Am I The Only One With A Laundry Fetish?

I'm a pretty fastidious person for the most part. I enjoy being clean and non-stinky. I also enjoy having freshly laundered sheets and clothing. The roommates apparently do not enjoy the same things as me.

Eco Nazi and Kool Aid have not done their laundry in over a month. Which means that they are probably wearing dirty underwear and jeans that have crotch rot smell right this minute. I have never seen them wash their sheets. NEVER. They've lived here since the end of January, people. Maybe they could have snuck them through a wash and dry cycle without either the Captain or myself noticing. But that's highly unlikely since when they do get around to doing laundry, it takes them three damn days to get two loads completed because they never take their shit out of the washer or dryer. This means that they have two month old dirty sex and snot sheets on my once clean and comfortable guest room bed. Mother fuckers!!

And while I'm on the subject of laundry, whoever the hell taught these three kids how to wash clothes should be punched in the face and/or junk. Eco and Kool Aid have washed clothes twice I think since they moved in. Both times, they just threw everything in the washer together and put so much in that it couldn't handle the load (that's what she said) and proceeded to bounce around my laundry room like it was possessed. And they don't even sort their colors. I noticed that when I ran in there to turn off the washer before it shook so far away from the wall that it disconnected the water hose. Dudes, there were whites mixed in with blacks and reds! The OCD part of my brain exploded when I saw that and I wept a little for my poor washing machine being subjected to such laundry abuse. Bambi is no better....she washes her clothes once a month, and when that day arrives she drags two huge cardboard boxes down filled with laundry and leaves them sitting in our tiny laundry room for four days while she wanders in every once in a while to complete a load.

Some of you might be wondering why the laundry is such a huge issue for me. Here's why...I have a laundry fetish. I love doing laundry. I just like having clean things. I like the way clothes and towels feel when they are freshly laundered. I could roll around on my just-out-of-the-dryer-and-still-warm sheets for hours, sniffing my pillows and fondling my comforter. I even like the way our old dryer sounds when it's running, all clunky and clinky.

Oh how I love clean laundry.

If clean laundry was a song, it would be You Light Up My Life. And you do laundry, you do.

If clean laundry was a movie line, it would be You complete me.

If clean laundry was an animal, it would be a fluffy bunny being snuggled by a cute puppy playing with an adorable kitten.

If clean laundry was a teenage boy, I would totally dry hump it in the backseat of it's car and then pass it a note in class the next day asking why it's not talking to me.

sigh

Pssst...hey laundry. Call me.

Your Mom Is A Machigenga

Captain Carl and I are watching Mark & Olly: Living With the Machigenga on the travel channel tonight. The Captain loves it. Basically, these two English dudes go live with an ancient tribe in Peru. It's pretty serious and very interesting if you are smart and mature. It's boring as hell if you are me. Except for the baby monkey. That little son of a bitch is cute as fuck but I know they are going to eat him and so I only watch it out of one eye because yes, I'm all for learning about other cultures, but watching a sweet little monkey get eaten by jungle people is where I draw the line.

So on the show, the white dudes get in trouble when they bring deer meat to the tribe and apparently that is a big no-no because now there is an evil deer spirit hanging around and the Machigenga don't play when it comes to evil spirits, yo. The Captain starts talking to me about how this is so interesting because most religions are fear based, no matter where in the world they are practiced. And I'm all nodding my head and acting like I'm thinking about how profound his commentary is and I'm totally pulling it off while still looking cute in my librarian glasses. Yes my dear, you are so right and I think this says a lot about our own religious beliefs and if only we could all open our minds just a little bit, we would see that we're similar in so many ways. Nod nod nod, looook thoughtful aaannnd push glasses up on nose in totally adorable manner.

But then the Captain dropped a piece of chocolate on the floor and when he bent over to pick it up, he farted. And I started giggling because hello! accidental farts are hilarious. That's a universe truth no matter where you live. You should look it up on Wikipedia if you don't believe me because it's totally gonna be there.

So Captain Carl is trying to get his culture on and be all serious about learning while I'm sitting next to him laughing uncontrollably and that's pretty much when he remembered who he was married to and stopped talking to me.

So now I'm gonna watch Xanadu on the laptop while he finishes his important smarty-pants-I-know-about-obscure-cultures tv show.

Do You Wanna Be On Top?

Here's my weekend alone in a nutshell. hee hee, I said nut.

Friday night:

• Eat frozen pizza while watching basketball game.
• Eat chocolate while watching basketball game.
• Start a load of laundry.
• Eat Twizzlers while watching basketball game.
• Forget about laundry.

Saturday:

• Sleep in.
• Go shopping for cheap clothes.
• Go to sister's house and help her strip wallpaper in her bathroom.
• Forget to drink any water during the five hours spent stripping (that's what she said).
• Get dizzy from lack of water intake and wallpaper remover fumes.
• Rock out to 80's music on the drive home.

Sunday:

• Sleep in.
• Touch up gray roots.
• Shave legs in preparation for husband's return tonight. Bow chica wow wow.
• Eat leftover pizza.
• Drink five Diet Cokes.
• Watch a zillion hours of America's Next Top Model on the Oxygen channel.
• Go for a walk.
• Eat ice cream and totally negate weight loss achieved on walk.
• Watch a trajillion more hours of ANTM.
• Sing ANTM theme song over and over (Do you wanna be on top? Hells yeah I do, Tyra).

That's about it. What? Oh right, like whatever you did was any better.

UPDATED: I Just Produced My First Movie And It's Brilliant

Check it out, bitches! My own personal tribute to the best joke of all time....written by me for your viewing pleasure.

You're welcome.



I personally think adding the karate chop and dance moves was an extra special stroke of genius on my part. Plus I snuck in the name of a certain Dinosaur lovin'/PopTart eatin' blogger in there, just for the hell of it.

