic as the date draws nearer.
In some cultures, it is considered rude not to burp after a good meal. I wish American culture would pick up on this shit – it’s a grand idea. It would save me from saying “Excuse me!” about 20 times a day. (I don’t eat 20 times a day, but I sure as hell burp about seven or eight times after each meal.)
My new website should be ready soon. It’s already ready, if you must know the truth, just a little tweaking needs to be done. It’s pink, by the way. (Reader: But of course it is!)
I’d like feedback if you would, when I finally get it to go live.
What is it with me and
skinny slender no-fat-all-muscle, dark-haired singers? Between Scott Weiland (a long-time favorite), Nick Hexum (another long-timer) and Adam Levine (just recently developed the hots for him), I guess I have a “type.” And yes, this seems to be it. Or this.
I ordered a sweater online and it arrived today, so I tried it on and asked the Office Mate if it was too small on me. The look on her face told me, yeah, maybe. So I told her, “Be honest…” She said it bunched up on my back and I’m like, “Well, that’s better than it being stretched out like this!” and I pulled it really tight around my waist. She just laughed. Later she told me that she just didn’t like the pattern. Me: Well, hell, I don’t care what you think about the pattern – because I like it – but how the hell does it fit? Apparently, it fits fine, so it’s not going back.
She got a kick out of “I don’t care what you think about the pattern.” (Really?? In the two years that she’s known me, when have I ever given a shit if someone liked my outfit, as long as I didn’t look FAT in it?) I told her nothing needs to match anymore, so get over the fact that my pants totally clashed with the sweater. It’s not as though I’ll be pairing the two together anytime in the near future, anyway. But when I do, it will look fabulous!
Wormy Kitty is evil. I still believe that she is plotting to smother me with her paws during the night. She likes to bite, too. I look like I stumbled into a briar patch!
I asked the non-BF how long this biting “stage” would last. Him: Oh. about two years. Me: (rolls eyes and sighs) Is that why you wanted me to keep the kitty?
P.S. Wormy Kitty sure as hell eats a lot. She shits more than any animal I’ve ever seen, next to Mr. Swirly.
Several days ago, I made
cell mutation juice a gin & diet tonic with a heavy splash of cranberry juice cocktail. I took one sip and then we had to go somewhere, and rather than waste totally decent alcohol, I scooped out the ice cubes and stuck the glass in my freezer. Totally forgot about it until yesterday and then I open the door to a nice surprise – wheeeee! it was like an adult snowcone!!! So tonight I’m trying a G&DT with some Fanta Grape soda. It’s pretty white trash sounding but I’m hoping it will be yummy enough that I’ll be able to serve it at parties without ridicule. (The Pickletinis were a huge hit, even though I was surrounded by doubters before the first sip!) It won’t be ready until tomorrow night, though.
The way I look at it, this could go one of two ways: Either I discover a new way to savor a cold drink in this hot Texas summer, or else it’s a Tanqueray and Vomit. I’ll keep you posted.
- The Mattress Firm’s commercial in which White Delivery Guy tells Frantic Housewife: After eight years, your mattress practically doubles in weight from dead skin, sweat, dust mites… Frantic Housewife: Dust mites??!! Black Delivery Guy: Millions of ’em, maybe more! [P.S. I am freaked out about the dead skin and sweat, but they have to go and add dust mites to the mix??]
- Madonna’s ropy arms.
- Madonna’s fake British accent.
- Why don’t I go ahead and just say, Madonna, period.
- Michael Vick He needs to just go away.
- Fist bumping
- Kourtney Kardashian. Both seeing and hearing. That nasaly voice and those eye-rolls? No wonder Scott drinks so much!
- This commercial. I have to turn the channel every time or I ended up a snotty, bawling mess.
- Sagging pants. Why this trend still remains alive baffles me. Why it ever started in the first place baffles me even more.
- The word “irregardless”
- The non-word “fixin'” – as in “I’m fixin’ to go to Wal-Mart, you wanna go with?” I’m FIXIN’ to shove my fist down your throat if you use that word again. And NO. I do not want to go with you to Wal-Mart. My NASCAR pajama bottoms and lime green tube top ain’t clean today.
- “Go with.” I always thought that was so stupid to say. And I’ve even said it myself, once, until I realized how fucking ridiculous it sounded coming out of my mouth.
- A pee puddle. “Not on my wood floors, bad dogs!” Not in this lifetime, though. I’m destined to mop up so often my fingers will want to fall off.
