Turn On Your Heart Light And Also Your Nipples

Captain Carl: *sneezing*
Me: Bless you.
Captain Carl: *more sneezing*
Me: Wow, your nipples are really poking through your shirt right now.
Captain Carl: Every time I sneeze, they're like wapow!
Me: You could cut glass with those.
Captain Carl: wapow! wapow!

Me: Nice.
Captain Carl: I'm just turning on my heart lights for you, baby.
Me: Okay, Neil Diamond.
Captain Carl: *pinching nipples* ET phone home.
Me: What??.
Captain Carl: Elliot...ouchhhh.
Me: Seriously, you are fucked up.
Captain Carl: *whispering* Heart lights, baby.

Miss Yvonne Action Figure - Now With Saggy Boobs

So I found my namesake's doll online today. She looks a little crazy, no? She is also no longer in mint condition and comes in vintage retro packaging. Coincidentally, all of those things describe me perfectly. Crazy? Check. Non-Mint condition? Check. Retro packaging? Check aaannnd check. Except my own retro packaging is less cardboard box and more saggy boobs and left foot bunion. Hottttt!

Remember when I was whining about not having any good underwear? Here's where I'm going to whine about not having any good bras. I know, you're so lucky to be reading this right now. It's okay, take a deep breath and calm the fuck down.

Being a *ahem* pleasantly pump girl, I require some heavy duty support. I can't just tra la la skip down to Victoria's Secret and snatch (I said snatch) up a little underwire number. No sir.

Case in point.

Hi, have you met my boobs?

My largely lady lumps require what the female undergarment industry refers to as "extended sizes" or what I refer to as "big titty bras".

Seriously, they refuse to stay in my clothes.

But I want cute, y'all. I refuse to wear the same bra my mother wears.

70 years old and she hasn't tried a different style bra since she was 30.

Yeah. No.

I'm thinking something more like this.

Look! She has a tassel. Sexy and classy.

I want to dance into a room like this after I put it on.




And then I'm going to buy a white chiffon dress and style my hair in a bouffant and probably adopt a puppy small enough to prop in my cleavage and I'll walk around town and people will be all "That lady has a dog between her boobs, but who cares...her tits look amazing!".

What? I don't know. I'm tired. And saggy. This is the best I can do today. Also, your mom's a slut.

It's Not Gay If No One's On Top

This post has nothing to do with the title. Someone said that me yesterday and I thought it was too awesome not to use as a blog post title so there you go. And by "someone" I mean "crazy person stalking me named Tristachio". I once had a blog style duel to the death with her over who was more awesome. I won. She lost. She's never gotten over it. Now she IM's me every time I'm online and keeps saying things about my giant man hands and how she's my hypothetical love child and how our birthdays are one day apart and something something dutch rudder. Seriously, all those things have come up in our conversations. She's not right in the head, people.

So Captain Carl went to a whiskey tasting at an Irish pub with his brother, Mailman Mike, last night. He was all "I'll be home early, we're going with his girlfriend's dad blah blah blah". Four hours later he calls me and is all "Sorry, we had to stay for awhile and sober up and omg we got 8 shots of whiskey and omg it was amazing and omg blah blah blah" and I was all "Yeah, I did your kid's laundry all night and cleaned the kitchen, so that was probably just as awesome" and he was all "What? Wait, am I in trouble?" and I was all "No, I'm just sharing the awesomeness that was my evening with your drunk ass" and he was all "You told me to go!" and I was all "I'm not mad at you" and he was all "That means you are mad at me" and I was all "I'd like to stay on the phone and argue with you some more, but your kid's socks are ready to go in the dryer" and he was all "I love you?" and I was all "click". Then he came home and I was all "fold fold fold" and he was all "I'm totally not drunk oops I just tripped over nothing hee hee heeee!". Seriously though, I wasn't mad at him. Much.

I really need new underwear. Almost everything I have left to wear to work is getting worn out and also they're all granny panties. The last time I mentioned that I wear granny panties on this blog, I think it was The Peach Tart who left a comment like "Oh honey, noooo. Not granny panties". Yeah. Yet I can't bring myself to buy some new, sexy underwear because it seems like too much of a luxury. This is seriously the life I am leading right now. Where panties are a luxury.

Oh, and we're getting a new renter. She's 40 and bald. True story.

Get Your Cuteness Out Of My Face, Blow Puppy.

Someone sent me an email today about a bunch of puppies she and her husband found abandoned on the side of the road. Here's what she said...

"these are the 11 babies we rescued on the side of the road in the middle of no where Saturday following New Years. Tell me what kind of cold heart it takes to do something like that! They must have thought we were the people who had dumped them because they ran out to the road when we came around the curve then ran back into the thicket.....was very cold and they were so hungry.....would have been coyote food that night most likely! "

Seriously, it's like puppies are falling from the sky and into my lap and garage lately. First Regina, then Carlos and now Hootie and the Blow Puppies. Oh yeah, I totally named them that.

