Merry Happy Christmas Holidays
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.
I'm going to do some random Christmas photo posts. Because Jesus would appreciate that for his birthday.
Let's start with my Christmas tree and some special ornaments. By the way? I freaking LOVE ornaments. I have enough to cover my tree plus a forest of trees. And I want more. Feel free to buy me some. I'll email you my address.
Here's my tree. Rule #1. Tree MUST be covered with white lights only. No multi-colored lights for this wacked-out elf's tree.
Most of the bajillion-and-one ornaments are for Bossy Girl and Wee One. Every family member is asked to buy and label them an ornament every year. Someday when they are married or have homes of their own... waa-la! Fully decorated tree, courtesy of momma's ornament-obsessed tradition.
Next, here are a few ornaments I love.
First, the very first married life ornament I bought. 10 years ago. It represents me and the Hubby.
Ahhh....
Next, this one represents my love of the kitchen and baking/cooking.
Third, a Willow Tree ornament of Mother and Daughter. Because, obviously.
Last, this ballerina ornament for a few reasons. A., because she's old and kind of "vintage-y." B., because she was my sister's favorite and one she handed down to Bossy Girl......
..... and C., cause if you look close enough, she's clearly a panty-less hoe. Look where her string tassle just happens to fall....
Dirty, unkempt ballerina.
I laugh my ass off every time I see her on the tree.
Sorry I find ways to make even Christmas inappropriate, baby Jesus.
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.
I'm going to do some random Christmas photo posts. Because Jesus would appreciate that for his birthday.
Let's start with my Christmas tree and some special ornaments. By the way? I freaking LOVE ornaments. I have enough to cover my tree plus a forest of trees. And I want more. Feel free to buy me some. I'll email you my address.
Here's my tree. Rule #1. Tree MUST be covered with white lights only. No multi-colored lights for this wacked-out elf's tree.
Most of the bajillion-and-one ornaments are for Bossy Girl and Wee One. Every family member is asked to buy and label them an ornament every year. Someday when they are married or have homes of their own... waa-la! Fully decorated tree, courtesy of momma's ornament-obsessed tradition.
Next, here are a few ornaments I love.
First, the very first married life ornament I bought. 10 years ago. It represents me and the Hubby.
Next, this one represents my love of the kitchen and baking/cooking.
Third, a Willow Tree ornament of Mother and Daughter. Because, obviously.
Last, this ballerina ornament for a few reasons. A., because she's old and kind of "vintage-y." B., because she was my sister's favorite and one she handed down to Bossy Girl......
..... and C., cause if you look close enough, she's clearly a panty-less hoe. Look where her string tassle just happens to fall....
Dirty, unkempt ballerina.
I laugh my ass off every time I see her on the tree.
Sorry I find ways to make even Christmas inappropriate, baby Jesus.
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.
They had nowhere to go. Just a car and a tank of gas. And a dream. A dream to cause a little ruckus.
Thelma and Louise headed to the school library and pulled out a map (on paper, not Google, damn I'm old.), closed their eyes, and pointed to a random spot.
The place of their juvenile delinquent destination?
Dickeyville, Wisconsin.
Because dick is in it's name.
Giggling. Right. Now. Will I never grow up?
They called themselves in absent to school pretending to be each other's moms.
They said goodbye to my pussy studious self, and hit the road.
When they arrived in Dickeyville, they went all tourist-y and took cheesy pictures and even sent postcards. To their parents.
And to the principal.
Leaving a paper trail of their truancy.
Well-played ladies.
Ballsy.
They did get in trouble. They did have consequences. But mainly, they did have fun. And a memory to last a lifetime.
I had no part of it.
I am LAME.
Fast forward to this week..........
I had to travel to Wisconsin for a friend who lost her mother. It just so happened that I had to drive through Dickeyville, Wisconsin. I pulled over and snapped a picture for proof.
Not quite a postcard, and fifteen years late...... but still.
Motherfucking Dickeyville.
I've redeemed myself. Kind of.
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.
What's super crazy is that I love this feeling. I know I'm the opposite of most people in that I live for winter and blizzards that cause you to rush to the supermarket to stock your pantry so you don't have to leave your house for a few days. I realize this is probably weird to most of you, but it explains why I'm thoroughly searching Canadian and Alaskan real estate listings lately.
I drew you a rendering.
Click to enlarge.
What's super crazy is that I love this feeling. I know I'm the opposite of most people in that I live for winter and blizzards that cause you to rush to the supermarket to stock your pantry so you don't have to leave your house for a few days. I realize this is probably weird to most of you, but it explains why I'm thoroughly searching Canadian and Alaskan real estate listings lately.
I drew you a rendering.
Click to enlarge.
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.
2. he cleans the bathrooms. I loathe that task.
3. he cleans the litterbox. I loathe that task because I dry heave like a motherfucker whenever I get near it.
* I realize now that he cleans more than me and I'm a lazy asshole when it comes to household chores. Meh, don't care.
4. he's an overall EXCELLENT daddy to our girls.
5. he puts up with my shit-storm of crazy. And he still seems to like me.
6. he's seen the contents of my uterus and vagina and he still likes me.
7. he doesn't seem to mind that I literally never shave my legs.
8. he will often commiserate along with me when I go off on my "people are stupid" rants.
9. he has a gun because he wants to protect his family.
10. he drives when we take road trips.
11. he lifts heavy objects and reaches the highest shelves for me.
12. he likes to lay on the couch and watch movies with me. Even scary movies, which are my favorite.
13. He loves watching The Walking Dead with me.
14. he compliments my cooking.
15. he's a computer wiz.
16. he puts up with not only me, but my family.
17. he patiently allows me to write about him on this blog and hasn't divorced me. Yet.
18. he has been by my side since we were 17 years old and when I need independence and space, he steps away a bit, but when I need support and guidance, he steps closer. Regardless, he's there next to me, close when needed, farther away when needed, but always holding my hand.
19. he loves me and I love him and he is the reason I'm a momma of amazing little girls and we have a great little family.
And that is all. It's so much more than enough.
They are:
1. he mows the lawn and takes out the garbage. I loathe both those tasks.
2. he cleans the bathrooms. I loathe that task.
3. he cleans the litterbox. I loathe that task because I dry heave like a motherfucker whenever I get near it.
* I realize now that he cleans more than me and I'm a lazy asshole when it comes to household chores. Meh, don't care.
4. he's an overall EXCELLENT daddy to our girls.
5. he puts up with my shit-storm of crazy. And he still seems to like me.
6. he's seen the contents of my uterus and vagina and he still likes me.
7. he doesn't seem to mind that I literally never shave my legs.
8. he will often commiserate along with me when I go off on my "people are stupid" rants.
9. he has a gun because he wants to protect his family.
10. he drives when we take road trips.
11. he lifts heavy objects and reaches the highest shelves for me.
12. he likes to lay on the couch and watch movies with me. Even scary movies, which are my favorite.
13. He loves watching The Walking Dead with me.
14. he compliments my cooking.
15. he's a computer wiz.
16. he puts up with not only me, but my family.
17. he patiently allows me to write about him on this blog and hasn't divorced me. Yet.
18. he has been by my side since we were 17 years old and when I need independence and space, he steps away a bit, but when I need support and guidance, he steps closer. Regardless, he's there next to me, close when needed, farther away when needed, but always holding my hand.
19. he loves me and I love him and he is the reason I'm a momma of amazing little girls and we have a great little family.
And that is all. It's so much more than enough.
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.