- Any “Re” commercial. Rephresh, Replense, Re-what-the-fuck-ever! I don’t talk about my nether region that often, let alone think about them that much – so please tell me WHY you have to mention them all the fucking time?
- People who tell me they won’t get their pets spayed/neutered because “It will change them,” or “They won’t be happy without balls anymore.” Shut the fuck UP, dumb asshole. They don’t CARE. P.S. I have some photos of all the dogs and cats that are euthanized each year because of irresponsible owners like your own damned self. If you’d like, I can send copies to your home or office. You’re welcome.
- “Ma’am.” The next time someone calls me that, I am going to
leapcrawl over the counter and beat them senseless with my walking cane!
- Hateful salespeople. Case in point: I went to return a dress the other day that I ordered online for work. Beautiful fit on every single part of me except my back. I have tiny shoulders, so a lot of clothes bunch up on my upper back. I limp into the store (not for effect, I really do have a problem with my right foot) and wait patiently while some totally high maintenance (well, higher maintenance than me) bitch in front of me goes on and on about boot socks with the salesgirl. Another salesgirl walks up to the counter to “help” me. Her, not really looking at me: How can I help you? Me: I’d like to return this dress. C-U-Next-Tuesday Salesgirl: Was there something wrong with it? (in an accusing tone, fucking bitch! yeah, she said it the way you imagined just now) Me: It fit all right, it just bunched up behind my shoulders and looked weird. C-U-Next-Tuesday Salesgirl: I need your Visa! (she snapped that shit at me, too!) Me: Um, okay [and then I hand it over]. C-Word Salesgirl: [Hands me my receipt, looking at me contemptously, nothing uttered from her mouth.] Me: Thank You. The C Word Salesbirl: Yeah, what.ever. Oh My GOD, I am totally writing the company and plugging this shit on Facebook! Bitch, if you don’t want to deal with RETURNS and the PUBLIC, get out of a customer service job. I’m quite certain there are many out there who will gladly take your fucking job. P.S. Your hair looked like Rainbow just pissed on it. Get a different stylist, and SOON.
- P.P.S. Your outfit totally sucked. Not a good representative for your brand.
- I’m not really that vindictive. I just let it all loose in here so I can be normal and not so stabby in the Real World!
- Buy your inner child lots of presents. Your inner child just loves presents.
- Always give in to your inner child, especially when she throws herself on the floor, kicking and screaming. Your inner child will thank you later. Maybe.
- Remind your inner child often, like every hour, how beautiful she is. Even if your inner child is having a Bad Hair Day.
- If your inner child comes in at second place in the school poetry writing contest, tell your inner child that she really deserved first place. They just gave it to that other girl because she’s ugly and her mom shows up in dirty sweatpants all the time when she comes to pick her up from school.
- When you are playing Monopoly with your inner child, ignore the extra $100 bill she took when she passed “Go.” Let your inner child get all the good real estate, even if you land on it first. And let your inner child win, every single time. She may very well become a real estate magnate someday, and let you live on Park Place. Or at least let you live on Baltic Avenue at a reduced rent.
- If there is only one cookie left in the box, let your inner child take it. As your inner child says, “You didn’t need a cookie anyway, fat-ass.”
- When you are at a party and your inner child gets all silly and stumbly and knocks over the punch bowl because she had a few too many fizzy gin drinks, explain to the hostess and other party guests that your inner child had a bad day and she really just needed to cut loose. Trust me, we all know how hard your inner child
- Answer your inner child with “Yes, you are the smartest and the prettiest girl on the block.” If that doesn’t work, say the entire world, In fact, you might as well say that to begin with because that is what your inner child thinks anyway, and it will save you time and energy in the long run.
- If your inner child tells you “NO!” or “Fuck you!”, don’t spank or chastise her. She is merely expressing herself and is well on her way to growing up and becoming the mouthy bitch everyone else will hate but will be too afraid to say it to her face.
- I used to be really obsessed with brushing my teeth. I’d brush them when I woke up, after breakfast, before I left for work, at lunch, when I got home from work and right before I went to bed. I had a toothbrush and toothpaste in my purse, in my desk and a spare at my parents’ house. Honestly, I’m surprised I have any gums left. Now I only do it four times a day. Progress.
- My mom has started reading my blog again. Mostly, I think that’s cool, because now that she knows how to text, she gets all smartass and funny on me about my posts. About 3% of me thinks it might be a bit dangerous, though. It was bad enough when she was stalking me on Facebook.
