September 26, 2007

…that’s my mumbling typing up there by the way. What I was asking was, did you ever talk to someone who sounds like they have a mouth full of shit and can’t really speak in a clear, coherent way? I experienced that this morning. I’m not saying the chick actually had poo in her mouth, I mean if she did, whatever floats yer back teeth but honestly, I couldn’t understand a word she said. I was at a certain establishment which I won’t name incase they’re all sitting around reading this, which of course they probably are because I’m so popular and famous and I doubt they have anything better to do. I was placing my order and she was asking me something and I had no clue what she was asking. Her lips were barely moving. Maybe she was training to be a ventriloquist? That’s admirable but really, I hardly think the time or place to practice is while waiting on customers. Just sayin’ is all.

I had the weirdest dream last night which I won’t bother boring you with. Wait. You wouldn’t be bored. You pray by your laptop each night that you’ll wake up to me having written to brighten your day. I get confused sometimes. So I was running in the dream and there were these creepy clowns chasing me, wanting me to try some of their spagetti. I like spagetti, however, I’m not trying food from clowns that I just don’t know. Even in my dreams, I’m a genius. That’s about it. There may have been some kinky stuff involved later on but really, that’s not something you want to hear. Let’s not get nuts here.

I got in my husband’s truck this morning and the smell that slapped me in the face was horrid. I thought something had perhaps died in there over the last couple of days. I hadn’t been in it since Monday and didn’t recall having any dead bodies in there at that time but sometimes I get forgetful, so maybe I, er, just forgot. Anyway, I’m trying really hard to place the smell but it was escaping me. I hadn’t had any takeout in there, so I knew it wasn’t rotting food. Neither of the kids had puked in there, so I also knew it wasn’t stale chunks just lying around. I happened to glance down at the floor on the passenger side and see something wet. Then I see the empty bottle on the floor as well. What was in that empty bottle? Mouthwash. Who knew that something you swish around in your mouth to make your breath smell super nice, could smell so putrid after being spilled out onto a truck floor? Certainly not I. I can’t even describe the odour. Just that it was gross. So guess who’s going to have to clean the truck out? Yup, you got it. Not me. I’m too busy anyway as I’m still thinking about the painting I have to get done downstairs by Saturday. Do you realize how much work it is to think and think and think? I didn’t think so. Oh see that? See my big word play with the word think? Impressed aren’t you? You should hear me talk. You’d be awed by my fantastic word speak but I don’t wanna toot my own horn. You’d be tooting it for me. Ha.

September 24, 2007

Modeling. That’s where I’ve been for the last few days. If none of this sounds familiar, then you’ll have to click on the word ‘modeling’ beginning this paragraph and perhaps that will refresh your drunk mind.

My husband is away for 8 days and I’ve been here, passed out the whole time holding the fort down. He’ll be home in a few days, so that means, I must continue to hold the fort down. It’s alot of work. I must say I do like not having to cook meals. I mean I do feed my kids but since Ryan has a special diet, he doesn’t eat ‘regular’ food and my daughter is Miss Fussy Pants and I’m Not Eating That, so no big elaborate meals for her. I just make some soup or a sandwich for myself. How much better can it get than that? Sure, it would be nice if I had a hot pool boy personal chef, but we can’t get everything we want even if we cry, beg and plead.

I did some Christmas shopping over the weekend and today I have to wrap it so I can forget what I bought by the time December rolls around and then will have to sorta unwrap it so I can jog my memory. Sounds like a plan. I love when I have a plan. I also have a plan to paint the bedroom downstairs. I said I was going to do that last week but I was busy getting sloshed rescuing old ladies from rooftops (you’d think they’d know better since, you know, they’re old and supposedly wise, pffftt) and just didn’t get around to it. So today I may start. Or may not. I may just decide to start it tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll at least lay out the painting supplies and look at them sitting on the bedroom floor for a couple of days. You know, to get motivated. I’m a mental patient motivational speaker, so really, I should just speak to myself about this. However, I’m not listening to myself this morning. Or the child talking a mile a minute in my right ear. Does she ever stop? No. She even talks in her sleep. Oh, she leaves for school in about 30 minutes. Where’s my stop watch?