What I'd really like to give him is a coupon book of my own creation. It'll contain scratch-off tickets that include:
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.
What I'd really like to give him is a coupon book of my own creation. It'll contain scratch-off tickets that include:
**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.
Some of you have been with me for the entire year, from my very first post to now.
Some of you are fairly new.
Either way, you're here. And I appreciate the hell out of you all.
This is the spot for my crazy.
The place where the shit in my head can get out before it drives me totally nuts.
The place where I'm not judged and if I am, you don't tell me.
The place where I can't get looks of, "Sweet baby Jesus, what the hell is wrong with that girl?"
I've made great new friends through this blog. Friends I haven't met yet in real life but that seems to be irrelevant. A technicality. I've found soul sisters and brothers through the Internets and it's a damn good thing.
So, to celebrate my blogiversary, and more specifically to celebrate YOU all, I'm having a giveaway.
A giveaway of total awesomeness. All you have to do is be (or become) a follower, and comment below. Simple. You can say anything you want in the comment, but I do have one little catch. In your comment, mention one of your favorite posts of mine. No biggie. Which piece of my crap did you like the most? You have until Friday, Nov. 18 to comment and then I'll use a random number generator to choose a winner.
My giveaway prizes are things I love, that I think you'll love too. Cuz we're the same kind of people, if you're here reading my crap.
Miss Sarcasm's Survive Your Life Prize Basket:
First, coffee. You must have coffee. So included in my giveaway is a pack of this:
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.
Some of you have been with me for the entire year, from my very first post to now.
Some of you are fairly new.
Either way, you're here. And I appreciate the hell out of you all.
This is the spot for my crazy.
The place where the shit in my head can get out before it drives me totally nuts.
The place where I'm not judged and if I am, you don't tell me.
The place where I can't get looks of, "Sweet baby Jesus, what the hell is wrong with that girl?"
I've made great new friends through this blog. Friends I haven't met yet in real life but that seems to be irrelevant. A technicality. I've found soul sisters and brothers through the Internets and it's a damn good thing.
So, to celebrate my blogiversary, and more specifically to celebrate YOU all, I'm having a giveaway.
A giveaway of total awesomeness. All you have to do is be (or become) a follower, and comment below. Simple. You can say anything you want in the comment, but I do have one little catch. In your comment, mention one of your favorite posts of mine. No biggie. Which piece of my crap did you like the most? You have until Friday, Nov. 18 to comment and then I'll use a random number generator to choose a winner.
My giveaway prizes are things I love, that I think you'll love too. Cuz we're the same kind of people, if you're here reading my crap.
Miss Sarcasm's Survive Your Life Prize Basket:
First, coffee. You must have coffee. So included in my giveaway is a pack of this:
Next, you need something to drink the coffee in. Have this Honey Badger mug from Cafe Press:
Also, you need something to read while you drink the coffee.
I will preorder THIS for you and you'll receive it when it's released in April. Pinky swear.
Now, I need to stop spending my hard earned money. Plus, I can't ship vodka.
Thank you all for spending time with me this past year. I hope we're still together for the next year. I hate break ups. Don't leave me.
Please?
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!
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!
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:
I am hoping you can help me with a little problem we have encountered.
You see, when I get up at the crack of stupid with the kids they are feed, the dishes are done, dinner started and my lunch is made before he even gets out of bed. When he gets up with the kids, he sleeps on the couch until I get up and do everything I listed above but in less time. Thoughts on how to address this?
Dear Jenn,
This is a common problem in my house as well. Actually, only I refer to it as a "problem." For my Hubby it's simply "habit" and "ignorance" and "laziness." It's almost a daily battle in my home as I juggle kids and housework and full time job while the Hubby seems to be incapable of finding a matching pair of freaking socks. How do I deal with it? I swear at him, berate him, refuse to cook for him or do his laundry and of course, deny him sex until he figures his shit out, mans up for a day or two, then starts the inevitable slacking off again while I pick up doing all the work as usual. It's a vicious cycle. As women we have immense power. The answer is always deny the sex.
Next is a question from Jenn 3128 who writes at The Pondering Pisces. This may have been simply a rhetorical question, but since it's an issue I've faced as well, I'm going to address it:
It might just be me, but my Hubs seems to think I'm going to turn into a lesbian one of these days. Just last night watching DWTS together and every other word out of his mouth was "You'd do her, wouldn't you"? Uh, where did this lesbian fascination come from?
Dear Jenn 3128,
Men are fucking perverts living in a constant state of porno-reality. I'd say deny him the sex, but then you'll have to listen to him whine about how you never want to have sex, therefore you must be a lesbian, and then you're back to the starting point. Just throw him a curve ball. Next time he asks you if you'd "do her," simply say "yes," then moan a little bit and ask if you can call him by a girls' name while he wears your bra and panties and tucks *it* between his legs. This may shock him enough to get him to shut the hell up with the girl-on-girl fantasy.
Now a question from Andrea from over at Maybe It's Just Me:
Why is a blank stare an acceptable response to anything like "I am sick of talking AT you instead of TO you" or "I wish you would say something"?
Dear Andrea,
It's not an acceptable response but it's most likely the one they'll give. Why? Because they are stupid. Period.
Now, I've gotta admit. This question is so sincere that I immediately assumed it was spam or some troll screwing with me. I'm not used to sincere and serious, clearly. It's a great question though, so I'll answer it as only I do best, with sarcasm and insults.
From Mikhail at Digital Ballpen:
I am not yet married nor in a relationship. I'm 20 years old, male, single. What is the best advice you can give to someone like me? Love advice, in general. Thanks!
Dear Mikhail,
You write that you are young, male, and single. What's the problem? I don't see one. You are YOUNG and SINGLE. Live it the heck up, bubba.
But really, here's what I've got for you from a female's point of view. Be honest. Be respectful but not wimpy. Have manners. And a job. A legal one. A steady one. Don't live in your parent's house past the college years. Don't try to get her to put out in a car.... getting caught is embarrassing. Take her places that are fun and different, not always dinner and a movie. Don't rely on texting as your sole form on communication. Don't smother her, yet at the same time find a decent balance of attention vs. freedom. Be funny. We like funny guys. Learn how to kiss REALLY well. Find out what she likes and learn about it, but again, watch with the smothering. Oh, and give us presents. We like those. It's a delicate balance, getting along with us finicky females, but oh so worth it.
Last, a question from my blogging sister from another mister, Marianna Annadanna over at Snappy Surprise and Cheesy Bloggers. (which is also where I'm also at, so go there.)
Why is throwing a piece of asparagus at me considered an acceptable way to indicate interest in me getting off the phone and making dinner?
Marianna,
He's doing it ALL WRONG. He is supposed to throw CASH at you to get your attention. Or cheese. Either one.
Well, I think my job here is done for today. Look out Dr. Phil. I'm coming for your job next.
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:
I am hoping you can help me with a little problem we have encountered.
You see, when I get up at the crack of stupid with the kids they are feed, the dishes are done, dinner started and my lunch is made before he even gets out of bed. When he gets up with the kids, he sleeps on the couch until I get up and do everything I listed above but in less time. Thoughts on how to address this?
Dear Jenn,
This is a common problem in my house as well. Actually, only I refer to it as a "problem." For my Hubby it's simply "habit" and "ignorance" and "laziness." It's almost a daily battle in my home as I juggle kids and housework and full time job while the Hubby seems to be incapable of finding a matching pair of freaking socks. How do I deal with it? I swear at him, berate him, refuse to cook for him or do his laundry and of course, deny him sex until he figures his shit out, mans up for a day or two, then starts the inevitable slacking off again while I pick up doing all the work as usual. It's a vicious cycle. As women we have immense power. The answer is always deny the sex.
