Yo Mama's Blog

Maxine Has Left The Building

2012-01-24T12:30:00.000-06:00

Remember last summer when we had to put my cat, Boo Boo, to sleep and I was super sad face about it and it totally sucked? Yeah, I had to do it again in November.

After Boo died, my other cat went downhill fast. My Maxine. She was my baby. I adopted her when she was a kitten. I was fresh out of college and had just gotten my first grown up job and rented my first apartment. She was the runt of a litter of farm cats and I could not resist her. She saw me through a lot of difficult times: A broken engagement one month before the wedding, a move to another state where I knew no one, the death of grandparents, the adjustment to married life and a ready-made family.

She was special, is what I'm trying to say.

She was also extremely awful. She peed on the carpet. A lot. So much that the Captain and I had to have it ripped out and replaced with hardwood. She was grumpy. She hated most everyone but me, but insisted on sitting right in their faces in order to fool them into thinking she liked them so she could bite them when they tried to pet her. She chewed up all the ribbons on Christmas presents and then pooped them out for months afterwards. She puked EVERYWHERE.

But I loved her so much.

So when Boo died and she began wandering around the house crying pitifully for hours and then began to eat less, the Captain knew what was coming. I kept myself in denial. Sure, she was 15 years old and was obviously in mourning for Boo. But she would come out of it. I just knew it.

Still, when no one was looking, I would whisper in her ear "Please don't die on me. Not now. Please. I need another year first. I can't take it right now." And Max would look right at my face and it seemed like she understood.

And maybe she did, but she just couldn't do it. Soon it became obvious to even me that she was sick. She was drinking large amounts of water and urinating constantly. Exactly what Boo did at the end. So we took her to the vet and got the same diagnosis when we took Boo. Diabetes.

That was on a Monday. We told the vet we were taking the week to decide if we wanted to treat her or put her down. By Friday, Max had made the decision for me. She could barely walk. She spent hours sitting in front of her water bowl with her head hanging in it. She had lost so much weight in a 5 day period that you could see her hip bones jutting out.

I took the weekend to say goodbye. I held her on my shoulder the way she always loved. She would purr and sleep while I walked around the house talking softly to her for hours. I cried a lot. I had moments when I thought maybe she'd get better, but by Sunday morning I knew it was time.

Max and me in healthier times

So on Monday, almost exactly four months from when Boo died, we took her to the vet. I couldn't bring myself to do it with Boo, but I knew I had to be there for Max. I was her person, her favorite. I couldn't leave her alone at the end.

It was hard. It was probably one of the hardest things I've ever had to do so far in my life. Even now, months later, I still think about those last few minutes. I hate that she was terrified and hurting and I could do nothing but talk to her and tell her I loved her until she was gone.

But it was fast. Just like everyone says, it was over in seconds. One second she was there, staring at my face, and the next she was gone. I was somehow able to not cry until she died, because I didn't want her to see me upset. So at the very end of her life, I was the last face Max saw and my voice was the last she heard. And that brings me comfort every time I think about her.

I got to spend awhile with her afterwards, but it was so hard to walk out without her. The Captain, who had been there with me the whole time, held my hand and took me home. I went straight to bed for the rest of the day.

And I miss her still. I know some people will read this and roll their eyes and say "It was just a cat, not a person". And that is okay, I don't expect everyone to understand. I know it's not the same thing. I've lost family members, I know that pain. This is a different kind of pain, but still just as real. Max was my buddy for 15 years, my entire adult life up until this point, and I will always miss her.

Love you, old lady.

And That's How I Ended Up With My Fingers Glued Together On A Tuesday Night

2012-01-17T20:54:00.005-06:00

So I found this new website. It's called Pinterest. Heard of it? Probably not, on account of how I tend to catch these trends way before everyone else does. I'm pretty sure it was just created in the last couple of months, since that is when I found it. And now I'm telling you guys about it because that's how much I care. You're welcome.

Pinterest is this site where people "pin" pictures of things they like or want. It's basically like a virtual bedroom wall or something. Maybe a bulletin board? Ohmygod...pin. I just got that.

Huh.

So when I first found Pinterest, I didn't get what the big deal was. Sure, it's kind of a good resource if you're looking for a new recipe or a craft to do with your kid or whatever. I pinned a few things and then left the site for weeks.

Then I came back to search for some photography that would inspire me on an upcoming shoot I had scheduled.

It was all downhill from there.

This place. It's like crack for women who secretly want to make their own soap and dress like a bohemian and redecorate their home and do crafts that make their friends hate them for how creative they are and make teeny tiny cakes in recycled tin cans (for real...it's out there).

I couldn't stop. Because if I did, I might miss an adorable kitten photo. Or a gorgeous dress that I could never ever fit into.

Suddenly I realized that I hated every paint color in my house and I must redo everything immediately. I became enamored of chalk paint. What the fuck is chalk paint anyway? I have no fucking idea, but I want that shit. I want to slap it on every goddamn dresser I own. And then I want to distress the shit out of those dressers. Then I want to wrap every single present I ever give ever with lace doilies. And then I want to make all my own household cleaners by simply combining 13 other products that I have to go out and buy but who cares because look! homemade fucking cleaner. And then I want to paint my fingernails with every fucking OPI color on the planet and then take a picture of my hand holding the goddamn bottle of polish.

And then just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I discovered the coffee filter crafts. Oh. Dear. God.

If you haven't seen the coffee filter pins out there, go search for them and prepare to be astounded. You can make wreaths. You can make flowers. You can make wrapping paper. There is no end to the usefulness of the wonder that is the dollar store coffee filter.

Some of the projects looked a little hard for an entry level crafter like me. But I found one that looked to be simple.

The coffee filter lamp shade.

All you have to do is scrunch up a filter, dab a little hot glue on the end and stick it to the lamp shade. Do it over and over until the entire shade is covered and looky there...you got yourself a cute little lamp.

I rushed right out to the dollar store and bought the filters. I grabbed an old lamp that I wasn't using anymore, ripped off the shade and set to work. I was giddy with excitement. In a mere 30 minutes or so, my very first Pinterest craft would be completed! I would take pictures and post them here and give a tutorial for everyone asking me how I did it and I'd be all brag facey and It. Would. Be. Awesome.

Ten minutes and six filters later, I had lost feeling in my fingertips on account of the hot glue gun burns. My filters looked more like wilted lettuce than perky flowers. I realized that at this rate, it would take me three hours to finish the shade. I began to think about the fire hazard that is a lamp shade covered in paper and mere inches from a light bulb. I decided that my lamp base would now need to be painted a cute robins egg blue in order to compliment the frivolity of the shade, which would require another trip to the store and more crafty effort.

I got tired. I sat back in my chair and stared into space.

Fucking Pinterest, I thought.

It was then that I realized I had left the hot glue gun sitting on the bare wood of my office desk. It was leaking glue all over the surface, so I frantically wiped at it with my bare hand. Then the screaming began, followed closely by me yelling "My fingers are stuck together! Help me!". I received nohttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif sympathy from Captain Carl.

"I told you to just buy a new lamp."

And now I am searching Pinterest for ways to resurface a desktop. I'm pretty sure this can only end well.

p.s. You can follow my boards on Pinterest by clicking here. But you don't have to or anything. I mean, whatever. I don't even care.

p.p.s. I'm guest posting over at The Mouthy Housewives today! I'm giving advice to a woman who's upset about how much her husband likes to masturbate. Among other things, I suggested she dress up like Princess Leia in the gold bikini. So yeah, I'm practically a psychologist now.

The Best Goddamn Birthday Present Ever

2012-01-13T11:22:00.003-06:00

So my birthday was this week. I turned 38.

*silent scream*

Let's move on, shall we?

I didn't really do anything exciting to celebrate this year, besides get laid. Holla! The Captain, whose birthday is 4 days before mine because apparently someone just has to hog the spotlight every fucking year, and I decided not to exchange gifts this year. Which is good news and bad news for me. Good news because I suck at gift giving. He probably would have gotten a book about pirate ships. Again. But bad news because I love receiving presents. Luckily, his parents came through for me and got me a kindle and ohmygod I am reading the shit out of that thing.

Anyway, so it's two days after my birthday and I'm getting kind of frowny face because now I'm 38 and all I have to look forward to is turning 39 and then...well, you know. Get ready for a blog post two years from now about how I did nothing but sob and eat two whole birthday cakes, is what I'm saying.

And then? Something amazing happened this morning. I received a totally unexpected and awesome birthday gift from my good friend Kristine at Wait In The Van.

Was it Ugg boots? A new iPhone? A toaster? Shut up, I love toast.

NO.

It was a blog post Kristine put up featuring herself and her best friend singing "Somewhere Out There" in 1989. This thing is so much genius that I assumed she posted it specifically for me and my birthday week. Yes, I get a whole week. I call it every year, so it totally counts.

Click here to go watch it. Maybe save it for later tonight, because once you see it, the rest of your day will seem dull and not nearly as fun.

p.s. Kristine, your vibrato is the stuff legends are made of.

Vindication Is Mine, Bitches

2012-01-02T09:00:00.000-06:00

I made it through another New Year's Eve without a hangover. First resolution achieved!http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

I forgot to tell you guys about my company Christmas party. To make a long story short, it was pretty much an exact replica of last year's party. I got drunk. I was obnoxious. I danced. I was practically carried to the car afterwards by Captain Carl.

Except this year? I TOTALLY WON THE KARAOKE CONTEST.

I might have stacked the decks in my favor by begging the president of the company to let me pick my singing partners this year (last year it was a random drawing). And because he apparently adores me, he said yes. So about a month before the party, I asked two of the most fun girls in the office to sing with me. We picked our song and practiced it my cubicle a few times.

What? Don't judge me. I was totally robbed last year and I decided that night that I would do anything in my power to make sure I won the next year.

AND IT TOTALLY WORKED.

We got up there and we sang our little hearts out. We were loud and enthusiastic, which is really the only requirement to be good at karaoke in my opinion. People were clapping and singing along. There was even some audience participation, thanks to the song we picked. There was even a standing ovation at the end. I wanted to yell "That's how it's done, bitches!" into the mic and then drop it on the floor afterwards, but I figured that was going a bit too far.

And then the president came up to announce the winners and I swear to God, y'all, the exact words he said were "I don't think we even have to consult the judges on this one because there is a clear cut winner tonight."

Yep, I did it. I won. Even got a $100 gift card out of the deal. AND! I won a prize in the random drawing giveaway too. Which proves that you can achieve anything you want if you just set your mind to it. And pick the right song.

12 Reasons Why I'm Awesome: 2011 In Review

2011-12-30T09:43:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow is the last day of 2011 and frankly, I cannot wait for this shitty year to be over. Let's just say it's been a rough one and I'm looking forward to a hopefully better, more prosperous and happy 2012.

And now we move on to my annual year end tradition of listing my favorite posts from each month because yes, I am just that self-involved. I didn't write as much this year (see the above paragraph for my reason), so the pickings were a bit thin. BUT STILL AWESOME.

JANUARY

The one with the dead body

FEBRUARY

The one where I continue to stalk Harry Connick Jr.

MARCH

The one with the frozen grapes

APRIL

The one with the shoe song

MAY

The one with the broken motel toilet

JUNE

The one with my crazy coupon face

JULY

The one with my Boo Boo

AUGUST

The one with all the dicks

SEPTEMBER

The one with the deleted talk show

OCTOBER

The one with the Snatch Attack

NOVEMBER

The one with the crab legs

DECEMBER

The one with mother fucking ravioli night

Well, that's it for this year. Happy New Year to all you bad asses. Here's to a better year to come and me finally meeting Harry Connick Jr. It's like the man is purposely avoiding me or something, for Christ's sake.

I'm Pretty Sure I Had This Doll. Which Explains A Lot About Me.

2011-12-29T09:24:00.002-06:00

I found this 1970's commercial on YouTube today. I'm almost positive someone gave me this doll for Christmas one year because I vaguely remember being terrified of it and refusing to sleep in my room until my mom got rid of it.

I don't know what scares me more...the doll or the creepy Exorcist head turns those kids are making. The only way this toy could have been worse is if they painted a clown face on it.

Oh shit.

Mother F’ing Ravioli Night

2011-12-22T12:22:00.004-06:00

Since I haven’t been in much of a festive mood this year, I decided to force myself into holiday joviality by drinking. A lot. A real lot. Basically, I’ve been bombed two weekends in a row, with plans to make it a trifecta of drunkenness this weekend.

Two weekends ago, Captain Carl decided to have a ravioli dinner party at the house. His cool aunt was here along with her son, his girlfriend, my brother-in-law, Mailman Mike, and his girlfriend. If you knew this family, then you would know this was a recipe for insane amounts of alcoholic beverages and amazing food.

The Captain began preparations Saturday morning by MAKING HIS OWN RAVIOLI DOUGH. Oh yes…homemade pasta. It is as fantastic as it sounds, but let me tell you the downside of homemade pasta. The mess. Ohmygod the mess. See the Captain doesn’t just cook. He explodes. The kitchen is torn apart for even a simple meal for just the two of us. It puts me on edge to watch him. He says I’m too obsessive about things being neat and tidy. He is probably right. But still…gah.

Imagine the kind of mess making your own dough creates. Now multiple that by 50 and you’ll get the state of my kitchen that Saturday. Luckily for everyone involved, I had an appointment to get my hair cut that morning. So the Captain made his dough while I was gone. His aunt tried to keep up with the clean up so that I wouldn’t have a coronary when I got home. Have I mentioned how much I love her? So it wasn’t too bad when I got back. A little messy, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

Since I know my husband, I knew the mess was going to get worse before it got better. I decided to start drinking. It was 2:30 in the afternoon.

Best. Idea. Ever.

His aunt made us pomegranate martinis. Have I mentioned how much I love her? By this time, Mailman Mike and his girlfriend had arrived and they joined in on the drinking.

I forgot to mention that I had agreed to judge Christmas lights in our neighborhood for our HOA contest that night. For some reason, the Captain decided he should not drink because something something the only sober person in the house blah blah blah a bunch of drunk asses.

Flash forward to 5:30 and I’ve had six martinis, aka 9.5 shots of vodka, and I’m completed smashed. Mailman Mike has drank who the hell knows how many glasses of wine/rum/whiskey. The Captain's aunt and Mike's girlfriend look to be quite tipsy. It was a loud, obnoxious get-together. Every 10 minutes, one of us would get mad at someone for whatever drunk people get mad about and I would yell “Mother fucking ravioli night!!” for some reason. I have no idea why.

But because I was so sloshed, I had not been paying any attention to what was going on in the kitchen. The Captain had been busy working in there all afternoon making sauce, rolling out the little ravioli’s, etc. By about 6:00, I wandered into the kitchen and saw through my drunken haze what appeared to be every single mixing bowl, pot and pan strewn around the counters. This would normally give me a mild panic attack and I would have to get in there and start cleaning. But instead I just yelled “OMG I have to take a picture of this! Mother fucking ravioli night!”.

So we ate and it was amazing and totally worth the mess. Then we cleaned up the kitchen and headed out to judge Christmas lights. All 7 of us in one SUV. This meant the Captain's cousin and his girlfriend had to half sit, half lay down in the back cargo area of the vehicle. I sat in the backseat with Mailman Mike and his girlfriend. Mailman Mike and I were still completely drunk.

So. Imagine how awesome the Christmas light judging went. Especially for everyone else in the car who had to listen to the two drunk asses yelling out their windows “Not good enough!” and “Seriously, a giant snow globe? How unoriginal!” and “It’s like you’re not even TRYING!” at the houses that were lit up.

I had a fucking great time. The Captain, however, did not. He was tired from cooking all day and completely sober. So I guess he didn’t find it as funny as I did when Mailman Mike started singing Carol of the Bells in a falsetto with his own lyrics.

Here come the bells
Gay silver bells
See all the bells
Gay silver bells

And I guess he especially didn’t find it funny when Mailman Mike suggested that he could play the baby Jesus in the nativity scene on one person’s lawn and I yelled “Do it! Get out! Take off your clothes!”. Captain Carl was all “Knock it off, Marcy” and I was all “What? We’re having fun.” and he was all “Just STOP.”

Party pooper.

I found out later that he drove around the rest of the neighborhood with his finger on the door lock button.

Needless to say, I had a hangover the next morning. But hot damn did I have a good time.

Mother fucking ravioli night!

p.s. Merry Christmas, y'all. I won't be writing again before the 25th on account of celebrating with the Captain's family and most likely getting drunk again. A lot. A whole lot.

Here's To Less Zingers And More Birthdays

2011-12-13T12:01:00.006-06:00

I don't write much here about my family, except for my husband and my kid. I like this blog to mainly be about stupid stuff. Things to hopefully make you laugh and probably to make you think I'm super weird. *cough* the frozen grapes post *cough* I like it that way. I don't like being all serious about shit. But lately I've been feeling pretty down in the dumps and serious faced.

But I've been thinking a lot about my Grandma this month. She loved Christmas. Every year when I was a kid, we would go to her house to celebrate. When I was little, I loved it. I had cousins to play with and presents to open and Hy-Vee brand grape soda to drink. When I was a teenager, I dreaded it. Because I was an asshole, just like every other teenager. I wanted to stay home and have sex with my boyfriend in the rumpus room. I did not want to hang out with all my old relatives and my stupid cousins that I had nothing in common with and drink stupid off-brand soda.

I wasted too many years with that attitude. Because now my Grandma is gone and I would do anything to get another Christmas with her. Granted, I lost the attitude long before she passed away and I had a very close relationship with her. In fact, I was probably closer to her than any of her other grandchildren (In your face, Mitchell).

But it still hurts when I pull out her recipe for Christmas cookies, or remember how she always sent me a Christmas card with $20 in it and signed it "Love you, honey". I miss her so much.

My Grandma had breast cancer. Twice. The first time, she beat it into remission with sheer willpower and faith in God. She had a mastectomy and then had radiation. She called her radiation treatments her "zingers". She would tell me not to worry because if it was her time, she was ready. She had an amazing attitude.

And then a couple years later, the cancer came back. But this time she was older and other problems with her aging body made it more difficult for her to fight. But she did fight. She fought for her husband, my Grandpa, who was terrified to be without her. She fought for her sons, who cried like little boys when they had to put her back in the hospital.

But in the end, breast cancer was just too much for a 92 year old woman to fight. And even though I was grateful for her long, beautiful life and her precious spirit and the gift of faith she gave all of us, I was angry. Angry that she had to spend so many years fighting a disease that ravaged her body. Her cancer was not a tragedy in the way that it is for the young men and women who have lost their own fights with the disease. She was able to see her children, her grandchildren and even some great-grandchildren grow up. But she did suffer. And that is reason enough for me to hope for a cure.

So Merry Christmas to my Grandma, who I absolutely know is an angel up there somewhere. And here's to less "zingers" and more birthdays for everyone.

This post is sponsored by American Cancer Society.

Wendy's Be Bawlin', Yo

2011-12-07T08:21:00.004-06:00

You know how when you're having a really shitty week and feeling like life just general sucks and then your friend emails you something completely random and totally awesome and it makes you laugh so hard that a little pee comes out?

Yeah, that was me yesterday. After reading some of the comments on my last post that a lot of you need a little pick me up too.

I present to you...the best restaurant review of all time.

You're welcome.

‘Tis The Season To Be Those Relatives

2011-12-05T09:31:00.003-06:00

If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, you know that Captain Carl and I are pretty strapped for cash these days. I don’t care what the politicians and polls say, the economy in our world is not recovering yet. I have a good job and the Captain is doing okay with his business, but we are just barely making ends meet. So he continues to job search and I continue to kick ass at work in the hopes of getting another pay raise and a promotion. And of course we still have Huey, who basically pays the Kiddo’s allowance with his rent each month.

I’m not going to complain about having less than other people. Mainly because we used to be the “other people” and we completely fucked it up by being arrogant and dumb about jobs and money. We’ve learned our lesson and now we’re just trying to hang on until we can pad the savings account again.

But in the meantime, the Christmas season has arrived. And damn, but it came faster this year than other years for some reason. I wasn’t prepared for it like I was last year. Last year I set aside a fair amount of cash for presents early on. I had most of my shopping done by the end of October. But not this year. This year, I completely put it off and now I’m paying for it. Well, our families are paying for it actually.

See, we just don’t have enough money to buy everyone nice presents. It’s just not possible. We now live credit card free, so we must have the money up front for everything we need. It’s a hard lifestyle when you are on a budget, especially after using credit for everything under the sun like we used to do. Sometimes we have to get creative, but so far we’ve made it work and I’m pretty proud of that.

Except it leaves very little for gifts. So we had to tell our families that gifts will be small. They understood, of course, but we still feel bad. I’ve shopped sales, something I’m really good at anyway, and have managed to find something for everyone. And we are making homemade candy to supplement our paltry offerings.

It’s not about how much you spend. It’s the thought that counts. Remember the real reason for the season.

That’s what I keep telling myself. And I’ve been quite proud of us, actually. Everyone will get something nice and it will be a heartfelt gift.

But then I talk to other people and hear about all the things they’ve bought over the weekend for their relatives. A laptop, a wool coat, a flat screen tv, an iPad 2...

And I start to feel like an asshole.

My stupid little gifts…a scarf, some lotion, a book…are now super lame and sad. They scream “Merry Christmas. We can’t afford to buy you anything awesome.” And now I want to call everyone and beg them to please please please not buy us anything expensive. Not because I don’t think they can afford it, but because it will make me feel bad when I open their gifts. I don’t want anyone to spend $100 on me when I can only spend $10 on them.

But it’s hard to tell your family that. Especially when you know they’ll just say “Oh, don’t worry! It makes me feel good to buy you things!”. And there’s just no Christmas-y way to say “Well it makes me feel like shit when you do.”

We’re tired of being “those relatives”. The ones that everyone knows are broke and can’t go on trips and can’t go out to eat every weekend and can’t buy the things they really want to give their family at Christmas. Not that it really matters. Because what’s most important is that our family is healthy and happy and blah blah blah.

Whatever. Maybe next year we will get rich and buy everyone an iPad3 and a 3D tv and then we can be all “Jesus is the reason for the season, but who cares because I’m totally wearing 3D glasses!”.

Nothing Says "Happy Holidays" Like A Dead Deer Singing Low Rider

2011-11-29T18:59:00.003-06:00

There are many reasons why I love Captain Carl's family.

They are an open, warm and loving group. I've felt welcome from the very first day I met his parents. I could not love his brother, Mailman Mike, anymore than if he was my own blood. And his extended family is awesome too.

Also, I can always count on them for shit like this.

Yep.

That right there is a dead deer strapped to the roof of a jeep while singing Low Rider toy.

Exactly what I needed to get into the holiday spirit. I fucking love Texas.

Probably The Best Version Of "Sister Christian" You'll Ever Hear. Which Isn't Saying Much.

2011-11-22T13:30:00.003-06:00

Fact #1: I love to sing in the car.

Fact #2: I have the I Am T-Pain auto-tune app on my phone.

Enough said.

Click here to listen and have your mind blown by my musical stylings.

Consider it my contribution to your Thanksgiving holiday. Kind of like turkey, except with less falling asleep and more eardrum bursting. You're welcome.

Eat your heart out, boys.

Pass The Crab Legs And Irresponsibility, Please

2011-11-08T14:51:00.003-06:00

So my company sent out the annual medical and life insurance benefits enrollment email today. Which means I spent exactly 30 seconds reading it before I broke out in a sweat and wailed “Too hard!”.

that’s what she said.

I suck at being an adult. Anything involving bills, paperwork, taxes or medical issues gets handed directly to my husband. I’m all “Here.” and he’s all “What is it?” and I’m all “I don’t know, something from the insurance company.” and he’s all “What does it say?” and I’m all “Something about a deductable and limits and percentages.” and he’s all “This is dated three weeks ago.” and I’m all *blank stare* and he’s all “You’re just now opening it?” and I’m all “Well, I thought you would open it so I left it there for you.” and he’s all “You left it under a bag of Skittles?” and I’m all “What? You love Skittles.” and he’s all “Why didn’t you just open it right away?” and I’m all “Why doesn’t your mom just open it right away?”. Because I’m awesome at grown-up conversations.

I can’t stand thinking about adult stuff. Or talking about it. Or being anywhere near it. I just want to know how much money is in my free checking account every month so I know if I can afford to buy new boots or not. Yes, my checking account is one of the free ones that doesn’t earn any interest, mom. I shouldn’t be given control of any important financial decisions, is what I’m saying here. Not because I’ll do stupid things. Because I won’t do anything at all. I’ll set the matter aside because ohmygodscary and then promptly forget about it until it’s almost too late.

I’m pretty sure I have a 401k left over from my last job somewhere. I can’t remember the name of the place where it’s at. I don’t know how much is in it. The Captain keeps asking me about it and my response every time is “Oh yeah, we need to figure out what to do with that…maybe, ummm, roll it over?”. I have no idea what “roll it over” means. I think I heard my sister say it once when she was talking about my IRA that I haven't looked at in 7 years.

I refuse to go into my bank and talk to a real person because they always ask me why I haven’t switched to an interest earning checking account and I get tired of explaining how I tried to do it online but I got super confused by the options and my husband is a big meany so he won’t help me because “you need to learn how to do these things for yourself, Marcy”.

The only time I’ve looked at our mortgage paperwork was when we went in to sign everything and they were all “sign here” 50 billion times. The Captain, who is totally awesome at this kind of shit (thank God), took care of everything. I probably set back women’s rights about 80 years when I told him “whatever you think is best, I don’t understand it”. All I know is that I have to click on the little “pay now” button on the bank website every month when the mortgage payment is due.

