Saturday, January 31, 2009
1 – I lived with a guy who was a compulsive liar. I’m really independent, but it got so bad I moved back in with my parents (which I swore I would NEVER do.) Moving my things into their house, I broke down in tears of relief, to be away from that psycho and to realize that my parents really would take me back, no matter what shit my mom said when I was a teenager.
2 – I was in the choir in school. But I can’t sing at all. I actually got cut off singing karaoke. I tell people it was because the bar was closing.
3 – I took my drivers test the same morning that we left for a cross country trip to visit my great-aunt in Oregon. My dad made me drive through Chicago that night, I still haven’t forgiven him.
4 – My husband of 11 years and I knew each other for 5 months when we got married. And yet none of those betting bastards have paid me a dime.
5 – I was one of only 2 seniors in my high school graduating class that actually took the offered second year of computer programming.
6 – My paternal grandparents divorced when that was a no-no. Actually this is two things. My grandmother left him and the 5 kids and ended up doing time in Marysville’s women’s prison for child abandonment.
7 – Then my grandpa and she said whoever outlived the other was pissing on the dead one’s grave. Grandma was riddled with cancer and had no idea who or where she was. Grandpa died in the night about two months before her. She had no clue. So no one’s grave got pissed on. As bonus trivia – she lived in Denver so I really only saw her maybe 5 times in my life. If I’d been to her grave the one time I was in Denver I might have pissed on her grave for Grandpa Francis.
8 – I think my mom used to ruin my clothes in the laundry so I’d do my own. For cripes sake, she was a stay at home mom on top of it and I was 12 when this started. Eventually my little sister (7 years younger) would want me to wash her stuff. She wouldn’t turn anything right side out. So it got washed, dried and returned that way. Hey, at least I didn’t shrink or bleach her shit.
9 – My maternal great-grandparents lived next to a pig farm. In the typical little-girl way, I was fascinated with animals. But all of my second cousins would tell me to stay away from the fence, that the pigs bite. I’m still a little wary of pigs, but I love me some bacon.
Ok, you didn’t designate a number and I think that’s enough over sharing for now. I'm not tagging anyone (yet) not because I don't want to but because I'm short on time.
Friday, January 30, 2009
I hope I’m not the only one that has this complaint. Actually, I know I can’t be because I spend a lot of time at the softball fields with Captain Clueless’ family and friends and I know it becomes a weird competition between the guys because I’ve heard them going through different phrases and laughing. What is it about men that they need to announce their need to take a shit, and the euphemisms they have for it? Honestly, I manage to do “number two” without having to tell everyone where I’m going and what I intend on doing. I really don’t need to know that’s where you’re going. Hell, I probably won’t even notice you’re gone for at least 30 minutes.
If you don’t want to admit it, I’m calling bullshit. Here’s the most frequent list that I am subjected to. Feel free to add the ones you have to deal with.
- Taking the kiddies to the pool
- Putting a roof on a log cabin
- I gotta drop a deuce
- I'm taking the browns to the super bowl
- I gotta take a(n) (insert name here) and wipe my (insert another name here)
Oh, and when you’re done, I do not need to know that you’re 5 pounds lighter.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The waitress did her best, but I think that our party of four in addition to what little ‘usual’ lunch crowd they had was too much for her. I’m not going to go into all the details of the experience, because that’s not where this story is going. Let’s just say we never had a hankering for Mom’s cooking again.
Tonight I was half listening to the evening news, and they were showing tape of a robbery in progress at – you guessed it – Mom’s! There didn’t appear to be any customers in the dining area. This white guy in a Green Bay Packers coat was dragging the employee to the register to get money and then ran off. If I were going to rob a business, I think I would select a location that actually might have had some paying customers.
The news story switches to a shot of the police dragging a white-trash-male from the back of a cruiser. I would remark on his teeth, or lack of, but right now I’m not judging anybody’s grill. He’s yelling things to the camera, but his whole attitude seems to have a surreal, almost jovial manner to it. His rant went something like this “Hey Bro! Just because I’m a white guy with a tan coat means I robbed Mom’s? I didn’t rob nothing, I was home drinking a fucking bottle of Bacardi!” The reporter said the police suspect he used the booty from the robbery to buy said bottle of Bacardi. I mean, a pint only costs like $7 so I guess it’s possible that he could have gotten that much. They also suspect he robbed a convenience store earlier while wearing a tan coat.
