Sanity, Interrupted...

Makin Dat Paper Sure Makes My Blog Hard-On Go Away Fast

2009-06-28T21:03:00.001-07:00

So Texas came and went, my daughter's graduation came and went and I'm sitting at my new place, right now, as I type. And yet, no blog after that very convincing spew last post that I would not go too long without posting.

My bad. I allowed my blog to get constipated again, please forgive a liar. This is quick blog poop so I don't get too backed up next time. See? I'm trying! Smelly sticker for that - even if it is a black licorice smelly sticker, I still get one right?

Don't answer that.

Pictures, video of the new I'm Not Samantha Brown Texas edition, my daughter's kindergarten graduation and all that good stuff are just waiting to be edited and posted so bear with me. Work is cockblocking all the fun stuff I'd rather get to. And this weekend was yet even more work as we spent it moving to our new house. :)

I don't know why I always trick myself into thinking I can be that person who packs a month before the move. I really thought in my heart of hearts that I would do this. You see, in my head, I'm the kind of girl who is very organized and efficient. The kind of girl who separates her outfits by color and by style. The kind of girl whose shoes are in their orginal box, put in a row with the polaroid picture of said shoe on the front. THAT type of girl. When in reality, I'm the kind of girl who seperates her outfits by pajamas and NOT pajamas, and has two pairs of shoes, flip flops and NOT flip flops. And yet, I strive to be that girl in my head and I fail miserably each and every time.

I DID not pack a month before the move obviously. In fact, I didn't even pack the week before the move. I packed when it was TIME to move. It was hell obviously, but the deed is done (except for a few odds and ends at the old place that we have to sell.) and to reward ourselves we took a dip in our new pool....

This is our hilltop view from the backyard/pool.

This be where we gets our tan on.

It's nice being in a bigger place, but I would be lying if I said that the move was a little bittersweet for me. Considering that we moved into that condo four years ago with big dreams of possibly BUYING a house around this time. I would be lying if I didn't say I felt little bit like a failure after walking out of our condo for the last time yesterday. I KNOW there was no way we could have known that the market would have taken a dump as much as it has, it was completely out of our hands and yet still...it's weird when life steers you in a whole other direction. My tendency is to definitely go with the flow and not waste my energy fighting the current, but it does take time to readjust when your original plans get temporarily derailed.

Speaking of readjusting - I could not sleep at all last night because IT WAS TOO QUIET. Yes. I'm that big of a city girl that apparently I need a ghetto bird to lull me to sleep. Yesterday I heard....crickets and nothing else! No cars, no ghetto bird, no cats yelping from sexual ecstasy, no kids that should be in bed but their parents suck so they're outside playing and making friends with the pothead next door. NONE of this was heard last night. It was just...nothing...and so I heard EVERYTHING.

The creak of the door....'who the fu...?!' *grabs nightlight and starts scanning the room*
A car's engine started veeerrrry far away ...' omg someone's in our driveway!' *get up and peek out the window holding a rolling pin.* (I know so cliche', grabbing the rolling pin, and stupid since Brad's very sharp filet knife was right next to the rolling pin)

So it went like that all night last night. This is whole 'quiet at night' - 'no neighbors within a sneeze's distance' - is weird. I know it's suppose to be nice but it just feels like I'm a kid that's lost their old blankie. Sure it's stinks, it's frayed at the edges, it's been drooled on, dragged in the dirt and so worn out you can see through it - and yet still, it was comforting to me. All those annoying little noises.

All this quiet is making my very active imagination run wild - it'll take some getting used to.

Okay I have to end this on a anticlimactic note as work awaits! I told you! Work be cockblocking like a jealous college girl who can't get a dude anymore because her reputation for spreading easier than margarine and leaving behind a trail of fire urine precedes her...

Dude. I don't know what I'm talking about. Why are you still here?! I have to work!!! Stop distracting me!

A nice hot plate of cuntwaffles. Because I can't think of a clever way to title this blog and my new favorite word is cuntwaffle. The end.

2009-06-16T14:31:00.000-07:00

I swear upon Pamela Anderson's accordion cooch flaps that I am NOT neglecting this blog. For the past week or so I've been trying to get a vlog together because I had so much random shit to talk about that it would make for a very A.D.D. kind of post. Random commentary vomit is much better served in a visual form.

Unfortunately, my ghettofied ass decided that triple A batteries from the dollar store were just as good as the ones at the grocery store. Except I found out that no, it really isn't. I would put in a fresh pair of batteries in my tired ol' Flip camera and five minutes into taping, it would give me the 'low on battery' sign and then cut a bitch off completely mid-rant! WTF Dollar Store?! Sure they're a dollar and what the hell do I expect but it couldn't even give me 10 solid minutes to do a decent vlog?! After ruining five brilliant takes, I said screw you random packs of triple A batteries from some country that uses dots and slashes instead of letters!

-;;--;0-*_- !! <-- I really hope that means 'screw you' in their language and not 'kill the whitewash Filipino Infidel.' So, I'm over vlogging my shit for now because I'm too lazy to go to the grocery store and get a decent pack of batteries. I know. I'm pathetic but cut me a break will ya? There's a lot going on in the House of Midget. First and furthermore (I sound so Abe Lincoln when I say that out loud), the munchkin is graduating Kindergarten next week! Which means....she's in FIRST GRADE? How and why did this happen so fast? Although, truth be told I'm not too sad that she's leaving her Kinder teacher. (Crazy baton lady.) Again, great teacher but I'm going to be relieved that we no longer have to be peer pressured into attending/participating in anymore inane baton events (where we have to get into a gray Delorean, make sure the flux capacitor is working and go back in time for these events...you know, when baton was relevant...wait. was baton ever relevant??).