- Found another scrap of paper in my purse today. I believe from the paper it was written on that it came from our last vacation. Me: Look at my poor broken toe. The non-BF: (Just a look) Me: Chut up, Charita, I am totally going to get as much mileage out of this as possible. Nothing ever happens to me. The non-BF: Oh, something’s about to happen to you on this trip, all right. I brought along a baseball bat.
- Much like a Keeping Up With The Kardashians marathon, watching only one episode of Hoarders makes me feel so much better about my life!
- Yesterday was one of those days where I just could not find anything to eat that appealed to me. Well, except for the extremely fattening fast food breakfast I had. “I would like an order of grease with some fat on the side, please.” It took every fiber in my being not to throw up from what was probably about 10,000 calories I ingested.
- Had a healthy breakfast this morning, however. Then I go and fuck it up by eating chicken salad on a damned croissant. I fail.
- P.S. to the dumbass in front of me in line at lunch: Make up your fucking mind on what else you want to eat before you get to the checkout, idiot. I stood behind her for FIVE MINUTES while she asked about different items. She already had five items on her tray, so Miss Piggy, I think that was really enough, you don’t need anything else. P.P.S. Have your “method of payment” ready when you go to pay, don’t be digging around in your makeup bag for loose change, bitch. She was as bad as those old people who stand in line for ten minutes at the grocery store, staring off into space, then wait to WRITE A CHECK after everything is rung up.
- I really do NOT get Charmin’s “enjoy the go” commercial. We are talking about shitting here, people. Let’s not sugarcoat it.
- This episode of Hoarders is making me sick to my stomach. They found FOUR DEAD CATS in this crazy woman’s house. One was under a three foot pile of adult diapers. Used ones. I’m assuming they were the crazy lady’s diapers.
- My hair was about 15 kinds of messed up today. I totally pulled it off by saying that the Jonesing Crack Whore Do was absolutely the look I was going for.
- The bad thing about IBS is that my poop waits for no one. It’s really a crap shoot, so to speak. I’ve become an expert about know where the nearest bathroom is at all times.
- TOTALLY watching “Titanic” for the umpteenth time tonight. My poor, poor dogs.
- During a meeting this afternoon, I received THIRTEEN texts from the non-BF. After the meeting, I called him and said, “I’m in a meeting – can you stop sending texts!” We both just laughed and laughed.
- On the way back to the office from that meeting today, I passed a van with “ASAP Expediters” painted on the side. Since I left it behind three or four times in my tiny little crap car, they don’t seem to be too effective at their job.
- My Grumpy Friend has not called me since that day. If I was really going to piss her off, I might as well have texted “Lighten up, Frances” after all. I hate wasted opportunities.
- I still remember exactly where I was when the second plane hit the other tower: Unemployed, just got in from a night at the non-BF’s, probably still a little drunk. Later that day, I called my soon-to-be boss and commented on how terrible it was. New Boss: What is? I swear, to this day, I don’t know how anyone could not have been glued to their TV. I was for a week. Kinda helped that I didn’t have a job at the time, though.
- What the HELL is it with puppy paws and them smelling like Fritos? I swear, you could serve up my dogs with some bean dip and have a fucking PARTY.
- Six months before, almost to the day, I was on AA flight 11 out of Boston. That’s when I started choking at 33,000 feet and had to be given oxygen. I freaked out when I heard the flight number on September 11, 2001.
- This quitting smoking thing is not going so well. Perhaps I should try aversion therapy. I could just hire someone to smack me in the face every time I light up.
- I don’t know why I smoke anyway. I don’t inhale.
- Back in the old non-girlfriend days, there was a fellow blogger who called herself Princess Steph. She was always writing about all these guys she slept with (more like a courtesan than a princess, really). My blog-stalker at the time, Nein, would respond to her comments and would start his response by calling her “Staph.” She never seemed to get it but I laughed my ass off every time I saw that.
- I smell sex and candy here.
- If I’m honest, I smell dogs, sweat and hairspray, but that sounded so less hot than the above.
- I have a friend who works in property management. Occasionally, I will call her, disguise my voice and ask about renting an apartment. “Miss, I will be having strange men coming and going all hours of the day and night. That won’t pose a problem for you, will it?” The first time, she didn’t realize it was me at the beginning, and I have to tell you that she handled the call so well, I was tempted to call her boss and demand that he give her a raise. Today, I left her a voice mail. This time: “I would like to rent an apartment. I have 17 cats, three birds, a tiny pig and a very fat tortoise. What would my pet deposit be?” She called me back about 30 minutes later, laughing, and said, “I’m in a meeting – can you stop sending texts!”
