February 26, 2006

It’s Sunday morning and it’s pretty quiet here so far. My 2 youngest are playing Nintendo in another room, my husband is sleeping, and all 3 teenagers are fast asleep too (well it’s only 11am, Lord knows they wouldn’t be up yet).


I’m bored. I’m listening to music, Theory of a Deadman…love their latest album. I could have seen them in concert on Friday night but noone told me they were in town until yesterday. Gee, thanks. Holy, I’m gonna put myself to sleep with this banter. B-o-r-r-r-r-r-ing.


Hey, did you know a guy meowed at me? I know, I was like, ‘what the fuck?’, too. This happened last summer. I was walking to the grocery store and this guy was sitting out in his backyard. I walked past him and he literally meowed at me. He sounded like a real cat. Now, yes, in my lifetime, I’ve been whistled at, whooped at, hollered at ‘damn, you wanna come over here little lady?’, you know, the usual bullshit guys sometimes do. Anyway, I can safely say, that was the very first time I had ever been meowed at. Loser.


Some dude came to our door yesterday and asked what our phone number is and also wanted to know the brand of vacuum cleaner I used. I kicked him in the balls. I don’t normally kick guys in the ball sac like ever, but hey that’s personal info buddy, get lost, take the hint and go pound sand. I told him I just knew he was a spy. He told me to have a nice day.


I didn’t really kick nosey parker in the balls. Just FYI. But I wanted to.


I really hate showoffs, don’t you? Fuck they’re annoying.


Hey, if you’re still with me, I warned you upfront, that this was random crap and I in no way promised it would be interesting. So get over it.


I saw my old bag neighbor yesterday, giving me the evil eye. If she keeps that shit up, I’m totally gonna steal her fucking knome/troll/monster thing from her little cemetary garden thing she’s got going. Keep it up granny and you’ll never see that ceramic motherfucker again. Oh and her fat, dumb, stoned daughter is pregnant. Terrific.


I watched 2 movies this weekend. How exciting is that? It’s not. It really isn’t. The movies weren’t bad though. Oh BTW, don’t ever rent a movie called ‘The Cave’. It should have been called, ‘What This Shit?’.


My 9 year old thinks God is the weatherman. I guess he’s kinda right. He also told his sister to get over herself.


My teenage boys whip each other with rolled up dishtowels and fight like 2 little girls. It’s quite funny to watch.


Some old guy came to my door last week, peddling his photography, wanting to know if I wanted a family portrait done. He came to my house about 6 months ago and obviously didn’t remember that I told him then, that I do my own photography. He wanted to come in and see my ’studio’. My ’studio’ is wherever I make it. And like I’m going to let a stranger come in and walk around my house. As if. He showed me a picture of a retarded looking family (they looked like apes really.) and I said, well that’s nice but I am not paying you or anyone else to do my pics when I can do my own and have been since ‘97. He snorted and said, “I bet I’ve never heard of you”. I told him, that, I bet he’s never heard of me either but that I’m way younger than he is, way better looking, have more talent and probably get laid waaaaaaaaaaay more, so sucks to be you buddy. Good luck with your photography. Now scram. Sheesh, some people.


Okay, listen, I’ve got some things to do, like pluck my eyebrows, paint my toenails, have a nap and play online poker. Not in that particular order but you get the idea. I hope you’re all having a much more exciting Sunday than I am and if any solicitors come sniffing around, send them to me.

February 24, 2006

1.People who wear nightgowns to the mall or the grocery store. **How hard is it to put on a pair of pants?**



2.Juice boxes.



3.Snow.



4.Kevin Federline.


5.Famous people who make ‘porn’ movies and then claim they had ‘no idea’ where that came from when it’s leaked to the public and available for download. **Riiiiiiiiiiight**.


6.Paris Hilton.


7.Paris Hilton.


8.Paris Hilton.


9.People who go on a fishing expedition in their noses while sitting in their car at a red light. **Jesus, fuck, WE CAN SEE YOU.**


10.Telemarketers.


11.Young, thin Santa Clauses’ at the mall. **You’re supposed to be old, fat and dumpy.**


12.People who take and touch my cash and THEN go on to prepare my food without washing their hands. **Fuck off and give me back my money**.


13.The Teletubbies.


14.Myron.