In any case, glad that's over. I''ll also be very happy that our parent/teacher talks, where she speaks to me as if I'm an infant, is also over. I don't know if she does this with every parent, but I really believe in my heart of hearts that she thinks I'm a teen mom. I'm not complimenting myself like, oh yeah because I look so young and shit (although my skin IS exquisite I have to say...) but I really think it's because she's a 1000 years old. She probably sees her students as wiggling amoebas.

Immediately after the munchkin graduates, that weekend to be exact, we are moving to our house!! Please note I said HOUSE, and please note that we will be renting the 20 dollar a day U-Haul because the move is LOCAL. As in, NO MISSOURI. NO MISSOURI. NO MISSOURI. I don't think I can thank Jesus De Cristo & Dios Grande enough for such a blessing. Sorry Missouri, I love to visit but that's about the extent of my love for that state. Oh and Sonic food, I love Missouri for Sonic. I USE Missouri to get to Sonic, so sick is my love for Sonic.

But before even THAT all happens, I am going to visit my BFF, sista from anotha motha, Judy in Dallas, Texas. That's right, to all you people in Texas, if on Friday there's suddenly a smell of Circus Peanuts and Fabulousness in the air, don't fret! It just means that I've arrived and your midget population has been temporarily increased by one. I'm so excited because Judy has lived there for years and this is the first time I'm visiting her. I know, I know. Bad best friend. It will be a quick little jaunt - just Friday and Saturday and I'll be returning Sunday just in time for Father's day. Short as my travels will be, I am taking this as an opportunity to film the second installment of my 'hit' travel vlog: "I'm Not Samantha Brown."

I'm seriously dedicating myself to this series. I loved making it (even though it ended up dark and kind of patethic), I loved putting it all together and I think I can do better. And I love/hate Samantha Brown so much that I don't mind being the Wal-Mart version of her.

So yes, I know I've been lagging on making new episodes as of late, but after this Dallas trip, I'm MAKING time for it. Be prepared to go with me and my 20 dollars to exotic places like this Pho' restaurant across the street (I got a buy 1 get 1 free coupon in the mail. Time to splurge!) or we'll drive across the way to this Hawaiian restaurant that serves a teriyaki beef & rice platter that's so good I have to pause between bites to allow my mouth to have its multiple orgasms. When I move east of SD, there's this fabulous liquor/convenience store on the way that's right next to a trailer park. You won't believe the 'exotic' people that frequent that establishment. Mullets, gap tooth smiles and meth withdrawal shakes galore! It'll be just like visiting Kid Rock's house!

The budget might be limited but the possibilities are endless.

More to come soon and I won't be a lazy ass and wait so long to post a blog. Either my ass will go get some real batteries to do a vlog or I'll blog the ol fashioned way, hunker down and finger bang my keyboard. This not posting a blog for weeks on end is not a good thing. It makes my soul feel backed up and constipated.

Is it possible that I mentioned cake, glory hole and poop mosiac all in one blog post.? I'm so impressed with myself.

2009-05-25T20:48:00.000-07:00

I hate not blogging but I hate blogging when I don't feel like it. It's a lot like eating cake when you're taking a shit. You're just not feelin' the cake at that particular moment you know? Unless it's tres leches cake, THAT I will eat off a dirty street in Calcutta. But you see the point I'm making here (and the subtle hint that maybe you should bake some tres leches cake and FedEx it to me stat.)

So what's been going on that made it feel like I've spent a week in the crapper taking a shit bigger than viking hubby's head? My condo of course and the annoying process of leaving "our first step towards a home" that turned into something akin to the La Brea tar pits - leaving us paralyzed and trapped. I began the process of becoming unstuck which required me to do some - le sigh and fuckity frack- PAPERWORK!

I just deleted about half of this blog because hateful bile began to spew forth from my fingertips, directed at my mortgage company who really is nobody in particular but this bottomless pit that's sucked up all our money. Going off on them doesn't make me feel any better. Its like cussing out the disembodied peen that pokes out the glory hole in some random restroom and hits you in the ear while you're doing your business. In the end, no one is going to make you feel better for what just happened and then you wonder if there was something you could have done to prevent it. Were you tapping your foot in an inviting manner? Maybe you shouldn't have gone into a questionable restroom in the first place? You didn't really have to go, you could have waited. All this mental torture doesn't change the fact that your ear just got violated and now has an odd mushroomy smell.

I really don't understand where my mind goes sometimes but thanks for following me there anyways. I'll pitch in for your dry cleaning.

Anyways, long story short - amidst this mountain of paperwork that was asked of us to provide, our mortgage company also asked us if we would sign a promissory note basically promising to pay the difference if our property doesn't sell for what we originally bought it for.

Huh? Wha did you say o' evil mortgage company? I couldn't hear you with all the ruckus I was making while wiping my ass with your 'promissory' bullshit form. Please note that the skid marks on your form is our official reply and suggestion to please go fuck thineselves in the ass with a splintered stick. Amen.

I'm so glad I shortened my story about my pure and concentrated hatred for my mortgage company. Their inability to act when I asked them for help a YEAR before all this mess, the fact that I've been transferred to 'customer service reps' halfway around the world who had scripted answers, none of which answered my questions and how they demolished our once stellar credit to, what I imagine is now, a two digit number, and just thinking back on how badly they handled this entire situation exhausts me. I hate to talk about it or even dwell on it. However, lately, I've noticed that my very controlled and censored hatred has a way of letting itself out in the form of creative ideas for revenge.