So where did my curious little mind go after hearing all of this? How did he know there was a tan coat involved? Was I witnessing in real life one of those brilliant police tricks where the suspect admits to something he could have no way of knowing? Does being too drunk on rum really qualify as an acceptable excuse/alibi? And if so, can I take back all the apologies I ever had to make the morning after a rum drunk? Will all of this publicity turn things around and make Mom’s the next hot spot? Will we then be able to brag that we knew about Mom’s for years and all these new customers are just posers and treat them as such?
Yep, I bet there’s a proud Mom out there somewhere, but it’s probably not his.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Tuesday – the doctor called about the MRI results on my knee. No torn ligaments or cartilage damage showed on it. “Gee, why does it still hurt so damn much?” I asked. I mean, he is a doctor, right? Guess what, he doesn’t know. That’s it. Buh-bye.
Wednesday – we’re not reliving that shit again.
Thursday – Weee! That was jello shot making night. This is what 746 jello shots look like (side note, it was supposed to be 750. How much money do you think those bastards at GFS are pocketing by shorting each pack by 1 cup??) And don’t try to call me out on the math. One cup had a hole and had to go in the trash (after the jello I put in it went straight out the bottom and all over the freaking place.) Where was I, besides killing you with punctuation? Oh yes, I tried to take a picture of my aching back when we were done, but it just didn’t come across.
Mini-J and Miss Abby decided to setup some chairs and have a movie night while moms, aunt and friends labored away in the kitchen.
Miss Abby’s new baby sister.
Friday – I had a couple of cocktails and bitched to all of you about my Wednesday. Taking advantage of my impaired judgment, Captain Clueless tricked me into showing him ‘the blog.’ He thought some of it was funny, didn’t get some of it, and strongly objected to the Captain Clueless nickname. He would, because he’s, well, clueless. Seriously, after checking out a few posts he went into the living room and cranked up an Asia song on the TV. At no point in my lifetime did I ever like Asia. And if he had a clue he would know how much they suck. If you’re an Asia fan and feel like bitching about this, don’t bother. You have no cred with me.
Saturday – The big night. Somehow I missed getting a pic of Jeanne slurping a jello shot. She must have sucked them down while I was occupied elsewhere. Don't blame me, she's sneaky like that.
This is Eric. His table won the most-bloated-from-jello prize before the 2 for 1 fire sale.
Now, would someone please tell me why I have an irrational fear that this poor little duckling is going to drown if he falls in here?
Friday, January 23, 2009
I went to the dentist at 7 fucking a.m. expecting to get my permanent crown on my “baby tooth” and I expected a chemical/tool combo of some sort to get rid of the old veneers, to be replaced by temps until the new ones came in. Then off to work I’d go.
My first warning should have been when the assistant asked if I wanted novocain. “Will I need it?” I stupidly asked. “Oh yeah,” she replied.
My 2 front teeth (top) are mine. Two on each side of those are veneered (one of those is the broke ass one.) The novocain went into the very sensitive gum line in the top front of my mouth. I’m not a wimpy person but these fucking shots made me cry. I don’t wear waterproof mascara, so there went ‘blackish brown’ streaks down my temples. This should have been a warning, but no, I sucked it up and carried on.
The sadistic bastard then drilled off the veneers and god knows what else. I felt most of it. I really wished I’d gotten nitrous at this point, but I didn’t want to seem like a pussy so I soldiered on. After 30 minutes of this shit, they tell me they have to insert rods or some such bullshit in my gums. I thought I was too far gone to care.
I was wrong. This shit was bad. It was worse than the pain when my knee bent in the wrong direction. My hands were clenched together to keep from punching him in the face. And his cute little assistant. More tears. Somehow I survived it. Then the CLA and another S&M bitch start taking molds. Two of them (green) had to be left in 5 minutes to set. My bottom lip sealed to one of them and when CLA tried to pull it out I almost lost it. I carefully peeled my lip off of it and allowed her to proceed. The next time (with the whole fat, numb upper lip and everything) I had drool dripping down all over my chin. Wonderful.