Make your own movie here.

UPDATE: Some people are having trouble seeing the video. My tech nerd husband says if you don't have IE7, you won't be able to see it. Or maybe it was if you DO have IE7 you can't see it. Whatever the fuck IE7 is. So go get it or get rid of it. Or something.

I'm Totally Doggie Stylin' Over Here, Yo

Okay I admit it. I'm just trying to get people over here to my blog with this title. Because I've turned into a comment whore and I just won't be happy until I get at least 20 of them. And if being a comment whore is wrong, I don't wanna be right, baby.

So the Captain is taking the Kiddo to see family in Oklahoma this weekend. I am staying behind because no way am I leaving the renters alone in our house for two days. So at first I was excited at the prospect of a whole weekend to myself. I can do whatever I want....I can drink a whole bottle of wine and eat popcorn for dinner. I can watch nothing but chick flicks and Ghost Hunters and true crime shows on tv. I can spend the whole day shopping at antique and discount stores. I won't have to clean up after two messy men for two days straight!

But then I realized something...I can do all those things whenever I want. The Captain is forever encouraging me to "go do something fun for yourself" and telling me to "not worry so much about cleaning up all the time". If I tell him I'm going out for the day because I really need a break, he will give me a kiss and a pat on the ass and will say "Have a great time, darlin".

He really does call me darlin....I love that. Nobody says darlin where I'm from in Minnesota. It's straight out of a romance novel set on a horse ranch in the south about a strong willed and beautiful girl who's been burned by a lover from her past and a dark and brooding cowboy with a heart of gold.

I'm totally going to write that book. I think I'll call it "Your Mom Likes It Doggie Style" because the title will grab your attention and then when you read it you'll be all "Hey, there is no doggie style in this book" at first but then you'll realize how amazing the story is and what a brilliant writer I am so then you'll call your best friend and be all "Judy you have to read this book" and then Judy will be all "No thanks, I don't like dogs" and wow I really feel sorry for Judy.

I have two points here. The first is that I am ridiculously attractive and good in bed. The second is that I forget sometimes how lucky I am to be married to the Captain. Before we met, I spent two full years physically and mentally alone. After being dumped by the huge turd that is my ex, I deliberately avoided dating. When I was at my worst, I could go the whole weekend without speaking to another human being. Even at my best, I managed to spend some time with girlfriends but never with a man. I was scared of being taken advantage of, scared that I wasn't strong enough to see that whoever I might date next was a huge douche.

I finally decided to come out of my shell after I moved to Texas and decided it was time to date and have sex because hello, have you ever gone two straight years without it? Yeah, don't do it. That was a dumb thing to do.

When I got back in the game, the first and last person I dated was the Captain. There was no need to look further after I met him....no way could I find someone more perfect for me. Soon I'll blog about how we met and how our first few dates went....it's a great story, at least it is to me and hey this is my blog so suck it if you don't want to read about it. But let me just say for now that I had two years to eat popcorn for dinner and watch chick flicks and shop all by myself. There's nothing wrong with it, but that's not my life anymore. And yes, me and my vibrator will have a good time by ourselves on Saturday, but by Sunday afternoon I will be missing my boys and waiting anxiously for them to come home. And probably by Monday night I'll be pissed off because can't you two go one whole day without leaving garbage and socks everywhere?

Yeah, I'm a little high strung. I'm working on it, so shut up.

That's My Story And I'm Sticking To It

I read on The Bloggess that we are all supposed to go here and get linked up on Mr. Linky, whatever the fuck that means, and then write on your own blog about how you got engaged or married or whatever.

So I read the blog in the link and at first I had no idea what the hell was going on over there. Then I saw the other link at the end of the post and figured it out. I'm an idiot today...my brain is fried after dealing with teenage kid drama all day yesterday. If you don't have a teenager yet, please don't get one. I'm just saying. Don't. Ever.

Anyway, here's my awesome engagement story. The Captain proposed to me on a mountaintop in Switzerland and afterwards he bought me some Swiss chocolate and then we yodeled.

Just kidding. He proposed to me on the 4th of July right during a fireworks show. And he had the ring on a sparkler and when he handed it to me it burned my hand, so I dropped it in the lake and it was never seen again.

Just kidding. He proposed to me in a fancy restaurant and he had the waiter put my ring in a glass of champagne. And when he got down on one knee, the string quartet played "All My Ex's Live In Texas".

Just Kidding. He proposed to me in his living room while his kids threw flower petals that they ripped out of the neighbors garden at my face and then we went to dinner at Black Eyed Pea.

That's really how it went down. Cute, sweet and absolutely perfect for us.

And then we honeymooned in Vegas, where we used our in-room jacuzzi a lot.

The End.

Country Road + Mud = Awesome

Captain Carl and I went for a drive in the country on Saturday. It was 78 degrees and sunny and there was no way we were going to stay inside. So we hopped in the Jeep and headed out with only a camera and our wits to guide us. Okay, we also had an atlas and a tarp, but that was all. Oh and satellite radio because how can you go backroading without jazz music, yo? I also had some tampons and gum. Just like the pioneers.

We always have a great time on our road trips....just driving around aimlessly with the windows down, holding hands and finding some really cool shit. I have this somewhat unhealthy obsession with old cemeteries, so most of our country road trips involve finding as many of them as possible. And once we find them, I take pictures while the Captain wanders around yelling things at me like "This guy was in the civil war!" or "This one is so old I can't read the gravestone." or "Is it normal for a hand to be poking out of the ground?"