One recurring idea is to shit in the middle of the living room and shape it into a middle finger before I leave. But then I realize there is no way I could ever eat enough cheese to make my shit be pliable AND sturdy like clay, my quality of crap would never hold up if needed for a sculpture. So then I thought, what about our dog's logs? Its large, there's a lot of it, I could make a poop middle finger mosaic in the living room! Then my ideas take on a much grander scale (because I know I won't actually do it. You probably thought I would huh? I see what you think of me! Not that I can blame you...) crap mosaics are soon coupled with shit wallpaper, poo dioramas, maybe caca brownie squares. Basically my hate just wants me to defecate on everything....in an artistic manner of course. It would be downright vulgar to just crap every which way with no purpose.

But in the end, there is no revenge against the man. The head honchos and shareholders at my mortgage company could give a rat's ass if my entire condo was covered with chum and bum excrement. They would never even get a whiff of it. They'd hire some poor sap to clean it up before they sold it again.

However, if I happen to get my hands on any of these shareholders addresses, I don't think a bag of flaming poo would hurt anything. ;D

Helloo? Is it me you're looking for?

2009-05-12T15:22:00.000-07:00

I SWEAR on a bag of circus peanuts and baby Jesus' dirty diapers that I will post something worth reading (or seeing..I might do a vlog due to time constraints) soon because the Queen twat post below is getting chewy and downright smelly.

Meanwhile, for your Tuesday enjoyment please enjoy Tyrone Jones' super delicious moves. And try not to get so jealous...

The Queen Twatted Me And It Felt Dirty In A Good Way.....

2009-05-05T20:37:00.000-07:00

Following a celebrity on twitter is pretty interesting. I'm not too starstruck as a general rule, but it's interesting getting a peek into their world and twitter is probably the closest you can get without literally following them at a restraining order distance. It does feel personal, but only from the non-celeb side. The celeb most likely doesn't follow you back, (except LadyGaGa! hey gurl! Did I mention I don't get starstruck?) doesn't know you, doesn't care - most of the time, they only tweet their other celeb friends. A lot of them do respond to the masses, but the more followers they have, obviously your chances of getting a reply are slim to none.

So you can imagine the sheer twitter vomit pandemonium it causes when Madonna jumps onto her manager's twitter and starts to tweet.

And sure, I'm right there making feeble attempts to attract the Queen's attention. I've proposed to her numerous times, sexually twittered harassed her, I've told her that her ass is such a work of art that it should have it's own world tour. I throw those twats out there, not really expecting a response, because thousands of other people are doing the same thing. I just hope she'll read one and go, "Oh LadyHAHA, she's a hoot!" (yes, Madonna uses the word 'hoot.' Don't question me.)

On May 1st, a day that will now be in the midget history books, Madonna jumped onto her manager's twit account and started twitting away about how she was at Jessica Seinfield's house cooking. I did my usual twitter come-ons, asking her what she was wearing and other pervy shit like that. I only twatted her three times and almost called it a night, so imagine how the midget's bowels loosened upon her cabbage patch pants when, from the clouds, royalty touched my computer screen and asked me....

guyoseary@LadyHAHA tell us a joke..
7:46 PM May 1st from web in reply to LadyHAHA

Oh! My! SkidMarks!
Did she...?
Is she...?
........muh......??

The Queen has asked me to dance!!! Oh yes, Queen, a dance I will do! And dance I did. I told her as many jokes I could possibly think of. She signed off a couple minutes after. I still don't know if she got to see any of my jokes. But with her one magic twat, she's officially appointed me to be her royal jester and I'm happily taking the job. And really, she's given my twits a focal point (jokes) which is good because if i twitted about real life, it would be little nuggets of extreme importance and interesting topics like this:

Just woke up, had a cup of sugar and cream with a dash of coffee.

My ass itches. Should probably take a shower soon.

I want Circus Peanuts.

I gotta fart. Oh wait. no.....I gotta go to the bathroom.

Phew, close call.

Although, I have a feeling she might have read some of my jokes and it might have tickled something in her because she gave me the Hahas right back when she wore this to the NYC Met's Costume Gala last night:

Oh Madge. Darling, my love, time to get rid of some of those 'Yes' men/women who are clearly doing their job all too well. Or maybe, just MAYBE, she was SO inspired by my humor that she wanted to physically represent my hilarity via a hilarious outfit! Another attempt to reach out to me? A subtle way of saying, yes midget/LadyHAHA, I love you too? Perhaps.

It really is the only logical conclusion.

Crunchy Elegance. You might want to wash your hands after reading this post.

2009-04-29T21:36:00.000-07:00

There is no one on the planet that will bring me out of my blog writing slump like Pamela Anderson. So thank you Pam for getting up off of that sticky floor of your trailer and going out there; half dazed and looking all kinds of crunchy. Nothing gets my writing juices flowin' again like a (barely) walking, talking carny ride like yourself.

GLAMOUR! SOPHISTICATION! DIGNITY!
(but on this day, she obviously left them at home.)

