UPDATED: The Elusive 150th

I've got 148 followers now. I told Captain Carl back in the spring that I wanted to hit 100 by the end of this year, so yea for me! However, I've been hovering around the mid-140's for weeks now and yes, I know it's probably partly somewhat kind of my own fault because I haven't been blogging and commenting much lately. But come on people, I'm still hilarious and awesome even if I'm around less.

So now I'm obsessed with hitting the 150 mark. I mean, Kim has more than 150 now. And Steamy and Vic and Kurt? Well hell, they've already gone way past 200....I'm choking on their follower dust. I'm just as funny and witty and good looking as all of them, right? Okay, maybe not quite as funny but I'm definitely as good looking and probably better in bed than all of them. Just sayin'.

I'm trying to figure out ways to boost my number. I'm pretty sure I need to get more sweary and sexy, which is an almost impossible task because I'm already damn sexy and very sweary. Very sweary. That should totally be a Hubba Bubba gum flavor. Do they still make Hubba Bubba? I chewed a lot of that shit in high school. Probably why I have the clicky jaw now. Thanks a lot Hubba Bubba. You suck. Unless you want to pay me for my soon-to-be-patented "Very Sweary" gum flavor. If you do, I'd like to consult on the wrapper design please....you'll need a catchy phrase to draw the kid's eyes. Like "Now With More Fucks And Shits!" or something like that. I'm pretty much a marketing genius. I'm like the Ted Danson of marketing. I don't even know what that means, but I am.

So back to how I'm going to get my 150th follower. I need suggestions. More renter stories? More renter sex stories? More renter pissing-me-off stories? A picture of Captain Carl smelling his back scratcher?

Ooooh! What if I offer the 150th follower a special surprise? Like maybe they give me the code to their voicemail and I change their message to say something like "This is Miss Yvonne and so-and-so is not available to speak with you. Because he probably can't stand you and saw your number come up and was all 'Oh shit, not that asshole again' and let it go to voicemail. Or because he's busy having sex with your mom. Leave a message, bitch!".

Or I could promise to post a video of me singing "Don't Cha" on drunk karaoke night when I hit 150. Or maybe I could share Captain Carl's recipe for the absolutely best lemon ice box pie you will ever eat in the history of eating pie (that's what she said). Or I could send the lucky follower a present and when they open it, it will be something awesome like a post-it note with a chewed piece of gum stuck to it or a caricature of me drawn by the Captain with me doing something cool like riding a unicycle or using a vibrator and also I'll make sure the package is marked "This box contains really offensive porn and sexy toys".

All that sounds pretty awesome, right? I'm sure I won't have any trouble getting to 150 now. I'll probably hit 170 in no time. And then in a couple weeks when I hit 300, I can be all "Suck it Steamy!" and "In your face Kim!" and "Take that Vic!" and "Bend over Kurt!" which he probably hears all the time anyway. But still.

UPDATE: Well apparently all I have to do is whine enough and I'll get what I want because guess what, y'all?! 150 followers. Boo ya. And what's even more awesome is that my 150th follower is called "vagiunta" which probably stands for something beautiful and meaningful but I'm going to say it's the Spanish word for cooter. That's what you get for following me, vagiunta. Sorry. Not really.

So now I have to get drunk this weekend and have the Captain video me singing "Don'cha". Just to make all my long-time followers happy. So quit yer bitchin'.

Now I'm off to whine about wanting to win the lottery.

Reason #37 Why Having Renters In Your House Sucks

You find out on Wednesday that Renty had drunk friends that you've never met over on Saturday while you and your husband were out of town and Marian walked in on them having sex in your media room.

Awesome.

Boys Are Gross

Sometimes Captain Carl scratches his balls with his back scratcher while he's watching tv. And then he smells it.

The End.

If There Isn't A Working Toilet, I'm Not Going

The weather is finally turning a little cooler down here in Texas. The air conditioner is not running at maximum capacity all day long and I no longer have to hold my boobs up and aim the fan under them to dry the sweat off.

Apparently this is the time of year that people go hunting, because my boss told me a story today about building a deer blind in his backyard for him and his 10 year old son to sit in while they wait to shoot Bambi with a cross bow. Did I mention his son is 10 years old? WTF? The South is crazy, yo. This child hasn't even gotten hair on his balls and his father gave him a deadly weapon that he can't even pick up by himself. Cue dueling banjos here.

