The Fine Line Between Being Hilarious And Being A Grandmother

Texting with the Kiddo...

Kiddo:  Hey the deposit came through today.  Thank you thank you thank you!
Me:  G
Me:  Damn it, that was supposed say "Good".
Kiddo:  I've already made $215 at KFC, but I won't get it until the next paycheck.  :-(
Me:  When does the next paycheck come?
Kiddo:  Not for two more weeks.
Me:  Has Bunny found a job yet?

Side note...I forgot to tell you guys that he got back together with Bunny on account of how she followed him and enrolled at his college and I'm not sure what the sequence of events was after that except that I suppose at one point his penis accidentally fell into her vagina and now they are living together over the summer in a house 6 miles from campus with a Mexican guy named Geronimo.  I'm not even kidding.  And yes, I will go into more detail about Geronimo, but not today.  Blogging 101, dudes...always keep them wanting more. 

So.  Anyway...

Me:  Has Bunny found a job yet?
Kiddo:  Yes, she works at KFC too.
Me:  So y'all work together.  Awwww, so cute.
Kiddo:  Yup.  Pretty damn lucky and convenient.
Me:  Y'all might as well just go ahead and get married and start having babies.

*phone silence*

Me:  I'M KIDDING.

*longer phone silence*

Me:  You know, because that would be ridiculous and I'm just being hilarious over here.

*more phone silence*

Me:  Ok, your silence makes me think you already ARE having babies and are just trying to find a way to tell me so that I don't totally freak out and have a panic attack and OMG HOW AM I GOING TO TELL YOUR FATHER I'M TOO YOUNG TO BE A GRANDMOTHER!!!!

*still more phone silence*

Me:  Stop smoking that bowl/having sex and answer your stepmother before she passes out!

*more mother fucking phone silence*

Me:  I swear to all that is good and holy that if you do not answer me RIGHT NOW I WILL DRIVE DOWN THERE AND CUT YOUR PRIVATE PARTS OFF.
Kiddo:  Calm down, I was in the bathroom.  And may I just say oh hellllllll no to babies.
Me:  Oh.  Okay.
Me:  That was totally hilarious, right?  Me pretending to freak out.  heh heh
Kiddo:  Right.  Pretending.

So.  Guess who's getting a box full of condoms sent to him tomorrow?

Jesus Fail

I really do believe in God. I do. Believe it or not, I was raised by extremely spiritual and religious parents. I went to church every. single. sunday. I played the Virgin Mary in the Christmas play (stop snickering, asshole). I taught Bible School, Sunday School, and accompanied the children's choir on the piano.

Fast forward 20 years and there I was...not going to church on Easter, the most important Christian holiday ever. Sleeping in on Easter. HAVING SEX ON EASTER. I'm pretty sure that's some kind of sin somewhere in the bible. So Jesus is all "Dudes, I'm rising. Check out my tomb. What? It's empty? Holla!" and I'm all *snore*.

Of course, I totally lied to my parents and told them we went to church. Because I totally was going to and intention is like, almost as good as actually doing something. So Saturday night I was all "I don't want to go to church" and Captain Carl was all "Fine by me" because Captain Carl is a heathen who doesn't believe in Jesus. Oh, he does believe in a higher power of some kind but he can't wrap his brain around the Jesus thing, I guess. Whatever. I'll wave at him down there in hell when I go to heaven. *pious face* My point is that I had no one to talk me out of talking myself out of going to church. So basically it was totally not my fault that I didn't go.

And then my parents called and were all "Happy Easter!" and I was all "Yeah, happy Easblah..." and then I was all "What did you do today?" and they were all "Oh we went to church with your older, better sister and she sang in the choir for THREE services so she got saved like, 3x more than you did probably. What did you do?" and I was all "Oh you know, stuff and eating and easter stuff mumble mumble."

Oh well. The Easter Bunny still managed to find our house, despite our being fresh out of moral compasses.



No, he did not wear the ears in bed.

Yes, I kind of wish he had.

Don't Ya Wish Your Girlfriend Was More Modest Than Me?

Things I am not proud of:

1. I have no inner monologue
2. I have no problem humiliating myself in public
3. I will sing on command at any time
4. I am super drunk in these videos

Yes, that is a wireless mic I'm wearing. My brother-in-law, Mailman Mike, gave it to me for Christmas, proving yet again how much Captain Carl's family gets me.

This next one is long, but also pure genius on account of my amazing Bee Gees impression.



We are having another karaoke party tonight. Watch out, living room. It's about to get all kinds of stupid up in here.

And That's How Eric Stoltz And 70's Porno Music Got Me Fired

Me: Hello?
Him: Hey baby.

*70’s porno music playing*

Me: What the hell is that?
Him: Oh that? Just a little baby makin’ music to start your day off right.
Me: Ummmm…..what?
Him: Okay, so I was on YouTube searching for Eric Stoltz in Back To The Future and…
Me: Wait, Eric Stoltz was in Back To The Future?
Him: No, he was the original Marty and they filmed for like 5 weeks or something and then they replaced him with Michael J. Fox.
Me: No way. How do you know that?
Him: Everyone knows that.
Me: No they don’t.
Him: Everyone but you knows that.
Me: Ohmygod, I’m trying to picture him in that movie and it’s kind of freaking me out.
Him: Why?
Me: There’s no way Eric Stoltz can pull off a puffy vest.
Him: Well anyway, so that’s what I was searching for and you know how it goes on YouTube. You click a link and then watch that video and then click on another link and then watch that video and then click on another link and boom! You find a band that does remakes of 70’s porn soundtracks.
Me: Are you sure you’re not just watching porn?
Him: Not yet.

*more 70’s porno music playing*

Me: Huh. That could be either 70’s porn or 70’s cop show.
Him: Just call me Ponch.
Me: I never realized how versatile that music is. You can chase bad guys or fuck bad guys to that music.
Him: Awesome, right?
Me: All you need is the right moustache and some bell bottoms and you’re good to go for either.
Him: Hell, all I have to do is shave off my goatee and I’ll have the moustache.
Me: I wonder if they make bell bottoms in your size.
Him: *giggling*
Me: What?
Him: Oh, nothing. *more giggling*
Me: *yelling* YOU BETTER NOT HAVE A PORN MOUSTACHE WHEN I GET HOME TONIGHT!
Every Co-worker in my office: *awkward silence*
Me: *whispering* Damn it.
Him: Well, my work here is done.

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

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.

Vindication Is Mine, Bitches

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.

Mother F’ing Ravioli Night

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.

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

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

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.

I Can Turn Anything Into A Conversation About Dicks

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.

Patriotism Fail. Now Updated With More Possum.

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

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

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

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’.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

Captain Carl Karaokes His Way Over The Hill

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.