Seriously, what exactly is going on here? Surely the economy can't be this bad that she's succumbed to dressing herself in toddler fits? Then again I guess this is what happens when 100 years of sun beats down on an open bag of STDs. I'm impressed that her white outfit remained white for the pictures because she sincerely looks like she oozes hot burning pus uncontrollably from her flappy gash. When I think of the worst/best example of rode rough and put away moist, one particular girl comes to mind. Once upon a time I used to do ad copy for a telemarketing company and one telemarketer literally came into work one day high on coke, wearing a short silver dress with a safety pin holding one of the straps in place and heels...except one of the heels had a broke during her guest appearance on Cops that evening. She smelled of sour milk and sorrow. And yet SOMEHOW, compared to this picture of Pam, she's become Audrey Hepburn in my mind.

But don't get the wrong idea, I love a hot mess. If Pam and Courtney Love were to go on a hot mess tour, I'd be right there in the front row ......with a hazmat suit.

In other news...

* My Palm Springs trip was uneventful, relaxing and way too boring for me to write to you about. When I say nap, eat, lay out, repeat. I mean it. On Saturday night we both fell asleep while watching t.v. at the twilight hour of 6:00 p.m.! Suffice it to say we were both wide awake at 12:00 a.m. but both of us thought the other was asleep so we kept going in and out of slumber until about 6:00 a.m. the next day. It really is the best type of vacation. Like charging up our very empty batteries.

* On a low note, ever since Palm Springs, I've been eating like crap. I allowed myself to splurge a little in PS - and by 'a little' I mean I ate everything that didn't move fast enough. (KFC strips on Friday, coffee cake with cream cheese icing for breakfast on Saturday, shrimp pasta for lunch, chili cheese omelet). I got back home and all of a sudden I catch myself eating fried pop tarts dipped in chocolate. Okay, I'm kidding but wouldn't that make some great fair food??? In short, (ha) I fell off the wagon momentarily, my bloated pop tart filled belly is temporary, and ...um....Robin Williams is really hairy.

* LadyGAGA is following me on Twitter. I'm an idiot but I'm kind of flattered. And really how can she not follow LadyHAHA? (me) It was bound to happen.

* I'm slowly but surely starting to gather up our belongings preparing for the move. Most of which is going straight to the yard sale pile. You should see the crap I've accumulated over the years, I have a stack of US magazines that's about as tall as I am. A year's worth of US Magazines. Why??? Why did I keep all of them? because of their stellar journalism?

"Look! Reese Witherspoon picked out an annoying wedgie! LIKE US!"

On a positive note, I found Jessica Simpson's career underneath my pile, unfortunately, it's dusty, worn out and has her father's handprints all over it. (eww).

* I'm almost positive that if I keep digging through my crap I'll find the giant wooden spoon and fork that I was meaning to hang in my kitchen. (I'm kidding. I don't really have that and I'm trying really hard NOT to go on ebay to look for it.)

remember these??? I still remember our giant fork and spoon that we had in the Phils.

* Where can I buy a box of Count Chocula? Oh wait. I'm suppose to be getting back ON the wagon, not falling off of it, crawling into a tub of sugar and going for a swim with my mouth open.

Okay. I get it now.

The World Would Be A Better Place if People Co-Existed as Peacefully As The Random Knick Knacks Do On My Shelf.

2009-04-20T21:08:00.000-07:00

We checked out our future place of residence this past weekend and wow! It's huge and I'm already feeling overwhelmed - in a good way of course. I can't believe how incredibly lucky we got nabbing this place. Basically it's more than twice the size of our two bedroom condo, the living room alone is half, if not the size of our entire condo. There's a huge backyard, a pool and a pool house complete with bathroom and shower and a lovely hillside view.

I've recruited the help of my friend Brandie to pick out colors (the owner is letting us paint!) for the walls, cabinets and just general help with placement of furniture and decor. Being that I'm Asian or more specifically, FILIPINO - my natural instinct is to fill every little nook and cranny with crap. Intermixing knick knacks, themes, decor, color - and basically turn the house into a living breathing definition of A.D.D. I'm not saying ALL Filipinos are like this, but most of the ones I've encountered, including my parents fit the A.D.D. decor mode.

For example, my mom had Buddhist and Catholic art and decor sprinkled throughout the house. It was not unusual for Buddha statues to co-exist with crucifixes and candles with saints on them. We had a 3D - YES, that's right, THREE DIMENSIONAL - painting/diorama of the Last Supper (faux gold plated for your pleasure) hung up on a wall in our dining room area so that every meal was like breaking bread with Jesus and his desciples. Or in a lot of instances, breaking a hot pocket or a bowl of cookie crisp with Christ. But the decor wasn't limited to religious Gods, oh no. If it was the hot ticket item at the swap meet or given to us, you can bet it had a place of its very own in my house.

There were these random paintings that a relative did that my mom simply could not resist putting up. They were nature scenes (a river, a cabin, a forest) that I think would have given the paintings at your local Motel 6 a run for it's money. We also had another 3D diorama type painting of an ocean with movement (SEE the ocean crash!) AND sound (HEAR the ocean waves!). It was like looking at a painting during a bad LSD trip, except no drugs were necessary, only a nearby outlet to plug it in. Let's not forget the clock that played a different CARPENTERS song every hour. (Okay, I kind of loved that one..)

That was my house and it never even occurred to me how horribly maniacal the decor was because it accumulated slowly. My mom would change her mind on what 'theme' she wanted but failed to take down the prior theme and wala, by the time I moved out in college the house looked like a storage room for Antiques Roadshow rejects.