This is also the time of year that makes Captain Carl want to go camping. He mentioned this to me the other day with a wistful note in his voice. He was all "This weather is awesome. I wish the Kiddo was younger so we could all go camping" and I was all "You can still go camping, I bet he'd like to go with you" and he was all "You could come too!" and I was all "Yeah. No." and he was all "Oh come on" and I was all "Unless camping involves a hotel room and room service, I'm not camping" and he was all "It will be romantic! We could get a separate tent from the Kiddo and have sex under the stars!" and I was all "That wouldn't be romantic. That would be dirty" and he was all "Yeah...dirty" and I was all "Not the good kind of dirty. The literal kind of dirty." and he was all "I bet you've never even gone camping before" and I was all "I have so and I woke up the next morning with mud under my fingernails and greasy hair and then I had to pee in a hole in the ground and that is why I will never go again" and he was all "You are so high maintenance" and I was all "Why don't you shut up and go eat some granola or something?".

I told him a few hours later that I changed my mind and he was all "Really?" and I was all "Yeah!" and he was all "Sweet, when do you want to go?" and I was all "Whenever you can rent the RV" and then he just stared at me and then walked off shaking his head.

Yeah, turns out Captain Carl likes to be "authentic" and sleep in a tent on the ground and not have a vehicle equipped with a shower and a bed and a refrigerator and a running toilet when he goes camping and I'm sorry but that is not called camping in my book. That is called getting lost in the woods and pooping without toilet paper and not having a mirror to check your makeup in and eventually having to eat the first person who dies because you ran out of s'mores and bottled water and refused to drink out of the stream because hello you have no idea what kind of bacteria and fish poop is in there!

I don't understand nature-y people.

I Shoulda Been A Stripper. And Also A Doctor. But Stripper Would Be Way More Fun. Probably.

Hurrah for awards! Hurrah for strippers! Hurrah for combining the two!

Little Miss Blogger apparently thinks so highly of me that she bestowed the I Shoulda Been A Stripper award upon me. Either that or she thinks I'd be really good at working the pole. And I am, baby...I am.

So I'm supposed to list 7 of my personality traits and then give the award to 7 other bloggers and also drive the bus and make sure I keep it above 55 or it will explode. Part of that was probably in a movie. I forget which part. I think it was the personality trait part.

Here's my 7 traits...read 'em and weep. Or be bored. Whichever, I really don't give a fuck.

1. Sweary - fuck you if you don't think that's a trait.
2. Anxious - all the fucking time.
3. Obsessive/Compulsive - this morning I check the freezer in our garage 3 times to make sure the door was shut. Don't even get me started on unplugging my hair straightener.
4. Hilarious - duh.
5. Giving - to a fault, people. To. A. Fault.
6. Did I list Sweary already? Shit.
7. Nice Smelling - okay that might be pushing it for a "trait", but my niece once told me I always smell nice and I will always cherish that as one of my favorite things about myself. So there.

Phew, glad that part is over. Now on to the next part. I'm giving this award to the following bloggers...

Prosy on Toast
Diamond Pewpin' Carnivore
Tater Tots for the Masses
Mean Girl Garage
The World Should Be Moisturized
Cooking Blind
Miss Chief's Blog

Dudes...I've got a new sex toy review coming up soon. It's gonna be awesome. And by "awesome" I mean "extremely uncomfortable to read". So yeah, be on the lookout for that hot mess.

I Do Really Important Shit At My Job. Really.

I just spent 45 minutes of company time having this conversation with two co-workers.