I’m barely qualified to program our DVR, people. No way should I be in charge of anything as important as my financial future. You should have seen me on the night my husband decided to sit me down and work on a 5 year financial plan. He was all “Let’s make a list of goals” and I was all “Great idea. I think we should have sex on a beach some day, don’t you?” and he was all “I mean financial goals.” and I was all “Oh, right. Hey, who wants a soda? I know I do! Boy am I thirsty!” and he was all “Okay, so I was thinking for next year we should…” and I’m all “OMG you know what would be soooo good right now? Crab legs!” and he’s all “Come on, focus.” and I’m all “I could totally run a train on some crab legs.” and he was all “So basically if we transpond these numbers from your paycheck into the logistical payroll calculationer …” and I’m all *eyes rolling back into head* “I’m dead…I’m dying…it’s too boring…I’m dead from boredom.”

The thing is, I was better at all this when I was single. Granted, my life was much less complicated and I had absolutely no assets so that’s probably why. But still. I managed to have both a checking and a savings account, along with a good understanding of my medical and life insurance benefits. Then I got married and inherited two children. Things got complicated and harder. How much life insurance is enough for teenagers? Should we max out our dental insurance this year? Maybe we need to re-evaluate where our 401k investments are going? Should we enroll in the flex account? What the fuck is a flex account???

Jesus, just writing about all that makes my armpits sweaty. I hate this shit. I just want someone else to do it for me so I can go play with my new kittens.

Did I mention that my old lady cat is probably dying, which is totally not fair because I just put my other old cat to sleep in July, but the Captain got me two kittens to make me feel better? I didn’t? Oh...well he totally did and they are cute and adorable and fluffy and boom! I just totally distracted you from all that adult shit up there.

I’m a genius at being irresponsible.

p.s. the kitten story is true. I’ll have more on that later….
p.p.s. Do I know how to keep people coming back for more or what? I'm like the Walt Disney of blogging.

Hungry Like The Middle Aged Couple Two Rows In Front Of Us Making Out Inappropriately

2011-11-04T14:37:00.003-05:00

This just in: I suck at blogging. Every day I have plans to blog something super awesome and hilarious and then I get to work and I’m all type type type blech. I think my job is sucking my will to live. And then I go home and I’m all “I am totally writing 3 blog posts tonight” and then I look at my cat and she’s all “We both know you aren’t blogging tonight” all judgy-like and so I just give up and sit on the couch for 4 hours and then go to bed.

But today. Today! I. Am. Blogging.

You’re welcome.

All that up there was me trying to explain to you why I’m about to tell you a story about going to a Duran Duran concert three weeks ago.

So I went to a Duran Duran concert three weeks ago. Courtesy of my new best friend in the whole wide world, Kristine at Wait In The Van. Are you reading Kristine’s blog? Ohmygod, what a stupid question because OF COURSE YOU ARE.

Kristine invited me to go with her to the concert, despite all the creepy stalker comments I’ve left on her blog. So of course I said yes. And then left her a comment about shovels and burying bodies or something. I can't remember exactly, but you know...just trying to show her how funny and totally not murder-y I'm going to be when we meet up in person finally.

We decided to meet in front of the venue (how fancy am I? Venue. Ooo la la) and I got there a little early so I spent my extra time checking out everyone walking into the building. Y'all. So many cougars. Mostly my age and older. Many inexplicably wearing halter tops with back fat hanging out of them.

Then Kristine texted me that she was there and I got all nervous because ohmygodwhatifshe’scoolerthanmeandthinksI’msuperlame? But of course, that didn’t happen. We were immediately bff’s despite my first sentence being “OMG when did you graduate from high school?”. I don’t know. I do things like that sometimes.

So the concert starts and Duran Duran comes out and they look surprisingly well preserved. Simon is wearing tennis shoes, which was weird but whatever. The music was pretty good (the old stuff, not the new stuff. I have no interest in anything this band produced after 1993) and Kristine and I are dancing around and sweating like crazy and having a grand old time.

See? She's totally not scared of me and that is totally not a fake smile.

So there we are…jamming out to The Reflex, when we see them. They are two rows in front of us and we have a clear view of them. A couple, maybe in their late 40’s…hard to tell from where we were, but definitely older than us. And definitely too old to be aggressively making out at a Duran Duran concert. But yet there they were, all over each other. She in her one-shouldered tank top and khaki capri pants. He with his balding gray hair and air guitar moves. Groping and slipping each other the tongue in between yelling out lyrics and gyrating against each other.

It was horrifying.

We could not stop watching.

And it only got worse as the concert wore on. He’s kissing her neck. He’s grinding his hips into her butt. He’s grabbing her boobs from behind.

Dear Duran Duran Gods….please for the love of the 80’s, make it stop.

And then the concert was over…except it wasn’t. Because of course there was an encore. And it was one of their old ones and it was so great. And Simon had whipped the crowd into a frenzy of old memories and sad regrets. And the couple were all over each other. I think Kristine threw up in her mouth a little.

And then the concert was really over. The drummer threw his sticks into the crowd and 40 year old women fought over them like they probably did when they were 18. The gropey couple disappeared and Kristine and I left. It was 11 pm and we were both exhausted. What? It was a Thursday night. We’re old. Shut up.

Luckily, I took the next day off from work so I was able to sleep in until 9am. Unfortunately for Kristine, young children never take a day off. So when I got out of bed Friday morning, I knew she had probably already been up several hours. And being the new caring best friend that I am, I sent her a text.

Me: Hey remember that one time that we went to a concert together and then I took the next day off and slept in but you still had to get up early to take care of your kids? Yeah, that was great.
Her: Am. So. Fucking. Tired. And I hate you.

p.s. I wrote about Rick Perry being super excited about maple syrup and totally not drunk over at Sprocket Ink today. Click here to check it out.

Snatch Attack 13 – This Time The Mattresses Are Dirty

2011-10-24T11:58:00.003-05:00

My sister is moving to Chicago (sob!) and gave Captain Carl and me a couple of her nice mattresses to replace the crappy ones we had left over from some of our previous renters. We decided to give the old mattresses away for free on Craigslist. Below is our text conversation regarding the issue of old mattresses…

Me: I couldn’t help but notice you forgot to put the mattresses on Craigslist this morning.
Him: I’m working on it right now. Lay off.
Me: You forgot, didn’t you.
Him: *sigh* Yes.

15 minutes later

Him: The ad is up. Go look at it. It’s the one that comes with a free cat.
Me: Nice try. I would kill you dead if you gave away my cat.
Me: Looks good…I can’t believe you put your cell number on Craigslist. You’re gonna get creepy sex offenders calling you all day.
Him: Why?
Me: Because they call numbers they find on Craigslist and talk nasty to the people while they whack off.
Him: And you know this how?
Me: I saw it on Dateline once. Or in a dream. One of the those.

10 minutes later

Him: Mattresses are gone. Picking up @ 8:30 tonight.
Me: For real? That was fast.
Him: 15 phone calls and 9 emails in 10 minutes. People are really hurting. It makes my heart sad.
Me: I know. It is so sad. We should count our blessings.

3 minutes later

Me: I bet if you had put “Free Mattress. Formerly belonged to morbidly obese crazy cat hoarder lady.” you wouldn’t have gotten as many calls.
Him: Why would I do that? Who would want a crazy cat lady’s mattress?
Me: Not many people, maybe no one. Which is exactly my point. This is a situation where truth in advertising would be a bad thing.

2 minutes later

Me: Maybe the people that are taking them aren’t actually poor and are just going to use them to film a porno.
Him: ???
Me: And then someday we’ll be watching Snatch Attack 13 and we’ll be all “OMG, that’s our mattress!”
Him: How would we know it was our mattress?
Me: By the stain on the bottom corner from that time Marian left that sub sandwich on the bed for 4 days straight.
Him: I gotta go. I need to get caught up on the first 12 Snatch Attacks.
Me: Let me know how they turn out. I’m guessing Snatch Attacks 1-5 are pretty interesting.
Him: Just 1-5?
Me: Probably after 5 there isn’t much creativity left. There are only so many holes in the human body.

10 minutes later

Him: Just googled it. There is an actual Snatch Attack porno. Have you seen it?
Me: No. I just made it up in my head. Go ahead and act surprised.

That Dog Is Running With Purpose

2011-09-20T08:15:00.000-05:00

While driving home from the movies last weekend...

Me: Look at that dog!
Him: I see him.
Me: Awww, he’s all white and cute and fluffy.
Him: *pretending his wife doesn't desperately want to adopt a dog* Looks dirty.
Me: Stop! He has a collar, we need to stop and catch him!
Him: Why?
Me: Because he’s obviously lost and maybe his owner’s number is on his collar.
Him: Doesn't look lost to me. He looks like he knows where he’s going.
Me: *stare* What?
Him: He’s running with purpose. He obviously knows his destination, so we don’t need to stop.
Me: He looks like he knows where he’s going? How is that even possible? He’s a dog. They all look like that when they run.
Him: He didn’t look confused at all.
Me: You mean if he were really lost, he’d look confused?
Him: Yeah. You know, he’d be stopping every five seconds to look around. Maybe he’d be looking up at the sky thoughtfully. Maybe he'd pretend to talk on his cell phone while he wandered aimlessly.
Me: That’s what you do when you can’t find our car in the parking lot.
Him: Exactly. That right there was a dog with a good sense of direction.
Me: *looking out back window* Oh great, I can’t see him anymore. I’m gonna be so mad at you if I see him dead on the side of the road tomorrow.

And then this morning I totally got this email from our subdivision HOA communications lady:

Subject: Oso loose again

Has anyone seen this dog?

Forwarded message:
Our 2 year old opened our back door around 6pm last night and let out our white Siberian husky again. If anyone has seen him, please call.

Me: *dialing phone* Great...just great.
Him: Hello?
Me: Yeah hi. Remember that dog that was running with purpose on Saturday night?
Him: Yep.
Me: Yeah, he was lost. Totally lost. I got an email about him this morning.
Him: Huh, no kidding.
Me: His name is Oso and he’s a white Siberian husky and his house is in the exact opposite direction from where he was running.
Him: That’s weird.
Me: Because you totally thought he knew where he was going.
Him: No, I meant that’s a weird name for a dog. Oso. No wonder he was running away. I’d run away too if that was my name.
Me: Now I have to call and tell them we saw their dog but we didn’t stop because my husband thought it looked like he knew where he was going.
Him: You should suggest they think of a better name for their next dog.
Me: You’re so helpful.
Him: It’s a gift.

p.s. The Captain and I are back on the wagon. We started the Couch to 5K program again this week. Someone help...my thighs are burning with so much purpose right now.

My Name Is Miss Yvonne. You Deleted My Talk Show. Prepare To Die.

2011-09-16T09:22:00.002-05:00

Sometimes it really sucks having renters in your house. Sometimes they do really annoying and fucking stupid things. Things that 99.9% of the human population would not do. Like if you heard about someone doing those things you would be all “No way is anyone that stupid/rude/inconsiderate". And then? Your fucking renter does them and you feel the sudden urge to gouge their eyeball out with one of those tiny relish forks because it is the exact perfect size for eyeballs and that bastard totally deserves it.

Like maybe your renters buy scooters and ride them through the mud and then track the mud through the house and then leave their muddy shoes by the door and then fucking lie when you ask if they walked through your house with muddy shoes on.

Or maybe your renters decide to use your pasta strainer to clean their fish tank rocks but don’t plan on telling you they did it and thank you baby Jesus that you noticed it was missing before they returned it and you used it to strain your pasta and now you’re totally eating spaghetti ala fish poop for dinner. And then they giggle like three year olds when you ask them why they did it.

Perhaps your renter decides while you are out of town for the weekend to go out and get completely wasted and bring an equally wasted couple home from the bar with him that he has never met before in his life, then passes out in his bed while this drunk couple hang out in your house all night totally unsupervised and then your other renter gets up at 3am to pee and sees this strange couple fucking on your couch. Then you have to call your renter and yell at him and when you get home, all of your booze is missing and he “has no idea who took it”.

Oh! Here’s a good one. Your renter goes out and gets wasted AGAIN, only this time it’s during a weird Texas snowstorm, and he gets arrested for drunk driving and doesn’t come home for 3 days, so you think he must be dead in a ditch somewhere, and then he shows up and is all “Hey, I got arrested and have to go to court and can you please drive me there because they took my license away? Also, my kids are gonna come live here with me for like, 2 or 3 weeks and maybe they will stay forever. That’s cool, right?”.

Could be that your renter turns out to be a reclusive hoarder who packs the bedroom she is living in to the ceiling with junk, but you don’t really notice how much she has in there until it’s too late. Also she has a cat. Also she’s morbidly obese and orders a pizza and three sub sandwiches and keeps them in her room to eat on for two days. Also she decides to move to another country and doesn’t start packing until the night before her flight. Also after she’s gone, you realize she’s left 50 (I am not exaggerating, y’all) bags of trash, a bed, a table, an office chair and a dirty litter box in her room for you to dispose of. Also she emails you a week later to ask when you will be sending her deposit back. Also you totally flip out and write back that it will be a cold day in hell when she gets her deposit back and then spend two weeks obsessively cleaning the room while whispering “unclean…unclean…”.

And then maybe after all of those morons, you somehow get lucky and your next renter is great. He’s your son’s friend, so you worry at first that maybe this was a bad idea. But he is respectful and sweet and is sad when we are not home because “I miss you guys when you aren’t here”. He pays his rent on time. He is a little scared of making you mad, thanks to some well placed looks and comments about not pissing you off because you’re a fucking genius when it comes to intimidation. But he still says “bye family” when he leaves for work and sits down to tell us all about his day when he gets home. You know, like your own child would do if they weren’t going through a completely selfish and asshole-y phase right now. You have no complaints, things are going wonderfully.

And then?

The fucker has to go and ruin it by DELETING YOUR DVR RECORDING OF THE DR. PHIL CASEY ANTHONY PARENTS’ INTERVIEW.

Yeah.

He’s fucking terrified. He knows what he did and now he’s hiding from me. I haven’t seen him since Monday. I hope he’s prepared for when we meet again, because shit is about to go down, yo. You don’t fuck with a woman’s talk show recordings. Never. Never ever. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. But retribution will be swift and terrible.

I Can Turn Anything Into A Conversation About Dicks

2011-08-17T16:07:00.009-05:00

Captain Carl: Hello?
Me: Hey.
Captain Carl: Yes?
Me: What?
Captain Carl: You called me.
Me: I know I called you. I mean, I dialed the phone. Obviously I know that I called you.
Captain Carl: Did you need something?
Me: Not really.
Captain Carl: *silence*
Me: *yawn*
Captain Carl: So…
Me: Ohmygod, Islands In The Stream just came on Pandora!
Captain Carl: *sigh*
Me: *singing* Islands in the stream. That is what we are. Hmmm hmmm hmm between. How can we be wrong?
Captain Carl: Okay so, I’m gonna go.
Me: Wait! Did you remember to water the trees like I asked this morning?
Captain Carl: Yes. I’m still watering them.
Me: Still? It’s like 2:30 now!
Captain Carl: I know. I’m watering them slowly.
Me: How slowly?
Captain Carl: Slowly. Like I said.
Me: Do you have any idea how water bills work? You can’t run the hose all day.
Captain Carl: Calm down. There’s barely any water coming out.
Me: How much?
Captain Carl: Like just a bit.
Me: How am I supposed to know what a bit means to you?
Captain Carl: Okay, a trickle then. More like a pre-trickle. Not much at all.
Me: A pre-trickle? That is not a unit of measurement I’m familiar with.
Captain Carl: Fine, it’s barely more than what a soaker hose puts out. Jesus.
Me: Wasn’t there a race car driver named Trickle?
Co-worker listening to my conversation: Yes. His name is Dick Trickle.
Me: No way.
Co-worker: Yep, I just googled it.
Me: Heh heh, I made you google Dick Trickle on your work computer.
Other co-worker listening in: Whatever you do, don’t google dicktrickle.com.
Me: OMG, do it!!
Captain Carl: Hello?
Me: Hey babe, quit Dick Trickling my trees. *laughs hysterically* *bangs fist on desk*
Captain Carl: I’m hanging up now.
Me: Okay. Dick Trickle you later!
Captain Carl: Really?
Me: I’ll be Dick Trickling you!
Captain Carl: *mumbling swear words*
Me: You’re like the Dick Trickle of landscape irrigation. I can do this all day, honey.
Captain Carl: I know. Which is why I’m doing this. *click*

He’s totally jealous of my dick joke skills.

My Feet Have Been Sticky For Two Straight Months

2011-08-08T12:33:00.004-05:00

So yeah. It's hot outside. I know just about everyone is having a rough summer. But it's particularly bad in the Dallas area because a) we've had more than a month straight of over 100 degree days and b) I live here so therefore it's worse than anywhere else.

I spend all my time running from my house, to my car, to my office, back to my car and back to my house. I only go outside in the early morning or late evening, and only for like 10 minutes at a time. And then I spend an hour bitching about how fucking sweaty I am. My grass is brown and my skin is white.

The good news is that I am going home to Minnesota in less than three weeks, where I will promptly begin working on my tan. Nobody believes that I live in Texas when I go up there because I'm so pale. It's just too hot to be outside here. I mean, the fucking train tracks are warping, people.

Okay, so the Kiddo came home for the summer after his first year in college. I haven't been blogging about him lately on account of some issues he's been having that I don't really want to discuss here. Let's just say it involves a bong in the shape of a skull and mandatory drug testing.

Turns out it's hard when your kid comes home from college. Because he's been gone for 9 months doing stupid shit and feeling all adult and totally the boss of himself and then he comes home in June and doesn't get why his parents make him follow rules. Rules like, "hey, how about you don't treat your bedroom like a trash dump?" and "just because you're 19 doesn't mean you don't have to empty the dishwasher anymore." and my favorite, "maybe don't forget to take your house key with you when you go out on a Tuesday night and then when you come home drunk at 1:30am, don't climb on my roof trying to break into your bedroom and then yell at me when I hear you and call your cell to ask why in the hell you're up there. ASSHOLE."

Please God, don't let him get suspended from college. Or quit. Or whatever. Because I don't think I can handle him living here all year.

And to make things even more special, the Kiddo asked us in June if his buddy could rent one of our bedrooms for the summer. His friend...let's call him Huey...had decided he didn't want to live at home anymore because...guess why? His mom had too many rules. Hot damn, I hope I wasn't this ridiculous when I was 19. I probably was, right? I need to call my mom and apologize.

Me: I don't know about this.
Captain Carl: Oh, it won't be so bad.
Me: Yes it will.
Captain Carl: Nah, it'll be fine.
Me: It'll be a never ending cycle of bad decisions, dirty socks and weird smells.
Captain Carl: He's a nice boy, I feel bad for him.
Me: I feel bad too. For his mother.
Captain Carl: It's only for a couple of months. And we could use the extra cash.

And so I let the Captain talk me into it. I agreed to let Huey rent a room with us on a weekly basis. I was pretty sure it was a bad idea that I would live to regret.

But surprisingly, I've really enjoyed having Huey around. He's a big, dumb, sweet kid. And he's not my kid, so it's easier to deal with his stupidity somehow. And he just might be staying after the summer is over. Which makes me a little nervous, since this means he will be alone in our house while we're in another state for a week. I'm envisioning wild parties...Huey filling my house with slutty girls and booze and my cat cowering in the laundry room behind her litter box.

This is the part where the Captain rolls his eyes and tells me I'm being overly dramatic.

And this is the part where I tell him to shut his face.

At the very least, my floors are gonna be soooo dirty when we get home. Because not one single day goes by where I don't walk through the house and step into something sticky. Seriously, what is it about boys and spilling shit? Yesterday there was a trail from the kitchen table to the other side of the house. And they both stood there staring blankly at me and saying "It wasn't me." No shit. It wasn't me. If I had squinted my eyes, I would have sworn I was talking to 3 year olds.

*sigh*

I should never have let them bring that giant can of Country Time Lemonade mix into the house.

Goodbye To My Boo Boo

2011-07-20T12:28:00.004-05:00

So last week was really rough. Not to get all frowny and poor me on you guys, but here’s what happened.

My dad wound up in the emergency room with a very painful colon problem.
The brakes went out in my car and I was almost killed running a red light.
We had to put my sweet old Boo kitty to sleep.

That right there is a trifecta of fucked up.

So not fair that all that happened in a 5 day period. It was so bad that on Friday at work, I laid my head down on my desk and yelled out “Jesus take the wheel!” in desperation. It got a good laugh in the office, but I kind of meant it. I mean, how much can one girl take? Way to be an asshole, universe.

It seems like animal death has been hovering near me for a year now. My in-laws lost their beloved dog last year. Then a close friend lost their dog. Then a month ago, two friends from work had to put down their pets. And every time someone lost an animal, I would get scared. Because both of my cats are old. It won’t be long before it’s your turn, my mind would say.

And then? It was my turn. Boo got sick this spring, diagnosed with diabetes and maybe cancer. He went downhill fast and we knew he wasn’t going to make it through the summer. But I don’t care how prepared you think you are…when you love someone or something, you are never ready for the end.

When it became clear that the best thing for Boo was to give him peace from his illness, I told Captain Carl that I couldn’t take him to the vet. I just couldn’t do it. He understood and told me not to worry, he could handle it just fine. He is not as attached to our pets as I am and he had been much more logical about Boo’s condition than I had been. Meaning he didn’t wail and cry and hug the cat super tight and whisper in his ear that “you are the best cat on the face of the earth and you WILL NOT DIE on me, okay?”. Like I did.

So it was a complete shock to both of us when Boo’s Friday afternoon appointment with kitty heaven arrived and the Captain completely fell apart. Luckily, my sister went with him so he wouldn’t have to be alone. Unluckily, she also fell apart. The two most solid people in my life were reduced to blubbering messes in the exam room when the moment of truth arrived. They told me that night over double vodka sours how it was better I wasn’t there. How they both wanted to tell the vet it was a mistake and take Boo back home. How Boo was sweet right up to the end. How he seemed to understand what was happening and was okay with it. How he went quickly and peacefully. And how after Boo was gone, the Captain stayed with him for 10 minutes, talking to him and rubbing his belly because he was afraid the poison hadn’t really worked and Boo would wake up and be scared.

It killed me. It killed me that I wasn’t strong enough to be there. That I instead had the luxury of saying goodbye to Boo at home, where he was comfortable and not being injected with something to make his heart stop. That because of my weakness, the Captain had to do it without me.

I lost my little buddy and I am heartbroken. But my dad is recovering slowly from a bacterial infection and the Captain is doing just fine and fixing the brakes on my car and life goes on. There are good things happening in my life. The sadness will eventually become a dull ache instead of a sharp one. And someday I’ll be able to look at Boo’s picture and not cry, but instead smile and remember how much he loved boxes and catnip, how he could catch flies in mid-air, how his back leg would scratch at the air when I rubbed his ears, how pink his nose got when he was excited, how good natured he was…how much we loved him.

And just to end all this sad stuff in a nice way, I decided to link to some old blog posts about my old Boo.

National Cat Puke Day
Captain Carl's World Of Fur
Happy Cat Dingleberry Day
Adventures In Pet Photography
Boo Sounds Like Antonio Banderas

And here's the last video I took of Boo from the night before he went to kitty heaven. Ignore my giant man hands...

Bye Bye To My Boo Boo

Love you, buddy.

Patriotism Fail. Now Updated With More Possum.

2011-07-04T21:23:00.006-05:00

We didn't see any fireworks this weekend.

I know.

I feel pretty bad about it. When the kids were young, we used to take them every 4th of July. We brought a cooler and lawn chairs and junk food and we sat in the back of our pick up truck to watch.

And before I moved to Texas, it was watching fireworks on my parent's boat on the lake. Every summer since I was 16.

But this year? Nothing. As I type this, I can hear fireworks popping outside. And not just from the trailer park across the street. It's a big show going on somewhere. I can even see them from our backyard, just over the tops of the trees. Close enough for us to get to and be all American and shit.

But instead of doing that, we are sitting inside watching Hoarders and Pawn Stars.

Patriotism fail.

It's just so blasted hot outside, y'all. No, not hot. SWELTERING. I mean, it was 101 degrees right before the sun went down. It's a mind melting inferno here.

Fuck, I hate summer in Texas.

I hope Lady Liberty can forgive me for not sitting outside, sweating in the dark and asking Captain Carl how anyone can possibly like living here because ohmygodseriouslythisisridiculous.

Holy shit. I just realized I have only had one drink all weekend. ONE DRINK. That's a crime, right there. I'm gonna get deported out of this state if the authorities find out because I'm pretty sure it's a felony if you don't wake up with at least one hangover during the 4th of July weekend.

I promise to do better next year, y'all.

UPDATE: Captain Carl just told me he ate possum once. This has nothing to do with the 4th of July. I just wanted to tell you because seriously, who am I married to?

I Call It Thrifty. My Husband Calls It Cheap.

2011-06-15T13:20:00.004-05:00

This coupon thing I have might be getting a tad bit out of control.

I love to save money. I love a good sale. I love getting a discount.

Most women I know would probably say the same thing. I mean, does any of us really prefer to pay full price for things? I doubt it.

In the past, I’ve been known to clip a coupon or two. I would browse through the Sunday paper and if something caught my eye, I might take the time to grab a pair of scissors and cut one out. But it wasn’t something I did on a regular basis. Then Captain Carl got laid off from his job unexpectedly. And after some very thorough job searching, we realized how long it might be before he would find another one. And the panic set in.

We could lose the house!
We won’t be able to make our car payments!
How will we send the Kiddo to college?
Gahh! Ahhhhh!!!!!

Then we took a big breath, sat down and figured out a way to survive. And that is what we are doing now, two years later.