I vowed to never be like that and yet....in my first tiny tiny apartment, I already had 'themes' going on in my head. For example, my bathroom was going to be done up Superman style. (STOP LAUGHING AT ME! I was still a kid! Okay, 22, but still...) Of course in my head, it was going to be done in this cool retro vibe. I was going to build (cough*viking hubby was going to build*cough) a nice high shelf and display all my Superman collectibles on it. I use the plural term 'collectibles' loosely as I only had a Superman statue, an old Superman pretzel tin and two old Superman metal lunchboxes. Thank you Ebay.

I was going to hang a retro Superman painting ...somewhere..in there... only I never could figure out where... and so my 'retro superhero' bathroom ended up basically looking like a normal bathroom except there were a few Superman knick knacks on top of the toilet that occasionally fell if you closed the lid wrong. Then, like mother like daughter, I would change my mind on these ridiculous decor themes and accumulate crap that fed into my 'hoarding' gene - also passed on by my parents who KEPT everything! When they finally retired, they still had my old speak n' spell because it worked and I guess you never know when you're going to need something to robotically nag at you on how to spell squirrel. I really don't know why they kept it. They claimed they kept it so I could give it to my child. Can you imagine giving an old speak n' spell to your child right now?? Or a Teddy Ruxpin with the story cassettes that go up his ass? Complete that set with a catch a ball in a cup toy and they'll never need the internet again.

Anyways, I've been pretty restrained with my condo because I'm well aware of my problem. It's an inner fight with myself to NOT buy that life size Elvis cut out at the gift shop. Where would I put that leather clad hunk?

First thought? "You could totally make your office into an Elvis shrine! And you could install a CD player that can play Elvis songs on a loop as soon as you sat down!"

If Nate Berkus could see the decor ideas in my head, he would need serious therapy afterwards or a mental scrub brush to erase the gaudy decorating taste I would leave in his soul.

I've also been restrained because from this point on, my dwellings have been rather small and I value space a teeny bit more than my penchant for room themes and useless knick knacks. A teeny tiny bit, not a lot. I may or may not have a Bob's Big Boy statue bumping shoulders with a matching set of ceramic tiki mugs on my kitchen window ledge. (head down in shame).

This house however, has space and ...gasp...an extra bedroom ..that in my head has already turned into my MADONNA themed office...with a DVD player playing Madonna videos on a LOOP! (what I've learned about myself today: Apparently I like my entertainment played on a loop!?) There's also a fully equipped bar - and of course, since viking hubby doesn't drink alcohol, in my head, that has already turned into a mini-Jamba juice smoothie bar, complete with a retro Coke advertisement above with flashing lights!

Don't even ask my head about the ideas its had for our bedroom.
Two words: Space Cowboy.

wait..three words: RETRO space cowboy.

If left to my own devices, it could get straight up Graceland II in this new house. (The Jungle room is my favorite! Sick.) - so thank you to my friend Brandie in advance for holding my hand and knocking some good taste in me.

San Diego is my mother and I shall not be extracted from the comfort of her bosom!!!

2009-04-09T14:24:00.000-07:00

Let's start off with some GREAT, FANTABULOUS NEWS! - I'm staying in California!!!! whoooo! The job outlook for the future was much better for viking hubby here than it was in Missouri; we felt it would be foolish for us to leave when he has a 40 hour a week job, a very good reputation with his company and the fact that we just found out that they are signed up to do a lot of big projects in the future. His boss has a rental house east of San Diego that he's offered to us that is a less than what we pay at our current condo. It's on top of a hill, no neighbors, three bedrooms, and...what I'm most excited about ...a wa-wa-wa-..(sorry I'm getting ferklempted) ..a washer and dryer!!! Which means...sniff...no..(hiccup)..no more digging around for quarters to get my laundry done?

Pinch me sweet baby Jesus because it feels like a dream! That is truly the sole reason why I HATE doing laundry, having to go out and get that coin! Either I have to go to Wal-Mart and get the side eye from a disgruntled Wal-Mart cashier when I ask for a roll of quarters, or I have to dig around couches, steal it from unsuspecting bums or children, or sneak into the car wash, get some change and get out of there before the owner sees me and screams "Change fo customah ONLY!"

Although, I'm going to miss living 3 miles away from the beach our consolation prize is we have a pool. And check this out, right after I found out that we got the rental and we were officially staying put for a while, I saw this in the sky:

See? Baby Jesus' daddy be giving me love from above via a heart cloud? Awww. Ain't he sweet? It's like he was all, 'Australia was a crazy idea girl, but here I'll give you this just to show that I got yo back - now shut up about it.' Okay so maybe the cloud looks more like an artichoke than anything else but even so, I wanna believe it's an an 'artichoke heart.' Maybe he's giving me love AND telling me to get a artichoke dip appetizer at Chilis to celebrate. Dual messages and what not.

Moving right along, let's see what wonderful totally irrelevant crap I've discovered/observed this past week....just two things really and then class is dismissed I promise....

You would think running three miles everyday would afford me some time to think about a lot of things, get really deep and introspective about life, maybe meditate a little, get in touch with my inner child and yell at it for being such a dork in 7th grade (and 8th, 9th, ..). So far though the only thing I've realized is I'm one of those idiots that push the walk button 50 kajillion times in hopes that the lovely walking man will pop up and allow me to cross. EVEN if I SAW the red hand just came up and I KNOW that fucker works on a timer, I will still push that button like it's a morphine drip going straight into my veins every time I press it. The only excuse I have for this is because A. the traffic light happens to be right before my home stretch and I just want to get the run over with, go home and soak neck deep in a tub of ben gay and B. I cannot COOL DOWN. I don't know if the traffic light understands that I was born in the 70s and I run a whole lot like a car from the 70s. It takes me a while to warm up and if I cool down, I basically shut off. My body thinks "oh this bullshit is over? thank god." And then it'll want to lay down right there on the curb and take a nap. That's how the ol' machinery works people and that damn traffic light just doesn't understand me but at all.