Now, the S&MB starts taking molds for my temps. My gums are already swollen to twice their normal size, and my upper lip at least four times. She says ‘We don’t normally put temps on for veneers, but I guess you wanted them. (no shit) They’re going to be very fragile so you should avoid biting into things and nothing chewy. The veneers are made in Florida so it will be about 3 weeks for them to come in.” WTF??? Ok, I’m a positive person (NOT) so I thought, maybe this will help me lose weight.
Luckily I stopped in their bathroom on the way to the receptionist. I cleaned up the mascara mess. And the remains of the green molding stuff that was all over my face. The streak under my nose that looked like a booger was a pleasant bonus. AND the baby tooth is still a fucking baby tooth. Then I charged you don’t even want to know how much on my Capital One card for this. Am I the one with a problem??
Back in the car, I tried to take a drink of water and it dribbled all over the front of me. Then I tried to smoke, but couldn’t get my fat upper lip to cooperate. So I said fuck this and stopped at a donut shop and bought an apple fritter that was as big as a dinner plate and a chocolate donut (I so deserved both.)
While some of my twisted co-workers may have enjoyed my completely trashed state, I said fuck it and went home with my donuts. I emailed my boss that I was FUBAR for the day and snarfed donuts and chocolate milk (through a straw stuffed to the back of my mouth.) When the novocain wore off I dosed myself with vicoden the rest of the day.
When I go back for the rest of the dental work, I am so demanding nitrous. I don’t care what they say, I already paid an arm and two legs so at least I should get a good buzz out of this shit.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I had my suspicions that this mission was just a ruse. But I was also aware that stir-crazy was on the verge of morphing into just plain crazy and if he didn’t get some outdoor time I might be smothered in my sleep.
The general and I head out into the frozen tundra. We got visuals on some old tracks, but no active signs of life.
We go into stealth mode to investigate. As we get close we realize we had stumbled upon an entire battalion of enemy troops! (And me still with no gak.)
I don’t know if they were tipped off by jingling dog tags, or a reflection off my spy cam but they suddenly split forces and beat a hasty retreat.
Some went to the other side of the partially frozen river, others remained in the sky.
The general diligently searched the abandoned camp site for clues of their nefarious plans.
“It’s a trap!” I screamed to the general, “They’ve circled back around to flank us. Retreat, retreat!” We hauled ass back to the bunker, barely escaping with our lives. The general is still on duty, making sure that none of those dirty birds followed our tracks back to the safe house. “Ruse indeed,” he snorts as I meekly go about my duties.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
What season is it? Of course, it is the whirlwind of softball fund-raisers. It starts out with, if you come to ours, we’ll come to yours. Next thing I know every weekend I will be traipsing out in freezing ass weather to eat bad fish, soggy fries and all the draft beer I could want. Do you know how you feel the day after drinking all the draft beer you could want? Let’s just say I’ll be spending enough time in my bathroom to start contemplating new color schemes for it (again.)
These things tend to be held in drafty halls, which means I will have to wear something reasonably warm. As if I don’t feel fat enough I get to pile on a couple of layers to keep from getting frost bite. There aren’t even flowers, a band or candle light to hide your flaws. Just smelly fish, bad PA systems and harsh fluorescents. Eventually the beer and (they better have) jello shots will kick in and I won’t care so much.
I wanted to rest up for tonight, the first big opener. But I had to get up at some unholy hour to go to the hospital and have some tests run. I tried to nap this afternoon but people kept stopping by and calling on the phone. I know what you’re thinking, why didn’t my butler turn all of these people away? He just barked and barked adding to the general chaos. Good help is so hard to find these days.
The best I can hope for is to win a really good door prize, because I always lose my ass at the gaming tables. Now I have a little over an hour to get ready so I had better go. After all, I still need to track down my corset and have the maid dress my hair.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
1. I download both mine and my husband’s ipod music on my PC. None of the Kelly Clarkson is mine. Neither is the Shania Twain. Draw your own conclusions.