I went shopping with my girlfriend the other day. My husband loves it when I call her that because he thinks that means we ‘get it on’ as he puts it. Yes honey, that’s what it means. IN YOUR MIND. Anyway, we were at a women’s clothing store. And by women’s, I mean there’s nothing the least bit manly in the store. However, there was a 50-ish man there, trying on clothes. The women’s clothes. As in, the women’s clothes. As in, the women’s clothes. Yes, I’m serious. He wasn’t even in a changing room, just standing around the racks of women’s clothes, putting on shirts etc over top of his own clothes. Did I mention they were women’s clothes? Whatever floats your feminine side mister. The women working there were just standing around like it’s an every day occurance, for some dude to be in there trying to find that perfect outfit for the office.

I really should go make my daughter’s lunch for school. It would require me getting off of my ass and going to the kitchen 2 feet away but that seems like alot of work. And I’m all ready booked up for the day, you know, thinking about doing that painting downstairs. However, Miss Never Stops Talking is talking and wanting me to hurry up so we can leave so she can get to the playground to show off her ability on the monkey bars. I’m off, but I will be back to let you know how the thinking about painting went. Happy Monday because it is Monday here. If you’re past Monday, can’t help ya.

September 19, 2007

Mama, do you know anyone with an unibrow?

What?

A unibrow.

Where did you hear that?

I dunno. I just know that a unibrow is like one giant eyebrow. They look kinda gross.

Ah ya kinda.

So do you know anyone with one?

No.

Oh.

Where in hell my 7 year old heard of unibrows, I have no idea. Well gotta go mow tweeze my eyebrows.

September 13, 2007

…shit? Nope. Chris. Chris Crocker. If you haven’t seen THIS yet, perhaps you’ve been under a rock or have been busy staring at my picture and the rest of the world has passed you by. I can see that happening. Anyway, crazy Crocker boy was featured on Jimmy Kimmel Live last night and I thought Jimster’s (that’s what I call him, we’re tight like that) comments were hilarious. He’s not quite as funny as me, but then again, we can’t have everything can we? No. Just thought I’d share that bit of info. I love being helpful in any way that I’m able. I can feel your appreciation eminating from all the way over there to here. Wherever you are.

My daughter was showcasing her many purses to her father this morning and he didn’t think a 7 year old girl really needs that many handbags and she informed him, that she will be purchasing more at a later date. I say, get used to it, she’s a girl who inherited her mother’s unhealthy obsession for purses and shoes. It’s genetic. She can’t help it. Anyhoo, she pulled out some play money out of one of them and I thought it was helpful that the manufacturer had printed a big SPECIMAN across the bills. I know I often get play money confused with the real thing, hence all my embarrassing moments while trying to pay for shit. What do you mean I can’t pay for my house with this????? More companies should print warnings on their play money. Bastards.

My husband and I had bought a couple of cases of bottled water a few weeks back. We have another complete kitchen downstairs, so we keep extra food and drinks in the fridge down there. I had put some of the bottled water in the downstairs fridge and after the water up here was gone, went to get some of it to bring upstairs. I noticed that the seals were broken on the bottles. I asked my kids if they had opened them. Indeed they did. They dumped out all of the bottled water and replaced it with our tap water, which is fine to drink, but umm, that’s not the point, is it? No. They also made mommy some ‘gatorade’. How? It’s an easy recipe actually. You take many Mr Freeze freezies and let them thaw on the kitchen counter for an hour or so. You then take some scissors and cut them open and pour the now thawed sticky liquid into the empty bottled water bottles and put the covers on. You then put the bottles back in the fridge. Then you wait until your mother finds them and has a breakdown thanks you profusely. See? Easy.

I have to paint the bedroom downstairs. I do not like painting. At all. I have nightmares about it and perhaps THIS could be one reason why. I usually end up wearing alot of paint, no matter how carefully I plan things out. Painting, plus me, don’t mix. Don’t paint and drive I say. Or something like that. I think maybe I should wear cling wrap or something so I don’t ruin more clothes. Or just paint naked. Now there’s an idea. Maybe my ASS could help me paint. Might as well make it useful for something. I mean it just sits there normally. See that? That was sorta pun-ish. I’m a wordsmith champion and you shouldn’t mess with me.

I must leave the internet for now. Martha Stewart is coming up on The View and I want to punch my tv in the face. Oh the day in the life of me. Busy busy busy.