- Two weeks down and two or four weeks to go on the Wormy Kitty’s ringworm treatment, and then I can release her from the Kitty Prison. I just know that the first night she is free, she is going to smother me in my sleep for keeping her locked up for so long!
- Every now and then, Rainbow goes up to the Kitty Prison all cautious like and then barks and runs away. I give it one day before he’s Wormy Kitty’s bitch when she gets out.
- Just like how my hair always looks fabulous when I have no place to go, I always seem to get a zit right before I have any kind of meeting. Today, my hair looked like shit and if the zit on my forehead popped up about three inches lower on my face, you could have called me Rudolph.
- Got carded buying wine after work. I chuckled as I handed the clerk my ID. He took a look at the birth date and said, “OH.” I responded with, “Yeah OH.” He swore to me that he didn’t mean it that way. “I did,” I said. “Some days I feel older than others.” He was kind enough to tell me I certainly don’t look my age. It must have been the zit.
Let the dogs outside this morning and a cicada buzzed me and flopped onto the porch. I knew I should have kicked it off but I was trying to be nice. When I opened the door to go back in, the motherfucker flew inside! I found it sitting on my china cabinet and tried to knock it off onto the floor. It buzzed all around me so naturally, I ran around the dining room screaming. Surprised the neighbors didn’t call the police, except they’ve probably heard worse coming from my house. The nasty little bastard was sitting on top of a picture frame on my dining room wall and I had to take an alternate route to get to my bathroom and shower.
I wonder if hornet spray would do the job?
UPDATED: Yes, it does. Hornet spray also takes the paint off walls and will ruin not only a picture frame but the print inside it. I highly recommend just whacking the little shit instead, I don’t care how afraid you are to get close to it.
At lunch yesterday, I decided I would text several friends and let them know I declared Wednesday I Will Only Text In Spanish Day. No, I didn’t do one of those annoying group messages, I sent out individual texts with “!Hoy, sólo estoy enviando textos en español!” which Google Translate assures me is “Today, I’m just sending texts in Spanish!” I’m lazy so I didn’t reverse translate it. (By the way, I just now did and shame on you Google Translate, it really converts to “Today, I’m just sending Spanish texts!” Anyway, yeah, basically what I meant to say, so I don’t really fucking care.)
Out of the seven or eight very special people who were lucky enough to receive such a meaningful text from me, only four responded. The rest of you are slackards! Three thought it was funny (of COURSE mi madre, Bunny and Cherry were game, even if Cherry had to bow out of responding after two badly butchered Spanish texts came back to me…she had a meeting to go to). The fourth was mi amiga who responded with your typical, Hey I Don’t Think You Meant To Text This To Me text.
If someone texts me back, I assume it’s open season and I can respond in turn. (When I can’t have a text “conversation,” I always send a quick, “Sorry, can’t talk, call ya later!”) So I did write back, explaining that yes, the text was for her and it was because it was I Will Only Text In Spanish Day. Did I write my next five texts to her in Espanol? You bet your fucking Hostess Ding Dongs I did!
Next thing I know, she was calling me but since I was inhaling my salad and I didn’t want to choke on my food for the second day in a row, I hit the “Decline” button (or as I like to call it, “Denied!”) Texted her that I would call her later.
“I’m in a meeting…can you please stop texting!”
So I absolutely had to text her back with “Sorry” (and I even wrote it in English, that’s how nice I am!). Good thing I didn’t go with my first choice for a response: “Lighten up, Frances.” (Again with the movie quotes???)
Or my second: Besar el culo. (Ha ha, if you are reading this, mi amiga, just kidding!)
Oh MY. Just look at what I found!
Went to dinner tonight with a great couple I met through the non-BF. We were eating at a 5-star Japanese restaurant and while I am not a huge fan of the noodle, these were pretty fucking awesome. But for starters, I wanted to try the white seaweed salad. Had heard it was a must so I ordered one to start my dinner. No possible way to describe it fully – suffice it to say it was crunchy in a springy, sort of bouncy way. Very tasty, too.
When it seemed we were finished and were ready to leave, I was told to go to the bathroom. Not that I was farting at the table or anything, they just said I had to at least look at the bathroom before I left. So the girl half of the couple and I go and the first thing I noticed was the sheer glass doors that were on the stalls. “But you can see through it!” I told her. (I have a hard enough time peeing in a public restroom, but if people can actually watch me do it, I just might die.) She showed me how the glass becomes frosted when you turn the lock. How fucking c-o-o-l is that?