But we stopped our country drives for awhile after one trip last year. It had been raining the day before and some of those country dirt roads were a little muddy. I had never felt uneasy with the Captain's driving on any of these dirt roads before....mainly because I used to drive them a lot back when I was a teenager because that's where you go when you live in a small town when you want to have sex or get drunk and not get caught.

So there we were last year, driving down a muddy dirt road with not a care in the world. At first it was just kind of muddy and wet on the sides, but as we continued the mud started to creep towards the middle of the road. Then I noticed the very shallow ditches on either side were filled with water and a little bit further down I could see the water was up on the road. And the Captain was driving towards it like he didn't even see it. And that's when I started to get nervous. So I said ever so timidly to my dear husband, "What the hell man, there's water up there! Stop!". And the Captain replied in sweet honeyed tones, "Back off, we're fine goddamnit!" So I grabbed the door with the patented white-knuckle-wife grip and started praying in my head "Baby Jesus, please don't let us get stuck. Please please please. All we have are some fucking tampons and our stupid-ass wits and I'm sorry but that shit ain't gonna help us now!"

So yeah, we got stuck.

There was a huge muddy pond on the right side of the road and when the Captain looked down to downshift or whatever the fuck you do to drive through a muddy lake, he swerved TOWARDS the damn thing and we went right into it. And when he started spinning the tires I said very calmly "Ohmygodohmygodohmygoddd!!!!!!" and I'm pretty sure it was all the Captain could do to keep himself from giving me the pimp hand. Instead of bitch slapping me, he tells me to shut up and get in the driver's seat because he's going to push us out.

Yeah, that totally didn't work.

He's back there behind the Jeep yelling directions at me and while I'm working my magic on the accelerator, he's getting mud flung all over his person. We do that for about 10 minutes and guess what? We're still stuck. Plan B: the Captain walks into the woods and for a minute I think he's going to just walk off and leave me there, crying in the Jeep. But he grabbed a fallen tree limb instead and stuck it under the tire as leverage. We try that for another 10 minutes and I swear we're even deeper in the mud than we were before. By now, he has fallen backwards and forwards into the mud many times and closely resembles a mud bug or swamp rat or chupacabra or something.

So now I'm really freaking out and I'm thinking "We're in the middle of fucking nowhere and how the hell are we going to get out of here?" And right then I see 2 four-wheelers drive up over the hill in front of us. And behind them is a big truck. And behind him is a tractor. Out of absolutely nowhere. It was the most beautiful fucking thing I'd ever seen in my life. I just knew Baby Jesus sent them to us.

So the gentlemen riding on and in all of these vehicles get out and walk over to speak with us.

Farmer Fred: What seems to be the problem folks?
Captain Carl: Well, we got ourselves stuck.
Farmer Fred: Yep, looks that way.
Captain Carl: Ahhh, yeah.
Tractor Tom: Got yerself a little muddy, huh?
Captain Carl: Sure did.
Tractor Tom: I might could pull y'all out if you need.
Me: Yes! Yes yes, please pull us out! sob sob sob sob

So Farmer Fred and Tractor Tom handed a giant chain and big hook to the Captain and they watched as he hooked up the Jeep to the tractor while yelling things at me and I'm all "What?? I can't hear you over the engine!" and he's all "Blahbrsuuahd;lddcup!" and I'm all "You want me to rev it?" and he's all "Noeaisdeioadlfud!!!" and I'm all "Okay, seems weird to me though" and then when he crawls out he tells me he wanted me to turn off the Jeep so his arm wouldn't get ripped off by the belt and I told him well sorry but you should have said that before you crawled under there and is it my fault you can't plan ahead?

Then Tractor Tom pulled us out in about 5 seconds, and I left the Captain standing in the mud while I drove up the hill to safety before stopping. The poor Captain had to walk up the hill to the Jeep and then had to suffer the embarrassment of stripping down to his underwear while all these men watched. They were waiting for us to leave so they could continue on their way and I don't think the Captain was too happy with me when I tried in vain to wipe the mud off his body with 3 handi-wipes I found in my purse. Lucky for us we had the tarp in the back of the Jeep for him to sit on. Take that, wits!

Home was two hours away. Imagine sitting at stop lights in nothing but your underwear, covered in mud, while the redneck in the truck next to you stares and laughs. And then to make things worse, the mud starts to dry and it's also in your butt crack so by the time you get home your butt cheeks are stuck together. That shit will scar you for life. So will your wife laughing at you in the garage while you peel off your underwear and shake your butt cheeks apart trying to get the dried mud out from between them.

Good times.

A Bloggy Friend Has Lost Her Home

My good bloggy friend, PLO, who writes over on ForCryEye just lost her home to a fire. Luckily, her whole family including their dog managed to make it out safely. But they lost everything and their home was destroyed. This is pretty much one of my worst nightmares and I can only imagine what PLO is going through right now.

When I first started this blog, PLO asked me for my address because she had something she wanted to send me....a few days later, I received probably the most fun piece of mail ever. PLO sent me some of her Pee Wee Herman trading cards she's had since she was a kid. And because she's an awesome artist and sweet person, she even drew Pee Wee on the envelope and wrote "Pee Wee Gram" on it. How cool is that? I have it hanging on my refrigerator and it makes me smile every single morning before I leave for work.

I am just sick that she and her family are hurting right now. Please stop by her blog and leave her a nice comment.

ForCryEye

And while you are at it, stop over at the blog her sweet neighbors have started for them. Donate if you can...and if you can't, that's cool. Just send up a prayer or positive thought for her family...I know she would appreciate it.

HelpTheLongFamily

Hang in there PLO!!

The Solution To Every Problem? Clown Masks

I have a work friend (let's call him Worky because I'm a genius at making up names) that got fired a few weeks ago for completely bogus reasons. Basically, his department manager is a total a-hole who came here from another branch and has made it his goal to pick off the "locals" one by one. Well Worky emailed me today to tell me that he just found out the jerk manager lives in his apartment building.

