Merry Happy Christmas Holidays

I'm taking a bloggy break to enjoy my holiday vacation.
I'll be back next week with tales of drunken, food-stuffed, dysfunctional family fun.

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I'm a Holiday Elf on Crack

I love love LOVE this time of year you guys!
I almost can't even stand myself right now.
Every night for the past week I've turned on my Pandora holiday channel, turned on the Christmas lights, and wrapped presents.
I'm feeling very much like... well... an elf on crack!
Best time of year ever.

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Dickeyville.

Picture it.
Senior year.  
1996.
Jerry McGuire and Fargo were the big movies.
The Spice Girls were a hit.
I still had a perm.
Times were clearly tough....
My two best friends at the time, let's call them Thelma and Louise, decided on a whim to ditch school for a day. I was a total loser  chicken shit responsible student and couldn't force myself to join them.

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It's My Hermit Time of Year

This is the time of year when I get the urge to go all antisocial, creepy old cat lady and hole up in my house and never leave.  It's probably the fact that it's colder and colder every day and snow is in the forecast and it's dark at fucking 4:00 in the afternoon which affects vitamin D levels and ups the depression ante with seasonal affective disorder..... whatever the reason, I simply want to turn on the fireplace, make pots and pots of coffee, read the internets, bake some shit, and never leave my home.  This is exactly probably why I secretly hope for the zombie apocalypse to strike at any time.  Then I'd have a logical excuse to never go outside.

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Let's Hear it for the Boy

I've come to the realization that I quite often make the Hubby the butt of my sarcastic and rude humor on this blog.  And although he does technically ask for it what with the stupid man DNA stuck in every cell of his body, I figured I should dedicate a post to positive attributes that the Hubby does in fact have.
They are:
1. he mows the lawn and takes out the garbage.  I loathe both those tasks.

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My Kind of Coupons

I bought my Hubby a "coupon" book of "love" for his birthday a few months back.
We haven't used it once.
Between Wee One refusing to sleep so we are in her room every night cramped on the floor, and us fighting with each other out of sheer exhaustion, there's ZERO urge to open up the Get Lucky scratch tickets and get kinky.

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**UPDATED** One Year Anniversary. Holy Hell.

According to the random number generator, the winner is........
Angela from Begging the Answer!!!!!!!!!!!!
Woo hoo girlie!  Email me your info so I can ship away :)
On November 11, 2010, a very special, very "unique" bloggy baby was born unto the interwebs.
She was named "Musings of a Sarcastic Mind" because her momma had nothing better for a name, so she settled on a lame title.  It would not be the first, nor the last, time the bloggy baby momma would settle for lameness.

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Because I Said So

I'm guest posting over at La Casa Di Frigerio today!
It's a piece about "imperfect parenting," and if there's one thing I am, it's imperfect.
And short.  Also, sassy, profane, lazy, and too social.  Plus awkward and immature.
But mainly?  Imperfect.
Check it out!

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Relationship Advice from Me to You. Really, People. What The Hell Were You Thinking?

A few posts ago I wrote about how awesome the communication lines are between the Hubby and myself.  Remember?  Then, I offered to dole out invaluable relationship and communication advice to any poor saps readers who dare to ask.  And guess what?  Some dared.
So here are some reader questions regarding relationships, along with my answers.  Because nothing says "doctorate in marriage counseling" like the shitty advice I give out for free.
Here's a good one from Jenn from Fox in the City:

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The Happiest Halloween is a Drunk Halloween

I've dressed up in many different costumes over the years, but one of my favorites was when I stole borrowed scrubs and sterile gloves and masks and other OR gear from the hospital I was working in during college and bought some fake blood and dressed up as a surgeon.  I drank a lot cuz it was college, so you know, that's a given, then walked around drunk off my no longer sterile ass with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a can of beer in the other shouting, "GUYS.  I've gotta be in surgery in FIFTEEN MINUTES."  Then I'd giggle like a fucking idiot because I thought it was hilarious to announce that.  Repeatedly.  Like a bad punch line that only I found funny.  Over and over and over.  I pretty much looked and acted like I walked straight off the set of Grey's Anatomy, all dramatic and surgeoned up and shit.  Minus McSteamy or McDreamy or McFly, whoever's on that show.