I stepped inside, turned the lock, put down my two strips of toilet paper and sat down on this rather interesting looking toilet. Over to my left, right above the teepee roll, there was a panel with buttons. Stop, Rear Wash, Rear Wash (Soft), Front Wash and Fan. Oh shit (no pun intended), this was going to be fun! Even though I didn’t need it, I pushed the Rear Wash (Soft) first. Some mechanical sounds then WHOOSH! – my ass got gently sprayed with warm water. Not able to help myself, I laughed so loud I am quite sure they heard me in the adjacent bar. [I say “quite sure” because of the looks I got from two or three people when we walked out.]
Rear Wash, then Front Wash (which didn’t hit the Front part I thought it would, but had it gone where I expected it to, it might have bounced off the Front and hit me in the face). Then a couple more Rear Washes. Another Front Wash, then Fan. This toilet is so amazing that I now want one in my house. I’d never leave the fucking bathroom!
Force of habit, I followed all of the above activity by using the toilet paper after all. Old dogs, new tricks, something like that.
At least my mom has a sense of humor:
Cherry, thanks for listening to me bitch tonight. Love ya!
- Coming off of over 41 hours awake, 25 spent in the bathroom throwing up. Happy Labor Day to me – I was laboring over a toilet.
- Must have been delusional because I swear I saw Pikachu staring at me in the dark in my bedroom, sitting on top of a three foot pile of Skittles.
- At four a.m., I was trying to watch “Falling Skies” so I could fall asleep but I just didn’t get the show, and the music was spooky, so yeah, probably a poor choice on my part.
- Last night was the night Wormy Kitty decided to “take the day off” and wasn’t doing loud acrobatics in the middle of the night. Shit, if I was going to be awake all night, I might as well be entertained, because Noah Wylie sure as hell wasn’t cutting it for me.
- Was looking at the Office Mate’s Linkedin profile. Me: Take the apostrophes off your CEO’s, VP’s, etc. It shows ownership, not plurality. The Office Mate: Well, when I worked for them, I did own them!
- Even though I am a girlie girl to a fault, I hate buying bras. And panties. I am pretty utilitarian about underwear because, well, who’s gonna see it? Okay, so the non-BF does – point taken. In order to cheer myself up from my Vomit Funk today, I went to Victoria’s Secret at lunch. It’s about time I put some color on my tits & ass!
- Only one thing was boring beige. The rest are so bright, I doubt I’ll be able to wear them under anything except black. (10 pairs of panties, one boring beige bra and one shiny, sparkly blue and pink bra. No more underwear shopping for me until 2013.)
- When I got back from lunch, I went to the bathroom and noticed myself in the mirror. Wearing my standard I Don’t Feel Good So If You Know What Is Good For You, You Won’t Fuck With Me uniform (papery cotton baggy brown cropped pants, a fugly blah-colored t-shirt, my glasses, didn’t bother to do my hair and very little makeup because I may just be laboring over the toilet again), I looked SCARY. Ran back to the office and told the Office Mate I had to take some pizzas to a class tonight and I just couldn’t do it. Me: Look at me, I look like shit. (Silence from the Office Mate.) Me: No, I look like a homeless person! No wonder those girls at Victoria’s Secret were following me all around the store. “Watch her, bitch is gonna steal some bras so she can trade them on the street for a couple 40 ozs!”
- I typically make notes of overheard shit or conversations I’ve had on whatever is around me at the time, including napkins, credit card receipts, cardboard beer coasters and once, a Tampon wrapper. Then I shove them inside whatever bag is closest to me and forget about them. Was cleaning out my work tote this evening and noticed a wadded up paper napkin at the bottom with “That dress is going to end up in a trash can later tonight” written on it. I wish to the baby Jesus and all that is holy I knew when and who the hell I wrote that about!
- On the other end of the napkin, I found this. Me: Awkward teen? The non-BF: Yep, she’s never kissed a boy. But I bet she’s kissed a few girls. Me: Slumber party practice? The non-BF: Oh yeah.
- Ooh, a bonus find tonight! Mom: You know, that Spanish Club El Rio. That’s where it happened. Me: El Rio? The RIVER? Sounds like a white person came up with that name. It’s like calling it El Taco or some such shit!
- Conversation tonight with the non-BF – Me: No, you didn’t send me Captain Pervy. You sent two emails to me with photos of me with really bad hair and a boa constrictor wrapped around my neck. (No, NO ONE will ever understand us. I still don’t.)
- On the way home from work on Friday, I was stopped at a traffic light next to a chick sitting behind some guy on a Harley. She was wearing a sweater set and pearls. He was wearing a bowtie.
- Why do I always see the strangest things when I cannot possibly take a photograph, damn it?!