Next is a question from Jenn 3128 who writes at The Pondering Pisces. This may have been simply a rhetorical question, but since it's an issue I've faced as well, I'm going to address it:
It might just be me, but my Hubs seems to think I'm going to turn into a lesbian one of these days. Just last night watching DWTS together and every other word out of his mouth was "You'd do her, wouldn't you"? Uh, where did this lesbian fascination come from?
Dear Jenn 3128,
Men are fucking perverts living in a constant state of porno-reality. I'd say deny him the sex, but then you'll have to listen to him whine about how you never want to have sex, therefore you must be a lesbian, and then you're back to the starting point. Just throw him a curve ball. Next time he asks you if you'd "do her," simply say "yes," then moan a little bit and ask if you can call him by a girls' name while he wears your bra and panties and tucks *it* between his legs. This may shock him enough to get him to shut the hell up with the girl-on-girl fantasy.
Now a question from Andrea from over at Maybe It's Just Me:
Why is a blank stare an acceptable response to anything like "I am sick of talking AT you instead of TO you" or "I wish you would say something"?
Dear Andrea,
It's not an acceptable response but it's most likely the one they'll give. Why? Because they are stupid. Period.
Now, I've gotta admit. This question is so sincere that I immediately assumed it was spam or some troll screwing with me. I'm not used to sincere and serious, clearly. It's a great question though, so I'll answer it as only I do best, with sarcasm and insults.
From Mikhail at Digital Ballpen:
I am not yet married nor in a relationship. I'm 20 years old, male, single. What is the best advice you can give to someone like me? Love advice, in general. Thanks!
Dear Mikhail,
You write that you are young, male, and single. What's the problem? I don't see one. You are YOUNG and SINGLE. Live it the heck up, bubba.
But really, here's what I've got for you from a female's point of view. Be honest. Be respectful but not wimpy. Have manners. And a job. A legal one. A steady one. Don't live in your parent's house past the college years. Don't try to get her to put out in a car.... getting caught is embarrassing. Take her places that are fun and different, not always dinner and a movie. Don't rely on texting as your sole form on communication. Don't smother her, yet at the same time find a decent balance of attention vs. freedom. Be funny. We like funny guys. Learn how to kiss REALLY well. Find out what she likes and learn about it, but again, watch with the smothering. Oh, and give us presents. We like those. It's a delicate balance, getting along with us finicky females, but oh so worth it.
Last, a question from my blogging sister from another mister, Marianna Annadanna over at Snappy Surprise and Cheesy Bloggers. (which is also where I'm also at, so go there.)
Why is throwing a piece of asparagus at me considered an acceptable way to indicate interest in me getting off the phone and making dinner?
Marianna,
He's doing it ALL WRONG. He is supposed to throw CASH at you to get your attention. Or cheese. Either one.
Well, I think my job here is done for today. Look out Dr. Phil. I'm coming for your job next.
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.
In honor of that fun Halloween, tonight after trick-or-treating with my kids, I'm gonna do a couple lemon drops, wait til the Hubby is asleep, wander into the bedroom and shout, "GUYS. I've gotta be in surgery in FIFTEEN MINUTES!" I bet he'll like the flashback.
In honor of that fun Halloween, tonight after trick-or-treating with my kids, I'm gonna do a couple lemon drops, wait til the Hubby is asleep, wander into the bedroom and shout, "GUYS. I've gotta be in surgery in FIFTEEN MINUTES!" I bet he'll like the flashback.
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.
The house I was born in and lived in until I was just a month over 9 years old was for all intents and purposes, "haunted." The toilet would flush at random. Doors would open and shut all over the house. My older sister and I shared a bed and at night we'd huddle under the covers and watch the shadowed figures move across the room and terrify us. It's no wonder my dreams were solely nightmares as a child and I was attracted to ghost stories and spooky films.
Eventually, we moved a few times and we landed in an old farmhouse outside of town. Perfect setting for some spookiness, eh? One night during Christmastime, I fell asleep on the couch in the living room and was left there to sleep since I was suffering from a mean case of strep throat and I needed my rest. I was probably 13 years old at the time. I was awakened in the middle of the night by the phone ringing. Some employee needed my dad, who was a manager in his company. I sleepily opened my eyes as a hall light turned on....my dad or mom coming to answer the phone. With the light dimly shining into the living room, I saw him. Sitting at the end of the couch where my feet were, was an older man wearing a red flannel shirt. He was staring straight ahead, facing the large picture window that looked out to the south of the farm and its cornfields. He looked a bit like my grandfather, my mom's dad who is STILL alive. And the really, really strange part? I could see my feet through him. He was sitting at/on/through(?) my feet.
I tried to get his attention. I wiggled my feet. Then someone (my mom or dad, can't remember it's been so long) made it to the first floor and answered the phone, and just like that, he was gone. But I know he was there. I was awake. I saw him. And when I brought it up to my mom a day or so later, she let me in on a secret she'd been keeping. One day as she did dishes and looked out the kitchen window watching for our school bus to drive up the road, she felt she was being watched, that she wasn't alone in the room. When she turned, she saw an old man in a flannel shirt standing in the kitchen with her. She said he immediately reminded her of her father, but without glasses. Just like how I described him. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. She got the feeling that he was just keeping her company, checking in on her because she was lonely and having trouble adjusting to our move. I have the same feeling... that the night I was sick and sleeping on the couch, he chose to sit up with me and keep his eye on the sick little girl living in his farmhouse. There was nothing spooky or scary about him. He was just a grandpa or a daddy keeping watch.
Neither of us ever saw him again.
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.
The house I was born in and lived in until I was just a month over 9 years old was for all intents and purposes, "haunted." The toilet would flush at random. Doors would open and shut all over the house. My older sister and I shared a bed and at night we'd huddle under the covers and watch the shadowed figures move across the room and terrify us. It's no wonder my dreams were solely nightmares as a child and I was attracted to ghost stories and spooky films.
Eventually, we moved a few times and we landed in an old farmhouse outside of town. Perfect setting for some spookiness, eh? One night during Christmastime, I fell asleep on the couch in the living room and was left there to sleep since I was suffering from a mean case of strep throat and I needed my rest. I was probably 13 years old at the time. I was awakened in the middle of the night by the phone ringing. Some employee needed my dad, who was a manager in his company. I sleepily opened my eyes as a hall light turned on....my dad or mom coming to answer the phone. With the light dimly shining into the living room, I saw him. Sitting at the end of the couch where my feet were, was an older man wearing a red flannel shirt. He was staring straight ahead, facing the large picture window that looked out to the south of the farm and its cornfields. He looked a bit like my grandfather, my mom's dad who is STILL alive. And the really, really strange part? I could see my feet through him. He was sitting at/on/through(?) my feet.
I tried to get his attention. I wiggled my feet. Then someone (my mom or dad, can't remember it's been so long) made it to the first floor and answered the phone, and just like that, he was gone. But I know he was there. I was awake. I saw him. And when I brought it up to my mom a day or so later, she let me in on a secret she'd been keeping. One day as she did dishes and looked out the kitchen window watching for our school bus to drive up the road, she felt she was being watched, that she wasn't alone in the room. When she turned, she saw an old man in a flannel shirt standing in the kitchen with her. She said he immediately reminded her of her father, but without glasses. Just like how I described him. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. She got the feeling that he was just keeping her company, checking in on her because she was lonely and having trouble adjusting to our move. I have the same feeling... that the night I was sick and sleeping on the couch, he chose to sit up with me and keep his eye on the sick little girl living in his farmhouse. There was nothing spooky or scary about him. He was just a grandpa or a daddy keeping watch.