How ironic is that?? And I don't mean ironic in a Alanis-Morisette-rain-on-your-wedding-day way...I mean ironic in a well-isn't-this-a-kick-in-the-vagina way. Just to clarify.

So I asked Worky if he's seen the guy yet and he said no and hopes he never does. But because I'm such a great friend, I told him he should find out which apartment the guy is in and then scare him....just a little. Worky asked me how he should do such a thing, which made me very happy because I love to tell people what to do. So I emailed him this:

"Well this is just off the cuff here, but how about you knock very very lightly on the guy's door late one night so he'll think 'huh, did someone just knock or am I hearing things?' and then when he opens the door, you're just standing there and not saying anything but you have a huge creepy smile on your face and the words 'Ya Mo Be There' written in sharpie on your forehead and maybe you could be holding something random like half a banana or a lawn chair and then when the guy asks you what you're doing there, just keep smiling and then walk off but keep looking back over your shoulder and maybe point at him a few times as you're walking and then when you get around the corner, peek back around it only now you're wearing a clown mask."

That's only a little scary, right?

I'm asking because it took Worky awhile to write back to me and when he did, all he wrote was "I want to scare him, not get myself arrested" and I wrote back "pussy" and he wrote back "your mom" and I wrote back "I taught you that, you can't use your mom against me!" and he wrote back "can too" and I wrote back "cannot infinity!" and he wrote back "can too infinity plus one" and then I stopped writing because how can I beat a mastermind like that?

This Conversation Really Happened

Me: Can you believe they kicked off my favorite little blondie girl on American Idol? What a joke. The dude that sang that really awful Garth Brooks song should have left.

Captain Carl: Yeah well, what are ya gonna do. You should have voted.

Me: I care, I just don't care enough to vote.

Captain Carl: Then I guess you never really cared in the first place.

Me: Your mom never cared in the first place.

Captain Carl: I love that joke, it never gets old.

Me: Hey, that Anook guy did really well this week at least.

Captain Carl: It's Anoop. He's Indian. He would only be Anook if he was an Eskimo.

Me: Why do I keep calling him Anook? Oh, probably because I think of Anook of the North whenever I hear his name.

Captain Carl: It's Nanook of the North, not Anook.

Me: That's what I meant. Nanook.

Captain Carl: Sure you did.

Me: I did so. Shut up.

*silence*

Me: Why aren't you talking?

Captain Carl: You told me to shut up.

Me: Since when do you listen to anything I tell you?

Captain Carl: Since right now because my brain hurts.

Me: Your mom's brain hurts.

*silence*

Me: So what do you think Nanook will sing next week?

Thanks For Nothing Alarm Clock, You Big Jerk

I've always wanted one of those nature sound alarm clocks. You know, the kind that plays peaceful sounds like waves crashing and birds singing and babbling brooks and kittens licking puppies and shit like that. I just knew that once I had one I would go to bed earlier every night and set my kick ass nature sound alarm clock timer to play a rain storm for 30 minutes and I would fall asleep easily and dream of peaceful nature-y things.

I've wanted this thing for at least 5 years. And no, Mr. or Mrs. Smarty Pants, I don't know why I didn't just buy myself one, okay? Leave me alone and let me tell my story, dammit!

ahem

Finally last Christmas someone in Captain Carl's family actually bought me something off my "Top 10 Best Christmas Gifts for Miss Yvonne" list that I pass out annually. I never get anything off that list and no Captain Carl, it's not because no one has ever actually asked me for a list and no Mom, it's not because everyone thinks I'm a rude missy-miss with no manners for sending it out every year. It's because most everything I put on there is so magical and wonderful, they can't believe they actually exist and so they don't even bother trying to find them. But listen jerks, unicorn bed pillows made out of spun sugar and moon beams DO exist and have you ever heard of Amazon? Because that place is crammed full of everything you could ever want and if you'd only take the time to look you'd know I'm not, as you say, "bat-shit crazy" and "ridonkulous" and FYI ridonkulous isn't even that funny of a word so stop being all laughy and proud of yourself for saying it.

Anyway....Captain Carl's cousin got me the nature sounds alarm clock last Christmas and I was happy. The thing has five nature sounds (five!) and this thing that projects the time onto the ceiling (projects!) and you can have your alarm sound be the standard beep, the radio or one of the five nature sounds (fuck yeah!). Oh let me tell you, I was ecstatic.

The very next day I crawled into bed, turned on the thunderstorm sound and snuggled under the covers. And then Captain Carl walked in and was all "Why are you in bed? It's 1:30 in the afternoon" and I was all "Shut it, I'm listening to a thunderstorm on my alarm clock" and he was all "Are you sure the sound isn't coming from outside?" and I was all "I know, right! It's so realistic!" and he was all "No, I'm pretty sure it's coming from outside because it's totally storming and your alarm clock isn't even plugged in" and then I was all "Thanks a lot, dream crusher".

So I was happy for about a nanosecond with my nature sounds alarm clock. There it sat on my bedside table, promising to be all nature-y and soundy and it hardly ever was either of those things. I never took the time to go to bed early just to listen to crickets chirping on it. And the time projector thing? Yeah, it was just a blob of light on my ceiling and you couldn't read it. The backlight was so bright, we could use it to make animal shapes with our hands on the wall. And the ocean wave sound really just sounded like someone going "FWOOSHHHH" too close to a microphone. And then the thing betrayed me in the worst possible way. The alarm stopped going off in the mornings. Three times last week I was significantly late for work because of that bitch.