You know what multiplies faster than Octo-Mom? (wait does that joke make sense? bah! you know what I mean!) Publisher's Clearing House contest entries! I made the mistake of filling out an entry form because I'm a retard like that and the prize of winning 5,000 a month for life seemed like a great not too over the top prize. (me in two words? total idiot) And all I had to do was take this stamp and stick it to the left side of this entry, and then I take this bright sticker and put it on the envelope to show the PCH mailing crew that it's a rush entry and then oh...I get a nice offer on a box of mighty mend that I only pay 2.99 a month for? Okay, lets put that on because they say ordering something doesn't improve your chances but you know that's some booshit. I think they put the non-order entries into the shredder.

A couple days later, I had THREE entry forms come in the mail all telling me that, YES bitch we got your ENTRY! Good for you! You're SOOO CLOSE! SO CLOSE! All you need to do is open this entry up, put three little stamps on the top of this form, sign that form with blood obtained from a baby chicken and don't forget to look for a BONUS entry in the mail. THAT IS URGENT. You need to fill that out or your other entry is null and VOID! It has a red sticker on it, please take that sticker, put it up your asshole, let it marinate for a day and then put it on top of this yellow envelope. That way we know you're serious.

Meanwhile, I've ordered a mighty mend, a electric bug repellant, (you just plug it in and the bugs STAY away! I wonder if they have those for people? Hmmm.), and a curved shower bar to give the illusion that my bathtub/shower is bigger than what it is. A lot like what my Spice Girl stilts used to do for me in college.

But really guys I'm so close to winning. I'm serious. They are going to be knocking on my door any minute with that giant check (I'm going to have to ask them where I can cash that because I don't think it's not going to fit in the deposit slot at my bank.) Right now, I'm just waiting for THE final entry to come to mail, I think I have to sacrifice a goat and send them the entrails so that I can be in the running for the 500,000 dollar prize.

All right, I'm outtee ya'll. I gotta go see a man about a goat.

When Porta Potties Attack!

2009-03-31T21:06:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been doing this one post a week bullshit on this blog that I'm not very happy with. I sometimes look at my archives and get amazed at my old blogging self. I used to post three times a week WITH a weekly Fan Letter Friday! But sometimes interesting blog topics (and all those high brow roast beef vagina jokes) soon hit a rough spot do they not? I usually use my real life experiences for inspiration but lately it's been about as inspiring as the packets of poison jelly they put in with your shoes when you buy them.

Okay, sidebar, really quickly: what the hell is that exactly? What's its purpose? And really, the do not eat warning on the label? It saddens me that it's on there because once upon a long time ago, there was probably an asshat who thought;
"Wait...what's this?...free candy with my shoes! This is the best day EVER!"
Believe me, if the jelly packets looked like mini Toblerones; I would still be hesitant to eat it, considering the fact that it has been in a box with a pair of shoes that may or may not have been taken on a test run by someone who has corn kernels for toe nails.

But I digress ...now where was I? Oh right..not having any inspiration to blog, I decided to turn to Google - the beast with all the answers and who probably has a satellite in space taking a picture of your house right now for Google Maps!! (Aren't those cool??...and kind of creepy and evasive at the same time...sorry. I'm babbling. I'm on a Fudgesicle high)

I found this handy dandy article that suggested ten topics to possibly blog about..

1. Write a book review: Hmmm, this list is off to a slow start. Well I can tell you that it took five years of my life reading the big bowl of bore soup that is Atonement. It is misleading as in there were so many rave reviews on the outside of the book and yet the inside of the book had the same affect on me as jazz. It's nice to listen to sure but eventually I'm going to fall asleep and drool on myself. I'm wondering if I should waste my time on the movie. Keira Knightly is in it, so I guess if I get bored I can always look at her protruding clavicles and wonder how she manages to stay alive on a diet of tic tacs and cigs.

2. Review a product: Oookaay. Um. Malt vinegar is good on EVERYTHING. Including toast. Don't argue with me. And um, onions suck and don't say, 'Oh I'm going to dice them up real small so you won't even notice." Because dammit I notice. I ALWAYS notice the slimy little buggers from the time they enter my mouth to the minute I spit them across the room.

3. Explain something about your subject that might be confusing to newbies: Okay Twitter. Well it's like a FB status update, actually...it is a status update and nothing more than that. Well...no..no..no, let me take that back, its a little more in depth than a status update but shorter than a blog. You basically just say what you're doing. And if you follow people you can get their tweet and see what they're doing, but if they don't follow you, they won't see what you tweet about unless you respond to something they specifically said, and if someone is following you and you don't follow them, then they can twat all the live long day about.....you know what? never mind. Twitter and every other social networking site out there is just another shiny ball put in our face so we can be distracted and not see how the government steals our rights slowly and big banks steal our money. (And yet, oh lookee over there to the side bar. Is that a tweet thread from yours truly??? yes it is. Hey! I didn't say I was immune to the shiny ball.)

4. Take a stand: I am taking a stand against those people that stand outside the grocery store entrance and harass you to donate my change, my money, my time, my signature, my underwear, my colon, whatever! when really, all I want is to get in and get a jar of Nutella without having to put on my 'ignore them by looking at the imaginary texts on my phone' act just so I can get past you. No I don't have fucking change! I use my debit card irresponsibly and all my change goes into the laundry machine because my condo doesn't come with a washer dryer plug! Are you happy now! I just want to get my damn Nutella for PMS' sake!