September 7, 2007

Sure if I won a million dollars or unicorns were real, it could get a little better but honestly, it’s pretty good. I mean I have my own fan club now that I created myself and so far have 2 fans and one of them is me (holla!), had an english muffin for breakfast AND milk, got to take a shower, laughed my guts out on the phone and only dealt with one moron customer service person so far today. That’s a good day. But wait, there’s more………

See that bright trinket of love picture? Ya. That’s a ‘Smile Award’. And it’s all mine. It was given to me, by Joie at Canned Laughter. She apparently heard I am a ‘crap magnet’ (according to Pusher Robot) and I often blind people with my beauty and she too, is afraid of me and thinks I’m not playing with a full box of crayons , plus she said I make her cry or laugh or laugh while she’s crying which basically translates into, she thinks I’m the cat’s meow and would totally marry me if she went that way. That’s what I get from it anyway. I’m a professional translator so I know about these sort of things. It’s called reading between the lines folks no matter how blurry those lines are.

Thank you Joie for reminding people how very insane special I really am.

Me. Duh. You shouldn’t have had to even think about that. But if you did or are confused as to why I’m cool, lemme explain it to you.

I have my own fan club. Give your head a shake and smack your face hard. But even doing that won’t erase the facts…I have a fan club. Where did I get my own fan club? From creating it myself since I’m a loser the thousands of people who adore and worship me, that’s how. If you go HERE, you will see the fan club. My fan club. Sure you’ll find out my real name and stuff but how exciting is that going to be? Not very. I mean very.

I hope to have at least one 500 fans joined by noon. And it’s 12:07pm people. That’s how popular I am.

*Edit* Umm you have to be signed into Facebook to see the link I posted. If you don’t know what Facebook is, smash your head into a brick wall and pour gas in your eyes just for not knowing.

September 6, 2007

About 12 years ago, my husband and I and our 2 oldest boys, who at the time were 8 and 7 went for a drive. It was a perfect May Sunday, warm, sunny and the promise of summer just around the corner. We decided to stop at the dam lookout. There was a big grassy hill that the kids could run around on, and over the hill and fence was the dam, water rushing into the basin and the kids would love to watch the spray splash over the rocks.

The boys were running ahead of us, and as my husband and I were walking around the guardrail in the parking lot, I see Matt bending down to pick something up. Sean is also kneeling down and they look deep in thought. I can’t see what exactly they are admiring. In about one minute it will become crystal clear.

I watch in horror as our 2 sons are skipping back towards us and they have a new friend. I don’t like to be judgy but she wasn’t very pretty. Had a little too much makeup on. Arms and legs just flailing about. And her mouth was just a little TOO BIG. And OPEN. She sort of looked like this chick:

That’s right. She was the kind of friend who needs to be blown up inorder to ‘participate’ in the ‘friendship’. My mouth is now hanging open and my brain is in overdrive, picturing the barf inducing bacteria that MUST be now growing on my childrens’ hands from touching this dirty bitch. I’m going to hurl I just know it. The boys rush over to us, asking us, what exactly is ‘this’?

I don’t know.

Mom, you must know what this is?

It’s a giant Barbie doll. And you should put her down. Like now.

It’s sure an ugly Barbie doll. Like really ugly.

Can we keep her?

Ummm no.

Why not?

Ah, ah, umm, because it probably belongs to someone *insert vomiting noises here*.

It seems a bit big for a little girl to be playing with it, dontcha think?

Yes. Can you please stop touching it? It’s germy.

So why can’t we keep it? How germy could it be?

My husband pipes up at this point, because honestly, the man just doesn’t believe in beating around the bush……ah perhaps not the greatest choice of words on my part. Anyway, I digress. So husband says, ‘oh you can’t keep it because some weirdo has been having sex with it and it’s got gross stuff on it’. Nice touch sweetie.

The boys immediately throw dirty bitch down and start screaming and making throw up sounds and I am screaming at them to not touch their face or their eyes or their mouth and we decided it was probably best to go home and fumigate the boys and have them tested for diseases, you know in our lab, because, you know, we’re scientists and such as.

Now I must go shower because after talking about dirty bitch, I feel dirty. Where’s my air pump?

I’ve been MIA because I was on a drunken celebration binge secret mission for the government, which because it’s secret and it’s for the government, I cannot speak about it. Shucks.

You’re wondering what I’ve been doing right? Of course. You cry when I don’t speak to you from this internet world. You weep greatly when I’m not around and for that, I’m so super sorry. Oh let me tell you about my grocery store situation. It’s been awhile since I had one and I want to make your life complete.