And so on Sunday, I had to drag out my old boring no-nature sounds alarm clock and plug it in. And I woke up about 10 times that night freaking out, because I was sure it's feelings were way hurt that I had replaced it and it would refuse to alarm me at 5:30am just out of spite. But it did work and now I know the nature sound alarm clock was a bad idea but it also taught me a valuable lesson and that lesson is this: By tattling on your friends, you're really just tattling on yourself and by tattling on your friends, you're just telling them that you're a tattle tale and is that the tale you really want to tell?

Wait, I don't think that's right. I think that was a Mike Brady-ism.

Meh, whatever.

You Know You're Getting Old When...

You hear sirens and go outside to see what all the hubbub is about. And when you can't see where the cops went, you go upstairs to look out the back windows. And you carry your back scratcher with you, because you never know when you might need to scratch something while you're watching emergency vehicles drive by.

Right, Captain Carl???

heh heh

Captain Carl's response: "Fuck you, you're lucky you have sweet boobies."

Touche', Captain.

How To Clean A Fish Tank And Piss Off Your Landlords At The Same Time

Picture this: It's Saturday. I'm cleaning the kitchen and notice as I'm putting away dishes that the strainer is not in it's usual location. Things have gone missing several times since the renters moved in. I once found all of our cutting boards (we have several because we like to do a lot of chopping, yo) stuck in a cabinet where they've never resided before. And last week, one of them stuck all my tupperware lids in the wrong section of my tupperware cabinet. This bothers me because I'm anal and have a tiny little anxiety issue, but I try not to get upset about it because hey, at least they put them away somewhere right?

Yes, I have a tupperware cabinet with designated lid locations. Shut up.

Back to our regularly scheduled program....

I mentioned the missing strainer to Captain Carl and asked him what he thought they would be doing with our kitchen strainer and those biches better not have used it to clean their fucking fish tank. And the Captain just looked at me for a moment and said "You know that's probably what they did" and then I said "Well they better not have or I'm gonna go all Chuck Norris on their asses" and then I made brownies because nothing distracts me from unpleasantness like freshly baked brownies.

So Eco Nazi and Kool Aid meander into the kitchen a few hours later to cook something involving huge amounts of mushrooms, onions and leeks because they are worldly and like to eat exotic and grown-up shit, okay? We were about the leave for a friends house so the Captain spent only a few minutes asking them about the strainer. Which was lucky for them because if I had been staying there one more minute they would have gotten a face full of Chuck Norris-style fury courtesy of Miss Yvonne. Alright I probably would have just fumed in silence but they totally would have been terrified just by the look in my eyes because I can be intimidating in a scary silent Hannibal Lecter way, so be quiet.

The Captain: Hey guys, do you know where our strainer is?
Eco Nazi: Oh ummm, yeah.
The Captain: Do you have it upstairs?
Eco Nazi: Yeah.
The Captain: Why do you have our strainer upstairs?
Eco Nazi: To strain stuff.
The Captain: What kind of stuff?
Eco Nazi: Uhhhh, rocks.
The Captain: The rocks that are in your fish tank?
Eco Nazi: Uhh, yeah.

He actually had the nerve to chuckle at this point, because apparently this was a super funny situation in his mind.

The Captain: You owe me a strainer, my friend.
Eco Nazi: Huh?
The Captain: We eat food that goes in that strainer dude. You can't do shit like that. You need to buy me a new strainer.
Eco Nazi: Oh, ummm...okay.

Somewhere during that conversation I yelled "Gross!" and left the room because I didn't trust myself to not hit that fucktard over the head with a pan. Seriously??? You are using MY FUCKING STRAINER TO CLEAN YOUR FUCKING FISH TANK, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE??????

I couldn't bring myself to ask how many times they had done that already, because I would never be able to eat off anything in my kitchen ever again. Somehow Captain Carl managed to herd me out the door before I could grab a paring knife and shank Eco. I pretty much screamed the whole way to our friends house about how angry I was, but luckily for the Captain our friends only live 3 streets away. And thank goodness our friends know me well, so they didn't even blink when I stalked into their home, ranting and flinging my shaky hands around like a crazy person.

When we got home six hours later, there was a new strainer sitting on the kitchen counter. The Captain said at least they went out and bought us a new one right away, to which I said fuck that shit, it doesn't change the fact that they used something we put cooked pasta into as a fish shit strainer.

God only knows what they've been doing with our tongs.

You Say Shinnecock Like It's A Bad Thing

Without giving too much away, I work somewhere that has a lot to do with towns and streets and houses. Okay you got me, I'm a chimney sweep. Don't tell anyone, alright? The local chimney sweep union #489 is this close to striking and if my union rep knew I was telling people that chimney sweeps still exist somewhere besides London in Mary Poppinsland, I would totally lose my job and the economy is really bad people so please don't be a douche bag and tell on me.

Anyway, we have this database with all the addresses of the homes with chimneys that we service (that's what she said). I was browsing through it today because I do my all my non-sweeping related work on Friday's and I found some interesting street names that I swear are all real and do exist.

Streets I Would Not Want To Live On

1. Beaverwood Lane - I'm pretty sure the guy who named this street still hangs out with his old high school buddies at the local VFW and snaps the waitresses bra straps when they bring him his Old Milwaukee and scratch offs every Thursday night.
2. Shinnecock Court - How embarrassing would it be to live on this street and every time they ask you to verify your address at the pharmacy, the fat kid behind the counter giggles? Very, that's how.
3. Cripple Creek Drive - Maybe it's just me, but it seems really mean to name a drive after a handicapped body of water. Like it can really help that it has to use a wheelchair, assholes.
4. Door Bell Drive - Seriously? So your job is to name streets and the best you can come up with is Door Bell? Is the next street over named Ding Dong? Heh heh, I said dong.
5. Sugarbush Trail - This is one of those names dirty old men in the south call their waitresses. "Hey sugarbush, why don't you sashay on over here and bring me another cup of coffee and a piece of that pecan pie?"