Me: Jadon just totally winked at me.
Jadon: I did?
Me: Yes, and you just winked at Anna too!
Anna: He did?
Jadon: That's gonna be my thing today.
Me: Winking?
Jadon: Yep.
Anna: Like that witch on that old tv show?
Me: Sabrina?
Jadon: No, that was the teenage witch. You're thinking of Samantha.
Me: Oh yeah.
Jadon: And Samantha had a daughter named Tabitha.
Me: And a husband named Deron.
Jadon: And there were two Derons.
Me: Right, but Anna means the genie show, not the witch show.
Anna: I do?
Jadon: Yeah, she used to blink her eyes to do her magic genie stuff.
Me: What was her name again?
Jadon: I don't know. Barbara something.
Me: No, her name on the show.
Anna: Genie?
Me: And her husband was....
Jadon: JR!
Me: No, that was his name on Dallas.
Anna: Wait, that guy was on the genie show?
Me: Yeah, but he was a lot younger then.
Anna: Well duh.
Me: Oh what was his name???
Jadon: Tony.
Me: No, that can't be right.
Jadon: Genie was also in Harper Valley PTA.
Me: That was a song.
Jadon: It was also a movie.
Me: Really?
Jadon: Yeah. Dolly Parton sang the song I think.
Me: Did she? I thought it was some other lady. The same one that sang that song about the kid on the bridge.
Anna: Huh?
Me: Hmmm mmmm, something something me and Bobby McGee. Or something like that.
Anna: I don't remember that song.
Jadon: Probably because you were an embryo when it was popular.
Anna: Yeah, you guys are old.
Me: They made a movie about that song too.
Jadon: Wasn't that guy with the mole in that movie?
Me: No, that was John Boy. It was the guy that was in the movie about the runner.
Jadon: The runner?
Me: Yeah, in the 70's. I don't know...he wore really short shorts and had long hair in it.
Jadon: Huh.
Anna: So anyway....
Me: *sigh* I suppose I should go back to work.

20 minutes later my phone rings

Me: Hello?
Jadon: Larry Hagman. Major Anthony Nelson.
Me: What?
Jadon: I Dream Of Genie. That was his name.
Me: Oh right! And he had that creepy friend. Crap....what was his friend's name again?
Jadon: Hmmmm....wasn't it Rog?
Me: That was What's Happening.
Jadon: I'm pretty sure it was Roger or Rog.
Me: Dyn-o-mite!
Jadon: That was Good Times.
Me: Oh shit.

I should totally get a raise.

Just Once I'd Like To Be Sitting In The Park And Have A Bunch Of Adorable Puppies Attack Me

Cute shit like that never happens to me. You see it all the time in the movies, especially in RomComs - which is my name for romantic comedies, which I totally made up and anyone who says I didn't is a damn dirty liar. I've been waiting my whole life for this event and so far? Nothing. Maybe once in awhile I'll get some stray dog running up to me when I'm on a walk, but that totally doesn't count because eeewww! unloved dog germs! But not once have I ever been adorably attacked by puppies. Because the day that you get pounced on by 12 or 13 puppies is pretty much going to be the best day of your life. Ever. End of story.

Maybe God is looking out for me and not allowing this to happen yet because what will I have to look forward to if the best day of my life has already happened at the age of 35? I mean, I've easily got 10 more years of really good living to do and then probably 20 more of kind of okay living after that and maybe 10 more of not knowing who I am and shitting myself. I have a point here and it is that I am still awesome in bed. I have another point and it is that God loves me so much that (capitalized) He's saving my puppy attack for when I'm in my 50's. I figure when I'm in my 50's, I'll be getting all sad and frowny about all my wrinkles and my upcoming pants-shitting days and God knows I will totally need something rad like puppies dive-bombing my face to make me feel better.

Wait. I just realized that I never just sit in a park. Actually, I barely ever go into a park at all. But when I do, I never just sit there. I'm always playing frisbee football and flying kites and reading poetry to my boyfriend, Harry Connick Jr, while he sings and feeds me grapes. Wait, I think that was in a RomCom I saw once. Nevermind. Yeah, I never go to the park.

This might be part of the reason why puppies never attack me there. Maybe I need to start sitting around in parks and see what happens. Should I bring a blanket, or do you think that will distract the puppies from their true target, which is my beautiful face? And if I don't bring a blanket, how will I protect myself from ants? Should I sit on the sidewalk instead? But I don't think a sidewalk would work, because you never see puppy attacks on concrete. They're always on grass. Think about it. And I need to make sure they are lab puppies, or maybe golden retriever puppies because everyone knows they are the cutest kind. I definitely don't want it to be schnauzer puppies. Or pug puppies. Eeeww.

I have no idea how to get only lab or golden retriever puppies to attack me. Is there a certain snack that only those breeds like? Or should I maybe hold a sign that says "Wanted: Seeing eye dog . Because I'm blind and don't have one yet" ? That would have to be a really big sign to fit all those words on it. I guess I could abbreviate, but I can't expect puppies to be advanced enough readers to understand what "Wanted: SED b/c blind" means. Shit, this is getting exhausting!

Fuck it. I'll just lay on my kitchen floor and let my cats walk over me on their way to the food bowl.