I Have a Much Better Post Planned But I Can't Finish It What With My Currently Dying and All.

I have another post being finished up plus a guest poster to host but unfortunately you're getting this hot mess of a half-assed post due to the heart attack I'm currently experiencing.  It started last night after I ate a half gallon of Dairy Queen soft serve and I started having chest pains and my esophagus spasmed up and I knew then a myocardial infarction was in the works.  See how I even know the technical name?  The hubby was all, it's heartburn, dummy. Eat some Tums.  But I know better because I did work in a hospital for three years plus my sister works in a hospital plus I have regular doctor's appointments in which I always look through their drawers and cabinets and health magazines and Physician's Desk References while waiting plus I use Google for medical ailments every singe day so I'm telling you, it's a motherfucking heart attack.  He says I wouldn't be alternating between clutching my upper chest and saying OUCH and then belching so much but I disagree.  Heart attack pain can radiate to your shoulder and arms, and are often the result of your body punishing you for gorging your fat ass with ice cream.  It's like my heart is telling me no more Dairy Queen. Also, the belches are just my lungs' meager attempt to catch as much oxygen as they can before I die.  I'm not sure about the farting, but it's definitely related to internal systems already shutting down.

So when the heart attack finally succeeds in finishing me off this will be my very last post and the hubby will likely feel bad for not believing me.  He'll also be mortified that this blog is my legacy and he'll be all, of course her final words *would* contain motherfucker.  

I have some business to shore up here quick.

One, when the 2 ft tall metal chicken I just ordered on Ebay and named Orville Chickenbawker gets here, I bequeath him unto Marianna at Snappy Surprise.  She may not even know she wants him but she does.  Marianna, whenever you look at him, please think of me.  And share your cheese with him now and then.  Don't be such a cheese whore.
 
Two, I would like David Beckham to get my pillow and comforter because even though he doesn't know it yet, he'll miss me and the smell of me sleeping and calling out his name while I dream of him and drool on my pillow.

Three, I need to be buried in footie pajamas.  I'm not even joking.  Soft, footie pajamas.  Don't forget my headstone options.
 
Fourth, my Xanax prescription shall be split up among all of my followers so they can each have one to calm their panic and devastation at my demise.  No, screw that.  I'm taking that shit with me.

Last, my hubby can have the rest of the soft serve ice cream that I didn't finish before the heart attack struck. 

Farewell internets!  (unless I live.  That last belch was pretty awesome and I feel a bit better.  Then I'll see you in a couple days.)

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My Personal Non Political, Non Religious, Short and Sweet (unlike this title) Manifesto

I was having dinner and drinks with some old girlfriends (they aren't old, our relationship is old. Like about 20 years old.) the other night, and we were at one point bitching about our jobs. Then complaining about how hot this crazy asshole weather has been lately. And that somehow led us to talking about how much we really dislike the general public. Which then led to our dream spot to live. God we sound like some cranky old men, eh? Like you, I have no idea how these topics are all connected because I'd had a huge glass of wine, a huge glass of sangria, and then eventually the remaining two of us that stayed after dinner shared a big pitcher of sangria. It was actually less pitcher-like and more of a "caraffe." Like you'd get full of coffee..... at a church dinner. When you're 72 years old. 

See?  A caraffe. 

This may as well have been us with our caraffe of wine.

But it was a DAMN good caraffe of sangria.

Know what's weird?  When you say caraffe over and over a bajillion times, it starts to sound funny.

Here's a flow chart to help you stay clear and focused when it comes to deciphering the flow of events during our girls' night out:

It's a vicious, booze filled cycle.

And clearly I need a LIFE flow chart to help me stay on topic.

Anyway....

I announced that my perfect place to live would be a remote cabin up north, like in Canada even.

It was then that I was immediately compared to the Unibomber, told I should write a manifesto, and I had a complete lightbulb moment.

I SO NEED TO WRITE A MANIFESTO.