15.People who refuse to take a fucking toothbrush to their mouth like ever and then have the nerve to get up close and personal to tell me their life story. **Take a hike**


16.White socks with black dress pants. **Please give Michael Jackson back his look**


17.People who walk their dog with a bag for their dog’s shit AND then leave the bag with the shit in it, on the sidewalk. **Nice, asshole**.


18.My neighbors.


19.Long toenails. **Blech Blech Barf Barf**


20.Feminine hygiene products commercials. **Dumb dumb dumb**

“20 Things” theme from Mama Says Om

February 23, 2006

Look into my eyes……you are getting sleepy……soooo sleepy……

February 22, 2006

I swear I go to the weirdest grocery store. Well not so much the grocery store per say but the people that shop there. Oh and Betty the cashier. However, this story isn’t about Betty.


Matt and I are at checkout # 5, packing our groceries and behind us are the couple we had seen earlier while shopping. The wife is wearing a pink and white nightgown with blue Nikes. That bitch was stylin’. The husband is short, dressed in a suit jacket and sweatpants. Ummm nice combo buddy. But besides their lovely attire, were their sunny dispostions.


They are packing their groceries while the young cashier is still ringing stuff in. All of a sudden the husband shreaks to the cashier, “WHAT IS THIS”? And what was ‘this’ you ask? Two Kleenex boxes…….well wait, that’s not entirely true. They were actually ‘no name’ brand, but tissues nonetheless.


The cashier looks up and asks the husband what’s wrong? The husband, very irrate now, THROWS the 2 tissue boxes at the casier. OH. MY. GAWD. One hits him in the shoulder and one hits him in the head.


Matt and I are looking at each other and trying not to laugh. Not at the cashier but the husband. Oh but we did end up laughing at the cashier too, not because he was hit in the head with a tissue box but because he was so unfazed by the whole incident. Below is the exchange of words that took place between the husband, wife and cashier.


Husband: What is this?



Cashier: Calm down sir. (The cashier says all of this in a slow, monotone, unexcited, bored voice)



Husband: You need to watch what you doing!!!!!!!



Cashier: Sir, I can’t deal with you while you’re freaking out.



Wife to cashier: You need to stop freaking out right now!!!!!


Cashier: I’m not freaking out ma’am.


Husband: You need to pay attention!!!!!! You put those on my order!!!!!! They are not mine!!


Cashier: Sir, I rang them in by mistake. They are .55 cents each. Do you want me to take them off your order?


Wife to cashier: You need to stop freaking out right this minute!!!!


Cashier: Ma’am, I’m not freaking out.


Husband: I will freak out! You charged me .55 cents each for tissues!!!!!! That’s unacceptable!!


Cashier: Sir, I can’t deal with you freaking out.


Husband: I will freak out. This is not right!!!!



The husband continued on a rant under his breath over the fucking tissues. It’s a dollar and some change buddy for 2 boxes of tissues, suck it up. Oh you know what though? He probably needs that extra money because he and his wife obviously spend oodles of money on their fashions. Ya, so refund the lunatic his $1.10.

Okay, I talked about stalkers yesterday. I was not talking about any of my readers who may or may not comment. I, too, sometimes only read blogs and may not always leave a comment. I’m fine with that and don’t have a problem with people who may only come to read. I’m flattered nonetheless. I was referring to a couple of ex friends in my real life who refuse to leave me alone and get a life. I’ve moved on but apparently they can’t/won’t. Beeyotches. I guess I can’t help it if I’m so fucking fabulous.


So if you are only a reader of mine, that’s okay. I’m not crying in my milk I swear. If you’re a reader and you comment, that’s super too. If you think I’m cute, I’ll send you money. I’m kidding. But you know that right? Well, wait, if you think I’m hot, then I might send you money. We’ll see. Anyway, happy reading to my blogging world buddies!

February 21, 2006

I sure hope the ’spell check police’ aren’t out and about. I sweat bullets worrying about those old farts picking apart my grammar and spelling and shit.


Gosh I’m full of piss and vinegar today. It’s a good day. I love Monday’s. Oh oh, wait, it’s Tuesday but it’s still a good day.

Have you ever been stalked? I can tell you, it’s a bit creepy. It really makes you question the person’s sanity. Really.


Not to say, I’m sure we’ve all been a bit obssessive at times in our lives but usually once a person gets a certain age, like say, over age TWELVE, it ends. Or one would hope.