Surviving.

We took renters into our home. Not fun. Not fun at all, my friends. But we’ve managed to hang on to our home so far because of it.

We cut back on everything. And I mean, everything. We stopped eating out, we changed our phone provider to something much cheaper, we sold some things we really didn’t need, we turned up the thermostat in the summer and down in the winter. Our “fun fund” went from several hundred a month to, well…nothing. For awhile at least. Captain Carl eventually started his own business when it became clear that he would not be able to find the type of work he was doing before the economy collapsed. I changed jobs last year in order to make a couple thousand more a year. The Kiddo has taken it upon himself to earn scholarships and work his way through college.

But this post isn’t really about all that. It’s about my addiction to coupons.

Oh coupons, how I love you so! Lovely lovely, money saving scraps of paper!

When the financial bottom fell out of our world, I began to take those Sunday paper coupons seriously. I clipped each and every one and put them into my little coupon book. I started to save a few bucks at the grocery store. I decided I was an idiot for not doing this sooner.

And then I discovered online coupons.

*happy dance*

A virtual plethora of unending websites, filled to the brim with pages and pages of coupons. And all you have to do is check the box, click “print” and bam! You are drowning in a sea of $0.55 off Honey Nut Cheerios and $1.50 off two jars of salsa!

And ohmygod did you know that some grocery stores double and triple your coupons? Say what???

And! And! Some of them have their own store card that gives you additional savings. Additional, y’all!

I’m starting to sweat with the excitement of it all!

And just when I thought my coupon mania had gotten as crazy as it ever could, I discovered coupon blogs.

Holy hell.

And now? I spend my lunch hours reading coupon blogs while clipping this week’s savings from the paper and determining which ones have matching coupons online that I can print and combine for extra savings. And my desk looks like this:

This is for real, y’all. I look like a crazy person in my little cubicle with all my scraps of paper strewn around me, muttering to myself “Were the frozen peas on sale at Target or Kroger this week?”.

But I am saving money. Once week I took $125 off my $250 grocery bill. So I’m having a hard time deciding if I’m going too far with this. Am I obsessing too much? Is an extra $30in my pocket this week worth spending this much of my free time planning? I’m not sure. All I know is that this is not the face of a sane human being:

No sir, it is not.

I'd Love To Write An Awesome Blog Post But I'm Too Busy Watching Court TV

2011-06-03T12:58:00.003-05:00

Y'all. I'm addicted to the Casey Anthony murder trial. I listen to it every day at work. All day. Then I go home and tell Captain Carl everything that happened. Then he stares blankly at me. Then I go back to work the next day and run to my desk to get the video coverage started because ohmygod they are showing the jailhouse videos again today I cannot miss this!

And! They are having court tomorrow on a Saturday, which means I'll have to tell the Captain that "I can't do yard work with you today like I promised because the trial is on and what if I missed the testimony of the crime scene investigator? Huh?? Helloooo, CSI?".

So since I'm super busy with all this trial stuff, I haven't had time to blog much this week. However, I did manage to write not one, but TWO posts over at Sprocket Ink.

I know. I'm amazing. Tell your friends about me.

Lindsay Lohan Stars As Lindsay Lohan In Next Film

I Blame Apple For This

Turns Out The Best Motel Room Forty Bucks Can Buy Doesn't Include A Working Toilet

2011-05-25T18:53:00.012-05:00

Today's post was inspired by this week's writing prompt, hotel stories, over at Studio30+. Not a member? Well get your ass over there and join. Go ahead, I'll wait here...

_____________________

*phone rings*

Me: Hello?
Mom: Hi honey, just calling to let you know your dad and I got home from Arizona safely.
Me: Oh good! How was your drive?
Mom: It was fine. We were going to drive straight through, but decided to stop just over the Iowa border because we were tired.
Me: Mom, did you let dad pick the hotel this time?
Mom: Well, I would have but you know I can get a better deal than he can.
Me: Uh huh...
Mom: I spotted this motel from the highway...
Me: A motel mom? Not a hotel. A motel?
Mom: They had a sign that said rooms were $29.99!
Me: And?
Mom: Well, I went in and asked about a room and there was this Middle Eastern couple running it and you know how they talk. I could barely understand them. And the woman told me it would be $50, so I asked her what about the sign and she said that was for one person and it went up from there and I said, well how did you get from $29.99 to $50 for two people?
Me: Highway robbery!
Mom: Exactly! She said it was because of extra fees and what not. Well, I just waved my hand at her and said forget it and started walking out but then she said she could give it to us for $40. So I took it.
Me: How was the room?
Mom: It looked very clean.
Me: But?
Mom: Well, it's my own fault really. I should have listened to your dad and gone to the Super 8 instead. But I just don't see a reason to pay $75 for something I can get for $40.
Me: Mom, what was wrong with the room?
Mom: Well, the heater didn't work so we called the front desk and they sent their daughter up and thank goodness she spoke better English. She got it working, but it quit again so she brought us a space heater.
Me: A space heater.
Mom: Yes, and the shower didn't have any hot water. But the water in the sink was burning hot. So I took a whore's bath and you know how much I like my evening showers, so you know I'm not lying about the cold water.
Me: Well that sucks.
Mom: Oh, and the toilet didn't flush.
Me: At all?
Mom: No.
Me: Ohmygod mom, why didn't you ask for a different room?
Mom: Well, it did flush, but only if your dad reached into the tank and fiddled with it. Your dad said if he had a nickel for every motel room toilet he's had to fix, he'd be a millionaire.
Me: So you didn't switch rooms?
Mom: Well no, it was after 10pm and I wasn't going to bother with it.
Me: Wow.
Mom: But the next morning I was so mad about it, I marched right in that office and gave the man a piece of my mind.
Me: Was he sorry?
Mom: No! He kept yelling "We give you good room! We give you good room!" and finally I yelled back "Yeah, you give me good room! In Iraq!"
Me: You didn't.
Mom: Well, I was angry. He had it coming.
Me: Did you get a refund then?
Mom: No, he wouldn't give me one. So I told him I was going to contact their local chamber of commerce and let them know what kind of business they were running there.
Me: That'll teach him.
Mom: I've been working on my letter all day.
Me: Make sure you include the part about Iraq. That's good stuff right there.
Mom: I forgot to tell you the hangers in the closet were dusty.
Me: Well, at least you saved $10.
Mom: That's exactly what I told your dad! That man thinks money grows on trees. Honestly.

Is Laundry Coma A Real Thing? Quick, Somebody Google It Before I Blackout.

2011-05-18T07:30:00.000-05:00

The Kiddo came home from college for the summer last week. At first I was all jumpy and clappy because I have missed that boy so much during the last nine months. Then right in the middle of all that excitement, I was all “oh shit, the boy is coming home.” Because I’ve kind of enjoyed him not being there.

I know. Great mother’s of the world unite and beat me with a stick! How dare I enjoy my baby leaving the nest.

Meh.

I met Captain Carl when the Kiddo was 8 years old. It took him a long time to warm up to me. He was convinced I would try to replace his mother and he felt guilty for liking me. He was an adorable little boy, all buck teeth and freckles. He insisted that his hair be cut in Pee Wee Herman fashion, so obviously I fell in love with him immediately. Oh man, just thinking about him at that age makes me want to squeeze his little face off.

It might have taken him awhile to warm up to me, but we had (and continue to have) a great relationship once he did. He called me his “buffer”…the voice of reason between his dad and himself when things got heated. He would climb into my lap for no reason at all, except to grind his bony butt into my thigh and laugh when I tickled his back. He still does that, actually.

He never called me mom. Right before I married his dad, he asked me what he was supposed to call me.

Me: What do you want to call me?
Kiddo: Not mom. That would be weird, since I already have one.
Me: Okay.
Kiddo: Can I just keep calling you Marcy?
Me: Absolutely.

And so, I’m just Marcy to him. I took it as a compliment that he felt comfortable enough to tell me he didn’t want to call me mom. Although he has called me that when introducing me to people. To keep things simple, probably. But I still get a little thrill when he does it. Because as far as I’m concerned, he is my son. Not my stepson. I’ve raised him as my own. He has lived in my care for almost double the amount of time he lived in his mother’s.

Anyway, my point was going to be that even though I was all sad face about him going away to college and I did miss him a lot, I actually enjoyed the time the Captain and I have had alone. We’ve never been just “us”. He came with a ready-made family, so we didn’t get a honeymoon period. Since the Kiddo has been away at school, we’ve had more date nights and we actually socialize with grown ups sometimes. Listening to the Kiddo practice his trumpet was replaced with listening to, well, nothing. I found that I didn’t worry as much about what the boy was up to all the time. My evenings were freed up from obsessing over where he might be and the illegal/dangerous/stupid things he could be doing right at that moment. I still worried, but it was in a more abstract way. My mind had more room for other thoughts.

But still, I could not wait for the Kiddo to come home. So now he is and immediately my mind went back to that place where I worried more. Would he be able to find a summer job? He really needs a haircut, I wonder if I could get him in for one today? I hope he doesn’t go out tonight with that kid I hate…he’s nothing but trouble. He better not try to hook up with Bunny while he’s home.

Etc, etc, etc.

And of course, I wondered if he had any clean underwear. I don’t why it’s this way with mothers, but we seem to be in a constant state of underwear concern for our children. When I asked the Kiddo if he needed any laundry done, he laughed. And then he brought me all of this.

Hells bells.

For those of you with untrained laundry eyes, that right there? That’s seven loads of laundry on my floor. SEVEN. For one person.

Me: Son, when was the last time you did your laundry?
Kiddo: Not that long ago. I was going to do it before I came home but I was out of detergent.
Me: What is that? Is that mud?
Kiddo: Yep.
Me: On all of your jeans?
Kiddo: I went fishing a lot.
Me: Where were you fishing?
Kiddo: In the river.
Me: I think we’ll just throw all these socks away and get you new ones.
Kiddo: Why?
Me: Because they’re black and they should be white. And most of them have holes.
Kiddo: Hey, did I tell you that I killed a water moccasin when I went fishing?
Me: *look of horror face* No.
Kiddo: Yeah!
Me: Why?
Kiddo: Because it tried to take my lure, but it got caught on it.
Me: So you killed it?
Kiddo: I had to. I cut it’s head off.
Me: Ohmygod. Aren’t water moccasins poisonous?
Kiddo: *laughs* Yeah. It was awesome.
Me: Ummmm…you still have your health insurance card in your wallet, right?
Kiddo: Yeah. Why?
Me: Oh, just…making sure.

*sigh*

Worry worry worry.

Purging Until It Hurts

2011-05-16T11:10:00.003-05:00

A little over a month ago, I was watching an episode of “Hoarders” with Captain Carl and I started to get all itchy. It made me think about how cluttered my house was. Those of you that have ever watched this show probably know what I’m talking about. That little pile of mail on the kitchen counter? Suddenly I envisioned it morphing into a huge pile of mail. And then I added newspapers and magazines to the pile in my mind. Then, because this is how my mind works, I threw an old banana peel and a couple pairs of underwear into the pile. And then my mind slapped myself in the face and was all “calm the fuck down!”. And I did.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about all the closets in my house, filled to the brim with…stuff. And the spare bedroom jammed full of all the projects we were going to get to “someday”. And our three car garage that we can only get one car into.

Me: I have an idea.
Captain: Uh oh.
Me: No! It’s a good idea.
Captain: *eyeing me warily* Oh-kay…
Me: Let’s do a whole house purge.
Captain: *stare*
Me: Seriously. We just have too much, you know? Let’s go room by room and clear out what we don’t need or have an attachment to and then have a garage sale.

And to my amazement, he agreed.

I decided May 14 would be our garage sale day. We started in the garage, because that was where we would need to put all the purged items from inside the house. It took us two days to sort and clean it, but by the end of the 2nd day we had a huge pile of garage sale items and enough garbage on the curb that I had to call for a special bulk pick up. We could now also park two cars in the garage. We were shocked by how much crap there was out there. It felt great to get rid of it all. Freeing.

The next weekend, we tackled the kitchen. I found a mouse pad stuck behind the crock pot. Address labels inside a vase that was behind a giant container of protein powder. When we finished, we knew where every pot and pan was located. Mixing bowls were easily accessible. The mouse pad, along with a huge amount of other things, went into the garage sale pile in the garage. And on it went from there…

Fast forward to 6am on May 14. Every single closet in my home is organized and tidy. The spare bedrooms are clean and ready for guests. I know where all the extra sheets and comforters are located. The old treadmill we used as a coat hanger is now sitting in the driveway, ready to be sold along with hundreds of other items. And by 11am that same day? Every single item was gone. Every. Single. One. And we were $257 richer.

I’m sharing this story with y’all not because it was particularly funny or entertaining. I know that is the type of stuff I usually write about here. I’m sharing it because this process has really made an impact on my life. I was really surprised at how amazing the experience has been.

Because it was hard. It was sooooo hard. I had made up my mind at the beginning that I would let go of anything we had not used in the last year or did not hold significant sentimental value or worth in some way. I knew this would be a tough rule to stick to, but I was determined. And I did it. It helped that Captain Carl jumped on my bandwagon. I watched him purge things that I knew were hard for him to see go. He had so many old computer parts that he had been hanging on to “just in case”. I found a place we could recycle them and he let everything go. Everything. How could I not do the same?

So I got rid of the cute little baskets that my sister had bought me years ago and I never used for anything. And the eight flower pots that were filled with geraniums at our wedding but were currently collecting dust in the garage. And the old piano lamp my parents bought with my piano when I was 12 years old but is really ugly so I bought a new one and stuck it in the closet.

We priced it all to sell, and boy did it. We were swarmed with buyers before we could even get everything out on the driveway. You meet interesting people when you have a garage sale. I met the grandson of the man who used to farm the land our home is now sitting on. He told me that their house used to sit in the big field behind us. I chatted with a lady who bought all three boxes of my Christmas decorations and found out she gives them to her kids, who can’t afford to buy their own. Captain Carl gave a little girl one of my beanie babies for free and I watched him smile as she hugged it. An old lady bought my Uncle Sam yard sign and told me she was going to put it on her husband’s grave. Then she asked me how much a stripper pole would cost because she wanted to buy one for her daughter. For reals. And the guy who came at the end and took whatever we had left? We gave it all to him for free because he told us he was “just trying to make ends meet” and if anyone knows how that feels, it would be us.

So now we’re purged and both the Captain and I agree that the house feels lighter and the energy is just…well, more positive. Which is something we’ve needed badly. The last two years have been rough, what with all the renters in and out and the financial struggles and stress that goes along with those things. And some of that is still there. We’re still broke as hell and we may have to take in yet another renter this summer. But now when I go into my bedroom closet, I feel like twirling because look how pretty and organized!

I don’t even miss that piano lamp. Much.

Plus, I found this during our purge.

One of four gnomes my mom painted in her ceramics class in the late 70’s. I kept them, even though they creep Captain Carl out. Because they were my mom’s and she wanted me to have them and they should be displayed in a nice place and not stuck in a box in the garage. And also I really want to creep out the Captain since he keeps hiding his lizard fishing lures in my bathroom towels. The asshole.

I’m Either The Nicest Person On The Planet, Or The Dumbest. My Vote Is For The Second One.

2011-05-06T10:50:00.002-05:00

I don’t know what it is about me this week, but I’ve been bombarded with requests for favors. I don’t know what the hell is going on. Do I have the word “helpful” or “sucker” tattooed on my forehead? Am I too nice? Did I borrow a pen from you two years ago and now it’s payback time?

Shit!

First, I offered to pass along a friend’s resume to a department in my office. That was me just being awesome…she didn’t ask me to do it. But she got an interview the next day and got offered the job. I felt great. I did a good deed! Hooray me! Apparently my friend told everyone what I had done for her, because my email has now been flooded with resumes from not one, not two, but five other people. Five! All of them with greetings like “Hi, Natalie told me your work was hiring. Can you please get me an interview? Signed, person you have never met.”

Then it was a vendor that I used to work with at an old job. He asked me to get him a lunch meeting with my boss. He wants to get his foot in the door, which is a hard thing to do unless you know someone. I like the guy. I sympathize with him. I want him to succeed. So I said yes and got my boss to agree to lunch that day. The next day, he texts me and asks if I could maybe possibly kind of tell him what our current vendor is bidding for jobs? You know, so he could be competitive? Because he really really wants to work for us?

Umm. No. I’m not losing my job for you, dude. Except I don’t know how to say no to awkward, inappropriate requests. So instead I told him I would “try to find out”. And then never told him anything. And now he keeps texting asking me and I’m all “sorry, I’m swamped right now” and “I don’t know where to find the bids” and still he keeps texting and now I have to get up the nerve to tell him no. Because yeah, I’m not doing that.

Then it was a guy I work with. He asked me if I could please “call this number and ask for Sherry and then if she is there, ask her when the next tax assessment class is”. To which I was all “Huh?” and he was all “It’s my ex-wife and she’s psycho and I need to find out if she’s actually working where she says she is so I can get my child support.” and I was all “I don’t want to do that.” and he was all “Why not?” and I was all because I don’t want to get involved in your crazy life. But I only said that last part in my head. What came out of my mouth was “Ummm, okay.” So I called, and thank you baby Jesus, no one answered. So I told him and he was all “Try again!” and I was all “No!” and he was all “Why not?” and I was all “Because it’s weird, okay?”. And then he left me alone. For two hours. Since then, he asks every time he walks by my desk, giving me wounded puppy faces when I say no.

Then! This morning another co-worker told me about how she got so wasted last night and didn’t get home until 4am and omg she might still be a little drunk and she doesn’t remember where she parked her car. So now she has no car, no wallet and no cell phone. She followed that up by asking if she could borrow my car to run to the store “real quick”. And I said yes, because we go to lunch every Friday and we’ve sang karaoke together and how do you say no to a kind of sort of friend when she asks to borrow your car? You don't. If you are me, anyway.

So now I’m sitting at my desk, about to call and ask Shelly about tax assessment classes while texting “I still can’t find the vendor bid files, but I’ll keep looking!” and thinking about where my car might be right now and how I can’t even call to make sure everything is okay because she doesn’t have a cell phone on account of it being in her lost car somewhere in downtown Dallas.

Fuck, I’m an idiot.

Don’t forget, I’m posting today over at Sprocket Ink, the most super cool and totally awesome snarky news website ever! This afternoon I’m writing about how Mariah Carey loves her living room so much that she named one of her babies after it. If I’m lyin’ then I’m dyin’.

Nobody's Feet Are As Awesome As Mine Today

2011-05-04T12:40:00.006-05:00

You guys.

Remember when I was the recipient of my very own shoe song? Two weeks ago my shoes were delivered to that same store. I went in to pick them up and was all "Is the shoe song lady working today?" and the girl behind the counter was all "I'm sorry?" and I was all "Yeah, the shoe song lady. You know, the one with the accent who sings and snaps her fingers?" and the girl was all "Huh?". And then she called another person up to the front so I could ask her, but she didn't know either so I spent 5 minutes saying things like "Dis ees your shoe dance" and "Try dem on" to help them remember the employee I was asking about but they still acted like they didn't know. So I did the shoe dance for them and the girl was all "Ma'am, just take your shoes and go please."

I suppose they work different shifts. Or she was a complete figment of my imagination. But probably it was the different shifts thing because the imagination thing almost never happens anymore since I stopped snorting Smarties. Anyway, I was disappointed not to see her because I was looking forward to doing the New Shoe Dance around the store with her.

But who cares because look!

Hello gorgeous.

I shoe-gasmed all over my closet the first day I wore them.

My feet have never been so happy. Before the green shoes, my feet were completely underwhelmed with my footwear choices. But then I put on the green shoes and my feet were all kicky and jaunty and refused to stay under my desk at work, so I was forced to run from cubicle to cubicle yelling "Look! Look how pretty!" while pointing at my feet.

And then I went home and was all sad face because I had to take them off and put them away until the next week. Because as much as I want to, I just can't wear green canvas wedge sandals with little flowers on the toes every single day.

But what I can do is go back and buy them in purple and white and ohmygod they have them in red now!

My feet are soooo getting lucky.

p.s. Don't forget to check me out over at Sprocket Ink. Last week I wrote about foreskin. It's pretty much as awesome as it sounds.

On The Positive Side, I Now Have A Gay 19 Year Old Boyfriend

2011-04-25T13:06:00.004-05:00

In the past 48 hours I have done all of the following:

1. Visited my in-laws for Easter weekend.
2. Ate approximately 53 mini chocolate eggs.
3. Drank two very large top shelf margaritas on my father-in-law’s dime.
4. Ate a lot of chips and salsa while drinking said margaritas.
5. Got drunk and flirted with my son’s 19 year old gay friend while Captain Carl laughed his ass off.
6. Was reminded by my son of the time I got drunk and flirted with his other, non-gay friend by singing Prince's "Sexy Motherfucker" to him.
7. Got called a cougar by Captain Carl. Made clawing motion and sounds vaguely resembling cat noises.
8. Puked my guts out at three in the morning.
9. Refused to speak to Captain Carl after he got a speeding ticket.
10.Drove through torrential rain and hail. Promised God I would never flirt with my son's friends or be hung over on Easter again if we got home safely.
11. Got home safely. So long, younger men and margaritas. Damn it.

And that was how I celebrated the resurrection of Christ this year.

My mother would be so disappointed. So would, you know...Jesus.

p.s. The gay kid loved it.
p.p.s. So did the non-gay one. Because I'm just that awesome. Rawr.

Seems Like My Serial Killer Could Have Picked A Better Weapon

2011-04-20T10:00:00.006-05:00

Yesterday was our 8th anniversary, but Captain Carl has been in Oklahoma all week for stupid business stuff so I totally spent the day alone. Well, I did have dinner with my sister…but after that I was by myself. You can go ahead and start feeling sorry for me now.

So I get home after dinner and I’m all feeling sorry for myself and I call the Captain and he’s all “I’m watching Dancing with the Stars.” and I’m all “What? We are apart on our anniversary and you’re watching a show you won’t ever watch with me?” and he’s all “There’s nothing else on.” and I’m all “Then you should have drove home to be with me on our anniversary.” and he’s all “But we're four hours apart and I have to work tomorrow.” and I’m all “Still. Whatever. I don’t even care.”

Not the most romantic anniversary ever. But it’s okay because he’s coming home tonight and it’s totally going to be romantic and he is totally going to rub my back for me. What? That’s romantic. He loves to do that. Especially right after a four hour drive. *shifty eyes*

So I go to bed and I’m lying there on my back and I can’t get comfortable. I decide to try sleeping on my stomach. And that’s when it happened...

My biggest fear is home invasion. I’m terrified that someone is going to get into my house and murder me. This fear is magnified by a zillion when I’m alone. I’m completely rational throughout the evening. I eat dinner, watch tv, read a book. Whatever. I’m not scared at all. And then I go to bed and blam! Petrified. I’m convinced a psycho killer has snuck into my house while I was at work and has been hiding in my closet or under my bed or in my shower the whole time I’ve been there. And now he’s waiting for me to fall asleep so he can murder me with a knife from my very own kitchen. Or with the fireplace poker from my very own fireplace. Or with the hitachi magic wand vibrator from my very own sex toy drawer. The murder weapon is always something we own. Because serial killers love irony. Apparently.

But for some reason, none of the usual fears were running through my head last night. Everything was quiet and I was in a comfortable sleeping position. Lying on stomach, one arm under the pillow…so comfy. I was almost asleep when I felt a pinch on my arm.

Ouch.

I ignore it. Until I feel it again, only more painful this time.

Damn, what is that? OMG, maybe it’s a spider!

I jump up and turn on the light. I turn my pillow over several times and find nothing. Then I just stare at my bed for awhile, waiting for the spider to come out. Nothing. I reach over and grab my glasses and when I turn back to the bed, I see it.

A june bug. Crawling across my bed towards me. Much screaming and flailing of arms. I am completely grossed out. A june bug was under my pillow.

How the fuck did it get under there??? OMG, I bet the serial killer totally put it there to distract me and he is totally creeping up behind me right now to strangle me with a wire hanger from my very own closet!

It's a testament to my crazy brain that I was able to turn one june bug into a murder weapon. Of course there wasn’t a serial killer behind me. But the june bug was still there. So I had to kill it with my sex toy catalog and then I switched pillows just in case the other one was infested with june bugs because duh, of course it was and then I laid in bed wide awake for an hour because I was all itchy and convinced that the june bug had laid eggs in my arm and now I was a host for millions of baby june bugs and OMG it’s totally going to be like that one guy that had a headache and he went to the doctor and the doctor found hundreds of maggots in his ear!

Yeah.

The serial killer thing isn’t nearly as scary as june bug larvae growing in my body.

p.s. I texted Captain Carl this morning to tell him about what happened and I was all “a june bug was under my pillow last night and it bit me.” and he was all “june bugs don’t bite.” and I was all “Then it pinched me. Or laid eggs in my arm. Whatever it did, it was gross.” and he was all “heh heh” and I was all “It was traumatic, shut up!” and he was all “Was it right side only june bugs?’ and then I died from loving him so much. That man is sooo my soul mate.

Ode To Renty

2011-04-12T12:13:00.004-05:00

Our long time renter, Renty (I’m a genius at making up names for people), has moved out. He lived with us for almost two years. Long enough for him to feel like a permanent fixture in our home. I was beginning to think he would never move out. He’d be like our kid who drops out of college and works part-time at GameStop and spends the rest of his time in his room playing World of Warcraft and smoking weed while we ask him on a daily basis when he’s going to “make something of himself”.