Like the motherfucking Unibomber. But less murderous and stabby and insane.

So ladies and gentlemen, here is my manifesto. I have to publish it now before I move to my remote cabin and likely have no Internet connection.

First off, what even IS a manifesto, you may wonder?
Well, I looked it up for you.  A manifesto is a public declaration of principles and intentions, often political in nature. Manifestos relating to religious belief are generally referred to as creeds. Manifestos may also be life stance-related. 

Hmm.  I definitely don't want to get all political, because basically our government is full of greedy, overpaid, selfish, pompous, narrow-minded assholes and going political may piss some people off.  And I don't want to go all religious, because I don't even go to church.  So I guess my manifesto will be life stance-related.  And manifestos are usually pretty lengthy documents.  I'm too lazy for that shit.  So, here's my manifesto.  My summed up life stance.

You've gotta fucking lighten up and laugh, people.
 
Short and sweet, eh?  Oh, and if a manifesto can have a PS, it'd be this:

Stop driving like assholes. Seriously.  Common sense you guys.

Now I've gotta run.  There's some property in Canada I'm going to have to go check out.

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Lamely Kiss and Tell

I'd say I remember it like it was yesterday, but in fact it's only a vague memory with most details long gone from my brain.  As it probably should be, considering the circumstances.

I'm talking about my first "real" kiss.  Many people likely look back on their first real kiss fondly.  I think back and immediately cringe.  It was definitely NOT what I'd hoped it would be.  But it's reality, and since I'm usually lame in most everything I do, this was no exception.

I was entering my freshman year of high school and "dating" but not really "dating" a boy who shall remain nameless.  Remember my parents' strict rules on dating?  If so, then you know that any liking of any boy I did had to be on the sly. 

To cut to the chase, it was night time and a friend and I were meeting her "boyfriend" and "mine" for a quick moonlit rendezvous.  I can't even fucking believe I just typed that sentence.  Rendezvous?  Really, me?  See?  LAME.

I remember being so goddamn nervous.  I had zero clue what an actual, real kiss entailed.  I knew all about quick lip and cheek pecks.  I was queen of hugging, slow dancing, and hand-holding.  But lip on lip action with mouths likely open?  Terrified and naive was I.

I also remember not really ever actually looking at him, as my friend and her guy were all mash-faced and swapping spit like the world was about to end and this would be their last shot at anything remotely sexual.

I was mortified, embarrassed, scared, and slightly excited, all wrapped into a hormonal ball of teenagerness.

Finally, I figured I'd get it the hell over with.  I turned to face him, and we kissed.  I know for a fact that since I hadn't really done it before that I was terrible at it, but I also know for a fact that (regardless how very inexperienced I was), he was NOT a good kisser.  Not even remotely close to being decent.  I would think a "good" kisser would have been better at helping guide me along.

In reality, I didn't even want to be there after about a minute of it. 
But, like all spineless 13 year old girls who just want boys to like them, I ended up simply going along with it, waiting for it to be over. 

And it was terrible.
Horrible.
It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad kiss.

I didn't get this:  

I got something along the lines of this:

And to top it off, he thought it was pretty bad too.  Said his grandma was better.
Dude, if you're attempting to kiss your grandma like that...... just fucking GROSS.  

In the long run, we stopped "dating" and talking and acknowledging each other while we moved on to bigger and better things in life.  I eventually found boys who were WAY better kissers, and hence, I became way better.  It became fun.  Enjoyable.  Something I would happily do for hours.  And did happily do for hours with a few of them.  (don't worry Mom, I was OLDER and doing actual, legal dating by then).

The point of my story is that like usual, I have no real nor profound point unless it's this; that a first kiss, like the first time having sex, is a big deal and is usually very awkward and pretty bad.   (And if you're under 18 and reading this, DON'T EVEN EFFING DO IT.) 

It's like I should give speeches at high schools or something.