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Spooked

Halloween is fast approaching, and I must admit that this is my very favorite time of year.  I love the weather in the fall.  The leaves changing and falling, the cool breezes, night freezes that beg for the fireplace to be turned on.  I love the pumpkin-carving, apple-picking, pie-baking, trick-or-treating traditions that lead seamlessly into the holidays of family: Thanksgiving and Christmas.  This is definitely my most favorite time of year.
I also love to be scared.  I love ghost stories and horror movies and all things supernatural.  This started when I was a very little girl with my first scary movie viewing: Poltergeist.  I was in the third grade.  Barely 9 years old.  And I fell in love with the paranormal immediately.

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Something Very, Very Bad Has Happened and I'm Very, Very Scared So Hold Me.

People.
I can no longer find cheeseburger-flavored Doritos in ANY of my local stores. NONE.  They have completely disappeared.
What the FUCK has happened?
Did some freedom-hating terrorists snatch them all up and steal the secret recipe?
Do the Doritos people suddenly hate me, therefore hate America?
It is my Constitutional right to purchase and eat cheeseburger Doritos and I can't find them anymore and I'm scared.

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It's Practically a Study in Effective Marital Relationships.

I thought it'd be fun to again showcase some of the amazing and healthy marital communication that occurs in my house on a regular basis.  We're basically like loving newlyweds who can't get enough of each other. It's quite clear in how we speak to each other.  Actually, how I speak to him. Also?  The older the Hubby gets, the more perverted he gets.  Are all men like this ladies?
Effective Communication Example A

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Don't Call Me Monica

Guys, I've probably mentioned this before but I wanted to bring it up again so I have witnesses and my story is air tight.  I can only assume that my blog is monitored by the CIA for reasons of top secret national security, so it's better to be safe than sorry.
The President is clearly in love with me.
Proof?  You betcha.

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Uterus, You're Fired!

This week's theme over at Cheesy Bloggers is performance reviews.  Since the theme is my idea, I've gotta do a post on the topic, right?  I've decided that it's time for a serious sit down with my uterus to discuss her sorry, sad performance during the past couple of years.  I think it's time for her to face the music.Uterus, you've done great things for me.  Twice you've been an invaluable asset to the body by housing and protecting two amazing little girls.  You took them both willingly, each on the first try.  You have a cervix of steel that takes FOUR days to dilate to a FIVE, which is a tad excessive, but hey, you were protecting our littles, keeping them baking until just right. I know the csection cuts weren't the best way to manage things, but that's the way it had to be.  The pelvis let you down, I know that, but we've gotta work as a team. 

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My Cats are Pretty Much Useless.

I'm trying to train my cats to rub my feet but since cats are selfish assholes animals, it hasn't been going too well.  For instance, they don't appreciate when I take their little paws and show them how to do a kneading motion even though I KNOW they know how to do that because they do it all the time as kittens.  Apparently they don't like being made to do anything against their will.  So then I tried to get them to rub my feet passive-aggressively by pushing them down on the floor and rubbing them on their backs and tummies with my feet.  I figured hey, win-win, we both get massages, but alas, again, they don't like being made to do anything they don't put their own minds to.  Next came bribery, because as all human and animal trainers know, living things will do pretty much anything for a reward, especially when it's a delicious food reward. But my asshole cats simply ate the treats and ran away. It's like they don't love me or care about my feelings at all.  I don't want to have to do it, but I will seriously consider withholding all love, affection, treats, and water until they start to cooperate.  If that's what it's gonna take to get a damn foot rub in this house, then I will do it.

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Once Again I'm Reminded of Why I Absolutely HATE Working Out. It's too Bad it's Kind of a "Necessary Evil."