I had a love/hate relationship with Renty. He didn’t know that, though. I think. I hope. Because Renty is a nice guy and the hate part of our relationship came only from me on account of how I resented the necessity of having a renter live with us. Like my very astute 19 year old son said to me a few months ago, “It wouldn’t matter if he was perfect, you would still hate him just because he’s here.” Smart boy, that one. I really hope he doesn’t drop out of college.

I stopped blogging about Renty because I got paranoid that he had discovered my blog. I wasn’t always nice when I blogged about him, so I quit when I suspected he might have caught on. Which is really too bad because there are just so many stories. But we had a good thing going with Renty, so I kept him off the blog after awhile.

And then? Renty had a blind date on New Year’s Eve. And the next day, he asked me if I wanted to see a photo of his girlfriend on his phone and I was all “You have a girlfriend?” and he was all “Yeah, the girl I went out with last night.” and I was all *blink* and he was all “Yeah, she’s a psychic.” and I was all “Excuse me?” and he was all “She has a website and everything.” and I was all Oh please please please tell me the website in my head and he was all “Here, I’ll show you.” and I was so happy that I died.

No, I won’t link the website here. I wish I could because awesome. You'll just have to trust me.

Two months later, they are engaged and moving into a new place together. And tomorrow they are getting married. I swear I’m not making this up.

So now that he’s moved out and moved on to what I am sure is going to be a wildly successful marriage, I decided that today would be a tribute of sorts to Renty. If you’ve read these posts before, enjoy a trip with me down memory lane. And if this is your first time reading them, get ready for a good laugh.

The one where Renty makes out with my cat.

The one where Renty robs the cradle.

The one with Renty and the hairball.

The one where Renty keeps it real.

The one where Renty restores my Christmas spirit.

The one with Renty and his cheeseburger.

The one where Renty buys a drum set. Kind of.

The one where Renty wins at trivia.

Oh Renty, we will miss you and your superman boxers and your joker smile. Don't forget about us now that you're a big shot married guy. Tell your psychic wife to watch her back. She messes with you, she gets me and The Claw.

I Have My Very Own Shoe Song. Whatever That Means.

2011-04-08T10:15:00.006-05:00

I got my haircut. It’s cute and short and blah blah blah no one really cares about my hair except me. Which is fine because this post is not about my super awesome fabulous that you are totally jealous of hair. It is about shoes. And boobies.

Okay, it’s not about boobies at all. I only said that to keep hope alive for the men who read my blog and got all glassy eyed when they read the word “shoes”.

This is about one specific pair of shoes, actually. They are green and lovely and what I’ve always wanted ever since I saw them two days ago.

See, I arrived early to get my haircut and so I decided to waste some time in the cheap shoe store next door. You know the place. Rhymes with “Gayless Moo Spore”. No one likes to admit they shop there. And I totally do not shop there ever because I like classy, expensive shoes that don’t fall apart after wearing them three times.

Okay fine, half of my shoes are from this place. Whatever. Shut up. You don’t know me! You don’t know my life!

Anyway, so I go in and anyone who’s ever shopped at this place knows that no one is going to bother you while you are browsing on account of it being the Wal-Mart of shoes. Self-serve only, don’t even try to get some help because the lady who works there is only there to restock and man the cash register and so does not care about you and your bunion issues.

Except when I went in, an employee was waiting for me. She pounced like a used car salesman. She was all “Hello! Welcome! What can I help you find today? “ only she was from one of the Caribbean islands or something and had a really thick accent and I was totally confused and thought maybe I had walked into a real shoe store so I just kind of stared at her and mumbled “Oh ummm, I’m ummmm, just browsing.” and started walking away.

Well she was having none of that. No ma’am. She followed me and was all “What ees your size, ma dear?”, so I told her and she was all “Let meh show you our latest styles, eh?” and I was all “okay” and she was all pointing out stuff and I was getting kind of annoyed because seriously? all this for cheap ass shoes, lady?

And then I saw them. The green shoes. “oooooh!!” I squealed. I couldn’t help it. As soon as it was out of my mouth, I knew I was in trouble.

She was all “Oh you like dis one?” and I was all “It’s okay, I guess.” and she was all “Try dem on!” and I was all “I’m just going to look over here for awhile”. And finally she left me alone. For about 2 minutes. Long enough for me to have made me way to the back of the store.

And then I saw wild movement out of the corner of my eye.

“Look! I am dancing for you!”

Sure as shit, she was dancing. Down the aisle towards me.

“Dis ees your shoe dance! I am dancing eet for you!” *hip sway* *finger snaps*

I was so happy, y’all. Because who has this happen to them? No one, that’s who. This woman had me cornered in the back of a discount shoe store doing some kind of weird thing with her body that vaguely resembled dance moves. This just turned into my best shoe shopping experience ever.

Once she reached me, she grabbed my hand and was all “So you like de green ones, eh?” and I was all “Actually, they are a little small for me.” and she was all “I find you bigger pair.” and I was all “Ahhh, no it’s okay. Really.” and she was all “No no no, I find dem!” and I was all “I actually have to leave for a haircut soooo…” and she was all “Follow me! We dance to de front and I check de computah!”

So.

We danced to the front of the store. Naturally.

Or I should say she danced and I swung my arms back and forth in a vaguely rhythmic motion. And when she looked back at me, she was all “Dat’s right! You do de shoe dance too!” and I was all "Hells yeah I do!" and she was all "Oh, I like dis girl. She make crazy robot dance arms!"

Turns out she didn’t have a bigger size, so I left and she was all “Okay den, you come back when you ready for your next shoe dance!”. I was kind of sad that she didn’t have them, because just imagine what kind of dance she would have done if I had bought something. Such a missed opportunity.

And then I found the shoes in my size on their website and they were totally on sale and I totally had a coupon and I totally ordered them and had them shipped to the shoe dance lady’s store.

I can’t wait to pick them up. I’ve been practicing my finger snaps all week. Cutest.Cheap. Ass. Shoes. Ever.

p.s. Go read my post on Sprocket Ink this afternoon! It’s about a 4 year old who whines and cries and becomes a governor. I’m not even making this up.

It Had To Be You, Harry. And Me. You And Me. And Possibly George Clooney, If You're Into That Type Of Thing.

2011-03-30T12:16:00.005-05:00

I was miserably sick last week. A bad week to be ill because Friday was the Harry Connick Jr. concert. I was sick enough to miss three days of work, so my chances of attending the concert were looking pretty bad for awhile.

Monday Hmmmm, I feel pretty crummy. My throat is so sore. Lucky I have the whole week to get better before the concert.

Tuesday Blech, I feel worse today. Good thing I went to the doctor and got anitbiotics. I'll be fine by Friday.

Wednesday Okay, still feel like shit. Don't panic. Power through, lady. Don't let Captain Carl see how sick you are...he'll make you stay home from the concert.

Thursday Damn it! Why am I still sick?? The concert is tomorrow. TOMORROW. I. Will. Not. Miss.

Friday morning Seriously? Seriously with the coughing and the phlegm and nastiness? OMG, I might not make it to the concert. No, wait. I'll call the doctor...

Friday afternoon Okay, I managed to convince the doctor to give me a steroid shot on account of my "family reunion" that I couldn't miss tonight. Feeling better. Actually, feeling pretty awesome right now. A little jumpy. Can't feel my left leg from the knee down for some reason. Eyes are on fire. Don't care. This concert is sooooo happening!

And so I convinced Captain Carl late on Friday afternoon that the steroid shot had done the trick, I was miraculously better in a short period of time and he agreed to take me to see my Harry.

I. Was. So. Many. Happies.

And a bit loopy from the steroids and cold medicine, apparently. Because I insisted on making a video in the car on the way to the concert.

I love how the Captain plays along with my stupid ideas. He's the bread to my butter. The stick to my stamp. The fallopian tube to my ovary. Or whatever.

So we get to the concert (late, as usual) and we walk in the back and I can see Harry on the big screen and I can hear him singing and I get all jumpy and clappy and start yelling things like "Harrrrry!" and "Wooooo hoooo!" and "It's okay, I'm here now!!" while Captain Carl drags me to our row.

And as we climb over 15 people to get to our seats, I ask each of them "How long has he been singing? Did I miss much?" and they all just glared at me except one lady who answered with "This is his first song" and I totally stopped right there and hugged her and yelled in her ear "I'm so excited, aren't you???!!! OMG, our boobs totally just touched!". Then the Captain pushed me into my chair and I promptly whipped out my phone and started videotaping. For exactly 21 seconds. That was how long it took the Captain to tell me I was blocking the view of the people behind me.

So then I just tried to take pictures, but the lady in front of me turned around and was all "Hey, they said you can't take pictures" and I was all "Oh yeah? Well, I'll have you know that Harry is family (pretend husband, remember?) so it's okay" and she was all "I'm going to get security", so I was all rolling my sleeves up about to throw down with this bitch until Captain Carl told me to knock it off. So instead I was all "Look, I'm sorry lady. It's the steroids talking" and she was all *blank stare* and I was all "Harrrry!!!! I love youuuuu!!!".

So that's why I don't have any pictures. But here's the video.

21 seconds of pure heaven. Even if he's out of focus. Totally worth the 48 hours of fever and and hacking cough and startlingly large amounts of mucus that followed afterwards.

I'm Sick. And Vlogging. I Don't Know, It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time.

2011-03-25T08:04:00.001-05:00

So I've been sick all week. I'm a phlegm machine at this point. And Captain Carl was out of town until late last night, so I've been spending my time sleeping, walking around like a zombie and feeling sorry for myself. And after I took a slight overdose of cough syrup last night, I decided it was a great time to do my first vlog and post it on YouTube.

Yeah.

And I could have just deleted the video off YouTube this morning when I came to my senses. But you know what? Fuck it. I had nothing else to blog about this week on account of all the coughing and snot. So I'm just going with it.

I promise the next vlog will be better.

Maybe.

Probably not.

p.s. Don't forget to go visit my home away from home, Sprocket Ink. I'm posting later today about American Idol and ghosts. I know what you are thinking and the answer is no, my writing talents truly have no limits.

Captain Carl Kicked That 5K's Ass. Also, I Am A Great Wife. Or Not.

2011-03-21T14:39:00.005-05:00

A lot of you have been asking about how Captain Carl is doing with his 5k race training. I've been on his ass to update his blog, which I'm not even linking here because he still hasn't done it and I'm sorry but no update, no linky, dude.

But I will give you guys the update. Because I love you. And because I'm a good blogger, Captain Carl.

So a couple weekends ago, he ran his very first 5k. He had hurt his knee the week before playing tennis and I wasn't sure he should be running. But he was determined to do it.

He was also extremely nervous. His biggest fear was that he would come in dead last. And it was, quite honestly, a very real possibility. Because even though he has lost a bunch of weight (30 lbs..holla!) and was running three days a week, he is still a big guy with a long road ahead of him.

Because I am a great wife (see post title above), I told him he totally would not come in last but it wouldn't even matter if he did because the important thing was that he did it at all. This is a man who a year ago could barely walk a mile without getting tired. This was a huge accomplishment!

So race day came and of course, it was freezing cold outside. And windy. And the Captain's whole family came to cheer for him and his brother, who was also running his first 5k. Which actually made him much more nervous. He didn't want to come in last in front of everyone he loves.

And y'all. He did it. He ran that motherfucker. And he. did. not. come. in. last. As a matter of fact, he finished just barely above his best time ever. I was so proud of him. I even cried a little as I took his picture crossing the finish line.

So he finished and his lips are all white because both of us forgot to bring his inhaler (did I mention he has asthma?) and I ask him if he's okay and he's all "I'm just trying not to vomit" and because I am a great wife (see post title above again), I'm all "Okay well if you're gonna puke, warn me so it doesn't get on my shoes" and he's all *wheeze* and I'm all "I'm glad that's over. It was so hard standing out here in the cold for 50 minutes waiting for you to finish!" and he's all *glare* and I'm all "What?" and he's all *glare* and I'm all "Oh. But I mean...of course it wasn't as hard as what you just did." and he's all *gagging noises* and I'm all "Ummm, I brought you a bottled water...see? Could we, ummm, maybe go inside? My nose is running.".

You are my hero, Captain Carl. For reals.

p.s. My latest post is up over at Sprocket Ink. It's a review of a scary movie that was only scary to me. Also, it's two years old.

*sigh*

I suck at self-promotion.

The Best Place To Get Your Snark On

2011-03-14T13:29:00.003-05:00

Big news, people.

I went running yesterday and made it a whole half mile without stopping. Then I went home and ate a bowl of ice cream. You know. For sustenance.

*pats self on back*

But wait, I have even bigger news than that.

Sprocket Ink, an awesomely kick-ass new website dedicated to all things snarky, has launched today. And I'm writing there.

You: No way!
Me: Way.

My first post is up and I'm super nervous about it because for some reason I chose to write about Britney Spears. I just....I mean...I don't know why. It just sort of...happened. But I promise, the website is super cool. I mean, they are letting me use all the swears, y'all.

And all the other writers at Sprocket Ink are amazing. This is a very talented bunch of bloggers I'm talking about here, and I am so honored to be a part of this group. So please go check it out and leave some comment love.

Sprocket Ink

Delicious Snack or Vicious Weapon? You Decide.

2011-03-09T12:43:00.006-06:00

I dare any fruit to challenge the perfection that is the frozen grape.

If you know not of which I speak, then for the love of all that is good and holy…get thee to thine grocery store! And then doth thou shall put thy produce that shall be named “the grrrrape” (rolling r’s) into thy freezer and then thou shall waiteth three or four hours for thy luscious frrrruit (more rolling r’s) to enter thy perfect state of frozen.

Don’t ask where that sentence came from. It’s a dark, scary place…my brain is.

So yeah. Grapes are a pretty awesome fruit. They are small and cute and easy to eat as long as you don’t get the ones with seeds. Seeded grapes are like the dirty, worm-farm cousins of the seedless grape. Don’t hang out with seeded grapes. They are bad news bears, my friends.

Grapes are not my favorite fruit. Watermelon ranks much higher, even though it’s messier and has seeds. Watermelon seeds are nothing like grape seeds, just to clarify. Not all seeds are bad. heh heh.

Also better than grapes are raspberries. Ooh, and kiwi!

Okay, this is turning into “Miss Yvonne lists her favorite fruits” and that would be so boring to read.

So.

Back to grapes!

As I said, grapes are pretty awesome but I am about to kick shit up an Emeril notch right here by giving you the 7 steps to orgasmic grapes. Yes, there are a whole 7 steps. Seems excessive? Maybe. Shut up about it.

Step 1: Wash your grapes.
Step 2: Pluck grapes off the gross vine thingies.
Step 3: Put grapes in container.
Step 4: Put container in freezer.
Step 5: Wait.
Step 6: Eat frozen grapes.
Step 7: Have your mind blown.

Eating a frozen grape is like eating a teeny tiny round popcicle. And if you let them thaw about 20 minutes, it’s like eating a teeny tiny round slushy. Except it has vitamins and less calories. It’s perfect wrapped inside a chewy skin, is what I’m saying here.

Also, they hurt a real lot when someone “accidentally” whips one at the boss’s head as he’s walking by.

*ahem*

Just sayin’.

Somebody Please Remember To Tell the Cops To Check Between My Toes, Okay?

2011-03-07T12:14:00.004-06:00

I spent all afternoon yesterday watching the ID channel. Do y’all get this channel? You HAVE to watch it if you do. It’s pretty much nonstop true crime programming. God, I love true crime shows. Show me an episode of 48 Hours Mystery and I’ll show you a happy fat chick.

So I sat down on my couch at 11am and did not get up (except to pee and get more food and drink) until 5pm. Six hours of true crime television. SIX. HOURS. A fine way to waste away a Sunday, no?

Me: Ohmygod.
Captain Carl: *looking up from his laptop* What?
Me: I can’t believe this lady!
Captain Carl: What did she do?
Me: She poisoned her own husband with arsenic. And then she poisoned her second husband the same way and she still didn’t get caught.
Captain Carl: *squints at tv* She’s pretty hot.
Me: That’s not really her. That’s an actress playing her. She killed them in like the 50’s or something.
Captain Carl: I figured, since she’s wearing a poodle skirt.
Me: And then she totally killed her daughter with arsenic too! Her daughter! That’s when they finally caught her.
Captain Carl: Fascinating. *looks back at laptop*
Me: I mean, killing your own daughter…that’s pretty awful.
Captain Carl: Hmmm mmm. *type type type*
Me: *sly glance* But killing your husband? Now that would depend on the circumstances.
Captain Carl: *looks up* Excuse me?
Me: *innocent face* What?
Captain Carl: Are you trying to tell me something?
Me: No. I’m just saying…
Captain Carl: What are you just saying?
Me: Just that some husbands maybe deserve it.
Captain Carl: That’s funny, because I think the same thing about some wives.
Me: Oh really? *squinty eyes*
Captain Carl: Yeah.
Me: Oh really now? *more squinty eyes*
Captain Carl: *points at tv* This chick did it all wrong. She should have injected the poison between their toes.
Me: What? Why?
Captain Carl: It’s harder to find the needle marks there.
Me: *blink*
Captain Carl: *smile*
Me: How do you know that?
Captain Carl: *shrugs* I don’t know, I just do.
Me: Why would you need to know that information?
Captain Carl: You never know when certain kinds of information will come in handy.
Me: *stare*
Captain Carl: Just sayin’. *smile* Love you.
Me: Good thing I don’t have a really big life insurance policy right now, or I’d be really scared. *nervous laugh*
Captain Carl: Not any that you know of, anyway.
Me: *rapid blinking*
Captain Carl: Hey, remember when our dog got diabetes and we had to give her insulin injections and then she died and I asked you to keep the needles and you asked me why and I said that I might want to “use them someday for injecting stuff”?
Me: Ummm, yes?
Captain Carl: Where exactly did you put them again?

I never win our freak-out competitions. Damn it.

I'm So Deep Undercover, Even I Didn't Know I Was An Agent.

2011-03-01T13:05:00.005-06:00

I'm in my office with my partner, DZ. We're doing paperwork. Just another boring day as an FBI agent. So boring, in fact, that I can't help but stare blindly out my window at the lovely field of trees and what is that, wheat maybe? waving softly in the breeze. No, wait. It's sweet corn. Apparently the FBI headquarters are in the middle of rural Minnesota. Weird.

Anyway, so there I am, staring out the window, when I see a little child running up the dirt path to the building's front door. I guess budget cuts have hit so hard, the FBI can't afford concrete these days. The boy is holding a paper airplane over his head and pretending to fly it. He is smiling and laughing.

"Hey, look at that kid", I say to DZ.

"How did he get way out here?", she asks.

Suddenly, I see a dark shadow pass quickly over the field and the little boy. He stops running and freezes in place, staring at the sky. And then he disappears. Just disappears into thin air.

"What the hell?", I yell.

"Where did he go?", DZ asks.

"Did you see that shadow?", I reply.

"What shadow?", DZ asks.

Damn that girl asks a lot of questions.

And so begins another FBI: Fringe Division case. Children are disappearing all over the country. First three, then five, then dozens are missing.

And every time one disappears, I see a shadow fly across the sky. Huge and dark.

No one else can see it. So I am put in charge of the case.

"We are connecting you to this brain reading machine thingy", says my boss.

"Every time you see that shadow, you tell me. Our computer program thingy will read your brain waves or whatever and pinpoint the location of the next disappearance before it happens."

"Wow, that's pretty fucking cool. I love technology", I reply. "Also, you're kind of hot in a weirdly intense and bald way."

And so we begin. And then something something I forget some of the details but the trail leads to some big mansion for some reason and then we're all inside it and I'm all talking to my partner, DZ, and then the shadow goes by and DZ disappears and I'm all "DZ!!! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!" all dramatically.

And then this shit gets really intense, y'all. I look up at the ceiling and all the children that disappeared are floating down from the sky and into the house. But it's only their bodies...I can see that their minds are gone. And then I hear a noise behind me and I turn around and standing there is an alien!

"ALIENS!! IT WAS ALIENS!!! I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!"

And then I'm sitting on an air mattress. It is dark, but I can tell I'm in my parent's family room in Arizona. Captain Carl is sleeping next to me. I look around wildingly and see a red light flashing through the window in the door leading into the hallway.

I run through the door and into the hallway, where my dad is just coming out of the bathroom dressed only in his boxers.

Dad: What's wrong?

Me: What?

Dad: What?

Me: Huh?

Dad: What?

Me: Do you have your hearing aid in, Dad?

Dad: What?

Me: *yelling* Did you see the alien?

Dad: Alien?

Me: Yes, did you see it?

Dad: *blink*

Me: Where is that flashing red light coming from?

Dad: Flashing light?

Me: *grabbing his shoulder* Dad! There is a flashing red light in here!

Dad: Are you sleep walking?

Me: What? No! I saw a flashing red light!

Dad: Oh, it's probably the smoke detector. It does that sometimes.

Me: Smoke detector? I feel dizzy. Maybe it's carbon dioxide!

Dad: What?

Me: *yelling into his good ear* Carbon! Dioxide!

Dad: You mean carbon monoxide poisoning?

Me: No! Yes! Whatever! We have to get Mom and The Captain out!

Dad: *laughing* That must have been some dream.

Me: What? Dream? *looking around* Right. I was dreaming. Okay, that explains it.

Dad: Go back to bed.

Me: Damn. I was such a kick ass FBI agent too.

And that is exactly why you should never drink margaritas 5 days in a row on vacation.

I'm In Arizona. And I'm Watching The Bachelor. I'm Not Sure How That Happened.

2011-02-21T21:34:00.006-06:00

Guess who's on vacation, bitches?

So I'm in Arizona visiting my parents. This has become an annual thing for me. I came out here last year and it was awesome and super cool and very drunky. But Captain Carl could not come with me because we couldn't afford it. I didn't want to come back without him this year, so we made it happen. Even though we are about 10 seconds away from being in the poor house at all times.

And so we are here and we're all driving around in the mountains and going on hikes and hanging out in the hot tub and playing tennis and things are going great and then bam! my mom turns on The Bachelor and I'm all "I hate this show!" and she's all "I love this show!" and I'm all "Blech, gross! Wait, why didn't he keep the mortician lady?" and then my high school boyfriend's mother (who is also my mother's good friend) showed up and now I'm drunk on vodka sprites.

It's been a weird day.

God, I love vacations.

How My Husband Locked In Sexual Favors For The Next Month

2011-02-14T12:30:00.008-06:00

He bought me this for Valentine’s Day:

He bought me Harry, y’all.

Tickets to see Harry, just to be clear. But still, buying me a seat to be in the same room as Harry pretty much guarantees that he will get lucky many times over both leading up to and for several days after the concert. All he has to do now is smile indulgently when I squeal "ohmygod Harry!" every 10 minutes and pretend that he doesn't hear me ask my sister if she thinks it would be pretentious to name our baby Doctor Jazz Connick Jr. and he's got it made.

The concert is at the end of March, so I need to get busy planning the outfit I’ll be wearing when Harry falls in love with me. I'm thinking something eye catching. Are tube tops still in style? And do they make them with flashing heart headlights, or will I need to customize one myself?

I’ve already started my letter to let him know I’ll be there, so he knows to get ready to start falling in love soon. I'm sure he'll be totally excited and not at all wanting to take out another restraining order against me. I mean, one is really enough to get the point across that you like to play hard to get, Harry.

Such a tease, that one.

I may even make a sign to hold up. I’m thinking maybe something like this:

I think the rainbow colors make it seem more festive and not all creepy.

I'm Late. Go Buy Yourself A Vibrator & Get Over It Already.

2011-02-04T22:22:00.011-06:00

Okay, so I was supposed to announce my giveaway winner for the $50 gift certificate at EdenFantasys at 6pm today.

I forgot.

What? I'm sorry, okay? I took a nap at 4pm and then I woke up at 6:30pm and then I had dinner and then I had about 3 glasses of wine and then I was sitting on the couch watching the news and blah blah blah Super Bowl blah blah blah ohmygod that is totally Terry from Reno 911 and he's wearing a Vikings t-shirt and now I love him even more and blah blah blah holy shit I forgot to do my giveaway.

So ummm, yeah. Giveaway time! Hurray! Only 4.5 hours late! No big deal! Whatever! Shut up!

The randomly picked lucky winner of the EdenFantasys $50 gift certificate is:

Sarah P at Naked Cupcakes!

Sarah said she was going to buy a double labia buzzer with her gift certificate, so look forward to her post about that. It should be very stimulating. Ha! See what I did there? I'm hilarious.

Congratulations Sarah, you lucky little so-and-so. And thanks to everyone for entering the giveaway. Sorry you didn't win, but in every giveaway there must be a few losers and you people are it this time. Get over it already. Geesh. And special thanks to EdenFantasys for sponsoring the giveaway and for making all our sexy time dreams come true.

And now, I leave you with the best photo of me without any makeup on ever taken in the history of ever. Taken today, in the winter wonderland that is Dallas. Because when you think of snow, you think north Texas.

God, I'm adorable.

I Wish I Could Blame This On Being Drunk, But I Do It When I'm Sober Too

2011-02-02T12:28:00.006-06:00

I just won three 2011 Boomerang awards over at Studio30+. THREE! I won funniest blogger, best blog title and best female blog. I feel a little guilty on account of me bribing y'all with sex toys for votes, but not enough to give the awards to someone else. Hell no! I'm flaunting those babies all over this motherfucker. Thanks to everyone who voted for me. I hope you win the sex toy giveaway, or at least have some sex or something to make you feel like it was worth your vote.

So we played tennis last weekend with Mailman Mike and his girlfriend. Then we decided to get drunk and sing karaoke, because of course we did. Captain Carl and I did a very special version of the best Earth Wind & Fire song ever made. And since we were still wearing our tennis gear and already sweaty from working out, I decided to bust out some of my sweet dance moves too.