It's like God is begging me to adopt a dog. I told Captain Carl that I'm a good Christian girl and good Christian girls do not say no to God. He was all "I didn't know good Christian girls liked to be spanked with riding crops" and I was all "Ssshhh, don't say that out loud...He might hear you" and he was all "I'm pretty sure He can see you too, so He probably already knows" and then I karate chopped him in the face and I'm totally adopting one of those puppies. Or not. Probably the second one.


Ugh, look at the one licking the window. He's licking the window, people!

I Will Totally Cut A Bitch, Even If She's Imaginary

Captain Carl had a job interview in Houston this week. Houston, y'all. Houston is four hours away from here. We have no interest in living in Houston. Under normal circumstances, the Captain wouldn't have even bothered with the phone interview. But we are not living under normal circumstances, people. It has now been a full year since he was laid off. A full year since we decided to take in renters and live with roommates...something we never thought could happen after buying our own home. A full year since our emotions and psyche and checkbook and egos took a huge hit right in the nards. A full year and still we are struggling.

So when one of few opportunities for an in-person interview comes along, you take it. Even if it means that one of you would have to live four hours away, five days a week for six months if you were actually offered the job. Because a six month contract job is better than no job at all.

So Captain Carl made arrangements to drive to Houston and I spent the night before he left laying in bed worrying. See, I like to create these elaborate and far-fetched stories in my head when I'm stressed out. This particular story involved the Captain getting this job and moving to Houston and becoming increasingly distant from me and the Kiddo back home and then he starts talking a lot about some lady named Shelly that he works with and he's all "Shelly is so funny" and "Shelly loves Indian food just as much as me" and "Shelly told the funniest joke the other day" and then I'm all "Ummm, what does Shelly look like exactly?" and he's all "Why?" and I'm all "I mean, is she ugly?" and he's all "Why are you giving me the 3rd degree? What's the big deal? Don't you trust me?" and then I decide to make a spontaneous trip to Houston to surprise him and blam! guess who's at his apartment when I show up? That bitch Shelly, that's who.

Then I finally fell asleep and the next day I had forgotten completely about my story because I was now too busy worrying about the Captain getting in a car accident on the way to Houston and maybe getting mugged or shanked once he got there. Because I'm a mental patient.

And here's why my crazy story is ridiculous. Captain Carl and I cannot stand being away from each other. I was all "Call me before you leave" and he was all "Okay" and I was all "And call me when you check into your hotel" and he was all "I will" and I was all "And promise to call me after your interview" and he was all "Damn Gina, I promise!". Did I mention that I'm a mental patient? And then it turned out that he forgot his phone charger, so he called quickly after arrival to tell me he wouldn't call me that night. Sob! A whole night without talking. Suck.

But he couldn't do it. He called twice and texted me and then I finally told him I would call his hotel room and we talked for two hours. We're like teenager. Really super awesome and sexy non-awkward teenagers.

This is gonna suck if he gets that job. Shelly better keep her distance. I'm not afraid to cut a bitch.

Evidence Proving That I'm A High Class Broad

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes For Sea Turtles

Me: Morning Sunshine.

Captain: *yawns* Morning.

Me: I had the weirdest dream last night.

Captain: Me too! We went on vacation with Mailman Mike and Fairy and we went to this Atlantis-type resort and you were getting a massage and I was trying to find the pool and I had to go through all these mazes to find it and then I finally got there only I was in this compartment on the bottom of the pool and it was glass and I could see the bottom and it had a coral reef and there were these turtles swimming around and then the compartment filled with water and it carried me up to the top of the pool and then I started swimming around and there were these concrete ledges or something on the edge of the pool that you could walk on but you could swim in the deep part in the middle.

Me: *blink*

Captain: And the turtles were those sea turtles.

Me: *blink*

Captain: You know. *does swimming motion with arms* Glub.

Me: Where were Mike and Fairy?

Captain: I don't know, around.

Me: And the compartment filled with water.

Captain: Yeah.

Me: But you don't float, you always sink.

Captain: I know! That's the weird part.

Me: Oh yeah, that's the weird part.

Captain: What was your dream about?

Me: I was trying to put gas in my car and my credit card kept getting denied.

Captain: That's it?

Me: Yeah.

Captain: Huh.

Me: It was just odd because I don't even use credit cards anymore.

Captain: Right.

Me: What? That's a weird dream too!

Captain: You didn't have any sea turtles though.

Me: This isn't a competition.

Captain: If it were, you would totally lose.

Me: Ohmygod.

Captain: I'm just sayin'.

The Dishwasher Is Not An Alligator

I'm saying this because apparently every man that lives in my house (three) is afraid of it. Because it's always full of either dirties or cleanies. And no one opens it except me. Because apparently I'm super brave and good looking and am the only one in the house who dares to open the alligator mouth and peer inside. And then after I peek in there and see that it is full of dirties? I *gasp* put soap in it and *holy shit* start a wash cycle. And even more amazing is how I *dammmnnn Gina* unload the dishes after they have been cleaned. Amazing. I'm like the Crocodile Hunter of dishwashers, except if a sting ray ever swam up to me in my kitchen, I would totally stab it in the face with a steak knife and twirl it around my head because that is how brave I am. Braver than the Crocodile Hunter. That was probably an insult to the Crocodile Hunter. Maybe I should apologize?