Now, head on over to our baby blogging community, Cheesy Bloggers and see that we're looking for more entertaining kissing stories.  There's also some great links, videos, and more "spreadable cheese" about kissing for you to check out.  Join us over there.  All the cool, albeit cheesy, kids are there.

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Boredom Rant with Lots of Run On Sentences. Shut the Hell Up, Grammar Police.

Lately I've been going just a tad bit out of my mind because the days where we have something to do are being outnumbered by the days that we don't have anything to do.  Summer is dwindling by and we've entered the beginnings of the stage commonly known as "OH HOLY HELL WHEN DOES SCHOOL START ALREADY?"  This can't just be occurring in my house you guys. Tennis lessons and swim lessons and softball are all finally over.  We've done the zoo, the pool, the playgrounds, the play dates, the library, the movies, the museums, nineteen hundred thousand (yes it's a real number shut up) rounds of bubbles and sidewalk chalk and hopscotch, school supply shopping, the doctor's appointments that get crammed into summer... all done.

I'm starting to long for the days before I had kids when I could sleep until 10:00 and then half of the motherfucking day is already over by the time you get showered and eat your second bowl of Captain Crunch.  The days are just sooooooo much longer when you're up before 7:00 and your fourth cup of coffee just isn't cutting it and the eleventy billion (it's a goddamn number too!) episodes of Little Einstiens/Mickey Mouse Clubhouse/Sesame Street/Jake and the Neverland Pirates have played because the toddler is happiest lounging and watching tv with snacks which clearly means a. she's definitely like her mother and b. she's getting bored as well.
Plus I'm totally jealous of Bossy Girl because on days we don't have anything to do she's still sleeping in her bed that she doesn't have to share until after 9:00.

It's time to think outside of the box.  The do nothing days have outnumbered the busy, do something days and I can't take it at this point.  Without kids I'd drink and Tweet and online shop all day at this point in the summer but I can't because I have two people relying on me for entertainment to fill their days before we get serious about school and work and schedules and alarm clocks again.

So readers, help.  Give me craft, baking, day trip ideas.  Now.  I could give two shakes and a wiggle about costs or messes.  Or the fact that I'm being bitchy *and* bossy.
Ready, set, suggest!

Here's a picture of a finger monkey because it's cute as hell and makes me smile.

THIS is also cute and makes me smile.  The two can not be compared, however.  David beats finger monkey any day, any time. He's on a whole other level of cute.  Fact.

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What Ms. Mediocre Has Learned in her 26th Year.

A couple of weeks ago I sent out a call for some guest posters and received a few awesome replies.  (You still can join in if you want, you know.)  I owe these people a big thank you.  It's like they're doing my homework for me and I'm reaping the rewards of my laziness.  I've been neglecting my happy little blog for a bit now.  It must stop.  I love you blog and bloggy readers.  The neglect will stop I swear.... Once we all start sleeping better (longer) and I don't need the muscle relaxers for my freaking back anymore.  OK.  Weird off topic rant over.


Today's guest poster is Ms. Mediocre over at Life in the Mediocre Lane.  She's been blogging for just a handful of months, and her writing is super fun.  What I like best is the obvious sarcasm and snark that saturates some of her posts..... it's like she's a way better version of me.  So go check her out.  AFTER you read this, of course.  


Thanks a bunch Ms. Mediocre! 

***
Things I learned in my 26^th year….by the way, this reflection is making me really hope for a better 27^th.
　

1. I can’t lose weight by only exercising for 10 minutes a month, no matter how hard I try.

2. Some people downright refuse to take advantage of modern inventions like the blinker, cruise control or even a debit card. All I have to say to those particular people is A) get off the freakin’ road I am driving on B) when I pass you Mr. 45-65 MPH don’t you DARE tailgate me and C) do you really need to count out your 87 cents while you are ahead of me with my 3 items that just really wants to swipe my God damn card??

3. The longer I work at a job that requires me to type all day, the worse my handwriting gets. I started out with 3rd grade hand-writing and am now at a Kindergarten level. Give me a few more years and I will need to wear a helmet outside.