5. Take something that is controversial and tell how you feel about it. Just be careful to be respectful to both sides. You don’t want it to turn into a flame war. Besides, it is just more professional to state your opinion in a calm, objective way: Oh fuck that. I think Chris Brown should be in jail getting ass raped with a bar of Irish Spring.

6. Tell about some mistake that you made and what you learned from it: Taking three tequila shots and not waiting for it to kick in before taking three more was not a bright moment in my life.

7. Be different. Do something unexpected. State something which goes against popular opinion: I think my suggestion of malt vinegar on toast took care of that.

8. Run a poll. After it is done, discuss the results: Raise your hands if you think Anne Rice's vampires can kick Stephenie Meyer's metro vampires from Twilight? No contest! Oh and Twilight sucks. I don't understand the appeal. Nor do I understand the appeal of Robert Pattison. Poor man's Johnny Depp. Just sayin. Okay that wasn't really a poll...

9. Tell about a personal experience: One time, during a road trip to Missouri, I had to go to the bathroom really bad. Viking hubby pulled over to a side road with a line of porta-potties. I opened one porta-potty and what I saw in there was the size of Emmanuel Lewis and I'm pretty sure it was coming out to get me. I ended up peeing BEHIND the line of porta-potties and I've had some pretty bad nightmares about the Emmanufeces that attacked me that day.

10. Use humor: I'm sorry. I can't right now. I'm too traumatized by flashbacks of the giant poo that almost took my life and eerily resembled a diminutive child star of the 80's.

(Oh and I just remembered..the nightmare potty was in UTAH! What could they possibly be eating in Utah to create such a thing?!?)

Hold me.

Baton is the cure for cancer and other mundane musings because that post below is so old it's starting to smell bad.

2009-03-24T21:01:00.000-07:00

I'm Aliiivvee. Yes, I'm sorry. I went into hiding after my first attempt at being a low budget director, producer, editor, host of a home video that I dared called a 'show.' So many things have happened since we last met so please, sit your ass down and catch up with me will you? Cliffs notes style...

Two Saturdays ago, I got into it with the munchkin's kindergarten teacher over BATON. Yes, BATON. You see this teacher has been teaching baton since Moses was in a onesie and signs up most, if not all, her female students into baton class every year. The munchkin was not really keen on baton when I asked her about it but teacher told me that all the other girls had signed up and oh I better sign the munchkin lest she be the outcast. The munchkin continued to be neutral about baton, liking it more for the social aspect of getting together with her friends and using the batons as pretend microphones, swords, and what have you. Things came to a head when there was a 'baton competition' that the munchkin could care less about. We were there for an hour, she got bored, and we said screw it, and went to the beach before her event was up. Who knew this would get her petticoat in a bunch? I then got lectured on Monday by crazy baton teacher about failing to teach my child 'life lessons' about commitment because I pulled her out the minute she got 'uncomfortable.' The woman means well, and she is probably in her late thousands, but clearly she doesn't know her boundaries with the whole parent/teacher relationship as she reprimanded me in front of other teachers and students, INCLUDING my daughter. Sure, I'm probably a toddler in her eyes too, but please do not tell me how to parent, especially in a condescending manner, as if I'm some open mouth breather at the back of the short bus. Only my parents can do that, and they've had years of training so there's no contest.

I had to break it down for her that the munchkin did not like baton from the very beginning and if it's something that she never liked to begin with, I am not pushing my daughter to do it. Look for your pageant mom elsewhere o' wrinkly one because you won't find her here. I did it in a very polite way of course, because I respect fossils of all types, dead or alive, but still...even when I told her, I could still see that she could not wrap her head around the fact that my daughter didn't like baton. She was almost shocked. I wonder if she knows that baton is just fancy stick twirling and not ongoing research to cure cancer.

My work laptop done broke. Dog got caught up in one of the wires while he was having a spastic attack because viking husband came home. (seriously, this dog is almost 10 and still acts very much like a puppy....that's had like 10 pixie sticks). I ended up going on craigslist and found a very nice computer with a 17 inch lcd monitor for 160 bucks! The guy who sells it apparently ~~steals~~ buys computers in bulk from ~~open delivery trucks~~ offices that are going out of business. Either way, I got a great price and I blame the economy for having to go through back alley computer dealers from craigslist.

And I got a vacuum from craigslist too - normally a 200 dollar vacuum that I got for 40 bucks. It was used and missing one attachment. I was excited. Then depressed that I got excited over a vacuum cleaner. Then excited again when I began to think about how clean my rug is going to look when I use it. Then got depressed again because...well, do I really need to explain? Again, I blame the economy.

I was checking out my bangs to see if I needed to touch up my roots or if the hairstylist did indeed match my original hair color. Well she didn't - and I don't blame her because apparently, my original color is now GRAY. YES. That's right. Raise a glass of Ensure and please toast it in my honor. I found a cluster - not one or two or three - a CLUSTER, a BUSHEL, a CROWD, a HANDFUL, a DISTURBING amount of gray that had sprouted up around the front. What the fuckity fuck? I can't grow a measly three inches to be out of the 'little people' category (or an Olympic gymnast. I could have been a contender. Just sayin.. ) and somehow I have fucking gray hair. God has a sick sense of humor, I'll give him that. But I don't blame God. I blame Jenna Jameson for giving me a horrible visual when she 'gave birth' to her twins with UFC fighter Tito Ortiz. 'Giving birth" as in I picture the doctor walking into her twat garage and walking out with two bobbleheaded babies. I think I just sprouted two more gray hairs just typing about it.