- Why doesn’t anyone use the term “cad” anymore? I always found it so much classier than calling a guy a prick, douchebag or fuckface. Don’t you?
- Had to run to the grocery store because all of my salad stuff was expired. While I was there, I decided to get the furbrats a rotisserie chicken, and I returned home to discover I picked one that was a little, um, DRY. On the phone with the non-BF, I said, “Oh well, it’s just for the dogs, right? Let Momma have a taste first…” Was so hungry from being sick for two days that I didn’t chew properly and almost choked on the motherfucking chicken! Me: Mgmpmhph…ack! Okay, I am okay. I’m okay. Him: You’re falling apart. First you pass out from swigging gin and now you’re choking on your chicken. I’m going to have to get you one of those “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” buttons. One day, I’ll come over there and the dogs will be feasting on your thighs. Me: [Click]
- Of course I didn’t really hang up on him (although I kinda sorta wanted to – why did he have to say “feasting on your thighs” like they were a couple of luau pigs – so meaty! – or something?). He had a point about the fowl play on the phone, though, because if I wait too late to eat, I eat too fast. But the gin thing? Nope, the fucking Austerity Campaign has sadly kicked in. Besides who has feverish sweats and hallucinates from a gin & tonic?
- Okay, okay, so from
threefour gin & tonics?
- Swear to God, y’all, it was a stomach bug. Damned non-BF always trying to get me into trouble!
- P.S. I have the swollen lymph glands to prove it. So there. Nyah!
- I once had a fever so high that I had this out of body experience where I got up out of my sweat-soaked body in bed, patted Trouble on the head and went to turn the A/C up because I was freezing. I know it really happened, too, because I remember thinking to myself on my way back to bed, “Bitch, you really ought to clean this apartment more often.”
- My feet are so overdue for a pedi, I’m almost ashamed to go back to my regular place. I just know they talk about people’s crusty feet in their native language while they are sitting there smiling at us.
- Plus, they seem to find it amusing that my feet are so ticklish and I squirm and giggle when they are scraping them. I’m really only worried I might squirm too much one time and “accidentally” kick one of those bitches in the face.
- Got up to make myself some hot tea to soothe my poor Chicken Choking Throat and looked down. There it was again. I swear, I picked out the most godawful combination of clothes in my fucking closet. Come to think of it, I think I reserve this ensemble for my Stinky Dog Bath Days.
- You should have seen the one time I tried to bathe all four at once. I am Non, Queen of the Idiots!
- I bought the Wormy Kitty another catnip toy but this one is a hanging one, which is much more entertaining for me. Plus the little shit can’t drag it off into her water bowl then bury it in the litter box. Was in the other room and heard this weird, semi-barking sound and ran to the crate to find Rainbow trying desperately to pull the catnip bug through the gate. “Hugs, not drugs, Rainbow! Hugs, not drugs. Your crack pipe days are over, you big pussy!”
- I cannot hear “Moves Like Jagger” without wanting to get up and dance. Then go Google “naked Adam Levine.” What is it with me and skinny singers with lots of tattoos? It’s not I’d look twice at that shit if they were walking down the street. But give them a microphone and hell yeah.
- I used to love it when the boys in the band would dedicate “Rebel Rebel” to me. Hot tramp, I love you so!
- It’s so quiet around here sometimes now that Mr. Swirly is gone, I often forget I have other animals and try to do something for myself, like take a nap after going over a day without sleep. It’s quiet, that is, until one of the dogs leaps up on my chest and barks in my face, almost giving me a fucking heart attack. How completely impudent of me to think I’m allowed a little “me time.” So sorry!
- UPDATED: I cannot stop laughing over this.
- I believe in starting the day off on a positive note, so my alarm on my iPhone is titled “Wake up, lazy bitch!”
- Found a sample of a self-tanning towlette underneath some shit on my
“junk” tabledining room table. (Of course, just a drawer wouldn’t be sufficient.) Decided to apply it to my right leg, wait the three hours and see if it really is going to be darker than my other pasty white leg. If that crap doesn’t wash off right away, it’s a Silkwood Shower for me tonight, I guess.
- Was walking into a convenience store on the way home today and a guy was standing by a car parked next to the entrance of the store. He swirled around to look at me. Him: Hey, how you doin’? Me, to myself: Are you serious? Me, to him: I’m fine, thank you. And how are you? Him: Alright, alright, alright. Just like some kind of black Matthew McConaughey.
- I was so tempted to ask if he had a joint and when he said no, I would respond with “It’d be a lot cooler if you did.“
- [I really have to stop doing movie quotes in here.]