4. The older I get the more I want to try the things I never did when I was younger. Any advice on how to purchase pot? I would also need a referral of a good divorce lawyer because the Husband would throw my ass out.

5. No matter how much weight I have gained and gained my husband thinks I am sexy….or his skill at lying has increased 150%...the same increase as my BMI.

6. I am lazy. Nothing extra there….that is just something I have learned. 

7. Mt. Dew is to me as heroin was to Chris Farley. I am an addict…a complete Mt. Dew whore and I don’t care who knows it! 

8. I have learned to live vicariously through others. I have been with the same man for 10 years so anytime anyone wants to share some wild dating experiences I mentally substitute myself as the main character.

9. A major talent I have discovered is entertaining myself. A talent I have not conquered is finding others in the world that also enjoy my 3rd grade sense of humor. I am sorry, but anyone should be able to chuckle about a lady with the last name of Slutsky.

10. The older I get the more fears I develop. My latest one is a debilitating fear that my house is going to catch on fire when our dog is in his kennel…I could cry right now thinking about it.

11. My imagination is an amazing yet crippling thing. In my mind when I shop I am 5’10 and 120 pounds. My fantasies have me believing I could totally kick ass as a fighter. I also secretly believe there is some lonely Vampire in this world searching just for me. Every day dream I have has set me up for failure.

12. Women can be just as disgusting as men. I am one of those women.

I think I will have to leave this at a dirty dozen….if you caught the part about a helmet, you will understand that I really don’t learn all that well.

****

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The Hottest 4th of July I Can Remember

So, the 4th of July had me contemplating a post I've been thinking about for a while.
I haven't written it yet because I don't think it's really all that funny.  But it highlights my own ridiculous, stubborn, high maintenance, and pouty behavior that has made me a legend in my own circles.

Wee One has been acting REALLY naughty and stubborn lately, which is totally and exactly how I was as a young girl.  And to be honest, still am.

I remember a certain 4th of July when I was probably a freshman in high school.  My parents had an archaic and super strict dating policy in our house, and that was simply, no dating til you were 16.  And it wasn't just the no dating thing, apparently my mom thought all boys were evil, because we couldn't talk to one on the phone, go to a friend's house where a boy would be, and/or otherwise stand too closely or look too long at a member of the opposite sex for fear we'd, I'm guessing in her mind, get the sudden and inexplicable urge to get pregnant.

This particular 4th of July, the one I'm calling The Hottest I Can Remember, is so memorable because I was invited to join friends for the local fireworks..... and I was not allowed to go, because, you've probably guessed it you mind-readers you, there were going to be BOYS there.  Gasp!  Shriek! Faint in ladylike fashion.

As if it weren't bad enough that I wasn't able to hang out with my friends as the outgoing and very social 14 year old I was, I wasn't even allowed to stay home and pout about it in my typical, pissy fashion.
I was FORCED, against my will, to go the to fireworks with my parents and younger sister.

This was cause for some serious punishing of my parents, in my eyes.  I wasn't going to have one bit of fun AT ALL.  I was going to give them the silent treatment of the century.  I was going to make everyone absolutely fucking miserable that night.  And at the same time, I had to find a way to avoid my friends.

So logically, what did I do?  I refused to get out of the car.
I refused to watch a single goddamn firework.
And to avoid being seen, I chose to lay in the backseat of the car and stew over my obvious mistreatment and borderline child abuse.
I was 14 years old.
Laying in the back seat of a car on a hot July night.
Pissed the hell off.
And sweating like an effing pig.

No one came to check on me.  No one asked me to join them.
I was left to sulk like a big baby.

Turns out, the only person punished that night was me.
And my pride.

I still get a little pouty when I remember this injustice.
Happy freaking Independence Day that one was.