Neither of us ever saw him again.
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.
Did they stop making them?
Why Doritos?? WHY???
I'm considering protesting at wherever Doritos headquarters are.
I'll take my pillow and my snuggie and lay down on the sidewalk in front of their building and sob hysterically until they shove some bags in my sad little hands. I will do this for America. Because we are the land of democracy and freedom and opportunity and tasty snacks.
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.
Did they stop making them?
Why Doritos?? WHY???
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| Come back to me chips. Come back.... |
I'll take my pillow and my snuggie and lay down on the sidewalk in front of their building and sob hysterically until they shove some bags in my sad little hands. I will do this for America. Because we are the land of democracy and freedom and opportunity and tasty snacks.
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
Me: loading the dishwasher.
Hubby: ohhhh.... bending over for me, eh?
Me: Jesus Christ, moron. I'm doing dishes. Life isn't a porno you know. Get the hell away from me.
Effective Communication Example B
Me: jabbing Hubby in the back with my elbow. STOP snoring asshole.
Hubby: *snort, mumble.... huh?
Me: I can't sleep. Stop fucking snoring or go to the couch.
Hubby: *sleepily... Waking me up for some action, eh?
Me: Get the fuck away from me jackass.
Effective Communication Example C
Me: Can you please......? (fill in the blank. Put shoes on Wee One, start up the grill, get a juice box for Bossy Girl, anything really)
Hubby: In a minute.
*15 MINUTES LATER IT'S STILL NOT DONE FOR CHRIST'S SAKE*
Me: I'll just do it, moron. *slams some doors and stomps off
Hubby: I was just about to....
Me: Whatever.
I'm thinking we're so good at this marital communication thing, I should offer up advice.
So here's my offer. Write to me or comment below with a question about your marriage, and I'll make my next posts my advice to you. For free. It's a deal you can't pass up, really.
Effective Communication Example A
Me: loading the dishwasher.
Hubby: ohhhh.... bending over for me, eh?
Me: Jesus Christ, moron. I'm doing dishes. Life isn't a porno you know. Get the hell away from me.
Effective Communication Example B
Me: jabbing Hubby in the back with my elbow. STOP snoring asshole.
Hubby: *snort, mumble.... huh?
Me: I can't sleep. Stop fucking snoring or go to the couch.
Hubby: *sleepily... Waking me up for some action, eh?
Me: Get the fuck away from me jackass.
Effective Communication Example C
Me: Can you please......? (fill in the blank. Put shoes on Wee One, start up the grill, get a juice box for Bossy Girl, anything really)
Hubby: In a minute.
*15 MINUTES LATER IT'S STILL NOT DONE FOR CHRIST'S SAKE*
Me: I'll just do it, moron. *slams some doors and stomps off
Hubby: I was just about to....
Me: Whatever.
I'm thinking we're so good at this marital communication thing, I should offer up advice.
So here's my offer. Write to me or comment below with a question about your marriage, and I'll make my next posts my advice to you. For free. It's a deal you can't pass up, really.
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.
Check out these emails from my inbox.
I must be SO good at playing hard to get I don't even know when I'm playing because you can tell by the email subjects that he's gotten quite desperate and needy yet I've never met the man before in my life. But he's the President which means he's probably got my phones and computers bugged so he can watch me longingly from a distance.
If only I could make David Beckham feel this way about me. I'd be set.
The President is clearly in love with me.
Proof? You betcha.
Check out these emails from my inbox.
I must be SO good at playing hard to get I don't even know when I'm playing because you can tell by the email subjects that he's gotten quite desperate and needy yet I've never met the man before in my life. But he's the President which means he's probably got my phones and computers bugged so he can watch me longingly from a distance.If only I could make David Beckham feel this way about me. I'd be set.
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.
The first pregnancy you handled like a champ. So good in fact, you kept that baby a week late. The second one, you could've done better, what with the whole placenta accreta scare, but we made it through just fine. Now that your baby-carrying days are done though, you've really been slacking in your performance. I'm not sure what's been up with you the past couple of years since you finished your job with the Wee One, but enough is enough. Cramps? Bloating? Needing super freaking PLUS tampons? A period every 20-21 days? It's gotten old. And now they want to check for fibroids? Why are you revolting against the body? Why are you punishing us? What happened to being a team player? I know your reproductive days are done. That fact makes me sad too. More than you can ever know. I know that you're thinking ahead towards total retirement. But we still have time together, and as much as I'd like to let you go based on your performance, we need to find a way to make this work.
Your performance has been sub-par. Poor. I'm putting you on a probationary period (no pun intended. Ok, kind of intended.). We will be looking at options to make you more cooperative. I hope you decide to work with us for the good of the body and my sanity. Otherwise, you'll be fired. And in this economy? Good luck finding another job.
The first pregnancy you handled like a champ. So good in fact, you kept that baby a week late. The second one, you could've done better, what with the whole placenta accreta scare, but we made it through just fine. Now that your baby-carrying days are done though, you've really been slacking in your performance. I'm not sure what's been up with you the past couple of years since you finished your job with the Wee One, but enough is enough. Cramps? Bloating? Needing super freaking PLUS tampons? A period every 20-21 days? It's gotten old. And now they want to check for fibroids? Why are you revolting against the body? Why are you punishing us? What happened to being a team player? I know your reproductive days are done. That fact makes me sad too. More than you can ever know. I know that you're thinking ahead towards total retirement. But we still have time together, and as much as I'd like to let you go based on your performance, we need to find a way to make this work.
Your performance has been sub-par. Poor. I'm putting you on a probationary period (no pun intended. Ok, kind of intended.). We will be looking at options to make you more cooperative. I hope you decide to work with us for the good of the body and my sanity. Otherwise, you'll be fired. And in this economy? Good luck finding another job.
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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| No I will NOT rub your feet, person. Now bring me a treat and the remote.*not one of my cats, by the way. They don't sit still for photos. Assholes. |
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.
I almost died while doing the DVD this morning, which got me thinking about death. Again.
I have this theory that if there is an afterlife, it's totally what we make of it because in general, people are selfish assholes and creatures of comfort so what we enjoy in real life is probably what we'll need to have to enjoy the afterlife.
Therefore, logically, I have put in a request for my afterlife to be exactly like this:
When I die, I want my afterlife to contain a 24 hour all-you-can-eat buffet with bacon cheeseburgers and lasagna and a million other different kinds of pasta and breads and chips and salty french fries and steaks with loaded mashed potatoes (SHUT UP JILLIAN MICHAELS) and huge pots of thick chicken noodle soup and chili plus baskets of chips and salsa and queso dip next to platters and platters heaping full of fried mozzerella sticks and fried pickles alongside fried chicken and rare roast beef sandwiches. I could go on and on but honestly, I'm salivating like a friggin dog right now. The kicker is, in my Afterlife Buffet, you have to eat to stay skinny. If you stop gorging yourself with food for too long, you'll gain weight. How fucking awesome would that be you guys? Exactly.