2. I lie about watching Oprah. You know, when the girls are all talking about ‘Oh, you’re so lucky when you work from home you can watch Oprah’ or ‘Did you see the Oprah episode about countries that love fat women?’ I nod and smile. Hell, I can remember her talk show on TV when I was young enough to earn my income from babysitting. Besides, she is on at the same time as Ellen. And Ellen friggin' cracks me up.
3. If my dog needed a kidney and I was a match, I would give it to him.
4. If I stopped highlighting my hair I would have a large swath of gray front and slightly off center. So I will never stop highlighting, and come on, everyone knows in the movies the woman with the streak of gray hair in her bangs is a total psycho bitch.
5. I play Grand Theft Auto. I haven’t yet whipped out a gak and started blowing people away but that might be because I don’t have a gak. Also the newest one is really annoying because by the time you beat down 2 random people on the street and take their money the cops are all over your ass.
6. When I was younger I was so skinny that people joked about my hip bones sticking out farther than my boobs. Now I'm just trying to keep my stomach from sticking out farther than my boobs.
7. I cuss like a sailor. My friends are amazed that while at work I can somehow censor out all of the fucks but when I’m around their kids they keep slipping out. I’m trying, really. Maybe they should make their kids carry around blackberry’s and dress in suits…
8. I’ve seen KISS in concert twice. Once with make-up and once without (them. I was made up like a total slut.) And I think I actually remembered the words to 3 of their songs.
9. I love horror movies. The really scary, gory ones. After seeing The Ring, The Grudge and Bogeyman that PG-13 shit is banned in my household.
10. I am the coolest person I know. My husband thinks he is the coolest person I know. And that’s just one of the many reasons he is so lovably clueless.
Whew, that was tough. I think I need a drink...
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
I did get an award, which says I have to list 10 honest things about myself. It may take me a while to come up with this list of things but I will give it a try. In my mind I am still debating the nuances of honest.
Now I'm missing American Idol. I resisted this show for the first several seasons but even the best of us falls (and I dig David Cook) so I'll leave you with the shortest psychiatric joke I know (so you might get a laugh out of this wasted post:)
A man walks into a psychiatrist's office wearing nothing but saran wrap. The doctor says 'I can clearly see your nuts.'
Monday, January 12, 2009
I considered taking a picture of my self-pedicure from Saturday night so you all could get a laugh out of that and guess at how many rum's I had before I finished. However, I was afraid some perv would self-pleasure to the sight of my feet which then really creeped me out and I scrapped the idea. And no, I still haven't cleaned up the mess I made of my toes. Hell, I won't be wearing sandals for months.
So (if I can actually read the writing on this damn recipe) - you are getting these 'super easy' (according to my SIL who cooks AND cleans AND has a toddler AND a job. Really, I thought I liked her but upon further consideration she may need to get a bitchy nickname,)
2 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, quartered
2 cans crescent rolls
2 sticks butter
1 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 cups sugar
6 oz can of Mt. Dew*
Butter 9x13 pan
Roll up apple slice in each crescent, put in pan
Melt butter on stove, pour in sugar. Barely stir together. Add vanilla, don't over stir (should be lumpy & grainy)
Pour mixture over dumplings
Pour Mt Dew around edges and center of pan
Sprinkle w/ cinnamon
Bake @ 350 for 30-45 minutes.
*I know there is no such thing as a freaking 6 oz can of Mt. Dew. I used to drink it by the six pack before I switched to Bud Light. For those of you who need help, 6 oz is 3/4 cup.
Also, 30-45 minutes is a pretty big window. Were they allowing for elevation differences between Ohio and Indiana? I guess if they start to turn a nice brown then take them out. I did eat one over at little-miss-perfect's house, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and it was good. They are small, and the fact that I could have eaten the whole pan but I only had 1 means that I didn't ruin my diet. Right??
p.s. To all you lurkers, stop trying to figure out who I am. I will never fess up!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
It started on Christmas Day when Three got to grandma's, removed his coat and then his pants. (Side note - the fact that he is three isn't why I call him that. His name is Something Something Something The Third. Poor kid. That and it pisses my sister off.) Why did he do this you may be asking? Because he wanted everyone to see his Incredible Hulk boxers. My sister (aka Tattle Tale Bitch) lets her kids run around like banshee's while at grandma's so I was surprised that she bothered to spend the whole day making Three put his pants back on.