And now I've decided to share that moment with y'all. Consider it my acceptance speech for my Boomerang awards.

Boom. Talent explosion. Right here.

p.s. I don't know how to fix this so it doesn't cut off the right side of the video. It's not like I'm married to a web designer or anything. Oh wait, I am married to a web designer. Meh. Whatever.

p.p.s. Don't forget to enter my EdenFantasys giveaway. It ends on Friday at 6pm and I'm gonna be pissed if I don't get more entries because I spent like, 5 hours reading the kinky stories on their website in preparation for this and shut up, it was totally for research purposes only because I like to be thoroughly informed for my blog giveaways.

I'm Talking Sexy Talk In Here. I'm Also Talking Giveaway. And Laser Cats! Pew Pew! Also, One Of These Things Is Not True.

2011-01-28T22:10:00.000-06:00

First of all, if you were hoping that I would be talking about laser cats in this post, you are about to be sorely disappointed, my sad sad friend.

Okay, so Valentine's Day is coming up soon. Women everywhere are fantasizing about what amazing presents they will get from their significant other. And men are...well, they aren't thinking about it at all and let's face it, they won't until maybe February 13 if you're lucky.

Because I'm a woman (hells yeah I am! *sensual self boob honk*), my thoughts have already gone to the place where even the most strong of men fear to tread. That's right, romance town. Oh, how I love romance town. It's that magical place where ladies come home from work to find a trail of rose petals to the bedroom, where their men are waiting with a bubble bath, candles, champagne and a ready-for-cunnilingus face and maybe there are some flowers there and rainbows with unicorns frolicking under them. Also, all the men are George Clooney.

But ladies, let's get real here. How can we expect our men to go all out in the romance department when a) they aren't built to remember to do shit like that and b) we don't usually reciprocate. And by "reciprocate", I mean "give up that kinky, hot, stinky sex they really really like but you only want to do every so often because that position makes your stomach all squishy and sometimes makes you fart for some reason, which is weird because who knew The Reverse Mambo would have that effect? "

And this is where my good friends at EdenFantasys come in. Pay attention. Go to this website. Go there now. Buy something sexy to wear, or something kinky to watch, or something penis-shaped to put in your box. Ha, that kind of rhymed. Watch and box. I'm awesome.

Seriously though, every relationship (especially long-term ones) can use a little spicing up. Don't feel comfortable with a dildo? Then maybe try a sexy outfit instead. Or order an erotic book and read to each other. And if you're single? Oh damn girl, please do yourself a favor and order a vibrator and then use it on Valentine's Day while watching George Clooney in that movie with the two chicks and he's on an airplane a lot and I think maybe he sleeps with one of the chicks or something? and then you can be all "I don't need no stinking man except to maybe open a pickle jar once in awhile and even then not really because I hate pickles!".

It'll be awesome, is what I'm saying.

Here's the other cool thing about EdenFantasys. They have this online community with reviews, forums and my favorite, Sexis, where you can find great articles about all kinds of sexy sex stuff and funny sex stuff and you get the idea. Plus The Bloggess writes there, so you know it has to be kick ass.

Just go over there and check it out, okay? Because something awesome is happening right here and you need to be familiar with their products...just in case you win.

That's right, I'm having a SEX TOY GIVEAWAY. Just like I promised. EdenFantasys has generously offered a $50 gift certificate to be used at their website for one winner here at Yo-Mama's Blog. Okay, so it isn't specifically a sex toy giveaway...I'm just assuming that is what you will pick to order with your gift certificate because that is exactly what I would do. And the giveaway isn't just for my sexy lady readers. I'm an equal opportunity sex toy giveaway-er, so you dudes hanging around here for the sensual boob honks should enter too.

Anyway, here's what you have to do to be eligible to win:

Leave a comment here with the item you would buy at EdenFantasys if you win.
Become a follower of Yo-Mama's Blog, if you aren't already.

To get a bonus entry, you can do one or both of the following:

Mention my giveaway in a post on your own blog with a link to this post.
Tweet about my giveaway with a link to this post.

Please let me know in the comments or via email if you have done one or both of the above for extra entries.

That's it. One winner will be chosen at random on Friday, February 4, to win the $50 EdenFantasys gift certificate.

Good luck, bitches!

Rockin' Out, Lawrence Welk Style

2011-01-25T19:42:00.003-06:00

We went out last weekend. We went to a basketball game. After the game we didn't go home and put on our pajamas, but instead went to a bar. And stayed there until 11:30pm. Because we can still party hardcore, yo.

If I Win, You Will Get Sex Toys

2011-01-18T11:39:00.004-06:00

Remember how when you were in high school and you really wanted to be part of the popular group, so you started dressing like them and doing your hair like them and following their group through the hallways between classes, inching closer and closer every day and laughing every time they laughed even though you couldn't hear what they were talking about? And then you started dating the best friend of the most popular girl's boyfriend so that you pretty much had to be admitted into the group via tongue kissing and bad hand jobs? And then Homecoming week came and you prayed to baby Jesus that you would just get nominated for queen, because you knew Heidi was totally going to win no matter what but if you could just get a nomination your popularity would completely sky rocket and ohmygod what if I get nominated and give people things in exchange for their votes, like maybe candy bars and condoms and then I end up winning????? So then you have your plan in place to completely usurp Heidi and you're all jumpy and clappy during the pep rally where they announce the nominees for homecoming queen and guess what? You didn't even get nominated. And while you are standing there pretending not to care and totally not crying, you see all the truly popular girls that got nominated giving you the "you'll never really fit in so why bother trying" face?

Remember that? No? Just me then?

Well whatever. Because here I am again, desperately trying to get into the cool people club. Only this time it involves bloggers, not bitchy high school girls or bad hand jobs. Or ummm, any kind of hand jobs...which is kind of too bad because I got really good at that. You know, in case you were wondering. Which I'm sure you are totally not, because why would you wonder about that? Seriously, you people need help.

Anyway, what I'm trying to tell you is that I totally got nominated for something way more awesome than homecoming queen. Suck it, Heidi.

Voting has started for the 2011 Boomerang Awards at Studio30+. I'm up for a few and since I'm desperate for your love and acceptance and also since I learned my lesson in high school, I am bribing you for votes.

*ahem*

VOTE FOR ME AND IN RETURN, I PROMISE TO DO A SEX TOY GIVEAWAY.

ta-da!

Of course, I can't really verify if you actual vote for me or not, but I'm counting on the honor system. And fine, I am doing this giveaway whether you vote for me or not because I feel a little bad about bribing people for votes because it kind of tarnishes the validity of anything I might win. Just like the time my office voted for employee of the month once and I gave everyone lollipops that had little flags attached to the stick that said "Vote for Miss Yvonne" and then I totally won which was awesome but also kind of pathetic. But shut up about it, because I'm making this my campaign platform.

That's right. A sex toys for votes platform. Because I'm a genius.

So go here and vote for me. Or for whoever you like better than me, as long as they aren't named Heidi because I can't take that kind of rejection twice in a lifetime.

And then? SEX. TOY. GIVEAWAY.

This is totally happening.

French Toast Wishes & Honey Bunches Of Oats Dreams

2011-01-11T12:18:00.007-06:00

Today is my birthday. I turned 37 years old. And I am broke. And have a job I don't really like. And there is a man who is currently dating a psychic that is renting one of my bedrooms. Also I'm fat.

Hooray! My life is awesome!

*sings theme from Mary Tyler Moore Show*

*throws hat in the air*

*does armpit fart*

I really am in a good mood today though, despite all that shit I listed up there. You know why? Because it is only 12:30pm and I've already got like 28 happy birthday messages on facebook. Yes! Thank you facebook for validating my birth!

I'm also in a good mood because I planned a surprise birthday party for Captain Carl last Saturday night and I totally pulled it off. And it totally made him all happy faced, so now I can hold that over his head the rest of the year every time he doesn't do what I want.

Captain Carl asked me where I wanted him to take me for my birthday dinner tonight. I told him I didn't want to go out.

Him: Are you sure? I'll take you wherever you want.

Me: Nah, I'd rather just come home from work and be at home in my pj's.

Him: Okay well, what do you want me to cook for you then?

Me: Hmmmm....

Him: Whatever you want.

Me: I want french toast.

Him: French toast?

Me: Yes.

Him: You want french toast for your birthday dinner?

Me: Yes.

Him: Are you being serious?

Me: Yes. Ohmygod I looooovvvveee french toast. So hard.

Him: Okay, french toast it is.

Me: And bacon!

Him: Okay, so breakfast for dinner.

Ohmygod, I love breakfast for dinner, y'all. The only thing I eat when Captain Carl is out of town for work is cereal and peanut butter toast. Case in point, this conversation literally just took place over the phone.

Him: Hey birthday girl.

Me: Hi! It is sooo totally my birthday today.

Him: So I'm on my way to the store to get the stuff for your french toast. Do you need me to pick up anything for the rest of the week since I will be out of town?

Me: Oh yeah, hmmm let me think...

Him: What do you want to cook while I'm gone?

Me: Just get me some cereal and milk.

Him: *brief silence* What?

Me: That's all I eat when you are gone.

Him: Are you a college student or something?

Me: I can't cook, I love breakfast for dinner. Done deal.

Him: Okay, what kind of cereal?

Me: Honey Bunches of Oats.

Him: At least you didn't say Fruit Loops or Cookie Crisp.

Me: Oooh, Cookie Crisp!

Him: You are a college student.

Me: Your mom's a college student. So the girls at work took me out for a birthday lunch.

Him: That's nice.

Me: Yeah. I was a little worried that you were going to show up while I was gone to surprise me for lunch.

Him: I thought about it but wasn't sure what your plans were.

Me: And then I thought you'd probably just send me surprise flowers instead. Right??

Him: I was going to, but then I didn't because I knew you'd understand.

Me: Understand what?

Him: That I'm not gonna.

I'm trying really hard to be mad at him, but I keep thinking about that french toast he's making later and I just can't do it.

My birthday portrait. Only my bangs and glasses wanted to be in it.

Captain Carl Karaokes His Way Over The Hill

2011-01-07T11:07:00.001-06:00

Today is Captain Carl's 40th birthday. Hurrah!

I asked him what he wanted to do to celebrate because this is a big birthday and he was all "Nothing" and I was all "Come on, there's got to be something you'd like to do" and he was all "Nothing" and I was all "Look, it's going down like this see. We are doing something to celebrate the fact that you will never ever have another day in your life in which you are less than 40 years old. We are totally celebrating" and he was all "Screw you" and I'm all "Yes of course we'll do that, but what else?" and he was all "Nothing" and I was all "Not an option" and he was all "Okay, maybe go out to eat then" and I was all "Awesome! Great! We are totally going out to eat! We are eating the shit out of dinner on your birthday! We are gonna eat out so hard! We're gonna bend over eating out and take it to brown town!" and right about then he stopped talking to me.

Captain Carl doesn't really enjoy his birthdays. I knew this one was gonna be a bit rough. So I'm doing the only thing a loving and sensitive wife can do in this situation...

I posted a video of him singing the karaoke version of Blue Christmas on youtube. You know, as his birthday present?

*ahem*

You're welcome, honey. Happy Birthday!

UPDATE: I realize the video isn't in sync with the sound...I have no idea why that happened. Just go with it.

Why Can’t My Office Ever Get A Dead Body?

2011-01-05T15:17:00.005-06:00

Today a friend of mine posted this status on her Facebook wall:

OMG, there is a car that has been parked outside my office for 3 days and today the police came because there is a dead body in the trunk!

So I got all clappy and jumpy and quickly fired off a comment:

Oh man, I wish something exciting like that would happen at my office. We NEVER get dead bodies!

Then I read all the other comments people had left. And they were all “OMG I’m so sorry!” and “That is terrible!” and “Are you okay?”. And my friend had responded back with “Yes, it was very scary. I started crying when the cops told us it was a woman. I feel so bad for whoever she is.”

And then there was my comment right below her last one.

Yeah.

I really wish I had read the other comments before I posted mine.

But that was really what popped into my head when I read her status. I admit it, I love drama. As long as it isn’t my own drama. I hate my drama. But other people’s drama? Awesome. Fascinating. Especially if it is a complete stranger’s drama.

Now don’t misunderstand me here…it is a terrible thing that happened to that dead-in-a-trunk woman, whoever she is. No one should have that happen to them. Unless they are a pedophile. Or a mass murderer. Or a creepy clown because eeww. So please don’t send me hate emails or leave comments here about what a terrible person I am. I already know that I’m a terrible person. That’s not news, people. That's why I never win the lottery. I just get so excited when something out of the ordinary happens during a typical day. It’s like all sense of reason and propriety fly out the window and I become a raging mob of one. I can’t look away, even if it might put me in danger.

One day at my old job, I was staring out the window avoiding my work when a bunch of police cars pulled up at the far end of the parking lot. And right behind them were two fire trucks.

My mouth fell open and my heart began to beat faster.

One of the police officers jumped out of his car and ran to the trunk, where he pulled out some kind of full-body protective suit.

I stood up. Something awesomely bad was about to go down.

The police officer hurriedly dressed himself in the suit while two others began putting together what looked to be a remote control car, only bigger. More like a remote control tank with a long reachy thingy on it. I looked out past the emergency vehicles and noticed a small cooler sitting in the grass on the median between the lanes going in and out of the parking lot.

Oh. My. God. That’s one of those things that they use to find bombs. That cop is putting on a bomb suit. THERE IS A BOMB IN THAT COOLER!

At this point I am jumping up and down and yelling out fragmented sentences like “Bomb!” and “Hey, outside!” and “Guys, seriously!”.

Finally other people begin to notice what was happening and slowly my window and the others around me filled up with gawkers. Everyone was just as excited as me. For a couple minutes.

And then they all started to panic.

“Shouldn’t we be leaving the building?”
“Why haven’t they told us to evacuate?”
“Do you think it’s really a bomb in there?”
“What if it explodes? Will it blow us up?”
“I need to call my husband!”
“Wait! We can get a better look from Ted’s office!”

That last one came from my mouth. Because I'm all about getting a good view when I'm about to get blown to pieces.

I ran down to Ted’s office and threw myself up against the glass so I wouldn’t miss a moment.

I was all “Can you believe this, Ted? I mean, this is amazing, right?? Who do you think put the bomb there? A disgruntled employee? A lover scorned? A creepy clown?” and Ted was all “Ummm, I’m gonna go, ahhh, to the other side of the building.” and then he disappeared.

I barely heard him. The remote control bomb tank had reached the cooler and was poking around it. Then the police officer in the bomb suit walked over, carefully picked the cooler up and carried it to the back of a white van that had pulled up a few minutes earlier. The cooler was placed inside, the doors were closed and the van drove off. The police officer took off his suit, stood around chatting with the other cops for a few minutes and then they all left as well.

That was it. Nothing. No explosion. No dramatic conclusion. They just drove off. And then I realized there weren’t even any reporters around. There was no bomb after all, apparently.

Well, shit.

I walked dejectedly back to my cubicle. It was all over and everyone else had already sat back down in front of their computers. I was really disappointed that I didn’t get to run screaming from the back of the building. I tried to keep the excitement up by saying things like "Can you believe that just happened?" and "Sooo scary, right?" and "Bombs. Crazy stuff, huh?" as I walked by my co-workers. None of them took the bait, they were totally over it. I went back to work a little more frowny than I had been before the fake bomb incident.

Fifteen minutes later, I noticed a shadow falling over my desk. I looked up. It was Ted.

“Could you please come clean off the hand prints and what appears to be a forehead mark from my office window?”

My life is so boring. If only there was a mass murdering, pedophilic creepy clown dead in a trunk outside my office. A girl can dream, right?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

P.S. Are you member of Studio30+ yet? If not, then get your ass over there and sign up already. Right now they're taking nominations for the 2011 Boomerang Awards. Don't ask what that is, just go over there and nominate me. Or, you know, another S30+ blogger that you like better. Whatever. I don't even care. *sniff*

Holy Shit, I'm Awesome: A Year In Review

2010-12-30T07:50:00.000-06:00

Another year of blogging has passed and we're about to move into a new one. Thank you Baby Jesus. I cannot wait to get 2010 over and done with. It's been a rough year for me in a lot of ways...I'm ready for a new one.

But before we ring in the new year, I need to wrap things up here with my annual Best of Yo Mama's Blog post. This year, the blog saw the Kiddo graduate from high school, go off to college and leave Captain Carl and me here all alone. With Renty. Always with Renty. Forever and ever with Renty. Til death do us part with Renty.

*ahem*

So here you go...my favorite blog post from each month of 2010. Enjoy, suckas.

JANUARY

The one where Captain Carl imaginary cheats on me with that bitch Shelly

FEBRUARY

The one where I write a kick ass and totally not gay valentine for the Kiddo's girlfriend

MARCH

The one where I sexually harass my way into a job

APRIL

The one where I hear my son having sex and completely lose my shit

MAY

The one where the Kiddo brings twat and nards into my house

JUNE

The one where Captain Carl goes crazy over right side bed bugs

JULY

The one where I show you the real me and it turns out I'm real awesome

AUGUST

The one where I get a naked and rubbed down

SEPTEMBER

The one where I buy wind chimes and a tractor

OCTOBER (I picked two from this month because I couldn't decide on a favorite)

NOVEMBER

The one where I don't have to cut off my arm at the IHOP

DECEMBER

The one where I consumed large amounts of alcohol and probably should have gotten fired

So that's it...my year in review. I blogged a total of 93 times in 2010. Much less than I did in 2009, mainly because 2010 was a crazy busy and emotionally exhausting year for me. I'm looking forward to a much more prosperous and peaceful 2011. But first? I'm getting my drink on tomorrow night. I predict a blog post in early January involving me, karaoke and a hangover.

Hey, thanks to everyone who became a new follower this year. And to all you loyal followers from before 2010, I salute you for hanging in there. I haven't made this easy for you. Here's to you, mo fo's!

Happy New Year from Yo Mama's house...we loves ya.

Here's To You, Blow Job Fans

2010-12-29T08:16:00.005-06:00

My mother-in-law is now reading my blog and has told me that I have "a really wonderful writing style". I think the title of this post proves she is indeed correct.

Some of you might think that I would start cleaning things up a little on the blog once Captain Carl's family started reading. You would be wrong, my friend. The wiener jokes will continue to fly fast and furious up in here. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.

Speaking of wieners, I am guest blogging over at Wait In The Van today as part of her "Twelve Bloggers of Christmas". I talk about blow jobs and rubbing my lady parts on Captain Carl's goatee. You know, your typical holiday stuff.

Go! Click Here! Read! Leave a Comment! Give someone a hand job! Whatever!

Tis The Season Fa La La La Or Whatever

2010-12-22T10:55:00.003-06:00

Three days until Christmas. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get this shit over with already. Okay, not really. I love this time of year. We had the Captain’s family Christmas last weekend and it was big awesomes. And I get both Fridays and Mondays this weekend and next weekend off from work, which is supercalifragilisticexpealifuckingtatstic.

But I do this really bad thing every year during the holidays that kind of make them sort of suck. I think about the future. I think about how after New Year’s weekend, I won’t have another paid holiday off until May. I think about the things that aren’t going so great in my life. I think about how we’re going to pay the property taxes next month. I think about if I should go along with Captain Carl and take in another renter, even though I hate them and it sucks, because having two renters like before means the mortgage is paid in full each month. I think about how the Kiddo has to get student loans and help pay his way through college because we can’t do it for him. I think about all the people who don’t have to sweat their finances and have no credit problems and can buy whatever they want for their kids at Christmas and then I think a little bit about undeservedly punching them in the face.

You get the idea. I’m a big Debbie Downer. I’m working on it. It’s a long process.

But hurray! Christmas!

We opened all our presents early because of course we did. Captain Carl got me the greatest gift of all, which was the perfume that I tore the ad out of the magazine for and held in front of his face while saying “This. Buy this. This one. This is what I want this year. THIS.”. You thought I was going to say something like “his eternal love” or some lame shit like that, didn’t you? Ha. Loser.

I got him a kick ass GPS for the jeepster and I was all “Do you like it? Do you really? I mean do you REALLY like it or are you just SAYING you like it? Are you sure? Because you can totally return it for something else if you want. No? You’re sure? Yes? Okay cool.” Because I suck at gift giving. I really do. All year long, I think of these really great ideas for birthday and Christmas presents. Then I promptly forget them and end up buying something the person won’t like and will never use. Like the scarf that I got for my mom. Who never wears scarves. Or a computer video game for my dad. Who doesn’t even know how to turn on the computer.

I don’t know what happens. It’s like I’m out there shopping, filled to the brim with wonderful gift ideas. And two hours later, I’m standing in that cologne gift pack aisle in Wal-Mart trying to figure out how I got there. Usually I’m sweating. Always I’m panicked. Because holy shit, will they like this???? Is it lame???? Is it offensive????

My son has been the recipient of some of my worst gifts. Every year he opens at least two things from us that are disappointing and confusing. And then Captain Carl whispers to me “Did we get him that? Why?” and all I can do is shrug and whisper back “It seemed like a good idea?”.

This year? I got him this t-shirt.

Abraham Lincoln with a “Party in the USA” talk bubble.

Yeah.

I have no explanation, except that I thought it was hilarious.

The Kiddo?

Puzzled would be the word I would use to describe his facial expression after he opened it. Then he looked over at me and saw what was probably the pathetically hopeful look on my face, promptly took off the shirt he was wearing and pulled my lame gift over his head. And he wore it all day. And the next day until I made him change out of it because he got barbecue sauce on Abe’s upper lip. How awesome is my kid? Very, that’s how.

This will most likely be my last post before Christmas, so everyone have a happy holiday or whatever and leave me comments while you’re here, huh?

I’m Like A Walking Public Service Announcement For Drunk Morons

2010-12-13T15:51:00.005-06:00

Saturday night was my office Christmas party. Guess what happened?

I got drunk.

You're totally shocked, right?

I got a lot of drunk.

I got a way lot of drunk. So drunk, I prompted Captain Carl to say “Wow, I haven’t seen you like this in a really long time.” And the worst part is that I can remember everything. My luck sucks, I can’t even be a blackout drunk and forget all the embarrassing parts of the night.

But I figure I can turn my office party mistakes into a helpful blog post for all of you that maybe haven’t had your office parties yet. Consider it a holiday gift from me to you. I’m like the Jesus Christ of holiday gifts, except instead of eternal life in heaven, I’m giving you tips on how to keep your shitty job that you hate but can’t afford to quit. If my mother ever reads this blog, I am in so. much. trouble. for that last sentence.

Tip #1: Think about your clothing choices carefully before leaving for the party. Are your dressy pants too big for you now and could they possible fall off while dancing later? Is your top so low cut that your boobs will probably pop out at least three times? If yes, you might consider changing.

Tip #2: When introducing your spouse to the President of your company, it is not advisable to tell him that you drank half a bottle of Boone’s Farm out of a plastic cup on the drive over because you heard his cheap-ass only allowed for two drink tickets per person.

Tip #3: When your co-worker asks you in the bathroom if she looks prettier than the wife of Sales Director, a simple “yes” will suffice. Do not elaborate your answer with “I mean, she’s more of an obvious kind of pretty and who wants to be that, right?” and “Plus, you are probably way more interesting than her anyways.” Also, do not steal the lotion from the bathroom on your way out. It is in a container as big as a wine bottle, people will notice it under your shirt.

Tip #4: Do not lick any of the serving spoons at the buffet table because you want to sample everything first. This is not considered proper buffet etiquette.

Tip #5: Whatever you do, do not sign up for the karaoke contest if you plan on drinking more than one glass of wine.

Tip #6: If you ignored tip #5, do not storm the stage when it’s your turn and yell “I say Merry, you say Christmas! Merry! What? Merry! What?” at everyone in the room.

Tip #7: Upon discovering that you have been paired up with the CFO of the company for the karaoke contest, do not tell him that you want to sing George Michael’s Faith in his honor because “Frankly sir, everyone is shocked that you brought a wife and not a life partner."

Tip #8: When the winner of the contest is announced and it is not you, do not pound your fist on the table and scream “I was fucking robbed!”.

Tip #9: Do not request that the dj play T-Pain and then insist everyone on the dance floor give your big booty a slap while you try to move your body into your version of "low" (aka, bending slightly at the waist until your calves start to burn).

Tip #10: Do not approach the door prize table and ask the office manager what you need to do to win that 42” flat screen tv while pantomiming a blow job and waggling your eyebrows at him.

So there you go, my top ten tips for office holiday parties. You're welcome.

Everyone who thinks I’m totally getting a Christmas bonus this year, raise your hand!

Jogging Limply Towards A Destiny Vaguely Involving Something To Do With Smaller Clothing Maybe

2010-12-08T13:34:00.004-06:00

So I’m trying to do this running thing with Captain Carl. It’s going so-so. It really depends what day you ask me, actually. Because ask me today, when Captain Carl is running with his brother and therefore not with me, and I will say it’s going awesome. Ask me on Monday night when I go running with him in the dark after work and I will say it sucks donkey teat. Because ouchy, that’s why.

Captain Carl is excelling at the running. He’s running 3 minute stretches straight now and leaving me in the dust. Literally. I am literally running in the dust on the side of the road about a block and a half behind him. And I’m not really running. I’m more jogging slowly than anything. And my jog gives me a vague resemblance to a wounded animal, limping to the curb after being hit by a car. A wounded animal chanting "fuck. this. shit." with each step it takes. But I like to think that I look like I know what I’m doing, on account of how I pump my arms back and forth vigorously. My feet are barely moving, but my arms are like violent tornadoes churning madly across the country. Check it out, everybody! It took me 30 seconds to get from one side of your driveway to the other, but look how fast I appear to be moving from the waist up! Crazy arms crazy arms crazy arms!