Crikey, g'day and sorry mate! A dingo stole your baby! Put another shrimp on the barbie!

I don't know, I'm not good at foreign relations.



p.s. Anyone notice how I used alligators and crocodiles in this post? I should win a bloggie award for best use of reptiles.

Happy Needlestick To Me...Updated To Include A Smoking Unicorn!

Today is my 36th birthday.

I'm celebrating by having my blood drawn this morning. True story. My life is one big never ending party.

UPDATE: Tristachio made me an awesome birthday card. I would say it's the best birthday card I've ever received except that Captain Carl just gave me one about how much he loves me and blah blah blah and I don't want to hurt his feelings. Anyway, so today she's my absolutely favoritist blogger on the planet. Until Steamy or Vic makes me a better one.

Who am I kidding? No way could I get a better birthday card. A smoking unicorn AND a monkey??? Awesome.

Ummm...is it just me or does that card remind anyone else of the Guantanamo Bay scandal pictures? No?? Just me then?

Peace Out, Carlos

Carlos got adopted, y'all. And not by me. Some other (probably) douchebag family adopted him right out from under me. And now he probably has some lame ass name like Droopy or Shorty or Bob. And because the lady at the shelter refused to write Carlos Spicy Weiner on his cage like I asked when I called up there the first time (bitch), this family will never know how awesome his name could have been. Because there is no way that (most likely) dumb family could come up with a name that awesome. Poor Carlos.

*sigh*

And poor me. Okay so I probably wasn't gonna adopt Carlos in the first place because we're broke and already have two asshole cats living here that are doing a fine job ripping the shit out of my house. But now that he's gone, I can't even dream. Or sell merchandise legitimately.

So everyone can take down their Save Carlos buttons. I guess technically he did get saved, but it wasn't by me and now this awesome storyline has a super lame ending. I probably should have lied and said we adopted him and then wrote all kinds of humorous and heartwarming stories about our silly Carlos Spicy Weiner and made millions on doggy t-shirts and thong underwear sales. But I just couldn't lie to you guys. You complete me. Or whatever.

Damn it, Captain Carl!

It's Like I'm Living In A Bryan Adams Video, Except With Less Kevin Costner And More Ball Sack

At bedtime with Captain Carl

Me: Oooh, I'm freezing!

Captain: Come over here then.

Me: *hugs the Captain* My hands are still cold.

Captain: Put your hand on my crotch.

Me: No, I'm too tired.

Captain: You want to warm up?

Me: Yes.

Captain: Then cup my balls.

Me: What? No.

Captain: Do it.

Me: No!

Captain: Do it. Cup 'em.

Me: But they're sweaty! *sticks hand behind Captain's knee*

Captain: That's not my balls.

Me: Oh come on!

Captain: You don't have to stroke or anything, just cup 'em.

Me: Fine. *cups balls* There.

Captain: Is your hand warmer now?

Me: Yeah.

Captain: See? I know what I'm talking about.

Me: Great, now my hand smells like sweaty ball sack.

Captain: That's the smell of warmth, baby.

Me: Shut up.

Captain: *sings* You know it's truuue, everything I doooo, I do it for youuuu....

Me: You're a moron.

Captain: A moron currently getting his balls cupped. Maybe you should squeeze a little.

Me: No.

*silence*

Captain: You know, I have above average sized balls.

Me: Dude, I was almost asleep.

Captain: It's true.

Me: Whatever.

Captain: Totally true. And amazing.

Me: I'm rolling over now.

Captain: My balls say "you're welcome".

Me: Oh yeah? My fist says "your mom".

Captain: You just had to get one more in before we fall asleep, huh?

Me: That's what she said.

*silence*

Captain: *whispering* Hey.

Me: *whispering* What?

Captain: Maybe next time you squeeze a little.

Sometimes You Wanna Go Where You Can Laugh And Point At People

And I have just the place for y'all to do that today.

Jules over at Mean Girl Garage is having an "Out Of Tune Idol" Competition, featuring several bloggers and their recorded attempts at karaoke. I think there is a prize for the winner and guess what? I am totally a celebrity judge. CELEBRITY JUDGE Y'ALL. For that reason alone, you need to get over there. Also, you get to vote on who gets kicked off each week. So it's kind of like the Survivor of bad singing.

Still No Spicy Weiner Up In Here

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Suck It, 20-Somethings.

Hey all you over-30-but-still-totally-hip-and-relevant-if-only-in-your-own-mind bloggers! Go over here and become a member!


Visit Studio 30 Plus


It's pretty much the most awesome place on the internet. Except for maybe my blog. And also any website with porn and/or Harry Connick Jr.