Fast forward to New Year's Eve. We get to my BIL's house and Mini-J is running around in Cars boxers that he got for Christmas. My SIL said she tried to get pants on him but he had a tantrum 'no, mommy, ka-chow ka-chow' so she gave up. It wasn't such a bad idea on his part. I can remember back in my BIL's divorced days when he barely kept his house warm enough for the pipes not to burst. He was too busy spending his money in bars picking up cheap sluts. (Not my SIL, she isn't cheap at all.) Now it's so hot in there if you wear anything heavier than a t-shirt and do anything more strenuous than sit on the couch and blink you will break out in a sweat. But I digress.
Why did this fascinate me? Because I was jealous. Back when I was a pre-teen Underoos came out. And I really wanted me some Wonder Woman Underoos. I begged, wheedled and whined to no avail. My mom, being a cold-hearted bitch, refused to buy me any. Never mind the fact that my dad had been out of work for a while and we may have been on food stamps at the time.
Wouldn't you know it, TTB, born the same year Underoos were, received several pairs. I was too old for the roos by then but it still pissed me off. Even though our finances were improved by then she should not have gotten any. If my brother and I had to grow up being the only kids we knew without super heroes on our skivvies she should have had to deal with the same hardship. I'm just sayin.
Friday, January 9, 2009
I'm in hell. Really.
I've procrastinated and made half-assed attempts to the point where I have to have my yearly performance review submitted to my boss by freaking Monday. For those of you that don't have to deal with this corporate BS - they give us a list of general level things to accomplish. Then you have to come up with things that fit that list and show you actually contributed something "to the bottom line". It's better if you can quantify them. Then you have to give numerical rankings to your work. Then you go over it with your boss, change the numbers to what they think they should be, sign it and "whew, done for another year" sets in. So I just have to get over the hump, right? But with today's economy and layoffs, I really feel the need to have something impressive in here. I don't think I would do well on welfare, I have too many vices. Chocolate. Smoking. Drinking. Shoes. Heat. Oh yeah, and piles of bills that companies actually have the nerve to expect payment on.
After spending 6 hours refining it today, and being 2 beers in, I'm feeling pretty good about 3 sections of it. The section I'm stuck on is around communication. Now, I know what you're thinking. I've started a blog where I manage to blather on and on about nothing, and I seem fairly literate. But anyone that doesn't know me very well says the same thing "She's so quiet!" Here's a list of the reasons I am so quiet:
- I'm an obnoxious smart-ass holding in all of the inappropriate things I really want to say.
- I lack social grace. Really. Some (thanks Jeanne) think I have a mild case of Aspergers. I'm horrible at making small talk. I mumble something about the weather, stare at my shoes and then hurry off because "I have a meeting to get to."
- Bragging on myself is not something I'm good at. I'm much more likely to make fun of myself for my many flaws. I'm sure being the middle child comes into play here.
- I'm a private person. I know, I'm letting it all hang out here. But I feel fairly safe and anonymous except that some people following Jeanne might figure out who I am. And it worries me. Also when you say "I had a really bad weekend" I don't say "Really, what happened?" not because I don't give a shit but because it feels like prying.
- Well, ok, some times I really don't give a shit.
- I suck at politics and that sort of thing. Really, I just want to make shit happen. And I want it to be right. If you really need your ego stroked that bad, go into acting or something and get out of my world.
Wow, this is better than therapy. Not that I've ever been. Or it could be that I've almost finished my third beer. I have to go. Captain Clueless (who spent 4 hours surfing the net) is done and now in there whining about being bored and all I do is blog anymore, wah wah.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Basically, you do 1/2 and 1/2. So if it is a 6oz package of jello you would follow the basic directions like this:
Boil 2 cups of water (we microwave it)
Completely disolve the jello in it
Stir in 2 cups of cold vodka
Then pour it into something to set. We use the 2oz size plastic cups from GFS. Refrigerate until set. Since we make so many, we do 4 cups water, 2 large (or 4 small) jellos, 4 cups vodka at a time.
Being winter in Ohio (um, it's 19 degrees out) we just stack them in coolers in the garage with the lid open and it's cold enough for them to set.