Meh.

And then there is the issue with my knees. Apparently I have old lady creaky knees. I had no idea until the running started. Now I wake up a dozen times in the night after I turn onto my stomach and my knees push into the mattress, causing searing pain to shoot through them. They crunch like gravel with every step I take up the stairs. And then Captain Carl is all “You should take a joint supplement.” and I’m all “Your mom takes a joint supplement!” and he’s all “I’m serious.” and I’m all “So am I. She really does take one.” and he’s all “So?” and I’m all “She’s 60.” and he’s all “Well maybe you should borrow her AARP magazine to see if they have any tips for you.” and then I punch him in the face.

But I am losing some weight. And apparently it’s starting to show, because the runner lady at my office who I find equal parts inspiring and annoying with all her Go-for-it!'s and Keep-it-up!'s and I-wouldn't-eat-that-if-I-were-you!'s told me yesterday she could see the weight loss in my clothes. Hurrah! I’m awesome! *air punch!*

Also, I've been posting on facebook about my adventures in running and weight loss. Which seemed like a good idea at the time because now I will totally keep up with this new lifestyle on account of all my facebook friends knowing about it. Except that what if I don't? And then when people are all "How's the running going?" on my wall, I'll have to block them so that I don't have to make up excuses for quitting, like maybe I went all Jehovah's Witness and it's taking up all my time with all the ummmm, witnessing?

But hey...right now I'm down 6 lbs, bitches! So I totally put that little fact on my wall.

And then I had Mexican food for dinner last night. And also a donut that morning. And also birthday cake in the afternoon. And also maybe a candy bar.

I didn’t put that part on facebook.

Neighborhood Etiquette: Dry Humping In The Front Yard Is A No-No

2010-12-05T08:28:00.004-06:00

We put up the Christmas tree Friday night. I never seem to get into the spirit of the season until the tree is up, and this year was no exception. It just wasn't the same without the Kiddo here. He's usually my go-to man for all things up high on the tree. Which is why I usually end up with about 20 ornaments right underneath the angel. He loves to rub it in that Captain Carl and I are shorter than him, so he's always "Wellll, guess I'll put another one right up here seeing that y'all can't reach. Heh heh." I don't have the heart to tell him that being 5'8" isn't really all that tall, except in our house.

Last year, we invited Renty to decorate the tree with us and it was fun, despite my urge to move every single thing he and Captain Carl put up into a more appropriate location on the tree. What? Every good tree decorator knows you can't put two gold stars next to each other. I'm not controlling and obsessive, that's just basic tree trimming knowledge. Shut up.

This year, Renty was working late so it was just the Captain and I and it was awesome. We had a little wine, we listened to classic Christmas music, we pulled 50 million fucking Christmas decorations out of the closet under the stairs, I put up the nativity scene (yes I used the words "fucking" and "Christmas" and "nativity" in the same sentence. I'm aware that I am going to hell.) Then we admired our handy work and I put 49 million fucking Christmas decorations back in the closet under the stairs because I must have been a crazy person to put up all this shit every year because who needs eight animated Santa Clauses seriously?

In other news, apparently it's cold enough here to put on the heat in the house. This is according to my husband, with whom I vehemently disagree.

Me: Why is the heat on upstairs?
Him: Because it's cold outside.
Me: It's going to be 68 degrees today!
Him: But right now it's 43 degrees.
Me: That's because it's 7am.
Him: So?
Me: It's colder because of being night time.
Him: Really genius?
Me: There is no reason to have the heat on.
Him: You mean besides that it's fucking cold?
Me: You are such a baby, this is not cold. *opens front door. steps out in bare feet* This is called "perfectly comfortable" where I'm from.
Him: Listen, Minnesota...you are in Texas now and 43 degrees is called "fucking cold" now.
Me: What a bunch of pansies.
Him: Renty lives upstairs. The heat stays on.
Me: I'm turning it off and if he complains, I will tell him to buy another comforter unless he wants to pay the gas bill.
Him: I knew this was about money.
Me: What? No! This is totally not about money. In fact, this is so not about money it's ridiculous.
Him: What's it about then?
Me: It's about...you know...ummm...acclimating to your environment and...ummm...something something saving the ozone layer.
Him: *stare*
Me: Totally not about money.
Him: *stare*
Me: What?
Him: *blink*
Me: Well, do you want to pay a $200 gas bill???? Huh???
Him: Sometimes you are so much like your mother, it scares me.
Me: I'm taking that as a compliment.
Him: Your mother is cheap.
Me: My mother is frugal.
Him: And last winter you kept it so cold in here that the Kiddo wore gloves and a ski mask around the house.
Me: He's just a drama queen like his father. I was trying to toughen him up and get him ready for the world! Unlike you, who wanted to coddle and keep him soft.
Him: Just go to work, you're going to be late if you keep arguing with me.
Me: *walking out the door muttering* Fucking 43 degrees and you turn the heat on? Give me a break. You think this is cold? Cold is when the temperature doesn't get above zero and your nostrils freeze shut. *yelling back at house* We don't turn our heat on up north until the lakes freeze over! Because we're tough! And don't like to waste money!
Neighbor: Is everything okay?
Me: Oh sorry, I wasn't yelling at you. I'm yelling at my husband WHO APPARENTLY LOVES TO THROW MONEY OUT THE WINDOW BECAUSE IT IS TOTALLY NOT COLD OUT HERE!
Him: *opens front door* Shut up and go to work already!

This is probably why our neighbors never talk to us. This and the fact that Captain Carl tried to dry hump me doggy-style yesterday in the front yard while I was bent over watering the flowers and when I yelled at him to stop it he whispered "Let them watch" and then spanked me. True story.

Probably The Most Interesting Interview Ever Involving A Song By Bonnie Tyler

2010-11-27T22:07:00.006-06:00

I made it through my family Thanksgiving celebration, y'all. Somehow no one got murdered this year. Hooray for murderless holidays!

So I finally got a featured interview over at Studio30+, courtesy of my awesome fly-eyed friend Vic. It's pretty much amazing awesomes. We talk about diahrrea and Carlos Spicy Weiner and my new theme song "Total Eclipse Of The Heart". It's as confusing as it sounds.

Please go read it, and then become a member. But only if you are over 30. If you are under 30, then shut up and go listen to some Justin Bieber or whatever you stupid kids are into to these days.

I’m Either The Best Sister Ever Or Really Stupid. Probably Both.

2010-11-23T15:46:00.004-06:00

I’m going home for Thanksgiving. Home to Minnesota to my parents house. I haven’t been home for the holidays (Yes, I really just typed that. I'll just go ahead and punch myself in the face now.) in 11 years. That was my first Christmas after moving to Texas and no way was I staying down here where it was 75 degrees and sunny when I could be back home where there was snow. I mean, what’s Christmas without the snow? And as it turned out, the temperatures never got above zero degrees. Yeah, I was really happy to come back to the warm weather after that last visit.

But the last couple of years I’ve been longing to be up north for Christmas again. Last year, the Dallas area got a huge (by southern standards) winter storm on Christmas Eve. It would have been perfect, except that we went to New Orleans for Christmas and missed it. Not that I’m complaining. I was drinking hurricanes and eating gumbo, who the hell cares about snow? But still, my northern roots are calling to me.

My parents are usually in Arizona by this time of year. They are retired snowbirds and can hardly wait to get to Mesa by the end of October. But my dad has been sick this year. He has leukemia and needed to stay close to his doctor in MN for chemo, so they aren’t heading to AZ until after Thanksgiving (he's doing great, by the way. This post isn't about that, but I didn't want to leave you hanging). So I was all “This year is my chance! I should totally go home for Thanksgiving so my parents won’t be alone on the holiday! I’m booking a flight right now!” to Captain Carl. And all three of my sisters agreed with me and booked tickets too.

So I’m flying up on Thursday morning. Because we are poor white trash, we could only afford one ticket so the Captain is staying home to host his side of the family’s Thanksgiving at our house. Which is weird, but whatever because there is already snow on the ground up there! Hooray! It’ll be almost like Christmas! I’m totally building a snowman and making snow angels!

And then I checked the weather channel. The high temp on Thursday up there is going to be 15 degrees. 15 DEGREES. My sister that still lives up there emailed to tell me it’s going to be the coldest Thanksgiving in 20 years.

Awesome.

I mean, I want snow. Snow. Not freezing nostrils. Not temps too cold for my wimpy southern version of a winter jacket to handle. And certainly not so cold that, holy hell, my whole family has to stay inside for 4 days straight. My whole two parent, four sisters and two nieces in a 3 bedroom house family. We’ll kill each other. You may think I’m exaggerating. Rest assured, I am not. Not even a little bit. This is how it will go down:

Me: Hey, let’s go outside!
Sister #1: It’s too cold.
Me: Oh come on! It’ll be fun! We can build a snow fort!
Sister #2: No way.
Sister #3: Let’s play a game.
Sisters #1 and #2: Yeah, let’s!
Me: Oh shit.

Because that is how the murders always start in my family. With a game.

Pictionary?
A massacre.
Trivial Pursuit?
Crime scene.
Dominoes?
Total slaughter.

It always starts out with optimism. This time will be different. This time we’ll have fun. This time we’ll all get along. This time no one will accuse anyone else of cheating. This time no one will overturn the table in a fit of rage over coming in second place. But the conclusion is almost always the same. Everyone not talking to everyone. At least one sister crying. At least one other sister calling their husband/boyfriend to tell them she is coming home early. My mom shutting herself up in her room for the rest of the day. And my dad reading the paper, pretending he can’t hear what is happening.

But I’ve decided to be optimistic. This will be a good visit. Only 3.5 days. Just long enough for everyone to stop missing each other and just short enough to keep everyone from getting on each other’s nerves.

Unfortunately, I’ve been recruited by one of my sisters. To go Black Friday shopping. At 4am. In 15 degree weather. I mean, I just….I don’t even……

The thing is, I could have just said no, as the Captain pointed out last night. I could have said no and slept until 10am on my air mattress on the living room floor and pretended not to notice my sister's hurt feelings. But I said yes. Because I know how much it will mean to her. And I’ll play every game anyone wants to play. Because it’s family. And it’s going to be awesome and it’s going to be a blood bath and it’s going to be exhausting and I’m going to love every minute of it.

Because there’s no place like home.

Become A Follower And See Semi-Naked Pictures Of My Husband

2010-11-17T10:58:00.005-06:00

So the time has come for me to pimp out someone else’s blog. I’m not really good at doing that, even though I should be better on account of all the bloggers who pimped me out back when I was just getting started. I would probably be way closer to my current follower goal of 1,000 if I did this more often. But, meh.

But this blog is different. I’m pretty much required by my wedding vows to pimp this blog. It belongs to Captain Carl. He started a blog to chronicle his efforts to lose weight, get fit and run a 5K in March. I know, right??? I mean, a 5K is pretty much my version of hell. It’s a nightmare filled with running shoes, short shorts and wheezing. But I totally support it, because he’s awesome and it’s something he’s wanted to do for a long time and I’m so very very proud of him for doing this.

So I’m here, asking my readers to go over there and read and become a follower and maybe leave a comment or two. But only nice, supportive comments because I am not afraid to cut a bitch, okay?

I am amazed by this man. He’s determined and focused and I’m freaking out because omg I’m totally going to be fatter than my husband if I don’t keep up. So his determination has got me determined to keep up as best I can. This is new territory for me. I try to eat better and maybe exercise sometimes but if anyone pushes me to do more? Hells no. You think I'm killing myself slowly by eating badly? You think I'd feel better if I pushed my workout to a higher level? Oh yeah? Well...

But this time seems different for him, so I’m trying to make it different for me. This includes sharing his blog with everyone I know and all the bloggers that are awesome enough to come here and hang out with me. He’s using real names. He’s honest and completely factual. He’s told his whole family about his goal and his blog. All things I do not do here. And! He blog rolled me, which means I’m about to be discovered by my family. Not only am I running because of him (Have you ever seen a fat girl run? Boobs everywhere, people.) but my secret blog identity is about to be revealed.

Well, shit.

But! I’m totally getting back at him for it.

Pssst. Come closer so I can tell y’all a secret.

He’s got pictures of himself over there without a shirt. He says it’s kind of humiliating and scary to do it, but it is keeping him motivated. I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit and he’s just trying to attract gay men who are into bears. Whichever. Just go follow him. His goal is to get 5 followers by the end of this month. Do me a favor and blow up his follower list. Leave an encouraging comment, like how sexy you think his man boobs are.

Click here to read FatDad5K

I feel like I should explain what is going on in this picture. I'm not gonna though.

p.s. I love you, Chad. You are totally gonna bend that 5K over and take it to brown town.

Being A Hero Is Exhausting

2010-11-11T08:00:00.000-06:00

On the phone with Captain Carl:

Me: Uh oh.
Him: What?
Me: The lady across the parking lot is taking her clothes into the dry cleaners and she dropped a shirt behind her car.
Him: That sucks.
Me: *knocking on window* Hey! Lady! Your shirt!
Him: Aren’t you on the second floor?
Me: Yes.
Him: And like, 50 yards away from the other side of the parking lot?
Me: So? Maybe she’d hear me banging and look back and notice her shirt.
Him: Did she?
Me: No.
Him: Bummer.

*silence*

Me: I hope she sees it when she comes out.
Him: She probably won’t if it’s behind her car.
Me: I suppose I could walk down there and take it into the dry cleaners if she doesn’t see it.
Him: That would be a very nice thing to do.

*silence*

Me: *sigh* That’s a really long way to walk.
Him: Annnddd there we go.
Me: What?
Him: I was just waiting for that last part.
Me: What? It’s all the way across the parking lot!
Him: But you’d do it. Because it’s the right thing to do. Right?
Me: *sigh* Yeah. Stupid lady and her stupid shirt, making me help her.

*silence*

Me: Ooh, here she comes. Come onnnn. Come onnnn! Look behind your car. Look! It’s right there! Don’t make me come down there! Oh thank God, she saw it.
Him: Yes, praise Jesus you didn’t have to walk across the parking lot to help someone.
Me: I know right? That was a close one. That lady didn’t even know how close she came to having me save her.
Him: Wow.
Me: No need to be in awe of me. I’m no hero or anything.
Him: You got that right.
Me: Shut up! I am sooo a hero!
Him: I’m pretty sure telling people that you’re hero doesn’t automatically make you one.
Me: Oh yeah? Well….your mom makes you one.

Boo ya. I showed him. I'm the queen of come backs. That's what she said.

This Guy Is The Reason My Life Will Never Be Exciting

2010-11-08T16:47:00.002-06:00

So I heard a review on the radio about a movie called “127 hours”. It’s about that guy who went hiking alone and didn’t tell anyone where he was going and then he fell or something and got his arm caught under a rock and 5 days later he cut his own arm off to get free.

Yeah.

So hiking is out for me. For, like, ever. Because I don’t know about you but fuck that shit. And the worst part is, it happened while he was walking. He wasn’t parachuting, he wasn’t bungee jumping, he wasn’t wrestling tigers. He was doing something fairly common that millions of people do. Maybe a more advanced type of walking, sure. But still. Walking. This is what scares me.

I mean, I’ve gone hiking before without incident. Mostly in flat places where the biggest rock is the size of my foot with maybe one or two big enough to stand on. But seriously, y’all. I really don’t like walking around as much as I like keeping my arm. So as of today, hiking is permanently banned from my life. Just the thought of doing something that could result in me having to cut off any of my body parts makes me want to buy a rascal and never walk anywhere again.

Oh shit. What if the rascal hits a rock and throws me off and I get trapped anyway?? It's a lose-lose situation, y'all.

Not to mention that this guy cut off his arm with his pocketknife. I never carry a pocketknife. Or any knife for that matter. Sometimes I carry a spoon in my purse (don’t ask) but no way would that cut through bone. Unless I could spend my 5 days sharpening the spoon on the rock that trapped me to a vicious point and therefore make it possible to cut off my arm. Then I could be all “Ha! Take that rock! How’s that for irony! I used the very thing that which trapped mine self’s arm to free thine self from thy perilous grasp!”. I figure I’d be so delirious by then that I would have slipped into a bad Shakespearean accent for some reason. I mean, I just cut off my own arm for fuck’s sake. Give me a break. You try cutting off your arm and see if whatever you say afterwards makes any sense, you big jerkface.

Honestly, I just don’t think I could do it. I told Captain Carl that very thing and he was all “You totally would if you had no other choice.” and I was all “No way, I’d rather die than cut part of myself off.” and he was all “You’d be surprised what you could do if you were faced with death.” and I was all “You know what I would do? I would call someone with my cell phone like any smart person would.” and he was all “You probably wouldn’t get any reception since you’d be in a remote location, which is why no one could find you in the first place.” and I was all “Since when is the IHOP parking lot a ‘remote location’?” and he was all “What?” and I was all “Because that’s as far as I’m hiking from now on. From our car to the IHOP.” and he was all “Don’t you want to live an adventurous, exciting life? See new places? Push the boundaries?” and I was all “When was the last time you saw someone cut their own arm off at an IHOP?” and he was all *blink* and I was all “I think I’ve made my point.”

I figure finally trying one of those weird fruit syrups they have at IHOP is adventure enough for me. Suck it, excitement.

The Secret To Getting Your Husband To Vacuum? Cat Poop.

2010-10-26T09:00:00.000-05:00

Me: *picks up office phone* Hello?

Him: Open your email.

Me: Ummm, okay…..what did you send me?

Him: Just read it.

Me: *reading* “Your cat is growling in her sleep”. Oh look, a picture!

Him: Its hard to tell, but she’s doing that creepy inner-eylid-half-open-sleeping thing. I hate that thing. And she was growling.

Me: Awwww, sleep growling! Cute!!

Him: Yeah well, you’re cute cat left a skid mark on the living room rug this morning.

Me: It’s not a skid mark, it’s vomit. I heard one of them puking this morning but I couldn’t find it before I left for work.

Him: Oh there was puke. On the right side of the rug. On the left side there's a giant skid mark.

Me: Oooh, that’s not good.

Him: No. No it’s not.

Me: Did you clean it up?

Him: I picked up the clump because I thought it was puke.

Me: And?

Him: It was not puke.

Me: But did you scrub the rug after?

Him: We’re out of carpet cleaner.

Me: So? You don’t need carpet cleaner. Just get one of the old rags wet with hot, soapy water and scrub it.

Him: I said we’re out of carpet cleaner!

Me: You don’t need carpet cleaner!

Him: Yes I do! I can’t use the plastic scrub brush with the long handle if I don’t have carpet cleaner to squirt on the rug.

Me: Oh come on, you big baby.

Him: I am not putting my hands anywhere near a cat poop skid mark!

Me: I don’t understand how you can clean up the kids vomit without gagging once, but you can’t even scrub up a little cat poop.

Him: Because cats are nasty.

Me: You could use gloves. I have those yellow ones in the laundry room.

Him: Not happening.

Me: Well did you at least clean up the hairball?

Him: I picked up most of it but left whatever was soaking into the rug.

Me: Seriously???

Him: What part of “we’re out of carpet cleaner” do you not understand?

Me: So you're telling me you won't scrub the rug for me.

Him: No carpet cleaner, no scrubbing.

Me: Fine. If I clean it up, will you at least vacuum afterwards?

Him: I will vacuum all the rugs every time if it means I never have to clean up cat poop or puke ever again.

....oh how I love cat poop!

Continuing To Make A Great Impression With My Sausage Fingers

2010-10-22T10:52:00.003-05:00

How is your job going?

I really hate that question. My parents ask it every time we talk and I hear it at least once a week from either Captain Carl or friends or my sister. I hate that question because I don’t ever know what to say. Sometimes I say “I hate it” but that’s not really true. I don’t hate my job. I don’t anything my job. It’s just there. It’s just my job. It’s what I do during the day to pay the bills each month until I can quit and become a photographer full-time. Okay, some days I really do hate it, but who wants to hear me say that? So I just say “Oh it’s fine” and move on to a different topic.

But there are days at my office that I actually enjoy. Usually it’s the days that we screw around and don’t get any real work done. Someone brings in donuts or candy and it's probably a Friday and we're all happy because we're wearing jeans and things get silly and then someone ends up emailing out a stupid and embarrassing picture of me. Because for some reason when I’m having a good time, I decide someone just has to take my picture. I’m all “Check it out! I’m totally doing this super hilarious thing! Take my picture!” and then we all laugh and I think maybe this job isn’t so bad after all. And then I go home and come back in the morning and see the picture that got emailed around and I wonder what the hell I was thinking.

So this month’s picture?

Yeah.

I thought it was hilarious at the time because hahaa omg this mask is sooo funny!

And then it got emailed to everyone in the office.

And then it went in the monthly newsletter. The newsletter that goes out to not only my office but also the parent company’s office. The parent company, y’all. Thanks to my stupid-ass self getting all hopped up on Halloween candy, me and my sausage fingers are now currently touring the CEO’s computer screen.

*sigh*

At least I’ll have something to tell my parents this weekend in response to their question…

How is your job going?

Great! Last week I ate five mini-Twix bars and then wore a Frankenstein mask around the office and someone took a picture of me making a stupid face with sausage finger claws and they totally put it in the company newsletter!

Is that……good?

I’ll probably get a promotion because of it. Or fired. One of the two.

Oh dear....

Running Towards Something Besides The Buffet

2010-10-18T15:30:00.003-05:00

So I’m running now.

I mean, I’m running for reals. For exercise. Not because someone is chasing me with a butcher knife or I’m trying to get to the buffet before that old lady with the walker gets all the red jello.

Okay so technically I’m sprinting. Which I guess is a form of running, but I’m not like, running a marathon or anything. I’m running from the tree on the furthest side of my backyard to the furthest tree on the other side of my backyard. It’s probably 15 yards. But! I’m running there and back. Six times in a row.

I know. I’m pretty amazed myself.

This shit wasn’t my idea though. It was Captain Carl's. On Friday at 4pm he called me at work and was all “Hey, when you get home we’ll kick the soccer ball around for a few minutes and then run sprints and then go for a walk” and I was all “Gah?” and he was all “This is our new exercise program…3 times a week” and I was all “Ummm, okay?” and he was all “Excellent!” and I was all “Well, fuck.”

Yep, all his idea. His brilliant Friday night sprinting idea. My idea was to sit on the couch and watch 5 episodes of Ghost Hunters while eating microwave popcorn and twizzlers. My idea was way more awesome, I think.

So I get home and I’m all “I have a headache” and he was all “Nice try” and I was all “No I really do. In my vagina.” and he was all “Shut up and put your sports bra on and get outside”. So I stomped around my bathroom getting ready for as long as I possibly could because I so did not want to exercise but apparently he doesn’t love me enough to let me do nothing and get fatter. Big jerk.

So we’re in the backyard and mosquitoes are eating me alive and I’m all *kick kick kick* with the soccer ball and he’s all “quit kicking it up towards my face!” and I’m all “It’s called strategy” and he’s all “There is no strategy, we’re just warming up” and I’m all “Oh yeah? Your mom's warming up!” because I'm pretty much the queen of soccer insults.

Then he made me sprint.

A real lot.

So there I am. Running. When I start the first sprint, it’s not as hard as I thought it was going to be. Hey, I’m moving pretty fast…not bad for a fat lady. At the halfway mark, I realize something. I’m running on grass. Ohmygod, what if I twist my ankle? By the time I finish that first sprint, I remember that my sports bra is too small for me. I look down. My left boob has popped out. I have to finish with my hand cupping my chest, much to the delight of my husband. We take a 2 minute rest, as per whatever fitness website he’s been reading that day. The mosquitoes swarm again, but I’m not breathing all that hard. I can do this…five more of these is no problem. By the third sprint, I’m praying for God to hit my husband with a freak bolt of lightning from out of nowhere. I’m panting and probably foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal. The Captain has beaten me on every sprint, even with the head start he gives me. “No fair!” I yell every time he passes me. “You don’t have boobs to hold up!” “You have more muscle than me!” “I hate you so hard right now!” And he just laughs and keeps running. At the end of the 5th sprint, my legs are shaking and I’m seriously considering punching him in the face. We are in our 2nd minute of rest before the final sprint when I decide to cheat. I yell “Go!” 30 seconds early and run like a crazy person. The Captain yells after me "It's not a race, moron!" but I don't care. My legs are pumping, my arms are swinging wildly, I’m laughing like a hyena. I’m winning this one! Yes!

And then I stepped in a rabbit hole and fell. I lay there like a slug, flat on my face, waiting for my husband to come pick me up and hold me and tell me he’s sorry and he’ll never ever make me do this ever again and then I'll be all "I could have been seriously injured, but I forgive you. Now go buy me some twizzlers" and he totally would on account of all his exercise guilt.

“Get up!” he yells from a distance. I raise my head and realize he has finished his sprint. “You left me here to die without twizzlers!” I scream at him. “Get up! Now we walk for 30 minutes!” he yells back. I roll over onto my back and stare at the sky. Mosquitoes are flying into my eyeballs. I’m sweating through my shorts and my knees are throbbing. I say nothing. He walks over and stands over me. He’s all “Come on, drama queen” and I’m all “I can’t” and he’s all “Yes you can” and I’m all “No you don’t understand!” and he’s all “I know, you’re tired and sore and don’t feel like it. But you will be so happy that you did.” and I’m all “No, it’s not that. I can’t get my boob back in my bra”.

So there we are, silent and motionless for a few minutes. He is contemplating how to get me up and moving again. I am contemplating how to fashion a shiv from blades of grass and my shoelace so I can take him down and shut him up about this exercise bullshit. He pokes me a couple times with the tip of his shoe. "Come onnnn" he whines. "No" I say and roll over onto my side away from him. He sighs and says "I'll go buy you twizzlers if you walk with me". I look over my shoulder at him and contemplate this offer. "What about my boob?" I ask. “It’s dark, no one will notice” he responds.