- Last winter, on my drive home, I would see this teenaged boy out on a residential corner near a junior high school. He’d be dancing and making hand signs and pointing at people driving by. Second time I drove past him doing that bullshit, I rolled down the passenger window, yelled “Peace, baby!” and stuck up my first two fingers. After that, I’d honk and wave or give a thumbs-up when I passed by. Then it got warmer again and I haven’t seen him since. I suppose it’s too hot now for even the Crazies to come out.
- UPDATE: Right leg is still a Scary White color…
- Several years ago, when I was working at the job where I met the non-BF, it was around the Christmas holidays and I was bored because my friend and I were the only ones who didn’t take time off. I swore to her there was a recipe for Twinkie Lasagna, and I wanted to prove it. So I did an internet search for Ding Dongs, since they are made by the same company. Unfortunately for me, I too quickly clicked on the first link the search provided and screamed because I saw a huge penis just looming at me on my screen. Quickly shut that shit down and confessed to my boss when he returned from his holiday. Apparently, IT had already informed him of the “incident” and he blew them off. When I explained what I was looking for, he gave me a strange look. It was almost as though he was disappointed in my real search. Hell, I think the Twinkie Lasagna recipe makes a better story. Any ol’ bitch can talk about porn, ya know?
- I got it wrong, by the way. It was Twinkie Tacos. I cannot make this shit up. Oh, yeah, and Twinkie sushi? No fucking thank you!
- “You no like sushi? How about a Ho Ho?”
- Went to the store after work to get some liquid fabric softener. Left the store with a bag of limes and a coconut. Who the hell does that kind of shit?
- Fucking condenser froze up again. I’m really beginning to lose my patience with this shit!
- UPDATE NUMBER TWO: Still no fucking tan. These towlettes are a complete failure. Plus, they smell like orange-scented paint thinner and they are STICKY. I had to pry the right off the left one after I crossed my legs!
- [Knowing my luck, tomorrow morning I will wake up with one white leg and one brown one. If that happens, I swear to the baby Jesus and all that is holy, I’m wearing the shortest skirt I can find!]
- I recently discovered that Wormy Kitty is a southpaw. She keeps poking her left front leg out to swat at Blindie when Blindie comes to howl at her cage. (I’m not getting much sleep, just in case you wondered.) I tried to teach her to shake but Wormy just looked at me like she was thinking, “Bitch, please! I’m not a fucking dog!”
- That crazy cat keeps doing nose dives into her kitty litter. It’s quite disconcerting to hear a loud thump from the other room when you are used to peace and quiet. Okay, “sorta” peace and quiet.
- The animal situation is probably getting out of hand here. All I need is a pygmy goat, a hedgehog and a goddamned chicken and I’m set. Ready for Them to “send me away” for some “rest and relaxation.” And strong psychotropic meds.
- Honestly, I really could use the time off.
- P.S. Those towlettes? Don’t. Fucking. Work.
- UPDATED, next morning: Um, YES THEY DO. It is hot as hell but I may be wearing pants to work…
- The non-BF and I keep calling Wormy Kitty a “he.” I told the non-BF she was going to end up with gender identification issues. The non-BF: “Don’t you mean gender identity issues?” Me: “Here is something I will say that you cannot correct: Fuck off.”
- Rainbow is a Spiteful Pisser. I have to be careful when packing for a trip because he will pee on my luggage. His resentment towards Wormy Kitty is evidenced by him pissing on the jug of kitty litter. Vindictive little bastard.
- Even so, he isn’t as bad as Trouble was. I once pointed my finger at him and chastised him for something he did. Little shit snuck up behind me while I was doing my makeup, bit me on the ass and ran off.
- I miss that damn dog.
- LONG day today – at work before 7:30. On the phone with the non-BF just now. Me: It’s been quite a day. I think I am just going to relax. Him: Translation – Hoda.
- Wouldn’t it be great to have a job where you get paid to drink early in the morning on TV?
- Hate going grocery shopping without a list. I forgot nail polish remover and at the last minute put back the Woolite. Good thing, since I have three big jugs of it at home already.
- Forced Austerity Campaign has sucked in one way: mani/pedi. While my toes turn out looking halfway decent, my right hand looks like a three year old took to it with a crayon.
- Someone told me I smelled nice today. Them: What’s that you’re wearing? I like it. Me: Lysol Spring Waterfall scent.