How do you eat them? Well, you're not supposed to top them with whip cream and use a spoon. Some say if you use anything other than your tongue it's cheating.
I'm off for a play date with Mini J!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
If you've never made these, let me tell you it's a pain in the ass filling up all of those little 2 oz. cups. At least I don't get stuck with lid duty!
So the last few years I tried turkey basters. But you have to put your finger over the end to keep the jello from leaking out. After many batches of purple, blue, red and orange (I banned lime - it's just nasty) your finger ends up dyed a disgusting color.
This year I thought I'd try one of those pancake batter dispensers. Tests were a disaster. Batter might be fine in them but liquids just run out all over. Really. I'm desperate for ideas. It has to be something that won't drip, and holds quite a bit so it doesn't constantly need to be refilled.
It also has to be easy enough to operate with a buzz on. Because really, like we could work with all that booze and not throw down a few. Ok, maybe more than a few. And maybe we gossip a lot while we're doing it. All right already, it's really like a mini-girl party with chores than actual "work." And we eat at least a quarter of them at the fish fry without paying for them.
But don't tell the guys, because we'll bitch about having to do this for at least a month.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Now, I'm a little paranoid about my teeth. I had years of braces. Then the wonderful retainer age began. Then, because I have little tiny teeth (thanks to my mother's side of the family) I ended up with 4 veneers to fill in the spaces.
So Friday night while innocently snarfing a Frickin Chicken Pizza (a local thing) I BREAK A FRIGGIN TOOTH OFF. In the front, next to the eye teeth. (According the dentist, #10. If I had been caught up on my blog reading I would have told him, no, that's Chewbaca.)
You can imagine my horror. I proceded to down Captain and Diet Pepsi like the world was coming to an end. I was out of Chasers and not going anywhere public looking like that and Cpt Clueless was doing nothing worth while except making fun of me. I told him I was putting the tooth under my pillow and I better find some cash in the morning or that bitch tooth fairy was in for it.
Lucky for her I was too hungover Saturday to keep my promise...
Friday, January 2, 2009
This might be especially useful to those of you that get gift cards from out of towners who don't realize you don't even have that store/restaurant in your city.
Published - Jan 01 2009 03:38PM EST AP
You can call it a case of creative drug-dealing. Athens police have a 38-year-old man in custody for allegedly accepting gift cards for payment for crack cocaine and prescription drugs. Police Captain Marty Bruce, a spokesman, said the man was arrested Monday night. He was charged with possession of a controlled substance.Bruce said officers executed a search warrant at the man's house and seized crack cocaine, Xanax pills, $899 cash and $175 in gift cards.
Do you think he went on-line to check the balance on the cards before he accepted them as payment? Because you know how sneaky those crack users can be...
Thursday, January 1, 2009
At 5:50 I got a text that came from: #-###-###-####. It said "Happy New Year. I know I am early but i have alot of sexy people 2 text so im gettin the ugly fuckers out of the way first... Lol. Pass it on..."
Ok, this just cracked all of us up (except Mini J, he didn't get it.) My BIL immediately wanted me to forward it to him, which I did. He then sent it out to their whole softball team (more hilarity ensued.) But I had no idea who it was from. I thought about sending an equally obnoxious text back - I mean who knows who really sent it to me? Cpt Clueless takes my phone and calls the number (he has his moments) - someone answers and he rudely demands "Who is this?" Then he starts cracking up and hands me the phone, saying that it's my little sister! We talked for a few minutes, and I told her only the phone number showed up, not her name. Well, she had also sent it to our 18 year old nephew so she decided she better clear up to him where it came from.
My SIL couldn't believe that I didn't know my own sister's cell number. Well, I explained, she changes home phone, cell and email as often as I buy shoes - and that's often. About that time I have my first beer of the night (only 2 there, left the hard drinking till we got home later.)
So my mom called me a little while ago to wish me a Happy New Year. One of the first things she asks is if I'm hungover. "No!" I reply (Chasers are the shit) and she said - well your sister said you sounded pretty tipsy when she talked to you last night. I hadn't even started drinking yet and OMG, she's 30 years old and still a tattle tale!