And that’s how I ended up walking through my neighborhood at 9pm on a Friday with a limp and my boob hanging out of my bra.

And The Award For Best Actress Eating A Hamburger Goes To…

2010-10-11T11:23:00.003-05:00

I just realized this morning it’s been almost two weeks since I’ve posted something here. So sorry, little people, but I’ve been very busy becoming a movie star. After I sent my resume to the production assistant for the movie they are filming here by my office, I figured it wouldn’t be long before I’d find myself on the casting couch. And I wasn’t wrong, although technically I haven’t yet physically sat on the couch. Or met anyone associated with the movie in person. Or ummmm, acted in anything. Yet! Because this? Is totally happening.

See, I got an email response to my resume submittal. From the producer, y’all. Yeah, big time. This lady. Right here.

Producer Email: Received your contact information re: becoming an extra for the movie. Need your availability please.

Response: My availability is limited during the day, but I work right here in the office building you are shooting near so I could do it during lunch breaks or after 5pm. Also, that’s what she said.

Producer Email: I need extras mostly on Saturdays.

Response: I can do Saturdays like nobody’s business. I do Saturdays long time. Speaking of being an extra, some people say that I’m a natural when it comes to standing around in the background. Plus I have a really big head which I’m told translates well on film. Also, I am plus size and I know you want this film to be diverse, so there you go.

Producer Email: I have to ask this so we have complete information – what is your age?

Response: I’m 36, but could probably pass for 35. Oh and I’ve been rehearsing several characters that I think would be great for the movie. My “Lady Eating Hamburger In Crowd” is especially good. “Lady Drinking Something From Taco Bell Cup While Leaning Seductively On Car Hood” is also noteworthy but I'm not quite sure about it. Too Tawny Kitaen perhaps?

Producer Email: Also need your phone number. Keep in mind this is a children's movie.

Response: Gotcha...children's movie. Duly noted. My phone number is 1-800-HOT-CHUB. Heh heh, I kid.

So far I haven’t heard back from him. It’s been a week. I figure he’s busy deciding what role he’s going to give me. Probably the hilarious cougar neighbor lady that always brings burnt stuff to the neighborhood potlucks but hahaaa! who cares because dude, that fat chick is smokin’!

I’m thinking of getting my teeth capped in preparation for my role. And maybe getting my second chin sucked out too. I don’t know. It depends on how much volunteer extras get paid.

Finally, Peeing My Pants Has Paid Off

2010-09-28T11:58:00.006-05:00

Someone is filming a movie right outside the building I work in. I’m not really sure why here and I’m only partially sure what it’s about. A coming of age story about a little boy who find mischief and fun in his neighborhood blah blah blah Mr. Wilson blah blah blah rip off blah blah blah Dennis the Menace. Something like that.

But that’s not the important part. The important part is that I. AM. ABOUT. TO. BE. FAMOUS. The director has put out a casting call in my building for extras. Which means you are about to see me on the big screen. Or the tv screen. Or ummmm, online. I’m not really sure how big this movie is going to be. Today the director is walking around in the parking lot pointing at businesses and gesturing wildly with a crowd of 15 people and they’re all wearing sunglasses which kind of seems Hollywood-ish, but only one of them is hot and young and the rest are basically boring and kind of overweight and older so maybe this is only going to be a made for tv movie. But who cares because I am all over this shit.

So I went to the production website and it’s all “We will need 300-400 extras for a July 4th celebration scene” and “if interested, please send your name, age, email and general availability”. I worked all night on my resume. I mean, it doesn’t specifically ask for a resume but I figure it’s implied for those with previous acting experience such as myself. So I was all *type type type* and Captain Carl was all “Whatcha doing?” and I was all “Writing my acting resume” and he was all “Gah?” and I was all “For the movie they are filming by my office” and he was all “You’ve never been in a movie” and I was all “I have plenty of acting experience” and he was all “What role are you trying out for?” and I was all “An extra” and he was all “You have to audition to be an extra?” and I was all “Probably. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter because once they see my resume? Blam!” and he was all “Blam?” and I was all “Blam! Front of the crowd extra”.

I think you'll all agree that I'm a shoe in....

______________________________________

Resume for Miss Yvonne – Actress Not Appreciated In Her Own Time

1977 – Peter Rabbit
Martin Luther Elementary School
Played role of Mother Rabbit in Mrs. Vandervolt’s morning kindergarten class production.
Noteworthy – Managed to completed both lines of dialogue despite having a crush on boy playing Peter Rabbit and peeing pants minutes before the curtain rose.

1986 – America The Prosperous
Roosevelt Middle School
Co-starring role in video on American Capitalism for Mr. Benson’s 6th grade economics lesson.
Noteworthy – Let Nathan Johnson grab boob under costume without anyone noticing.

1991 – Pop Singers
Buffalo Gap High School
Co-starring role in year long production of 50’s and 60’s inspired song and dance routines.
Noteworthy – Totally rocked mall bangs and a spiral perm. Managed to make a tuxedo shirt and ankle length skirt look sexy while pretend surfing to a Beach Boy’s song.

1992 – Santa Lucia Festival
First Lutheran Church
Starring role of Santa Lucia in Christmas pageant.
Noteworthy – Wore a crown of burning candles on head. For reals.

Special skills:
Can kind of play the piano.
Know sweet dance moves such as the Roger Rabbit and the Sprinkler.
Good at reciting hip slang phrases, such as "Oh no you didn't!", "You go girl!" and "Bitch please".
Went to a taping of Charles in Charge once. Waved at Willie Aames. Pretty sure he saw me.
In possession of a blonde 70’s afro wig. Willing to wear it whenever.
Can do that cool Bollywood dancing hand move thingy.
Giant man hands. See above.
Can recite any line from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure upon command.
Strong background in character acting. See below for examples of my work:

Pirate

Drunk Pirate

Fin.

See you on the big/small screen, bitches.

14 Hour Super Manic Crazy Arms Energy Drink

2010-09-24T15:22:00.003-05:00

I was dragging yesterday at work. I’m having a hard time getting back in the swing of things after being on vacation for a week. I decided to try an energy drink for the first time in my life because I had shit to get done. So I walked over to the gas station across the street and found something called Seven Hour Revitalizer. I’ve heard of 5 Hour Energy but never tried it. I figured an extra two hours would be even better.

Yeah, probably wasn't a good idea.

2:00pm: Drink entire mango flavored energy beverage.
2:01pm: Chug a Diet Coke to get rid of rancid mango flavor in mouth.
2:20pm: Walk to bathroom. Realize I have weird tingly sensation in upper arms.
2:25pm: Stare at self in bathroom mirror while shaking arms. Tingling intensifies. Weird.
2:45pm: Left leg seems to be twitching a lot.
2:50pm: Decide twirling around and around in my chair is a great idea.
3:00pm: Notice hands are shaking.
3:15pm: Think about how weird belly buttons are.
3:30pm: Cotton mouth. Chug another Diet Coke.
3:39pm: Stare at McDonald’s cup until words begin to blur. Become convinced there’s a hidden message.
3:45pm: Get sweaty armpits.
3:50pm: Get heartburn.
4:00pm: Contemplate if sitting in office cube is really happening or is just a figment of someone else’s imagination.
4:02pm: Become convinced someone is standing right behind me. Look quickly over shoulder multiple times in attempt to catch them.
4:10pm: Seem to have developed some kind of facial tic.
4:15pm: Realize I can see new colors behind my eyelids.
4:16pm: Dig empty bottle of energy beverage out of garbage. Attempt to read ingredients.
4:17pm: Search for glasses on desk, in purse, under desk, in office plant. Freak out and yell “OHMYGOD, I LOST MY GLASSES!”
4:18pm: Realize glasses are on face. Attempt to read ingredients again.
4:19pm: Bottle says “Contains 2 Servings”. Get a little nervous.
4:20pm: Directions on bottle say “Always begin with ¼ bottle to assess tolerance. Never exceed more than ½ bottle per 7 hours.”
4:21pm: Realize that I have ingested 14 hours of energy. Contemplate panicking.
4:22pm: Decide best solution is to lay on back on cubicle floor.
4:23pm: Ask cube mates if they can see my heart beating through my shirt.
4:24pm: Yell at cube mates “What? I can’t hear you over this rushing sound in my ears! Can y’all hear that? Ohmygod! The ocean is IN. MY. EARS.”.
4:30pm: Walk to bathroom. Try not to tip over. Decide splashing water on face will help.
4:40pm: Walk back to cube. Cube mates ask why right side of hair and front of shirt is soaking wet. Pretend to have no idea what they are talking about.
4:41pm: Take off shoes because toenails feel funny.
4:45pm: Field phone call from vendor. Ask vendor “Is it weird that I can’t feel my tongue?”.
4:55pm: Stare at own reflection in window. Flare nostrils. Laugh hysterically.
4:58pm: Pack up and leave office. Wonder why all the building lights are flickering.
5:00pm: Try three times to fit key into ignition with shaking hands.
5:01pm: Begin drive home.
5:05pm: See Dunkin’ Donuts.
5:20pm: See Jack in the Box.
5:40pm: See Sonic.
5:50pm: Pull into driveway.
6:30pm: On sofa. Have no recollection of how I got there. Wonder why I am surrounded by two dozen donuts, 12 tacos and three chocolate shakes.

My Family Went To Minnesota And All I Got Was Bieber Fever

2010-09-19T19:25:00.006-05:00

So I'm back from vacation. I didn't tell y'all about it (again) because Captain Carl is convinced that somehow one of you crazies figured out my real name and where I live and are just waiting for me to announce an extended time away so you can break into my house, eat my food, molest my cats and sniff my panties. But ha! Jokes on you because I never leave dirty panties when I go on vacation.

We spent a week with my parents in Minnesota. I was inebriated approximately 75% of the time, courtesy of my mom's brandy slush. Ever had a brandy slush? No? Get me up to 500 followers and I'll give you the recipe. You gotta work for it, bitch.

My dad has leukemia and was on a week long break from chemo while we were there. My mom is diabetic and found out the day before we left that she has to start on insulin shots. Sounds like a non-stop party, right?

Okay, so it wasn't exactly the most relaxing of vacations. But I adore my parents and miss them terribly when we are apart. So I did my best to savor every moment and then sobbed myself to sleep on our last night there. I do it every time we go and all Captain Carl can do is lay there and pat my back until I'm done.

And then we drove 18 hours straight to get home the next day. Awesome. I slept until noon today and have the worst travel/brandy slush hangover known to mankind. And tomorrow I get to go back to my job.

Well, fuck.

I had what was probably the most meaningful conversation I've ever had with my 13 year old niece, let's call her Red, while I was up there.

Me: How's school, Red?
Red: It's okay. We have, like, only 4 minutes of passing time between classes this year.
Me: Is that bad?
Red: Yes, we had 5 minutes last year.
Me: Well that sucks.
Red: I know! We have to, like, run to our classes.
Me: You should run for student council and then you could change that.
Red: We voted for student council last week and the teacher told us we should tell whoever gets voted on about what we don't like and they can, like, say something to, like, the principal or something.
Me: You better track down your councilman and bitch about the 4 minutes.
Red: And also they play really stupid music during passing time.
Me: Like what?
Red: Like some kind of old stuff.
Me: They should play Justin Bieber.
Red: Ohmygod yeah!
Me: I heard you love him.
Red: Ohmygod yeah! I am, like, his biggest fan.
Me: Maybe you should suggest that your school have a Justin Bieber class.
Red: I could totally teach that class.
Me: Hmmm..I don't know if you know enough about him.
Red: He's 16 years old, his favorite color is purple, his favorite meal is spaghetti and his favorite type of food is Italian...
Me: What's his favorite breakfast?
Red: I don't know.
Me: You better find out or they'll never let you teach that class.
Red: He won't let anyone touch his hair...
Me: Well I can see why. It's so, ummmm, Bieber-y?
Red: Only his hairstylist can touch it.
Me: Probably because he'd lose his powers if it got cut too short.
Red: Maybe...
Me: He's like the modern Samson.
Red: What?
Me: Except instead of strength, his power is his beautiful girlish voice.
Red: He's not girlish!
Me: Listen, don't waste your time on Justin Bieber. He'll only break your heart when he comes out in a few years...
Red: What are you talking about?
Me: Two words. George. Michael.
Red: You are so weird.

Today I’d Like To Punch All Teenage Girls In Their Collective Faces

2010-09-07T11:13:00.003-05:00

Only because they are so stupid. Oh so so so stupid. Still. I was really hoping they would have evolved a bit since I was one 20 years ago. But no. Nope. They are exactly the same, except with less rolling of the jeans and mall bangs.

Bunny is still moping over my boy. It’s been 3 months since he broke up with her. I remember what it’s like to get dumped when you are that age and I know it sometimes takes longer than 3 months to get over it. But seriously. The girl needs to stop, because my son? Not really thinking about her. I want to grab her by her cute little arms and shake her and yell “snap out of it!".

I have tried to talking to her several times over the summer. I’ve told her in the nicest way possible that he’s not ready to be the young man she wants him to be. And she nods her head and says she gets it, but girlfriend is lying because she keeps posting shit like this on her facebook wall.

9-8-10…the day that should have been but never was.

Yesterday would have been their 1st dating anniversary if they had stayed together.

Yeah. It’s just that pathetic, y’all.

The girl is in her senior year. The boy she is hung up on is now in college and has moved on. Way way on. So I’m thinking about sending her another email with all the for reals true reasons why she needs to get over it.

Here's what I've got so far...

1. The boy has already been with at least two girls at college. I know this because for some reason, he feels the need to share this information with his father.

2. See number 1 above. See it a lot. Lots and lots of times. Burn it into your brain. The boy is a man whore. He will be until at least the age of 23. I cannot stress this enough. He asked us for two things before he left for college: A laptop and a monthly supply of condoms. This is not a joke. I wish it were, but it srsly is so not a joke.

3. I love him, but damn the boy is gross. I mean, I am seriously concerned for his dental hygiene while he is away at college. Because I was still reminding him the week before he moved to brush his teeth every day. So basically he's walking around with fuzzy stink teeth. You don't want nay part of that, my dear.

4. Did I mention he’s gross? Because he’ll wear dirty socks and underwear if he’s out of clean ones. Several times.

5. Let’s play a game, shall we? I’ll ask you a question and you say the first thing that comes to your mind. Okay, here we go. Apushoversayswhat?

6. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Please please please…I beg you to stop perpetuating that delusion.

7. Did I mention the dirty underwear thing?

8. He's an uninformed voter and will probably vote straight Republican like his great-grandfather. Save yourself before it's too late. I bring you this message from the inside. It's not pretty here. There are guns and Newt Gingrich biographies. Run.

9. He loves Buckethead.

10. He's 18 years old. Therefore, he is a jerkface. To you. Not to me. To me he is my sweet, loving baby. To you he is a jerkface. This is something you already know but seem to be willing to forget. Need I remind you of the time he dumped a water bottle on you because "it would be freakin' hilarious"? Yeah. Jerkface.

And then I'm going to wrap it up with this little bit of advice...

You’re a sweet girl, but seriously…you need to grow a set and stop posting that shit on facebook. You are not helping your cause here. Boys don’t want to read that…it makes them run faster and further away. Not only will you never hear from my boy again, all the other boys will avoid you too. What you need to do is post something like “So glad I’m single! Having the best time porking all your loser friends that didn’t go to college and are still living at home!” Then say you’re thinking about becoming bisexual.

p.s. I apologize for that last one. Totally inappropriate for me to say that. But it would totally work if you are looking for a date on Friday night. Just sayin’. You didn’t hear it from me.

All I Need Is This Teapot. And This Wind Chime. And This Candle. That’s It. That’s All I Need. And This Cookie Jar.

2010-09-02T12:19:00.003-05:00

There is a place that most know about but seldom speak of in polite society. A place where men fear to tread. A place that turns a normal adult woman into a crazy lunatic the minute she walks through the doors. A place filled with objects that can strike terror in the hearts of even the bravest of souls.

That place?

The Cracker Barrel.

*sigh*

Never has there existed a restaurant that makes me behave in such a terrible manner such as this one. I don’t really understand what happens. I’m pretty sure there’s some kind of evil tchochke vortex located directly in the middle of their “country store” that sucks me in. We only visit Cracker Barrel when we’re on road trips. Usually it is the place we stop on our annual drive to Minnesota to see my family. I think it’s the biscuits that lure us in. Captain Carl is always the first to suggest it.

Me: Where should we eat?
Captain: I think there’s a Cracker Barrel about 30 minutes up the road.
Me: Are you sure you want to go there?
Captain: Why not?
Me: Oh, I don’t know…
Captain: I love their food.
Me: Me too.
Captain: Okay, let’s stop there then.

And then we walk in. And then he remembers why he should never, ever take me to the Cracker Barrel.

Me: Ooooh look! Yankee candles!
Captain: Shit. I forgot about the country store.
Me: They have cinnamon scented ones!
Captain: You have a million candles already.
Me: But not this one! I have to get it. Ooooooh! Would you just look at those cute teapots!
Captain: Come on, let’s get a table and eat.
Me: Just a sec. I have to see these teapots.
Captain: Fine.
Me: Ooooh!!! Look at this one! *holds teapot up by face*
Captain: You don’t even drink tea.
Me: I know, but look! It has bluebirds on it! Awwwww! And hearts!
Captain: *rubs eyes* Come on…I’m starving.
Me: Okay okay. *squealing* OMG!!!! Wind chimes! *runs off*
Captain: Damn it!
Me: Honey, we don’t have any wind chimes…
Captain: Because I hate them.
Me: Why do you hate them again?
Captain: Because the sound is too random.
Me: Oh but listen! *runs fingers through all 50 wind chimes* See? Beautiful!
Captain: *sighs*
Me: We should get the one with the dogs on the top. Oh no! This one! With the fall leaves! It’s almost fall, we have to get this one!
Captain: I’m getting a table. *walks away*
Me: Okay, order me a Diet Coke. I’ll be there in a minute. *runs to corner of store* 70% off! *yelling* Honey! 70% off!!
Captain: *pretends not to know me*

20 minutes later

Me: You’re eating. You ordered without me?
Captain: I told you I was hungry.
Me: Check it out…I got the best deal ever! *opens shopping bag*
Captain: What the hell is that?
Me: It’s a cookie jar!
Captain: It’s in the shape of a John Deere tractor.
Me: Adorable, right?!!
Captain: I just…why?
Me: It was 70% off! *hand up in the air* High five!
Captain: Which made it….
Me: $29.99. A total steal! Huh? Huh? Come on...high five! *looks at hand*
Captain: *stares at cookie jar* Why is this a necessity in life?
Me: We need somewhere to put the cookies. *gives self high five* Yeah! I'm awesome!
Captain: You hardly ever bake cookies.
Me: I will now that I have this!
Captain: And also it’s a tractor.
Me: It’s decorative. Nevermind, you don’t understand.
Captain: What’s in that other bag?
Me: Oh ummm….just some things.
Captain: Wind chimes?
Me: Maybe.

One hour later…on the road.

Me: *moaning*
Captain: What’s wrong?
Me: Why did you let me buy that junk?
Captain: What? I didn’t LET you do anything…you just did it. Just like you always do.
Me: Well you're the husband. You're in charge. You should have stopped me.
Captain: I haven't been in charge since I met you.
Me: But still....a John Deere cookie jar?? Gah!
Captain: Last year it was those creepy angel statues. The year before that it was all those dry soup mixes. And then there was the Great Santa Mug Debacle of 2005.
Me: Seriously, I don’t know why I do it. I’m like a crazy person in that place.
Captain: Agreed.

*silence*

Me: We have to pack lighter next year.
Captain: Why?
Me: So I can fit one of those Cracker Barrel rocking chairs in the back.

Damn You, Banana

2010-08-27T17:19:00.002-05:00

I know I know. I haven't been around much lately. I have my reasons.

First? Last Saturday I bit into a banana and one of my crowns came off my tooth and I swallowed it before I noticed. A fucking banana, y'all. The softest fruit on the planet ripped a dental crown that is attached with fucking cement right off the remaining nub-of-what-was-once-an-awesome-but-is-now-felled-due-to-a-hairline-fracture tooth. Yes, that sentence just happened.

So I was sitting there, all eating my banana and then I swallowed (just like your mom did last night) and I was all huh, something feels weird and then I stuck my tongue over on the side of my mouth and holy shit, my crown is gone. So of course I start frantically looking around my chair for it, like it somehow walked out of my mouth without my knowledge. Then I realized that I swallowed it (twss). So I looked over at Captain Carl with my hand over my mouth and buggy eyes and he was all "What's the matter?" and I was all *horrified stare* and he was all "What happened?" and I was all "I just swallowed my crown!" and he was all "What?" and I was all "I. JUST. SWALLOWED. MY. CROWN." and he was all "No way" and I was all "Ohmygod" and he was all "Throw up!" and I was all "No!".

And then the pain kicked in. I had a raw, stub of a tooth exposed to the elements. So I cried. And Captain Carl was all "How can you feel anything? Didn't you have a root canal before they crowned it?" and I was all "No, are they supposed to do that?" and he was all "Yes" and I was all "Fucking dentist!". So I found another dentist that was open on Saturday, went to see her with greasy Saturday morning hair and banana breath and she was all "I'll do a root canal and get a temporary crown on there" and I was all "Yes please" and she was all "But not until Monday" and I was all stabbing her in the face. But then she prescribed vicodin for the pain so I totally made out with her.

All this means that sometime this week I literally flushed $500 down the toilet.

Then!

We moved the Kiddo to college and into his dorm on Sunday. He was pretty much all jumpy and clappy and excited and I was pretty much all pretend-happy but wearing-my-sunglasses-all-day-even-inside-because-my-eyes-kept-leaking. And now he's there and not here and Captain Carl was all braggy last week about how he was going to be so excited about being alone! like newlyweds! except with a renter living upstairs! And then on Monday he asked me if I'd been in the Kiddo's room yet and I was all "No, I can't go in there yet" and he was all "It looks like a hotel room with all his stuff gone" and then he burst into tears. Heh heh. Told ya.

Then!

On Monday morning, I got my root canal done but only half of it because the dentist "didn't have time to do the whole thing since it was an emergency appointment". Which means I get to go back in two weeks for a second root canal. Which is extra special awesome. And! This new dentist is good, but she doesn't use the laughing gas like my old shitty dentist did. Which means instead of laughing and peacefully drifting towards the ceiling during my root canal, I was instead sweating and trying not to cry and/or gag. And then on my way out I got to write a check for $620.

Then!

Yesterday I got a sinus infection. And a yeast infection. My body is awesome at infections. I'm oozing from almost every orifice.

And that's why I haven't been around much. Pretty much glad you asked, right?

National Cat Puke Day

2010-08-20T09:37:00.003-05:00

Captain Carl loves my cats. But he spends a lot of time pretending that he hates them.

Anyone Who Has Ever Visited Our House: Thanks for having us over!
Captain Carl: It was great! Don’t forget to take your free cat on the way out.
Visitor: What?
Captain Carl: It's your parting gift.
Me: No.
Captain Carl: Yep, pick whichever one you want. We have several to choose from.
Me: We only have two and no.
Captain Carl: We have white and black. The white one is cute but dumb. The black one will probably try to kill you in your sleep.

Captain Carl’s Mom on the phone: When are y’all coming to see us again?
Captain Carl: We’ll be there tomorrow. But just to drop off the cats.
Mom: What?
Captain Carl: You know. So they can live with you and not me.
Mom: I don’t think your wife will let you do that.
Captain Carl: Don’t worry about that…I’ll tell her we’re taking them to a kitty spa. She won’t know until it’s too late.
Me: I’m sitting right here, asshole.
Captain Carl: Abort mission! Enemy has infiltrated base camp! Whoop whoop!

Renty: Well, I’m heading to the pool.
Captain Carl: Don’t forget to let the cats out.
Me: No. The cats don’t ever go out.
Captain Carl: Sure they do. You just forgot.
Me: No.
Captain Carl: Look at them! All sad and shit because they want to go outside.
Me: They are indoor cats. They don’t have any claws or survival skills.
Captain Carl: Even better!
Me: No!
Captain Carl: *looking at Renty* I will lower your rent by $100 if you let the cats out.
Renty: Uhhh, ha ha haaa...
Me: *points at Captain Carl* Don't make me hurt you.
Captain Carl: Who let the cats out? Who who who who!

Me: I’m leaving for work…have a good day.
Captain Carl: You too! Don’t forget to put the trash out and also to put the cats in the trash.
Me: Ha ha...not happening.
Captain Carl: I’m pretty sure today is National Take Your Cat To Work Day.
Me: Nope.
Captain Carl: National Take Your Cats To The Animal Shelter To Be Euthanized Day?
Me: Shut up.
Captain Carl: National Drive Your Cats To The Middle Of Nowhere, Dump Them On The Side Of The Road And Leave Them For Dead Day?

And just when I begin to worry that being stuck in the house all day with two stinky fur balls is getting to be too much for him, something like this happens:

Email From: Captain Carl
Subject: Good Boy

Have I told you lately how much I love your cats? Because today? I really really do.

Attachment:

My cats live to see another day.

Apparently Whitney Houston Is Stalking My Son

2010-08-16T09:44:00.000-05:00

I came home on Friday to this message on my garage door.

No matter what, I will always love you!

Obviously Bunny is still not over the boy.

I blurred out the Kiddo's name for the blog, but trust me...it's there. And now our neighbors know my son's middle name is apparently "Sexy".