So when I'm nice and full and fantastically skinny with flat abs thanks to that third plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and a ham steak with a side of pancakes, I'd then get to go lay on a huge fluffy bed full of pillows and drink lemon drop martinis in my snuggie while watching reruns of classic tv shows like the Golden Girls, Roseanne, Alf, The Cosby Show, Cheers, and Mama's Family. Because who didn't love Thelma Harper and her dopey son Vinton and slutty daughter-in-law Naomi? Plus it had Betty White so bonus. Right when I'm falling asleep in my comfy afterlife bed, David Beckham will show up with a bottle of wine and some cherry Twizzlers and the real fun will begin.
Of course my loved ones and friends will all be there in this afterlife too......
The moral of the story is, I hate working out but I'll do it because it'll likely kill me, sending me directly into my afterlife full of pigging out and licking chocolate off of David Beckham.
I almost died while doing the DVD this morning, which got me thinking about death. Again.
I have this theory that if there is an afterlife, it's totally what we make of it because in general, people are selfish assholes and creatures of comfort so what we enjoy in real life is probably what we'll need to have to enjoy the afterlife.
Therefore, logically, I have put in a request for my afterlife to be exactly like this:
When I die, I want my afterlife to contain a 24 hour all-you-can-eat buffet with bacon cheeseburgers and lasagna and a million other different kinds of pasta and breads and chips and salty french fries and steaks with loaded mashed potatoes (SHUT UP JILLIAN MICHAELS) and huge pots of thick chicken noodle soup and chili plus baskets of chips and salsa and queso dip next to platters and platters heaping full of fried mozzerella sticks and fried pickles alongside fried chicken and rare roast beef sandwiches. I could go on and on but honestly, I'm salivating like a friggin dog right now. The kicker is, in my Afterlife Buffet, you have to eat to stay skinny. If you stop gorging yourself with food for too long, you'll gain weight. How fucking awesome would that be you guys? Exactly.
So when I'm nice and full and fantastically skinny with flat abs thanks to that third plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and a ham steak with a side of pancakes, I'd then get to go lay on a huge fluffy bed full of pillows and drink lemon drop martinis in my snuggie while watching reruns of classic tv shows like the Golden Girls, Roseanne, Alf, The Cosby Show, Cheers, and Mama's Family. Because who didn't love Thelma Harper and her dopey son Vinton and slutty daughter-in-law Naomi? Plus it had Betty White so bonus. Right when I'm falling asleep in my comfy afterlife bed, David Beckham will show up with a bottle of wine and some cherry Twizzlers and the real fun will begin.
Of course my loved ones and friends will all be there in this afterlife too......
The moral of the story is, I hate working out but I'll do it because it'll likely kill me, sending me directly into my afterlife full of pigging out and licking chocolate off of David Beckham.
 |
| Trainer from Hell |
 |
| Mama. She'll make you a sammich. |
 |
| MMMMmmmm... welcome to heaven |
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.
It smells awesome and I find myself trying to lick my own arms and I never want to leave my bathroom because I'm taking 30 minute showers to keep smelling the Coconut Lime body wash so my water bill is gonna be HUGE, PLUS, they sent me a new organic olive oil and shea Vanilla Spice lotion that I keep schmearing all over. Yes, schmearing *is* a word and I carry the lotion with me and schmear all goddamn day long. If you get too close to me? I may schmear you too. I think other people want to lick me now too since I smell so yummy. My life is rough, walking around all smelling good and lickable......
I let my sisters and my sister from another mister Michelle try some lotion too (we were in a parking lot at night but that's irrelevant to my story) and they loved it as well. We were all schmeared with loveliness in a public parking lot.
I buy all my Tree Hut stuff through Amazon because hey, free shipping. And everything comes in packs of 2 or 3 so you can buy in bulk and stock your shelves. Which is always good preparation for the zombie apocalypse.
Some bloggers do a lot of product pitching and sponsorship but I'm not one of them because a. I get no PR offers and b. I'm lame so I'm going to plug the hell out of Tree Hut because they are awesome and organic and my skin has never felt nor looked better. Plus, they Tweet on the Twitter and don't seem to mind my inappropriate language, rambling run-ons, and twisted sense of humor. That doesn't mean they endorse my language and inappropriateness. There's probably legal stuff involved somewhere and they probably wouldn't want me spouting the F word in any post I discuss their products in. I really have no idea how this works. Like, will I get sued if I say, these products are motherfucking genius? OR, I love them like a fat kid loves a Snickers bar? Shit. Now I've probably offended Tree Hut, Snickers, and fat kids.
Tree Hut probably just wanted some nice girl to complete the surveys in a timely manner and then shut the hell up but they got me. It's kind of their fault, really. They didn't even ask me to blog about their stuff, by the way. But I've a giver. Which means I like to talk too much. And also? Saying I'm a Tree Hut Brand Ambassador makes me feel important. I'm putting "Brand Ambassador" on my resume now. It sounds important. Kind of like I'm a Duchess or a member of the U.N. or something.
A smell-good, well-moisturized, Peace Keeping Ambassador.
This blog post was not sponsored by, paid for, approved by, nor endorsed by Tree Hut. I've probably embarrassed the hell out of them just by doing this. Welcome to the club though, Tree Hut. I embarrass my loved ones daily.
This blog post was also not sponsored by David Beckham. Even though he's hot and I love him and want to schmear him with the lotions.
Amazon.com SHOULD sponsor my life because I shop from them multiple times per week.
This blog post can be sponsored by vodka and Xanax, so call me guys, okay?
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.
It smells awesome and I find myself trying to lick my own arms and I never want to leave my bathroom because I'm taking 30 minute showers to keep smelling the Coconut Lime body wash so my water bill is gonna be HUGE, PLUS, they sent me a new organic olive oil and shea Vanilla Spice lotion that I keep schmearing all over. Yes, schmearing *is* a word and I carry the lotion with me and schmear all goddamn day long. If you get too close to me? I may schmear you too. I think other people want to lick me now too since I smell so yummy. My life is rough, walking around all smelling good and lickable......
I let my sisters and my sister from another mister Michelle try some lotion too (we were in a parking lot at night but that's irrelevant to my story) and they loved it as well. We were all schmeared with loveliness in a public parking lot.
I buy all my Tree Hut stuff through Amazon because hey, free shipping. And everything comes in packs of 2 or 3 so you can buy in bulk and stock your shelves. Which is always good preparation for the zombie apocalypse.
Some bloggers do a lot of product pitching and sponsorship but I'm not one of them because a. I get no PR offers and b. I'm lame so I'm going to plug the hell out of Tree Hut because they are awesome and organic and my skin has never felt nor looked better. Plus, they Tweet on the Twitter and don't seem to mind my inappropriate language, rambling run-ons, and twisted sense of humor. That doesn't mean they endorse my language and inappropriateness. There's probably legal stuff involved somewhere and they probably wouldn't want me spouting the F word in any post I discuss their products in. I really have no idea how this works. Like, will I get sued if I say, these products are motherfucking genius? OR, I love them like a fat kid loves a Snickers bar? Shit. Now I've probably offended Tree Hut, Snickers, and fat kids.
Tree Hut probably just wanted some nice girl to complete the surveys in a timely manner and then shut the hell up but they got me. It's kind of their fault, really. They didn't even ask me to blog about their stuff, by the way. But I've a giver. Which means I like to talk too much. And also? Saying I'm a Tree Hut Brand Ambassador makes me feel important. I'm putting "Brand Ambassador" on my resume now. It sounds important. Kind of like I'm a Duchess or a member of the U.N. or something.
A smell-good, well-moisturized, Peace Keeping Ambassador.
This blog post was also not sponsored by David Beckham. Even though he's hot and I love him and want to schmear him with the lotions.
Amazon.com SHOULD sponsor my life because I shop from them multiple times per week.