- Just spilled wine on my carpet. (No, Mom, I’m not drunk. Just fucking clumsy is all). Good thing I prefer white wine. Oh well, the stain will go well with the vomit stains from Rainbow’s illness a week ago. It was a genius idea I had to put light beige carpeting in my den of a house that has (had, at the time) four dogs.
- No, wine is not on the off-limit list for Forced Austerity Campaign, at least not for today. Don’t push the issue, either, because I will push back. And I can push harder.
- Trying for the third night in a row to repaint the Pointer Finger and Fuck You Finger on my right hand. Now I don’t remember which of the three-insignificantly-different-shades-of-pale-pink-nail-polishes I used on the other eight.
- I’ve had every hair color imaginable. Okay, well every hair color found in nature. I will try pink someday. I just cannot pull off being a redhead, though. Not because of my personality. I just look like Ronald McDonald when I do.
- Totally know when it is time for a visit to my hair stylist: I start braiding the top of my head. Time to hide the scissors AND the alcohol. Bitch may start cutting if you don’t watch out!
- I swear, I can’t remember crap from like five minutes ago, but I know what outfit I was wearing on a date in 11th grade. Is that early onset Alzheimer’s shit selective?
- Between Blindie’s insulin injections, the animals’ medicaton distribution and wrapping up my Probably Broken Toe, I am quite sure I was a nurse in a former life.
- I just hope it wasn’t Nurse Ratched.
- Wormy Kitty sounds just like Woody Woodpecker when she mews. I really need to record that shit.
- Every now and then, I look around at the stuff that is my life. It really is a dichotomy. On the one hand, there is all this shit I have to do to keep this one dog (and now cat) alive and well. And there is all of the animal-related heartache I endured. On the other hand are all the beautiful people I’ve met along the way. And all the animals. Mr. Swirly left a legacy, as did Trouble. Blindie probably will as well.
- Rainbow, on the other hand, only gave his opinion on window treatments. Yeah, and okay, he is the most precious momma’s boy EVER! “I wish all my boys were gay. Then they would never leave me!”
- Well shit if I didn’t mess up the Pointer Finger again. I fucking give up!
“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…
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!
Okay, so the Blog Immodium didn’t work and y’all are getting two posts today, but “a few blogposts a day keeps the doctor away.” As well as the cops. Kinda helps me not punch anyone in the face.
UPDATED: Well, not really two posts in one day..I started writing this before I fell asleep after possibly subjecting myself to aerial poison. More on that later.
I FUCKING HATE CAPTCHA.
I was reading comments on this post, and when I tried to respond to one, fucking blogspot made me do a captcha. While I totally get why – it’s to protect us (“I’m a robot, I’m a robot!”), except it doesn’t protect non’s ass from some bitch in Brazil who keeps spamming my comments with shit so yeah captcha, you FAIL– but fucking HELL, can’t they make the bunched up letters and numbers a little less bunched-the-fuck-up?
Took me five captchas before my comment was published. By that time, I was just about to say “Fuck it,” and move on.
I probably need new glasses.
I was on the phone with my mom and heard all this raucus at the back door. Rainbow was outside and I figured he saw a doodle bug and it scared him or something. So I open up the back door and there are fucking feathers EVERYWHERE. Rainbow got one of the neighbor’s hens, but being smarter than your average chicken, that bitch played possum and survived. I even got to pet it when I went to tell the neighbor it was possibly near death in their front yard. Good chicken! Bad Rainbow!
I think I’m switching from first aid tape to duct tape. That first aid tape shit doesn’t stick to itself very well. Does duct tape come in colors other than gray?
On the phone with my mom again. I said “fuck” one too many times, I suppose, because she chastised me with “Watch your language!” What the hell am I, twelve??
I found out the place I’m moving to next summer does not allow “farm animals.” So no goat for me (insert sad face here). I wonder if I gave the pygmy goat a jeweled collar, dressed it in a really cute outfit and called it Trixie, they might think it would pass for a “domesticated animal?”
This waking up at 3 a.m. and falling asleep at 5 only to wake up at 6 is totally jacking up my day. Especially now with very little caffeine..
They are spraying for West Nile virus tonight and tomorrow night. We are basically QUARANTINED for the next eight hours. I hope that stray kitty outside who lives under my porch is okay.
I just spent an hour outside with the fucking stray, trying to coax that bitch inside. I count four bites and goddamnit, if I die from this shit, know I did it trying to save yet another fucking stray. If I were to be buried, y’all could put that shit on my tombstone! Fortunately, I’m set to be cremated. Just sprinkle my ashes on a pile of dog shit, that would make me happy.
Not really. I want a fucking shrine, y’all. And it better be pink.