Too Much Sexy

2010-08-11T08:16:00.007-05:00

Is it just me, or is that dude in the red bandana super hot?

Me: *blow drying hair* Good morning!

Captain Carl: *blinking* Mmmhhmmm...

Me: Still sleepy?

Captain Carl: *yawning*

Me: Come here, you.

Captain Carl: What?

Me: Just get over here. *slaps ass* You're looking sexy this morning.

Captain Carl: Seriously? *peers at self in mirror* I still have cpap mask marks on my face.

Me: I know. Rawr!

Captain Carl: *staring* Are you okay?

Me: Oh yeah, baby. I'm more than okay. *sexy eyebrow waggle*

Captain Carl: Wait, what day is it?

Me: It's Wednesday. And you know what that means...

Captain Carl: Ummm...

Me: It's time for business time.

Captain Carl: You're quoting Flight of the Conchords? At 6:30 in the morning?

Me: You know it. Check this out. *jumps up and down* Huh? *looks down at chest* Daddy like?

Captain Carl: You got your period this morning, didn't you.

Me: *stops jumping* No.

Captain Carl: Yes.

Me: Did not!

Captain Carl: You did. I know because you always get horny when it starts.

Me: What? Shut up, I do not.

Captain Carl: *raises eyebrows*

Me: Fine. Whatever. You just killed my sex buzz.

Captain Carl: Every month.

Me: Blah blah blah. Go away, buzz killer.

Captain Carl: I'll make you a smoothie for breakfast.

Me: Could you do it shirtless?

Captain Carl: No.

Me: And maybe wear those jeans I like?

Captain Carl: No.

Me: Come on! I have cramps. Be nice to me!

Captain Carl: No.

Me: Maybe just flash me some nip out the window when I leave for work then?

Captain Carl: Fine, but just one.

And he totally did it, y'all. The man gets me. Kind of scary, huh?

I Spent $382 And All I Got Was This College Tuition Bill

2010-08-09T08:31:00.004-05:00

Here's a little math problem in honor of my boy going off to college in less than two weeks.

If

105 degree heat + 1 hour in Big Lots + 2.5 hours in Wal-Mart + screaming 3 year old in line behind us at checkout = $382 in college supplies

than

$382 in college supplies = Captain Carl ready to karate chop screaming 3 year old's mother + Miss Yvonne sobbing for 3.5 hours about her baby leaving home

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Me: Hey Kiddo, check it out. *sweeping arm gestures towards 5 ft. high pile of plastic crates filled with notebooks and ramen noodles*
Kiddo: That looks like college stuff.
Me: It is! Your dad and I spent all afternoon getting everything for you.
Kiddo: Cool. Hey, I'm going over to Emo's house, okay?

And then I punched him in his ungrateful face. Teenagers are pretty much awesome.

*sigh*

I'm gonna miss that punk. Damn it.

Things You Don't Want To Know About Me But I'm Going To Tell You Anyway

2010-08-06T09:21:00.002-05:00

I have been on a new diet and exercise plan with Captain Carl for 5 weeks. I've lost a whole 4 pounds. I'm so skinny now that people don't recognize me. At this rate, I'll be down to my target weight in oh, about 3 years.
In contrast, Captain Carl has lost 15 pounds and is a new man. I thought he was bad before, but I can't keep him off me now. Last night he told me he's drinking pineapple juice because it makes his "you know...stuff" taste better. *sigh* I'm thinking of sabotaging his diet. There's only so many nipple tweaks a wife can take.
I've decided to boycott all reality tv unless it is educational. Jersey Shore offers valuable lessons on tanning and ummm, sexual relations? So I'm still watching that. Stop judging, you don't know me.
I noticed last night that I've been consistently missing a patch of underarm hair for what appears to be several weeks. Instead of getting up and shaving it off, I sat and watched educational tv. Yes, The Fabulous Beekman Boys is educational. They live on a farm, people. All kinds of gay educational shit is happening on that show.
Last weekend I got my brother-in-law, Mailman Mike, drunk and encouraged him to sing the karaoke version of "Single Ladies". Then I taught him the dance. Then I peed my pants from laughing. He denies that it ever happened. Next time? Video camera.
That same night, Mailman Mike and I decided we should form an adult karaoke Glee club. Our trademark song? "Working for the Weekend" by Loverboy. With a cheerleader jump in the air at the end. It's pretty much awesomes. Don't be jealous.
The average temperature in DFW has been hovering around 105 degrees. It was 95 degrees last night at 11pm. My butt cheeks are in a constant state of sweat. Seriously, my ass is glowing like a pregnant woman's face.
Speaking of ass. I had a giant hemorrhoid last week. So yeah. There's you go.

I promise I'll stop writing about hemorroids if I get over 400 followers.

Honest.

Maybe.

Probably not.

The Most Painfully Relaxing Massage Ever

2010-08-02T08:03:00.000-05:00

Captain Carl has been trying to convince me to get a massage for a few years now. I am what some people might call "high strung" and what my mom calls "a little bit stressed out" and what my husband calls "fucking whacked out of your mind". I have no idea why I'm stressing. I mean, my husband is starting his own business, I have two jobs, my son is going to college this month, my electric bill is heading steadily towards $500, and I have a cat molester in superman boxers living upstairs.

For some reason, I'm afraid of getting a massage. I'm nervous about being naked on a table in front of a stranger. I'm worried that I'll get super relaxed and let a fart squeak out. I don't know...I just feel weird about it. I've been trying to ease into the whole massage thing this year. I got a chair massage and that was pretty awesome. Then I had a reflexology massage, which required me to lay on the table but not take any clothes off. But that was it. There's even a massage place right across the parking lot where I work. I could walk over and get rubbed on my lunch hour (twss). But I have never done it.

Then a couple weeks ago I met a lady through my photography business. She's a massage therapist who wanted family portraits taken. I needed a massage. Bada boom, a deal was struck. And I spent every day up until Thursday freaking out about my upcoming massage.

Thursday arrived and I drove to my appointment. I was getting a 90 minute deep tissue massage. Full body. Full on nude. Full on freaking out. So she puts me in the room and there's the big table...

Oh great, I'm sweating. Now I'm gonna be "the fat lady who sweat through 90 minutes of massage". Awesome.

Okay, getting undressed quickly...get on the table before she comes back in!! Hurry! OMG, why is my bra not coming off!! Gah!

Okay, made it to the table. Here she is...quick, stick the sheet under your armpits but be sneaky about it. Need to wipe off the sweat!

Hmmmm, so they really do play Enya during massages. I always wondered about that...

This isn't so bad. Massaging my head first...feels really good.

Okay, this kind of hurts. Is she pushing on my shoulders with her fists? Ow ow ow!

Phew, glad that part is over. Now the arms. Nice...feels good....ahhhh.

Holy shit!!! What the fuck, man?? What is she doing to my arms???? That can't be good for me!

Don't tense up don't tense up don't tense up. Pretend it feels good.

Massage Therapist: How's the pressure? Enough?
Me: Yep! Perfect!

Seriously, lady? How's the pressure? You are literally pushing me off the other side of the table!

Thank God, done with the arms. Oooh, the hand massage is nice. Now that's what I'm talkin' about!

When did my mind start talking in a New York accent?

Gosh, this is great. I can put up with a little pain on my arms for this hand massage.

I never realized how much I love Enya. Hmmmm, la laa laaaaa. Sail away....blah blah yaaaa.

Okay, on to the legs. Not too bad...I can handle this. Wait...oh shit, here come the fists again. Motherfucka!!!!!!!! Ow ow ow owwwwwww....

Keep a straight face...don't let her see how much this hurts. She'll think you're a huge massage pussy.

OMG, this isn't a massage, this is torture. Save me, Obama!

Deep breaths....think of something nice. Like puppies frolicking. Or the ocean! You love the ocean!

Holy mother of all that is good and holy...make her stop!!! Say something! Tell her it's too much pressure!!!

Massage Therapist: Still good on the pressure?
Me: Oh yes, it's wonderful!

I think I'm about to pass out...

Is it normal to see spots during a massage? Enya sounds like she's singing in a tunnel. Weird.

Feet! Ohhhh, this is awesome! Okay, I will forget about the legs. The foot massage is where it's at, baby!

Oh shit, I have to turn onto my stomach? Damn damn damn...I bet she can see my boobs. Thank God it's dark in here.

Ahhhh, shoulder massage...I wish she'd do this the whole time.

Ummmm...my nipples are getting pinched a little bit here. Should I move? Is that allowed?

Okay, major nipple pinching. Maybe if I just slowly reach my hand under there and move them around, she won't notice....

Crap, I wasn't fast enough...she's massaging my arm again. Oh great, more fisting.

Butt massage? This is kind of weird, but okay. Feels pretty good...oh man, now I have to fart. I KNEW IT! Hold it hold it hold it....

Massage Therapist: Okay, we're all done...I'll just step outside and you can get dressed and come out when you're ready.

Thank God, I thought she'd never leave. *pphhhhttttttt*

Me: Well thank you so much, it was wonderful!
Massage Therapist: I'm glad you liked it! And don't worry, it's normal to pass gas after an intense massage.
Me: Oh ummm...I didn't...I mean...not until after...ummm...
Massage Therapist: Was there enough pressure? I gave you the beginner pressure.
Me: That was beginner pressure?
Massage Therapist: Oh yes. It can get quite a bit more intense.
Me: Oh. Well, I mean there could have been a little bit more pressure...but this was fine.
Massage Therapist: We'll try a bit more next time.
Me: Oh ah....ha hahaa, okay.
Massage Therapist: Namaste
Me: Sure, ummm...right back at ya.

The Negotiation Ninja

2010-07-26T08:30:00.001-05:00

At my sister's house:

Lizard: So I have some exciting news.
Me: You're buying me a puppy??
Lizard: Why do you always ask me that? No. I'm moving to Chicago to be with Golfy next year.

(Golfy is Lizard's boyfriend. I named him that because he likes to golf. I'm a genius with fake names)

Me: What?? How can you move away? I thought he was moving here next year?
Lizard: It makes more sense for me to move there. It'll be cheaper and he can keep his job and I can work from anywhere.
Me: This sucks!
Lizard: I know. It'll be hard to move away from you guys.
Me: I moved to Texas just because you were here. And now you're leaving???
Lizard: That was 11 years ago.
Me: And your point is?
Lizard: Things change.
Me: Your mom changes.
Lizard: Look, you moved here and you met Captain Carl. It's not like I'm leaving you here alone.
Me: Whatever.
Lizard: Don't be mad.
Me: Stop talking to me.
Lizard: *sigh*
Me: Oh look at me. I'm Lizard and I'm selfish and I'm moving away so now my sister has no blood relatives in the state of Texas and I don't even care if her house catches on fire and she has nowhere to live and no clothes except what she wore to bed which is nothing because she sleeps in the nude!

*Lizard's phone rings*

Lizard: Hi baby!
Me: Is that him?
Lizard: I just told my sister the news.
Me: You tell Golfy that I hate him!
Lizard: She says she hates you.
Me: I never want to see his face again!
Lizard: She never wants to see your face again.
Me: He is dead to me! *walks out to living room*
Lizard: I should have told her over the phone.
Me: *yelling* Hey, can I have your couch?
Lizard: What?
Me: Your living room couch. Can I have it when you move?
Lizard: No, I'm taking it with me.
Me: Why?
Lizard: Because I love it and it will go perfectly in Golfy's house.
Me: *whining* It would look so much better at my house though.
Lizard: You haven't even seen his house.
Me: Well I know it would anyway, so shut up.
Lizard: You can have the couch in the family room.
Me: Gross.
Lizard: Excuse me?
Me: I don't like that couch.
Lizard: Thanks for insulting my taste in couches.
Me: Just that couch. It's all green and...old.
Lizard: Well sorry, but that's the only couch I'm not taking.
Me: *walks into home office* What about your desk?
Lizard: You have a desk already.
Me: I do not! I have a dining room table that I'm using as a desk. Because I'm poor and can't afford a nice desk like this because mom and dad wouldn't pay for me to go through law school like someone I know.
Lizard: They didn't pay for me either. I paid for it myself.
Me: Blah blah blah. If you give me this desk, I could sell my dining room table and make some cash. It's a win-win.
Lizard: Hmmm. I could probably sell you the desk.
Me: You would make me buy it?
Lizard: It's solid wood, I could get a lot for it. I'll sell it to you for $300.
Me: That's extortion!
Lizard: Oh come on...
Me: I better die before you so I can keep you out of heaven. Oh man, I can't wait to get up there and tell Baby Jesus that my darling sister made me buy a desk she already owned for $300!
Lizard: Seriously, you are ridiculous.
Me: Fine. *hangs head* Go ahead and move away and forget all about me stuck down here in fucking hot as hell Texas. Enjoy your snow and windy city and the mob.
Lizard: Okay okay. I'll give you my flat screen tv.
Me: *jumping and clapping* Really????? OMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!
Lizard: *staring*
Me: Score! *moon walks* *grabs crotch* *puts fist into air* *stomps right foot repeatedly* Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!
Lizard: *still staring*
Me: That was the only thing I really wanted anyway! Jokes on you, sucka! You never saw that coming, did ya? I rule at negotiation! I'm like a negotiation ninja!
Lizard: *more staring*
Me: What?
Lizard: *crosses arms over chest* *looks pissed*
Me: *smiles*
Lizard: *narrows eyes*
Me: I am going to miss you so much when you move.

The Real (Kick Ass) Me

2010-07-22T21:04:00.005-05:00

So I know y'all come here for a laugh. I'm all about the cheap joke and the hilarious stories and the great blow job. I like it that way, too. I want to be the funny girl...I strive to be her. I'm loud and obnoxious and inappropriate. It's what I do best.

But you know, sometimes it's hard to always be funny. I'm like that clown in that old commercial that everyone thinks is hilarious and omg that clown makes me laugh my ass off! but then someone starts a forest fire and one tear falls down the clown's face and wow that is a super powerful moment because who knew that clown had other feelings besides joviality?

I have a point here and it is that I have great tits. I have another point here and it is that there is more to me than humor. I'm a person with real feelings and deep emotions. I am complex, damn it. And I think it's about time for me to show y'all the other facets of my personality.

KIND HEARTED

I am a giver. See my smile? It says "Hey homeless guy. You smell. Here's some deodorant." I care about you. I really really care. Especially if you are hot and are Harry Connick, Jr. If you are Harry, I will care the shit out of you. I will care so much that you won't be able to walk the next morning.

MOTIVATIONAL

I am the friend everyone comes to when they need to feel better about themselves. Down on yourself because your boyfriend dumped you? Let's meet for lunch so I can tell you how amazing you are and how you deserve better and how I may or may not have given him a handy at that one party at your apartment while you were throwing up in the bathroom but only because I was drunk and he kind of looked like Harry Connick, Jr. if I took my glasses off and squinted.

INTROSPECTIVE

I am a very cerebral person. I often spend my time thinking about the complex and important issues that plague our world today. Like war and starving children and why no one has invented a working time machine yet. I mean, I really need a way to go back to 1991 and kick my own ass for dating that douche John and also to 1985 to pick up my awesome turquoise and gray striped legwarmers and banana clips because those bitches are vintage, y'all. I can't believe I didn't keep them.

FAMOUS

Okay, so this isn't really a personality trait and it really hasn't happened anywhere but in my mind yet. But I've totally got the pose down, right?? And! I've got almost 400 followers now, y'all. 400! Plus I figure if this blog doesn't make me famous, my giant man-hands will eventually. Look at my right one up there, all white and giant-y. I can palm a lot of shit with those puppies. (twss)

And last but not least....

AWESOME

Duh.

34 Days

2010-07-19T16:13:00.003-05:00

So the Kiddo goes to college in a month. I’m having some trouble with this fact. And when I say “having some trouble” I mean “crying my eyes out at the very thought of my baby leaving me”.

This is no exaggeration, y’all. I already felt screwed over for missing the first 8 years of his life and all the cute baby-Kiddo stuff. But now I feel even worse because 10 years has flown by and guess what? I’m an empty-nester at 36 years old.

Captain Carl, on the other hand, is pretending to be ecstatic. He’s all “We’ve never been alone, we’ve always had the boy, we’ve never gotten the chance to be true newlyweds, hooray!” but I know inside he’s really sad too. Those two are as thick as thieves most days. Sometimes I feel left out of the super nerdy boy club when they are together.

Everyone keeps asking me when we are going to take the Kiddo to school and I honestly didn’t know. Mostly because I don’t want to know on account of my sad stepmom heart breaking every time I think about his room being empty soon. So I just wave my hand in the air and vaguely say “Oh, sometime in mid August-ish”. But today I logged into facebook and that the Kiddo had posted this:

I move out in 34 days :p

The little fucker put a smiley tongue face at the end of it. Like he’s soooo happy to be leaving us that he just can’t help but stick his tongue out. Like he’s giving us the facial equivalent of the finger. Like, like….hang on a minute…

*sob sob sob*

*sniffle*

34 days.

So I’ve never left a comment on any of his facebook posts, even when it’s been completely stupid. But I was so sad reading this one, that I just had to get back at him for being so damn happy about his future. And so I left this comment:

34 days until we can finally have our first swingers party!

So far? 27 “likes” from his friends. Because I’m just that awesome.

How To Get Punched In The Face

2010-07-15T12:33:00.004-05:00

Me: Gah!
Captain: What?
Me: What is this?
Captain: What is what?
Me: This! *pokes own upper arm*
Captain: Your arm?
Me: No. This! *pokes harder* This jiggly stuff!
Captain: *looks nervous* I don’t see anything jiggly.
Me: Oh come on, you can see this. *shakes arm* I have jiggly arms!
Captain: Ummmm….
Me: When did this happen?
Captain: Ummmm….I don’t know?
Me: Seriously! Look at this. *pinches under arm* I’m all loosey goosey under here.
Captain: *stretches* Well, looks like it's time to hit the ole dusty trail.
Me: *points* You stay right there and answer my question, mister. When did this *furiously shakes arm* happen?
Captain: *stands up* Listen, I’d love to talk about this but I’ve got this big deadline to hit so….
Me: Are you saying I’ve been walking around with jiggly arms for a long time and you never told me???
Captain: *backing out of room* Oh honey, your arms are perfect.
Me: They so are not! *shakes both arms* I’ve got bat wings, damn it. And you never told me.
Captain: *yells from next room* You have sexy arms!
Me: You don’t think that, you liar! If you did, you’d be making sweet sweet love to my upper arms all the time.
Captain: *silence*
Me: Well???
Captain: Just a minute. I’m visualizing what it would be like to stick it between two bat wings.
Me: I really hate you.
Captain: Love you too!
Me: I said that I hate you!
Captain: That’s just your giant jiggly bat wings talking.

It's Like Living In Middle Earth. Except Instead Of A Ring, There's A Plunger.

2010-07-06T13:46:00.007-05:00

When Captain Carl and I contracted to build our house, we were pretty nervous about it. It was much bigger than the place we were renting at the time and it was in a suburb on the outskirts of the metro…which meant a much longer commute to work and more distance between ourselves and our family who lived here. The only restaurants near us were McDonald’s and a donut place. There was one gas station and no shopping. Not even a Wal Mart, y'all. I mean, I thought a Wal Mart was a prerequisite for a new suburb in the south?

So one day we drove out to see how construction was coming along. The walls were almost ready to go up and we stood out in the street in front of our new house and contemplated brick color and tree selection and ohmygodwhatarewedoing???? And then I heard someone yelling behind us “Are y’all our new neighbors?”. When we turned around, I saw two teeny tiny old people walking towards us. This couple barely came up to my chest, they were that short. And gosh they were sweet! They told us their names were Fanny and Reggie and how happy they were to have a young family moving in soon and how wonderful the neighborhood was and how it was lonely with only two other houses built so far on our street. Captain Carl and I left that day feeling wonderful about our home selection. I mean, everyone wants good neighbors right? It would be so great to have such a friendly and sweet couple across the street!

And then moving day arrived. We closed on our house in August. In Texas. Because we’re geniuses. We hired movers, who could only fit ¾ of our crap into their truck. And so we spent our first day as new homeowners hauling loads of the remaining stuff from the old place to the new. We did that about five times. And then, hot and sweating and exhausted, we began unpacking the essentials for our first night. I worked on the kitchen while the Captain worked out in the garage. Our front door was propped open to allow the movers easy access. And so I didn’t notice when our neighbor lady walked in and sat down on our kitchen window seat.

Fanny: Ya’ll are getting all moved in, huh?

Me: *jumping* Uh, yes. Ummm, when did you get here?

Fanny: Oh I just came in. I figured it was okay since y’all had your front door open.

Me: Oh. Well. Actually, we have it open for the movers.

Fanny: I see you’re cleaning the refrigerator.

Me: Uh, yes I am.

Fanny: Y’all brought your old fridge from your other place then?

Me: Yes.

Fanny: *swings legs back and forth* Y’alls fridge don’t match your stove.

Me: No, we’ll probably buy a new one soon that matches.

Fanny: *kicking heels against our newly painted wall* Huh.

Me: *staring* Is there something I can help you with?

Fanny: No. Just stopping by to say hi.

Me: Oh, well okay. I’m ahhh, a little busy right now.

Fanny: *laughing* I can see that!

Me: So ummm…maybe we could get together sometime after we’re all moved in.

Fanny: Sure! *walks around the kitchen touching things*

Me: So yeah…well….

Reggie: *yelling from outside* Fanny! Where are you, woman???

Fanny: *yelling from inside* I’m in here, for goodness sake!!

Reggie: *walks into house* Well hey there! Cleaning your fridge, huh?

Me: Well, I’m trying to.

Reggie: Well, I ‘spose we ought to let her get back to it, Fanny.

Fanny: Oh you go on. We’re having girl talk.

Me: Ahhh, ha haa….well actually….

Reggie: Come on now…leave her alone. The poor girl is sweating right through her shirt. *stares at my chest*

Fanny: Fine then. I’ll come back later to visit.

Me: Ummm, okay. Well…bye.

Reggie: It’s so nice to have y’all here. Now we’re not the only white folks on the street!

Me: What?

Fanny: *stage whisper* Everyone else is black. One of ‘em is from Nigeria or Africa or something!

Me: Oh, that’s nice.

Fanny: Well sure it is. But you know, it’s nicer when you have some of your own kind around you.

Me: *open mouth stare*

And it pretty much continued from there:

____________________________________________

Reggie: *after walking across the street to watch me trim the front hedges* Doin’ yard work, huh?

Me: Yep.

Reggie: Fanny was watching you out the front window and told me she can’t believe you’re out here doing man’s work.

Me: Excuse me?

Reggie: She says yard work is a man’s job and Captain Carl should be out here.

Me: Well, I don’t mind.

Reggie: Well, you’re doing a good enough job I guess.

Me: Gee, thanks.

Reggie: Pretty hot out here, huh? *stares at my chest*

______________________________________________

Reggie: *stopping us while we are out for a walk * Hey ya’ll!

Captain: Hey Reggie….gotta keep moving, we’ll talk later!

Reggie: Yep yep, I can see y’all are exercising. Good idea, ya’ll probably need it!

Me: What?

Reggie: Well, I tell y’all what. We sure do like our neighbors here on our left side but *stage whisper* them blacks sure do things differently.

Captain: Ohmygod. Let's go. *starts walking away*

Me: Wait, what does that mean?

Reggie: Oh, I don't mean nothing by that. They just seem to do a lot of things backwards. It must be their culture or something to do things wrong.

Captain: *grabs my arm* Ha, well we really gotta go!

______________________________________________

*Doorbell rings*

Me: Not it!

Captain: Oh come on, I answered last time!

Me: I’m not talking to them!

Captain: How do you know it’s them?

Me: It’s always them!

Captain: Fine. *opens door* Hey Reggie.

Reggie: Hey there, Captain. Listen, I don’t suppose y’all have a plunger I could borrow?

Captain: Ummm, what for?

Reggie: Well see, my grandson’s over this week and I tell you what, that boy has some intestinal problems.

Captain: *horrified face* Uh huh….

Reggie: Well, he left the biggest load I’ve ever seen in our toilet and it’s all backed up. You would never believe that it came out of an 8 year old.

Captain: Well…ummm..

Me: *yelling from my hiding place* We don’t have one!

Reggie: What’s that?

Captain: Yeah, believe it or not we don’t have a plunger.

Reggie: You don’t say? Well, alright then.

Captain: This is just a thought, but maybe you could drive over to the hardware store and pick one up.

Reggie: Well I guess I might do that. Y’all need me to get you one too?

____________________________________________

*doorbell rings*

Me: Not it!

*silence*

Me: Well shit, I’m the only one home. *answers door* Hi Fanny.

Fanny: I got my grandson with me today.

Me: I see that.

Grandson: *stares at my chest*

Fanny: *walks into my house* Come on Davy.

Me: Ummm, is there something you need? Why does he have that big stick?

Fanny: Oh who knows. He just picks things up outside. One time he came home with a dead snake and a pair of ladies underpants.

Me: *stare*

Fanny: I wondered if I could have some sugar.

Me: Okay, how much?

Fanny: You got a bag I could take?

Me: A whole bag?

Grandson: *swinging giant tree limb around my kitchen*

Me: Be carefully with that please!

Fanny: Oh he’s alright. Yeah, I need a whole bag.

Me: Well, I can give you a couple cups.

Fanny: Oh nevermind, that’s not enough.

Grandson: *banging giant tree limb against my wall*

Me: Hey, stop it!

Fanny: Not to worry. That’ll touch up with a little paint.

____________________________________________

And this is why we never answer our door or walk around outside in the daylight anymore. On account of our redneck racist hobbit neighbors.