My children and I decided to walk to the grocery store last week. It was a beautiful summer day, slight breeze and we wanted to pick up a few items. My husband had given me some ‘Superbucks’. He gets them when he gets gas from the grocery store gas station. They’re basically like ‘grocery store money’ and you can use them for anything with the exception of alcohol or tobacco products. I had about $25 dollars in Superbucks. My purchase came to $22 bucks and some change. Now, the only thing with Superbucks, is if your purchase is under the amount you give them in Superbucks, they don’t give you change back. But usually people will grab some gum or a candy bar to make the purchase amount as close to the amount of Superbucks as possible. However, it’s usually some change, so noone is going to be upset that they’re not getting back a few cents.

Clerk: Ah you purchase is $22.64 and you are giving me $23.00 in Superbucks and I no make change.

Me: That’s fine. It’s 36 cents, so I’m not worried about it. I understand that I don’t get change back.

Clerk: I take one of them off k?

Me: Why?

Clerk: ‘Cause then it will be not me owe you money.

Me: It’s 36 cents, I’m cool with that. I won’t go bankrupt because I’m not getting my change back. Honestly, it’s fine.

Clerk: No I take one off.

So she proceeds to take one of the Superbucks off and now I OWE her $2.67. Ummmm what?

Me: Umm, I now owe you $2.67. Why would I want to pay you in cash when I can pay for my WHOLE purchase with the Superbucks? Please put that back on.

Clerk: But I owe you .36 and I can’t give you that back.

Me: I realize that. I’m totally fine with that. It’s T.H.I.R.T.Y. S.I.X. C.E.N.T.S. I can handle that.

Clerk: I take another one off instead.

Me: What???????????

Now the amount I owe her is $5.83. There are people behind me, waiting to be served and this chick is making a mountain out of a mole hill.

Me: What are you doing? I don’t want to OWE $5.83! Get it? I don’t care if I will lose THIRTY…..SIX…..CENTS. Said through clenched teeth. Please put that coupon back on so I can move on with my life.

Cashier reluctantly scans the coupon again and now she’s back to ‘owing’ me thirty six cents. Then she just stands there looking all confused, while the people behind us are looking all, you know, PISSED OFF.

Clerk: I call my supervisor.

Me: Ah why?

Clerk: ‘Cause I owe you money.

Me: OH.MY.GAWD. No you don’t. Can I just have my receipt and then I will be on my merry way? Please?

That can’t happen though can it? Nope. She calls her supervisor over, who explains to me, like I’m a retarded ass monkey, that I don’t get my change back. To which, I explain right back to her like she’s the retarded ass monkey, that I’m aware that I don’t get my change back but hey, it’s THIRTY SIX CENTS and I will totally survive not having it. I’ll still be able to afford to get myself a strawberries n’ cream from Starbucks AND get my kids a treat. See how happy I am? Okay, now complete the transaction, so I can have my receipt and I can get going because I have dirty, sharp knives to drive into my skull later. Thanks.

Supervisor explains to cashier that she just opens the till to complete the sale and it will then print my receipt and then she just leaves the .36 cents in the cash register. Supervisor smiles at me and leaves. Great. Things are happenin’ now. Cashier opens the till and counts out thirty six cents and proceeds to hand it to me. I stare at her blankly, envisioning myself throwing jelly beans at her and then happily punching her in the neck.

Me: What are you doing?

Clerk: I owe you thirty six cents.

Me: Your supervisor just told you what to do. You DO NOT give me the change, just give me the receipt and you can give the change to the very angry lady behind me if you like.

Clerk: I owe you .36 cents.

Me: I don’t want it. I’m allergic to money. Take it away. OH MY GAWD I’m blind now. Can I have my receipt please? Please? My head is about to explode and you’ll have a huge mess on your hands because I’m so filled with brains, it’s not even funny.

Clerk: I owe you thirty six cents.

Me: Give. me. my. receipt.

She hands me my receipt, while still holding onto the change, unsure of what to do with it. I have a few ideas that come to mind. I watch her as I’m walking away and she’s putting the change onto the top of her cash register, then she picks it up and puts it in her pocket, then takes it out and puts it back on top of her cash register. At that point, I stop looking before I self destruct and run over and smack her upside the head, give her a wedgie and scream in her ear. Oh please remind me to use Superbucks again when making a purchase at the grocery store. I need more excitement in my life.

There you have it, my awesome grocery store experience. No need to thank me, you reading it and not killing yourself from boredom means alot.