Streets I Wish I Lived On

1. Dragons Fire Place - Dudes...NO ONE would mess with you if you lived on this street because they know you would seriously fuck their shit up if they did. Plus it totally sounds like an internet fantasy game set in the middle-ages where everyone is a wench or a maiden or a knight and your character can totally have hot pretend internet sex with the other dorks playing online.
2. Cozy Terrace Lane - Come on by my cottage on Cozy Terrace Lane and we'll have a nice cup of hot cocoa and sit by the fire under warm fuzzy blankets while Meemaw makes us some homemade chicken noodle soup in the brick oven kitchen. Ahhhhh....
3. Crumbcake Drive -Cake is pretty much my favorite word ever. Say it a few times right now to yourself. Go ahead, I'll wait.......Okay, is that not totally delicious?? Don't you feel all warm and gooey and chocolaty right now? I would be forever happy if I lived on a street named Crumbcake. People would ask me "Where do you live?" and I'd be all "Crumbcake Drive" and then they'd be all "Holy shit, I just had a tiny orgasm just hearing the name of your street" and I'd be all "I know and you're welcome".

P.S. I'm not really a chimney sweep. I'm actually a ninja. But ninjas totally need unions to take care of all their ninja-business and we also need to know street names because all that sneaking up and nunchucking won't get done on it's own, people.

This Time Machine Kicks Hitler's Ass

The Kiddo leaves today for his band trip to Disney World and he was so excited last night thinking about all the band nerd stuff he'll being doing for 4 days straight, he could barely concentrate on his final homework assignment due today before he leaves. It was for his world history class and he was instructed to draw a political cartoon about the Treaty of Versailles. So in preparation for this daunting task, he sat on the couch and watched tv for about 45 minutes and then wandered aimlessly around the house for an hour after that. Every time he'd walk into the room I'd ask him, "Have you done your homework? Have you finished packing for your trip?" and then he would turn around and walk back upstairs to make it look like he was going to do one or both of those things, only to walk back in a few minutes later.

Finally around 9:00pm, he gets down to business and grabs his backpack. The Captain asks him if he knows what he's going to draw, to which the Kiddo replies "Meh" and goes upstairs. I yell after him that we want to see his cartoon when he's done. 15 minutes later, he comes down with a notepad in his hand and big grin on his face. He hands his notepad to the Captain and says "Prepare to be impressed". The Captain stares at it for about 30 seconds, then says only "Huh" and hands it back to the Kiddo. I can hardly wait to see the masterpiece that struck my husband speechless. The Kiddo hands the notepad to me and I am amazed that this child did not come from my womb because clearly he has inherited my super smart brains.

On one side of the paper, there is a time machine that has buttons that say "World War I", "Treaty of Versailles" and "World War II". Inside the time machine is Hitler, and I know it's him because of the little mustache and bulging muscles. Because as everyone knows, Hitler was ripped. He is also saying "I hope nothing bad happens....I wouldn't want to have to seek vengeance or anything...." On the other side of the paper, there's a man with glasses and shirt with a nametag that says "Wilson" and he is saying "Don't forget these!" and then there are a bunch of twirly arrows pointing towards the time machine, with the last one saying "14 Points". I totally didn't understand what any of that meant. So I asked him to explain.

Me: What are you trying to say in this cartoon?

Kiddo: That Hitler is in a time machine.

Me: Ummm, okay. But why did you draw a time machine?

Kiddo: Why WOULDN'T I draw a time machine?? Why aren't YOU drawing a time machine?

Me: Good point.

And then we laughed hysterically for like 5 minutes in appreciation of our fantastic senses of humor. And Captain Carl laughed with us for about the first minute. After that, he stopped laughing and kind of looked more pissed off than amused that we were still laughing. Then he proceeded to explain to the Kiddo what the Treaty of Versailles did and the importance of it and something about brown shirts and carpetbaggers I think?

That's about the time Eco Nazi wandering into the room and of course he had to stop and listen to what the Captain was saying because he's pretty much an expert at world history so he was probably just making sure the Captain got all the facts right. Then he ruffled the Kiddo's hair before going back upstairs because he's totally 4 years older than him and totally an adult and that's what you do to kids who are that much younger than you....you ruffle their hair.

I don't think the Kiddo understood that his Dad was trying to tell him his cartoon made no sense and he should think about it awhile longer and draw something else that was more applicable to the assignment. So I stepped in to help in the translation, because I'm an awesome wife and mom and that's just what I do.

Me: How long did it take you to draw that?

Kiddo: 15 minutes.

Me: And how long did you spend on drawing just the time machine?

Kiddo: 14 minutes.

Me: Really? It only took you 14 minutes to draw it? That's impressive.

Kiddo: Well, I am a pretty talented artist.

Me: Excellent work on the squiggly lines at the top of the time machine too. It looks super cool and I totally get that there's electricity moving around up there. Your teacher is going to love that!

Kiddo: I know, right??

And that's when the Captain stopped speaking to me. So I went off to bed, but as I lay there trying to fall asleep I could hear him talking to the Kiddo about what a political cartoon is and offering some suggestions as to what he should draw. And when I got up this morning, there were about five drawings on the kitchen table that I recognized as Captain Carl's work. They were excellent cartoons with lots of nazi swastikas and globes and big hammers and fists on them and the Kiddo probably took one of them and turned it in as his own. Smart kid, that one.

I'm thinking about hanging one of the swastika cartoons inside the lid of the garbage can and adding "Heil smelly garbage!" to it because it would be a shame to throw away good art like that and also because it would be hilarious.