I know I’m all that and a bag of potato chips (**insert sarcasm here**) but come on, it has to end at some point. Like if you want me to send a picture of myself so you can admire me all day, then just ask. Sheesh. I’m easy to get a long with. Or if you want a collection of my writings, then hey, drop me an email. Honestly, no need to lurk at my blog and elsewhere to spy on me. Let’s all spell C.R.E.E.P.Y. together now shall we?


I’m sure my faithful readers who just abso-freakin’-lutely adore me (and you all know who you are), are scratching their pretty (or handsome) heads, wondering what the fuck is she talking about? Well let’s just say, a couple of non bloggers are a tad interested, so it seems, it what I’m doing. I have no clue why, since they apparently hate me and everything I do and love gossiping about me. It’s time to get over me and stop stalking me and my blog and my email and my MSN group. Get a day job or something. Get a hobby. Or better yet, get a life.


So for all of you who frequent my blog and post your wonderful comments to me (hey even the fucking spammers are nicer to me than my stalkers and at least leave their name and a nice ‘love your blog’, won’t you buy some toilet cleaner from me), I thank you for taking the time to read and enjoy, I do appreciate my little group of blogging buddies who truly like me. For the couple of non bloggers, please, stop coming to my blog. It’s weird. It’s over. Move the fuck on.

February 19, 2006

I know I’ve talked about this before, but honestly, how dumb am I, that I can’t fucking figure out word verification? I swear it’s a conspiracy to make me feel like a chimp.


I was just commenting on a blog and it took me 4 tries to get it right. How pathetic is that? Wait. Don’t answer that. I mean it looked like ahhgiy, so that’s what I typed in. Boooomp. Wrong answer.


So I get a new set of letters, which I was sure, was rytbn, again, I typed that in. Nope. Third times a charm I’m thinking.


I get uvbsw and type that in. It’s at this point that a little asshole elf pops out of my computer and hits me on the head. Then I’m presented with the fourth set of letters, which read, yousuckbigtimelosersogetitrightthistime. Whadda ya know? I got it right.

February 17, 2006

I went to get my nails done a few days ago. I love the nice job they always do. Doesn’t matter which girl I get, they all do a wonderful job and I walk out of there a satisfied customer.


However, there is one little thing I dread about going. I can’t understand most of what they are saying.


All the girls there are Vietnamese. They’re all lovely and very sweet. But honestly, I can’t ever quite make out what they’re saying. I just really suck at thick accents, no matter what they may be. I literally strain my ears, hoping to catch what they say the first time, so I don’t have to keep saying, “pardon”, “what”, “huh”, like an obnoxious, broken fucking record. It never fails though, that they ask me something and I sit there like a frozen turd, waiting to thaw out and be of use to someone. Not sure who wants a thawed out turd or what good it would be to them, but you get my point.


I did, however, manage to understand a few selective questions this particular time. I was asked how many kids I have. That’s easy, four. Whew. I was asked if I worked outside the home? Well I sometimes have photography jobs. Gosh, I’m on a roll now baby! Then, out of the blue, it came. That mysterious question…..or was it a statement? Fuck.


I sit there and look around, hoping that maybe, the ceiling will cave in and then everyone will be distracted by that commotion, rather than the stupid, moronic look on my face. Shit, what did she say? I do not want to look like an idiot, so I figure if I smile and kind of giggle and say, “ya”, then that would be a sufficient enough answer no matter what the question. Oh no no no, it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.


Kim looks at me a bit oddly and then I realized, that that was not an appropriate response to her question. I mean what if she just asked me, if I like to smear dog poo on my neck and perform the chicken dance? I had just giggled, blushed and said yes. Gawd. Idiot I am.


So as I’m sitting there like a dumb twit, she askes again. Know what the question was? She asked me what I want for Valentine’s day? Super. And I had just said, yes and laughed stupidly. Gee I don’t look like a tool.


I snap out of my stupour and smile and tell her what that I don’t really expect anything for Valentine’s day and that the homemade cards my kids will give me, will be enough yada yada yada. She smiles and then Leanne comes over and they start talking Vietnamese. Then they burst out laughing.


Lovely. I bet Kim just told Leanne what a fucking tit I am and that she thinks my shirt is fugly. I just know it. But I’m paranoid like that, see. It’s not like I made as ass out of myself or anything. Not like they’d have any reason to laugh at me. Riiiiiiiiight.



On a bright note though, my nails look hot.