Speaking of shit...

Jeanne tagged me with this meme, but I’m a tad bit behind in my reading so I got it and then had to come up with some shit, um trivia, about myself. I'm not my favorite topic, but here goes:

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.

Men and their shit

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.

Do Mom proud!

I don’t think Jeanne has mentioned this in her stories yet, but she has a thing for dive restaurants. Sometimes these culinary adventures lead us to a great little place with good food if strange atmospheres. Mom’s Gatehouse was not one of those gems. As we drove along, the neighborhood got a little scarier with each passing block. The businesses all had bars on the windows. There was an air of neglect to the properties and the pedestrians all had a run down demeanor. But we decided to stick it out and made our way safely from the car into Mom’s.

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.

Ass Drag Monday

Yeah, it’s my favorite day again! You can’t hear the sarcasm, but believe me, it’s there. With the fish fry to setup for, work at, and the hangover to deal with, I’m just starting to feel human again. I'll try to write something not worthless later in the week, but you know the drivel you get on Monday so you really can't complain.

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?

Is it wrong to take a hit out on my dentist?

I’ve been dealing with the whole broken tooth thing. The “temporary” they put on it is small, so it looks a bit odd (Captain Clueless calls me baby tooth) – but my dentist was being cautious and didn’t want me to break off more of the remaining tooth until he got it all fixed up. While I was dealing with this, I figured I might as well get my other 3 veneers replaced. They are supposed to last 8 to 10 years, mine were pushing 20. (If you don’t know what a veneer is read here. I fall in the ‘small gap tooth’ category.)

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.

Where the hell have I been?

I have many stories to tell, a dentist visit from hell, 746 jello shots, cripes it's been some week. I had a really witty post all written up and ready to publish the other night but the damn maintenance ate it (thanks Google!) Now I'm exhausted (and surprisingly sober) so I have nothing better to leave you than this gem from my dear mother, titled Redneck Seafood Dinner. I've never been a calamari fan myself, but I know Jeanne loves it!

Ass Drag Monday

I know, I can't believe it's already Monday again. Someone really needs to do something about this shit. Well, since it's here, and so are you, here is another totally worthless Monday post.

Some have noticed that I changed my "photo." The pic of Teri Polo was not cutting it. She looked so wholesome, and, well, nice. Slowly, the picture started getting on my nerves every time I saw it. I mean, she doesn't even look like someone I would hang out with. Eventually, after viewing it so often, I wanted to kick her ass (not just for the photo, did you see Meet the Fockers? That's roughly 2 hours of my life I will never get back.)

So I started looking through my photos trying to find a replacement. One thing, I hate getting my picture taken. Most of the photos were horrible, maybe since most were taken by my supposed friends while out partying (re: wasted.) Or by my dad when he was in his 'photography' phase, which also happened to be in the 80's. You can imagine the hair and make-up. Really. Because I'm not showing you.

I found a few where I was turned away from the camera. However, I also happened to be flipping the bird in all of them. For my own page that would be one thing. But for it to show everytime I leave comments just seemed rude.

Then I found one of a mooning in progress. I couldn't determine if I was pulling up or dropping down and it wasn't a full moon. As Captain Clueless would say, just the coin slot was hanging out. Butt (hahaha,) that seemed only slightly less rude than the finger, and I have that whole 'internet perv' fear thing going on.

So I settled for taking a photo of a few of my bad habits. Marlboro's. Billiards (why is this a bad habit? My dad forbid me from hanging out in pool halls as a teen so I figure he thought there was something wrong with it. Obviously I don't take well to being forbidden because that's where I was ALL THE TIME.) And the drink. What's in it? Well, I will leave it for you to imagine your favorite just-add-cola potion. Because really, what booze won't I drink?