Captain Carl's Foaming Pipe Snake

My husband, Captain Carl, is back with another awesome guest post.....

Ok so I'm back for more after my awesome Gilligan's Island redux about the roomies.

Miss Yvonne and I were watching TV the other night, I think it was NOVA or Ovation. It was something about Ghandi, The World Economic Meltdowns or the Crisis in the middle east.. As you know we are incredibly cultured and enjoy fine programs and films (don't you hate people who insist on calling it a film) and....wait no, it was “World's Dumbest Exploding Ultimate Fighter Smackdowns”

Anyway we see this: A commercial for Liquid Plumr Foaming Pipe Snake – a heat seaking missile for your clog. I'm not sure what rocket scientist named this product or came up with the tag line, but he/she is not familiar with something called the ol' double entendre or the entire musical catalog of David Coverdale's Whitesnake.

Tangent - Tawny Kitaen flashback! Remember back when MTV had videos? I loved the one for Here I go Again featuring Tawny frolicking on the hood... Grr baby very Grrr.... Miss Yvonne still refuses to dress in her skimpy, white, naughty wear and straddle the family sedan.. sigh. Maybe if I buy her that Seafoam Thunderbird convertible, I'd get more action.So back to the commercial – After we both stopped giggling like 8 year old boys at a fart contest, I blurted out that it sounds like the title of a bad rap song or maybe something by Wu Tang Clan. So I've been working on this a couple of days. I was going to rewrite the lyrics to a rap song and then it occurred to me. I don't know any “current” rap songs and I couldn't get it to work with Rapper's Delight or It's Tricky to Rock a Rhyme so.... It's a KISS song instead. (We're both huge Paul Rudd fans and recently watched Role Models) If you have the chance, are a child of the 70's/80's, have a sick sense of humor, check it out. Lot's of Kiss humor.

Cap'n Carl's – Foaming Pipe Snake
to the tune Love Gun as popularized by Kiss way back in 77' damn I feel old....

Yo really clogged there baby

I know what you need

you know together, we can

Get unstuck

got a hot missile, baby

for your clog

Girl, I can make you feel

Open

No place for hair now baby (that's what she said)

so have some fun

You shake the tube up of my

pipe snake, (my foamin), pipe snake

pipe snake, (my foamin), pipe snake

Foam fills your pipe now baby

Your clog is gone

No other snake is more

Powerful

Activated on contact

I'll do the rest

Deep clearing foam

You're flushed

No place for hair now baby (that's what she said)

so have some fun

You shake the tube up of my

pipe snake, (my foamin), pipe snake

pipe snake, (my foamin), pipe snake

pipe snake, pipe snake

pipe snake, (my foamin), pipe snake

pipe snake, (my foamin)

pipe snake, (my foamin), pipe snake

pipe snake, (my foamin), pipe snake

pipe snake, (my foamin)

pipe snake, (my foamin)

pipe snake, (my foamin)

pipe snake

Yep, I bet the good folks over at Clorox hire me to write their ads in the future.....

Apparently I'm A Little Bit Stressed Out

Because I totally lost my shit this morning over a wardrobe malfunction.

Things started out badly when I woke up and realized I had overslept by two hours. I'm sure it was because I was super tired last night, due to spending most of the previous night awake with a case of acid reflux from fucking hell, and while I was lying in bed praying not to barf I started hearing noises and it was too late to wake up Captain Carl so I ended up creeping through the house making sure there were no ax murderers and then I had to feed the cats before going back to bed because they figured it must be breakfast time since I was standing in the kitchen holding a lamp (for protection from the maniac waiting to kill me, duh).

Anyway, back to this morning....so when I woke up, I had to stare at my alarm clock for about 2 minutes to process the fact that I was supposed to be walking into my office at that very moment. Then I jumped up, called the boss man and quickly started the morning shower routine. Things went okay for awhile after that because I'm thinking it's no big deal....by the time I get on the road, most of the bad morning traffic will be over and I'll have a short work day. The Captain comes in right as I'm finishing my hair to tell me he's taking the Kiddo to school and I tell him cheerily, "I'll probably be ready to leave right when you get back."

Wrong.

When the Captain gets back, all hell has broken loose in our closet and I'm right in the middle of a total meltdown. All because when I was getting dressed, I realized that the simple act of pulling a shirt over my head has fucked up my hair....it's sticking out at all angles and what isn't sticking up is hanging limply. No problem, easy fix. I rummaged through my makeup drawer for some clips to pull the hair back and that's when it happened. Somehow I got makeup all over my hand and then proceeded to rub it all over the front of my shirt. So I spring into action...

Okay okay okay, don't panic. Just wipe it off with a damp cloth. Shit! It's not working and now my shirt is totally soaking wet and stained. Fuckity fuck fuck fuckkkkkkk! Now what am I going to wear? My only clean bra is black and most of my dark shirts don't go with these pants and I don't have any other clean work pants! I'm totally screwed!!

I finally threw something on and was just finishing up when the poor Captain walked in, saw his wife standing in the closet buttoning up a sweater with shaky hands and crazy eyes and did what every good husband would do in that situation. No, he didn't laugh and point at me (but he probably should have, considering the freak show I was putting on). He tried to talk me down. But I wasn't having any of that rational stuff. My mind had flown into that frenzied, freak-out place that I hardly ever let it go to. I could hear myself yelling at the Captain about how I'm so stupid and I don't know how I even function most days and what the hell is the matter with me?? That's when the Captain wisely turned around without another word and walked out....and then I burst into tears.

Of course I apologized (twice) to the Captain before I left, because I realized even in the middle of losing it that I was being completely ridiculous. I just couldn't seem to stop myself. And now I've got a screaming headache, I was 3 hours late for work, I'm exhausted and I feel really shitty that my husband was witness to my bat-shit crazy act. And to top it all off, I'm wearing blue socks with black shoes.