This blog post can be sponsored by vodka and Xanax, so call me guys, okay?
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.
Grabbing my car door handle and finding it, and therefore my hand, covered in bird shit.
OH, it's on birds.
It. Is. ON.
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!
So, days 3 and 4 of the blogger challenge are:
Day 03- A picture of something you cannot live without.
Day 04- A habit that you wish you didn’t have.
For the photo, I'm going to keep this blog relatively clean and appropriate and NOT post a picture of something I really, really can't live without (batteries included) so instead I'll post this:
It's quite clear. I cannot live without coffee every morning. And I simply cannot fathom living without my family.
Next, a habit that I wish I didn't have. Well, I have quite a few, but I'd say I wish I didn't have such an addictive personality. I never do anything partially, I jump in fully and completely and obsessively. Whether it's food, shopping, blogging, Pinterest, swearing, seeking revenge, flirting, finishing a bottle of wine.... I go overboard. I love things big and hard (that's what he said) and completely. Conversely, I hate things big and hard and completely. Makes you wanna be my friend, right? I'm definitely a go big or go home kind of girl.
The next topics are:
Day 05- List 15 songs that represent your life’s soundtrack.
Day 06- A picture of somewhere you’ve been to.
Day 07- A hobby you have.
Day 08- A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you.
Day 09- Short term goals for this month and why.
Day 10- Something/someone you’re proud of.
Day 11- A story about a past relationship.
Day 12- A picture of something you dislike.
Day 13- Share a secret.
Day 14- Write a letter telling someone something you could never tell them.
Day 15- A picture of something you ate and 10 confessions.
Day 16- Put your iPod on shuffle & share the first 10 songs that play.
Day 17- Something you could live without.
Day 18- Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why.
Day 19- Plans/dreams/goals you have.
Day 20- Nicknames you have & how or why you have them.
Day 21- If you had 3 wishes, what would they be.
Day 22- Share a picture from your day.
Day 23- What makes you different from everyone else.
Day 24- What is something you crave.
Day 25- What I would find in your bag.
Day 26- Places you want to visit before you die.
Day 27- Why are you doing this 30 day challenge?
Day 28- A picture of you last year and now, how have you changed since then?
Day 29- In this past month, what have you learned.
Day 30- A picture of you today & 20 goals you want to accomplish.
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!
So, days 3 and 4 of the blogger challenge are:
Day 03- A picture of something you cannot live without.
Day 04- A habit that you wish you didn’t have.
For the photo, I'm going to keep this blog relatively clean and appropriate and NOT post a picture of something I really, really can't live without (batteries included) so instead I'll post this:
It's quite clear. I cannot live without coffee every morning. And I simply cannot fathom living without my family.Next, a habit that I wish I didn't have. Well, I have quite a few, but I'd say I wish I didn't have such an addictive personality. I never do anything partially, I jump in fully and completely and obsessively. Whether it's food, shopping, blogging, Pinterest, swearing, seeking revenge, flirting, finishing a bottle of wine.... I go overboard. I love things big and hard (that's what he said) and completely. Conversely, I hate things big and hard and completely. Makes you wanna be my friend, right? I'm definitely a go big or go home kind of girl.
The next topics are:
Day 05- List 15 songs that represent your life’s soundtrack.
Day 06- A picture of somewhere you’ve been to.
Day 07- A hobby you have.
Day 08- A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you.
Day 09- Short term goals for this month and why.
Day 10- Something/someone you’re proud of.
Day 11- A story about a past relationship.
Day 12- A picture of something you dislike.
Day 13- Share a secret.
Day 14- Write a letter telling someone something you could never tell them.
Day 15- A picture of something you ate and 10 confessions.
Day 16- Put your iPod on shuffle & share the first 10 songs that play.
Day 17- Something you could live without.
Day 18- Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why.
Day 19- Plans/dreams/goals you have.
Day 20- Nicknames you have & how or why you have them.
Day 21- If you had 3 wishes, what would they be.
Day 22- Share a picture from your day.
Day 23- What makes you different from everyone else.
Day 24- What is something you crave.
Day 25- What I would find in your bag.
Day 26- Places you want to visit before you die.
Day 27- Why are you doing this 30 day challenge?
Day 28- A picture of you last year and now, how have you changed since then?
Day 29- In this past month, what have you learned.
Day 30- A picture of you today & 20 goals you want to accomplish.
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.
On the serious side, I've found that writing this blog has given me a great outlet for all the "wacky" running around in my brain on a daily basis. It's also nice because everyone in my real life tunes me out when I go off on a story, but here, well, many of you read and listen and comment back. It's crazy to me that I started this place 10 months ago and I have 134 followers and about 8,000 people read my stuff last month. You people need a psychiatric evaluation.
Speaking of psychiatric evaluations, you don't even have to go to a "doctor" for those these days. I've self diagnosed my ADD, my ODD, my PDD, my OCD, my lupus, my RA, my PPD, and my telepathy/psychic ID/ESP, plus calculated my "real age," my BMI, my financial health, my likelihood of surviving the zombie apocalypse, and my vitamin and mineral deficiencies, AND determined my porn name, my pirate name, my hippie name, my mafia name, and my superhero name all thanks to the wonders of the Internets.
Thank you, modern technology.
PS, you should now refer to me as any of the following aliases, according to the above name generators:
The Fearless Freak
Carla da Spaz
Mast Hugger Jean
or
LL Vanilla Mack Z
More blogger challenge stuff to come! Day three should be a DOOZY. Prepare yourselves.
Day 03- A picture of something you cannot live without.
Day 04- A habit that you wish you didn’t have.
Day 05- List 15 songs that represent your life’s soundtrack.
Day 06- A picture of somewhere you’ve been to.
Day 07- A hobby you have.
Day 08- A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you.
Day 09- Short term goals for this month and why.
Day 10- Something/someone you’re proud of.
Day 11- A story about a past relationship.
Day 12- A picture of something you dislike.
Day 13- Share a secret.
Day 14- Write a letter telling someone something you could never tell them.
Day 15- A picture of something you ate and 10 confessions.
Day 16- Put your iPod on shuffle & share the first 10 songs that play.
Day 17- Something you could live without.
Day 18- Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why.
Day 19- Plans/dreams/goals you have.
Day 20- Nicknames you have & how or why you have them.
Day 21- If you had 3 wishes, what would they be.
Day 22- Share a picture from your day.
Day 23- What makes you different from everyone else.
Day 24- What is something you crave.
Day 25- What I would find in your bag.
Day 26- Places you want to visit before you die.
Day 27- Why are you doing this 30 day challenge?
Day 28- A picture of you last year and now, how have you changed since then?
Day 29- In this past month, what have you learned.
Day 30- A picture of you today & 20 goals you want to accomplish.
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.
On the serious side, I've found that writing this blog has given me a great outlet for all the "wacky" running around in my brain on a daily basis. It's also nice because everyone in my real life tunes me out when I go off on a story, but here, well, many of you read and listen and comment back. It's crazy to me that I started this place 10 months ago and I have 134 followers and about 8,000 people read my stuff last month. You people need a psychiatric evaluation.
Speaking of psychiatric evaluations, you don't even have to go to a "doctor" for those these days. I've self diagnosed my ADD, my ODD, my PDD, my OCD, my lupus, my RA, my PPD, and my telepathy/psychic ID/ESP, plus calculated my "real age," my BMI, my financial health, my likelihood of surviving the zombie apocalypse, and my vitamin and mineral deficiencies, AND determined my porn name, my pirate name, my hippie name, my mafia name, and my superhero name all thanks to the wonders of the Internets.