Hey!  While you're here reading my crap, why don't you head on over to a new bloggy community I helped found with the lovely Marianna and Angela!  It's called Cheesy Bloggers, well because...obviously.  I'm involved, therefore it's a given that it's cheesy. But seriously, come on over, join us, write for us, link to us.  USE us.  We like it.

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What Kim's Learned in Her 33rd Year

Remember my all-call for guest posters last week?  I wrote a post on things I have learned during this 33rd year of my life.  I asked for fellow writers and bloggers to share their lists as well.  I received a lot of responses, and today I'm featuring my very first guest poster.

I'm super excited today to host the fabulous and funny Kimberly from Yep. They Are All Mine. 

A HUGE thanks to Kim for being so willing to share the things she's learned in her 33 years on this planet.  When you're done reading and checking out her awesome pics, head over to her beautiful, fun blog stat and become a follower.  You won't regret it.

Enjoy Kim's list!!

***I'm so happy to be guest blogging here! I love this idea...and any excuse to make a list excites me more than it should. I took a quick glance through my blog archives and came up with themes from my 33rd year:

{1}

I like IPA. A LOT.

{2}

Motherhood does not get any easier.

Quite the contrary, in fact.

{3}

Twitter is stupid.

I *knew* this, but in my 33rd year I've learned it firsthand.

{4}

Follow Me! @yepallmine  (Twitter)

{5}

Watching movies you weren't allowed to see

as a child with your own children -

FOR THE FIRST TIME - WITHOUT PREVIEWING THEM FIRST -

is not a good idea.

The Goonies? PG? Really?

{6}

Taking pictures with my iPhone is exponentially

easier than dragging out a big Canon.

{7}

Instagram is the greatest invention known to Kim.

{8}

Follow Me! @yepallmine

{9}

You can create secret groups on Facebook

and have secret conversations

between the secret members.

It's like party line for 2011.

{10}

Googling images for party line

will pull up some naughty pics.

{11}

I'm a social media whore.

{Not even going to try googling that one.}

{12}

Wearing 80s clothes to a friend's

40th birthday party will cause a series of

naughty texts from the husband.

{13}

Getting a tattoo at 19 hurts like a motherfucker.

Getting a tattoo at 33 after birthing

three kids is a walk in the park.

{14}

Weeds is the best show ever.

{15}

You're never too good for purple pills twice/day.

{16}

The support of good real life friends makes everything ok.

And WAY more fun.

{17}

I think every city I visit will pale in comparison to NYC.

{18}

Filming a live TV shot in your house will cure you

from all stage fright and will pave the way for vlogs.

{19}

I think I'd rather go back to high school than relive my 20s.

{20}

I wonder if I'll say the same thing about my 30s when I'm 43.  ***

I cannot afford therapy; therefore, I blog.

Yep, they are all mine.

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Happy Fourth of July

Here's my obligatory Independence Day post.

All of us are dressed in red, white, and blue.
The sparklers, and spinners, and snappers, and other fireworks are ready to go.
The huge town display will be attended at dusk.
Fried chicken, potato salad, and too much dessert have been consumed.
We have a bucket full of candy from a small town parade containing more tractors and firetrucks and county fair queens than people in the total population of town.  And only one live horse.  Strange.  There's usually more.  But hey, less horse shit plopped on the hot concrete at our feet.
I have one sunburned shoulder from sitting in one position too long to watch said tractors and firetrucks.
We stood solemnly and proudly when the vets and soldiers marched by with our flag.  We clapped to the high school marching band.
I have sweaty, happy kids.
I live in the land of the free where my daughters can pursue whatever dreams she chooses and can freely forge any path they're destined to. 
Sometimes I joke about moving to another country to get out of the BS politics and divisiveness and health care crap and economy crap and sex scandal crap and bad reality tv crap we deal with these days.
But in reality, I love my country.  So very much.  We are lucky to be here.

God bless America.  My home.

It may be a screwed up, dysfunctional home, but it's MY effing home.

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Things I've Learned in My 33rd Year. Plus a Call for Guest Posters.