Fuck.

Anyone have a spare Xanax pill?

My Computer Is Trying To Get Me Fired

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It's Official: Hot Chicks Dig Me

Who knew hot chicks were into chubby straight girls? But apparently they are, in a totally non-sexual, bloggy way (sorry Captain Carl....maybe next time). At least one of them is anyway. Betsey Booms' is one of my very favorite bloggers and she's pimping me out over at her blog:

Betsey Booms'

She's all "Bitch better get me my money" and I'm all "Please don't hit me, I gots the money right here in my purse, next to my crack pipe and my shiv" because that's the kind of fun and exploitive blogging relationship we have, Betsey and me. She's super cool and super hot and draws pictures of half-arm zombies, plus she digs me which means she's also an excellent judge of character.

And speaking of hot chicks digging me...I went to lunch with my friend DZ today and when we were walking out of the restaurant, I noticed about 5 women staring at my chest. No shit. So I'm all looking down trying to find the ranch dressing stain that I assume is there, but I don't see anything. I ask DZ to look and see if you can see my nipples through my shirt or what and she says "No, they are probably staring because your knockers are huge. Either that, or they like the color of your shirt."

I'm pretty sure it's the knockers.

Pretty Much The Best Sci-Fi Movie Ever

DISCLAIMER: This post is very poignant and gripping and deeply meaningful in the way that all my entries are, especially when they are about pornos and no one that I know in real life should read it so MOVE ALONG UNCLE NORM, THERE IS NOTHING FOR YOU TO SEE HERE.

From time to time, Captain Carl and I like to watch movies. Friday night we watched Twilight together and when I say "together" I mean "I watched it on tv while the Captain sat next to me watching something else involving kung fu and manly awesomeness on his laptop" because we are romantic that way. And because we are cultured and support the arts, we chose an indy flick for our Sunday night movie called "Sex Trek" that I'm pretty sure won an award at Cannes for Best Screenplay. So 9:30pm rolled around and we retired to the bedroom to enjoy the film because art such as this should only be viewed in a private location by a very mature audience who can appreciate the subtleties and nuances of the plot and also because that's where I keep my vibrator.

I knew this was gonna be a fantastic porno right from the start because it opened with the Enterprise ship flying through space, except it was called the Intercourse instead and it was covered in stripper glitter and looked kind of like it was cut out of cardboard. And then we hear Captain James. T Quick's voiceover: "Space. Big...dark...spooky. These are the voyages of the Starship Intercourse. It's five minute mission? To spread the seed of humanity to any hot looking babe in a space suit."

So yeah, this movie is genius and clearly we made the right choice by watching it instead of "The Changeling" even though I heard Angelina Jolie is amazing in that movie and it's message about our society's past treatment of women and police corruption is extremely thought-provoking. But there was just no way I could have passed up a movie with characters named Mr. Sperm and Squatty and featured an alien woman who gets beamed up by Squatty totally naked and shoots lasers out of her eyes that make people super horny. Sorry Angie.

I think I enjoyed Sex Trek a lot more than the Captain though. He said it was "too talkie" and "only had one lesbian scene" but I'm pretty sure what he meant was that he found the characters unbelievable and lacking the multi-dimensional traits that he normally looks for in a high quality science fiction film.

Useful Information For Your Everyday Existence

If only I'd known about this sooner. I could have saved myself a lot of grief.

The dude that wrote this obviously needed more lard in his life.

If you think about it, this is brilliant piece of advice. I mean, you should try everything at least once before you die, right?

Thank goodness the tape worms are sanitized. Otherwise that would just be gross.

Well duh.

I'm Now Following My Own Blog. For Reals.

I just subscribed to my own blog. I did it by accident, I'm not even really sure how. At first I was embarassed because this proves I'm a complete idiot wrapped up in a super attractive and intelligent-looking body. But then I realized I just stumbled across a brilliant way to look way more popular on my blog....as long as no one looks too closely and notices that I'm following myself.

I'm a freaking genius.

Also, I want to give a special shout out to everyone else that follows me. Y'all stalkers are funny as shit and sick as hell and I feel right at home with you. I'd really like to join your bloggy gang. I'm assuming there will be some kind of weird initiation process involving wangs and robots and Kurt will probably be in charge because he knows a lot about wangs and robots and also Pop Tarts. Holla!

You Should Blame Amber Dawn For This

I got tagged by Amber Dawn....please post your complaints to her blog. I'm supposed to post the sixth image in my sixth picture folder. Ummmm, I don't have six picture folders...I only have one. So I multipled six by six and picked the 36th image in my one picture folder instead.

Don't ask me why I have this picture. I don't have a reasonable explanation.

Dave Coulier is lookin' hot lately, no?

Mopeds For Everybody!

Our driveway has become a parking lot.

Bambi moved in last month and brought her moped with her. It's cute and little and goes about 2 miles per hour and she rides it wearing a Daisy Duke mini-skirt and a huge helmet. Most of the time it just sits in our driveway because Bambi works about 20 miles from our house and her boyfriend Hairy Guy (named by the Kiddo because "Dude, he's so hairy") picks her up and delivers her to and from wherever she wants to go.

Two days ago, another moped showed up out front. Eco Nazi bought one because apparently it's super cool to drive a moped and I'm pretty sure driving one automatically qualifies you for a PhD in environmental science. It would have been a crime for him not to have one, really. That night, he and Bambi ran out the front door wearing their giant Speed Racer helmets and came back 2 hours later proclaiming "We drove on the sidewalks!!".

So now we've got two cars and two mopeds parked in our driveway and our Indian neighbors are convinced there's an Asian motorcycle gang living in our house.