Thank you, modern technology.
PS, you should now refer to me as any of the following aliases, according to the above name generators:
The Fearless Freak
Carla da Spaz
Mast Hugger Jean
or
LL Vanilla Mack Z
More blogger challenge stuff to come! Day three should be a DOOZY. Prepare yourselves.
Day 03- A picture of something you cannot live without.
Day 04- A habit that you wish you didn’t have.
Day 05- List 15 songs that represent your life’s soundtrack.
Day 06- A picture of somewhere you’ve been to.
Day 07- A hobby you have.
Day 08- A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you.
Day 09- Short term goals for this month and why.
Day 10- Something/someone you’re proud of.
Day 11- A story about a past relationship.
Day 12- A picture of something you dislike.
Day 13- Share a secret.
Day 14- Write a letter telling someone something you could never tell them.
Day 15- A picture of something you ate and 10 confessions.
Day 16- Put your iPod on shuffle & share the first 10 songs that play.
Day 17- Something you could live without.
Day 18- Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why.
Day 19- Plans/dreams/goals you have.
Day 20- Nicknames you have & how or why you have them.
Day 21- If you had 3 wishes, what would they be.
Day 22- Share a picture from your day.
Day 23- What makes you different from everyone else.
Day 24- What is something you crave.
Day 25- What I would find in your bag.
Day 26- Places you want to visit before you die.
Day 27- Why are you doing this 30 day challenge?
Day 28- A picture of you last year and now, how have you changed since then?
Day 29- In this past month, what have you learned.
Day 30- A picture of you today & 20 goals you want to accomplish.
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
The rest of the steps are at the end of this post.
Hi. I'm Miss Sarcasm, aka Sarcasm in Action, aka Steph.
I'm not showing a picture of myself since I blog anonymously.
How's this?
15 things about myself? I'm not sure there are 15 things I HAVEN'T shared about myself.
1. I often joke about my hypochondria, but I do in fact, have hypochondria, and joking about it helps lighten the seriousness of it. I have a lot of panic and anxiety disorder in my family, so logically I have panic and anxiety disorder, and my main manifestation is through worry about my health. Obsessive, relentless, often unrealistic worry about my health. I'm better now that I'm on some medication and had some therapy. But it's always there.
2. I rarely wear bright colors. I tend to live in blacks and greys.
3. I have one tattoo and I love it. It's one of the prettiest tattoos I've seen. Ever. I don't regret it one bit.
4. I have two kids, both born by csection, and I'm intensely jealous of the fact I never got to have a "regular" birth experience. (Yes, I'm talking VAG here)
5. I often joke about zombies and end of the world stuff, but I really and truly do think about what I would do in an apocalyptic situation and how I would survive and keep my family safe.
6. I hate going to movie theaters to watch movies. I'd much rather wait for it to be out for rent.
7. I take my bra off immediately when I get home. The only thing I do before bra removal is shoe removal.
8. I scar easily. My skin sucks.
9. I'm really good at Wheel of Fortune. Like, REALLy good. I need to get on that show.
10. I never put away my laundry.
11. I'm afraid of the chemicals in deodorant.
12. I think golf is the dumbest sport ever. EVER.
13. I'm an ex smoker. In college I smoked a pack a day. I also quit almost 9 years ago, thank goodness.
14. You couldn't pay me to eat a mushroom.
15. I'm tired of making this list.
Stay tuned for more posts covering the 100 blog post challenge. If I get around to doing more. We'll see.
Day 02- The meaning behind your blog.
Day 03- A picture of something you cannot live without.
Day 04- A habit that you wish you didn’t have.
Day 05- List 15 songs that represent your life’s soundtrack.
Day 06- A picture of somewhere you’ve been to.
Day 07- A hobby you have.
Day 08- A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you.
Day 09- Short term goals for this month and why.
Day 10- Something/someone you’re proud of.
Day 11- A story about a past relationship.
Day 12- A picture of something you dislike.
Day 13- Share a secret.
Day 14- Write a letter telling someone something you could never tell them.
Day 15- A picture of something you ate and 10 confessions.
Day 16- Put your iPod on shuffle & share the first 10 songs that play.
Day 17- Something you could live without.
Day 18- Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why.
Day 19- Plans/dreams/goals you have.
Day 20- Nicknames you have & how or why you have them.
Day 21- If you had 3 wishes, what would they be.
Day 22- Share a picture from your day.
Day 23- What makes you different from everyone else.
Day 24- What is something you crave.
Day 25- What I would find in your bag.
Day 26- Places you want to visit before you die.
Day 27- Why are you doing this 30 day challenge?
Day 28- A picture of you last year and now, how have you changed since then?
Day 29- In this past month, what have you learned.
Day 30- A picture of you today & 20 goals you want to accomplish.
Here's how the challenge shakes out:
Day 01- Introduction, a recent photo, and 15 interesting facts about yourself
The rest of the steps are at the end of this post.
Hi. I'm Miss Sarcasm, aka Sarcasm in Action, aka Steph.
I'm not showing a picture of myself since I blog anonymously.
How's this?
15 things about myself? I'm not sure there are 15 things I HAVEN'T shared about myself.
1. I often joke about my hypochondria, but I do in fact, have hypochondria, and joking about it helps lighten the seriousness of it. I have a lot of panic and anxiety disorder in my family, so logically I have panic and anxiety disorder, and my main manifestation is through worry about my health. Obsessive, relentless, often unrealistic worry about my health. I'm better now that I'm on some medication and had some therapy. But it's always there.
2. I rarely wear bright colors. I tend to live in blacks and greys.
3. I have one tattoo and I love it. It's one of the prettiest tattoos I've seen. Ever. I don't regret it one bit.
4. I have two kids, both born by csection, and I'm intensely jealous of the fact I never got to have a "regular" birth experience. (Yes, I'm talking VAG here)
5. I often joke about zombies and end of the world stuff, but I really and truly do think about what I would do in an apocalyptic situation and how I would survive and keep my family safe.
6. I hate going to movie theaters to watch movies. I'd much rather wait for it to be out for rent.
7. I take my bra off immediately when I get home. The only thing I do before bra removal is shoe removal.
8. I scar easily. My skin sucks.
9. I'm really good at Wheel of Fortune. Like, REALLy good. I need to get on that show.
10. I never put away my laundry.
11. I'm afraid of the chemicals in deodorant.
12. I think golf is the dumbest sport ever. EVER.
13. I'm an ex smoker. In college I smoked a pack a day. I also quit almost 9 years ago, thank goodness.
14. You couldn't pay me to eat a mushroom.
15. I'm tired of making this list.
Stay tuned for more posts covering the 100 blog post challenge. If I get around to doing more. We'll see.
Day 02- The meaning behind your blog.
Day 03- A picture of something you cannot live without.
Day 04- A habit that you wish you didn’t have.
Day 05- List 15 songs that represent your life’s soundtrack.
Day 06- A picture of somewhere you’ve been to.
Day 07- A hobby you have.
Day 08- A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you.
Day 09- Short term goals for this month and why.
Day 10- Something/someone you’re proud of.
Day 11- A story about a past relationship.
Day 12- A picture of something you dislike.
Day 13- Share a secret.
Day 14- Write a letter telling someone something you could never tell them.
Day 15- A picture of something you ate and 10 confessions.
Day 16- Put your iPod on shuffle & share the first 10 songs that play.
Day 17- Something you could live without.
Day 18- Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why.
Day 19- Plans/dreams/goals you have.