Read carefully. Maybe even take notes. This kind of learning you're about to get here usually comes with some expensive-ass tuition and books, crowded dorms, an asshole roommate, plus a few one-night-stands and an STD and/or pregnancy test.

1. I'm 7 years closer to a post that will say,  "Things I've learned in My 40th Year"
2. If I take a Xanax during the night, because for some reason my panic attacks almost always strike at night (anyone else?)I'm extra tired and slow-moving in the morning. I also don't give a shit about it cuz I'm still so relaxed and apathetic. I'm late for work you say? Meh....
3. I refuse to spend $100 on a pair of jeans, but will drop that amount times 5 in a friggin heartbeat on anti-aging face junk.
4. Home-based business parties (Scentsy, Pampered Chef, Lia Sophia, etc) are the new social life. A chance to get away from the kids, drink, laugh with friends, and avoid hot 21- year-olds in stilettos who make you feel old and dried up w/ no game at the bar.
5. My hair is thinning. What. The. Fuck?
6. You can wear a bra 24/7. The girls are still gonna droop. Gross.
7. Nap time is wasted on the young.
8. Learning about a topic of interest to you is actually fun. What's that you say? Learning can be fun? Bitch be trippin.
9. My hormones have begun to go AWOL. Much to the Hubby's dismay.
10. I'm no longer limber nor strong enough to gracefully hang halfway off my bed to reach a dropped object on the floor. I make the attempt, probably 3-4 times a week. And I FALL the hell right off.  Every effing time.  You'd think I'd learn and adapt.  Nope.  Survival of the fittest doesn't apply to me.  I'm lucky to even be alive at this point.
11. It's ok to eat so much that you need to unbutton your pants after the meal. Just be sure you're wearing a long shirt.
12. I'm never NEVER ever going to remember on my own that I unplugged the flat iron/curling iron/clothes iron/turned off the oven/blew out the candles so I should pretty much be exempt from those responsibilities. It's basically a lost cause. So, if you don't want to hear me question a thousand times if I unplugged or blew out or turned off an object that could start a fire and kill us in our sleep, YOU do it instead. I designate Hubby the household "double checker."
13. Sommersaults aren't fun. At. All.
14. Swinging on a swing is not fun. At. All.
15. I get dizzy easily these days. Obviously.
16. Pants must come off immediately upon returning home from work.  As must bra.  Comfy clothes-wearing must commence within 10 minutes of being home.
17. I'm more self-assured stubbornly set in my ways than ever before. How I like my coffee, how I like my pillows, what temp the house must be, etc. Also, which couch I wanna watch a movie on. Take my couch and I'll ruin the ENTIRE movie experience for you by huffing and puffing and groaning and whining.
18. When "going out," always drive yourself. It's the only way to guarantee you're home in time for the 10:00 news/Roseanne reruns. All the other bitches will be all, Oh my Gawd!! It's too EARLY to go home loser! They can suck it.
19.  Daily wine consumption does not make you an alcoholic.  It makes you sane.
20.  Never do it with the lights on.

So there.  Things I've learned in my 33rd year on this planet.
Pretty profound stuff, right?

Now it's your turn!

Any words of wisdom of your own? 
I'm looking for guest posters!!
The only requirements are that you
a.  write in English.
b. write with a "tone."  You know, that tone that would cause your mother to go, don't you dare take that tone with me young lady/man!  I love that tone.  Pure sarcastic wit.
c.  Make it about things you've learned in your _________ year.
d.  Really, that's it.  Have fun.  Be funny or wise or serious or sarcastic or conspiracy-theorist or bossy.
Plus profanity and artistic renderings are always welcome.
My email is at the bottom of this blog page, otherwise here it is for those of you, who like me, are too lazy to scroll down.  sarcasminaction@yahoo.com

Comment below to indicate interest.  Email me your interest and/or guest post. Send a link to your blog.  If you have a button, I'd love to share it with your guest post.   This is a great way to increase your readership and followers.

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