I started Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred today, and I already hate it.  It kicked my lard ass and Jillian says "buddy" way too much but I want to have her body (not in a sexual way) so I'm going to do this hellacious workout for 20 minutes every day.  Even Sunday, although I'm supposed to have a day of rest because God says so.  I'm pretty sure God wouldn't want to cross Jillian cuz she'll totally cut a bitch if you keep her from kicking someone's ass in a sweaty, painful workout.

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I'm Way Too Lubed Up to Blog Coherently Right Now

I figured if I put lube in a title I'd get more reads.  I'm actually only moisturized.  But I have been lubed up before.  And this girl ain't complaining about the lube action.
Anywho....
I've been chosen to be a Tree Hut "Brand Ambassador" and the deal is they send me new products not on the market yet and I try them for a while then I fill out surveys and send them info back and oh sweet Jesus the stuff they just sent me is so freaking good I can't even stand myself.

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REALLY, Birds?

Reason #342 of why I hate nature:
Grabbing my car door handle and finding it, and therefore my hand, covered in bird shit.
OH, it's on birds.
It. Is. ON.

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Blogger Challenge Catch Up. Days 3 and 4 Combined Even Though I Should be on Like Day 8

I suck.
There is not hiding it or denying it.
I'm lame.
I've been failing the 100 day blogger challenge left and right.
But, in my defense I have TWO blogs to run, and I'm in charge this week over at the amazing Cheesy Bloggers so go there to see our new writing prompt and spreadable cheese.  It's a GREAT place to be, so join us!

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Day 2 of the Blogger Challenge. You Need a Psychiatric Evaluation for Reading this Stuff.

Day 2 of the 100 Day Blogger Challenge is to discuss the meaning of this blog.
This one won't take long.
There is no real or profound meaning behind my blog.  I literally one day thought to myself, "hey, I can do that blogging thing."  So I took what I'm good at, spouting bullshit, useless knowledge, and dry, sarcastic humor, and started writing about it.  Because anyone can publish their writing these days.  ANYONE.  For free.  My GAWD there's a lot of crap rampant on the Internets, and you being here is evidence A.

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100 Day Blog Challenge. Which Like Everything Else I Do, I'll Start, Then Never Finish.

One of my cheesy BFFs (blogger fabulous friends) Marianna, over at Snappy Surprise, has started the 100 Day Blogger Challenge.  I'm a follower.  I'm doing it too.  Until I give up or get bored with it or just plain forget about it.
Here's how the challenge shakes out:
Day 01- Introduction, a recent photo, and 15 interesting facts about yourself

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I Bet Even Dr. Phil Would Have to Agree that Sometimes, a Throat Punch is *Totally* Your Best Option.

Conversation between the Hubby and myself Thursday night while I'm cleaning the kitchen and he's watching me clean the kitchen.  Asshole.
Me: intently loading dishwasher and humming Glee tunes to myself.
Hubby: Staring stupidly.  Whatcha doing?
Me: Really?  It's not obvious?
Hubby:  Want me to do something?
Me:  No.
Hubby:  using his all time favorite fucking line. What do you mean, no?

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We Caught Meth Germs. Or Herpes. Meth Herpes, Maybe?

For the three day Labor Day weekend, we took off south a little ways to spend a couple days at a waterpark.
First, me in a bathing suit?  EEK.  I apologize to my fellow waterpark patrons.
Second, since I'm a people watcher, I had plenty of opportunity to watch/spy on the general public while swimming.  I learned a LOT about some of my fellow Americans.  I'm trying my best to be less judgmental of others, but it's just so hard when there are toothless women trying to squeeze into tiny bikinis all around you.  *shudder*  It's like they're asking for my ruthless commentary.....  don't worry, I criticize myself just as sharply.

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A One of a Kind Welcome to Seventh Grade

I know how much you all like my stories, so here ya go.
At the end of my sixth grade year, my family moved over 300 miles away from our "home" to take up residence in an entirely new part of the state due to my dad's job.  I went from my birth town of roughly 700 people, to an intermediate town of about 1,500 people, to suddenly a booming metropolis of over 5,000.  Talk about a lack-of-real-culture, culture shock. 

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