Day 20- Nicknames you have & how or why you have them.
Day 21- If you had 3 wishes, what would they be.
Day 22- Share a picture from your day.
Day 23- What makes you different from everyone else.
Day 24- What is something you crave.
Day 25- What I would find in your bag.
Day 26- Places you want to visit before you die.
Day 27- Why are you doing this 30 day challenge?
Day 28- A picture of you last year and now, how have you changed since then?
Day 29- In this past month, what have you learned.
Day 30- A picture of you today & 20 goals you want to accomplish.
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?
Me: Staring blankly with total and complete annoyed face. No isn't clear?
Hubby: What do you mean?
Me: growl and eye roll so big my eyes about don't come back down.
Hubby wanders off after catching on that my death glare isn't, in fact, a look of love and adoration.
Hubby wanders back.
Watches me clean some more. Asshole.
Hubby: hopeful, yet pathetic tone. What can I do?
Me: martyr-like because I do every damn thing around here and that's just fine because at least that way it's done and done right. NOTHING.
Hubby: What do you mean, nothing?
Me: OHMYFUCKINGGAWD GET OUT OF HERE!
We communicate like goddamn professionals.
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?
Me: Staring blankly with total and complete annoyed face. No isn't clear?
Hubby: What do you mean?
Me: growl and eye roll so big my eyes about don't come back down.
Hubby wanders off after catching on that my death glare isn't, in fact, a look of love and adoration.
Hubby wanders back.
Watches me clean some more. Asshole.
Hubby: hopeful, yet pathetic tone. What can I do?
Me: martyr-like because I do every damn thing around here and that's just fine because at least that way it's done and done right. NOTHING.
Hubby: What do you mean, nothing?
Me: OHMYFUCKINGGAWD GET OUT OF HERE!
We communicate like goddamn professionals.
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.
So I watched. And judged. So sue me. Although mostly perfect, I am still human.
Once we got home, we started to become sick. All of us. Ears are plugged up, noses are running, and throats are scratchy and coughing. I can only assume that having all of those tattooed (not fully judging, I have one too), toothless, open wound/wet bandages-covering-open-wound people are to blame. Especially the toothless lady with sores all over her body like she's been digging around in her skin for scabies or Morgellon's fibers or meth hallucination-induced bugs or such.
Thank you ma'am, for your meth herpes.
PS, Dental care is important. And expensive. I'm not trying to criticize anyone who cannot afford the dentist. Just those who refuse to go and chug pop and candy and chewing tobacco all day. Also? I don't really like my dentist. He doesn't seem to appreciate me saying "that hurts, motherfucker" while he's working in my mouth. I also doubt he appreciates that I bite.
PPS, I'm aware that tobacco addiction is a serious topic. As is meth addiction. So hey, don't do it in the first place please. If you feel you or someone you know has a drug addiction, seek professional help. I cannot help you. I have my own issues. CLEARLY. Unless you consider judging and swearing and berating to be help... Then I'm all yours.
PPPS DON'T GOOGLE MORGELLON'S DISEASE IF YOU EVER WANT TO SLEEP AGAIN.
PPPPS to all dentists, especially mine.... stop with the needles in the gums, assholes. Just laughing gas our asses out before you start. Then maybe we'll like you, you sadistic fucks.
PPPPPS I'm sorry I judged you, weird waterpark people. I can't help myself.
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.
So I watched. And judged. So sue me. Although mostly perfect, I am still human.
Once we got home, we started to become sick. All of us. Ears are plugged up, noses are running, and throats are scratchy and coughing. I can only assume that having all of those tattooed (not fully judging, I have one too), toothless, open wound/wet bandages-covering-open-wound people are to blame. Especially the toothless lady with sores all over her body like she's been digging around in her skin for scabies or Morgellon's fibers or meth hallucination-induced bugs or such.
Thank you ma'am, for your meth herpes.
PS, Dental care is important. And expensive. I'm not trying to criticize anyone who cannot afford the dentist. Just those who refuse to go and chug pop and candy and chewing tobacco all day. Also? I don't really like my dentist. He doesn't seem to appreciate me saying "that hurts, motherfucker" while he's working in my mouth. I also doubt he appreciates that I bite.
PPS, I'm aware that tobacco addiction is a serious topic. As is meth addiction. So hey, don't do it in the first place please. If you feel you or someone you know has a drug addiction, seek professional help. I cannot help you. I have my own issues. CLEARLY. Unless you consider judging and swearing and berating to be help... Then I'm all yours.
PPPS DON'T GOOGLE MORGELLON'S DISEASE IF YOU EVER WANT TO SLEEP AGAIN.
PPPPS to all dentists, especially mine.... stop with the needles in the gums, assholes. Just laughing gas our asses out before you start. Then maybe we'll like you, you sadistic fucks.
PPPPPS I'm sorry I judged you, weird waterpark people. I can't help myself.
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.
I was super nervous for my first day of school for many, MANY reasons, as you can probably assume. I was a whole state away from family and friends, I was at the awkward junior high stage of life, we barely moved out of a hotel into a rental home the day before school started, I didn't have the "in" clothes, and in general I was a brooding, hormonal ball of bitchy. I was a joy to behold.
Picture it: first day of seventh grade. Permed hair perfectly gelled to a crisp, bangs teased to monstrous proportions. Glasses hidden in back pack so there would be one less thing to tease me about. Best clothes on. Trapper keeper stocked. I stepped onto the bus with my older sister and away we went tohell school.
My memory of most events of that day are pretty hazy or completely erased, except for homeroom. I had homeroom in the art room, and my short, pudgy teacher seemed nice enough. She kindly placed me next to some poor soul whose job it would be to get me around to my classes that day. The girl was super nice, therefore, she became my insant BFF. Unbeknownst to her, of course. I was given a seat across from her, sat down, and was immediately welcomed to my new town and school by the odd and dirty "outcast," we'll refer to him as "J", in the best way he knew how to impress a new girl... by picking his fucking scabs and flinging them at her.
You read that correctly. Scabs. All over body. Picked. FLINGED and FLICKED.
I must admit, you've gotta hand it to J for such a unique welcoming to the new girl. My day only went uphill from there. Thanks bud!
Here's a rendering:
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.
I was super nervous for my first day of school for many, MANY reasons, as you can probably assume. I was a whole state away from family and friends, I was at the awkward junior high stage of life, we barely moved out of a hotel into a rental home the day before school started, I didn't have the "in" clothes, and in general I was a brooding, hormonal ball of bitchy. I was a joy to behold.
Picture it: first day of seventh grade. Permed hair perfectly gelled to a crisp, bangs teased to monstrous proportions. Glasses hidden in back pack so there would be one less thing to tease me about. Best clothes on. Trapper keeper stocked. I stepped onto the bus with my older sister and away we went to
My memory of most events of that day are pretty hazy or completely erased, except for homeroom. I had homeroom in the art room, and my short, pudgy teacher seemed nice enough. She kindly placed me next to some poor soul whose job it would be to get me around to my classes that day. The girl was super nice, therefore, she became my insant BFF. Unbeknownst to her, of course. I was given a seat across from her, sat down, and was immediately welcomed to my new town and school by the odd and dirty "outcast," we'll refer to him as "J", in the best way he knew how to impress a new girl... by picking his fucking scabs and flinging them at her.
You read that correctly. Scabs. All over body. Picked. FLINGED and FLICKED.
I must admit, you've gotta hand it to J for such a unique welcoming to the new girl. My day only went uphill from there. Thanks bud!
Here's a rendering:
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