I hate people who add me on as a facebook friend and can't be bothered to say "hi" on my wall after I add them. If you just want to be a snoop then at least be honest. Leave me a note like; "hey I don't really give a shit about what's going on in your life, I just wanted to see if you had gotten fat since high school and how fucked up your life is. Don't mind me. Just add me as a friend and kill the curiosity will ya?"
That I can respect. And I would most definitely add you. (Then delete you later after I'd taken a gander at your pictures). Fair is fair when it comes to facebook.

Other than that, more mundane stuff that's so beyond mundane that I can't even write about it here without feeling completely guilty that I'm subjecting you to such crap. (plus if you're really interested in my need to put Nutella on everything, at all hours of the day, just look at my twitter posts. I tweet mundane crap at least twice a day.)

Who needs a vacation? That would be yours truly.

I'm Not Samantha Brown....

2009-03-15T20:52:00.001-07:00

I've decided that the title of this post is exactly what I'm going to name my new 'travel' show. Because after putting together my first show I was reminded of this sad fact again and again. I basically 'winged' it and had no idea as to what direction I was headed. I just knew that I had dinner with my main gay Joey in La Jolla and hey, I'll record that experience! Good nuff! (maybe those Australia folks weren't as dumb as I thought). Shortly after I started recording, I realized that yes, I'm not Samantha Brown and oh look it that! I don't have her camera crew either! Meaning, most of this show was done in the cloak of darkness or the semi-lightning that I got from the interior light of my car or Joey's flashlight app on his Iphone. It was so horrific that my movie maker froze up on me a billion times before I finished this as if to say, 'are you actually going to show this to people?!?' My movie maker knew it was shit and tried to rebel. But I had to put this together just to show you how horrible it is. You know how you taste something so horribly awful you can't help but turn to your friend and say, "omg, this is so gross! taste it!"

Yeah this is the same thing.

Honestly, I can't even explain the disaster that is my first show. You just have to see it to believe it. Please enjoy the opening credits because that's as good as it's going to get. My next show, I'm keeping it local, I'm going to explore Oceanside...DURING THE DAY! It'll be better. I promise!

Now ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and witness a travel show you could probably buy at Big Lots in the reduced dollar bin basket.

Feeling Dirty Down Under. Used and abused by the Barrier Reef.

2009-03-06T20:29:00.001-08:00

Australia decided to screw all the other candidates and offered me the job because I was so spectacularly fabulous they were BESIDE themselves! No one else compares they shrieked! Come oh short one, please work for us they begged! However, I respectfully declined because I think my skills are very much needed in Missouri.

I don't think I need to tell you that I'm making jokes through my tears.

First let me just say THANK YOU to everyone who voted for me, and for those who voted for me and then made themselves my campaign managers and passed it on. Thank you! Thank you! I felt so loved. I wanted to snuggle up under the covers with all of you but knowing the lot that reads me, that's just asking for a dutch oven.. but hey, it's the thought that counts.

Anyways...they chose the top 50 candidates this Monday and yours truly did not make the cut. Why? Because I'm not a t.v. journalist, a scientist, a charity fundraiser, an adventurer (IE: trust fund babies) or someone who's wrestled camels in Yemin and balanced on a dolphin's fin in Cabo San Lucas. In other words, I don't already have an awesome job so therefore I don't qualify for a chance to have yet another awesome job. And so it goes. Sigh.

Okay, I'm not bitter, really I'm not. After watching the videos of the 50 candidates, I KNOW why I wasn't picked. I was HIGHLY under qualified. HOWthefuckityfuckEVER. Why o' why perpetrate that this 'job' was up for grabs for "ANYONE." Those poor saps in Alaska were given a false sense of hope that maybe they could finally stop chomping on whale blubber and get a taste of the good (warm) life. And a poor little midget with one foot into Misery thought that maybe, just maybe, she could stay by the ocean just a little longer. Well actually, I know why, they wanted the press, they wanted me (and every other under qualified candidate) to tell you to go to their site in the guise of "voting for me." Oh the million hits they got! Tee hee. Oh yeah, laugh it up Australia, you done fooled me. You done made me feel durty down under. You held up the dream as bait, made me see "signs" and I bit.

In my opinion, if they truly are looking for people to come visit the Barrier Reef in Australia, I think they are making a big mistake in hiring a person who no one can relate to - well except other t.v. journalists, trust fund babies, scientists, and marine biologists, who are probably going to visit Australia ANYWAYS. So what's the point? I thought they were looking for an average ol' Joe (or Jane) to tell other average ol' Joe's and Jane's that Australia was the place to be. Put a familiar face to someplace unfamiliar right? Can I get a amen?

OR maybe, just maybe...there's a small chance that my video could have just sucked.
Naaaah. THAT can't be it. (psst ..I'm way too proud and self centered to admit that..shhhh.)

Again, I'm not bitter (I swear if I keep saying over and over again it'll be true) because out of the experience a 'new idea' popped into my head. With the help of my Flip digital camera and my stellar movie maker skillz, (by stellar I really mean click on stuff until I get it..) I'm making my own damn travel show. About San Diego. I'm leaving anyways - so this gives me a chance to really go out to different parts of San Diego and appreciate my surroundings before I am thrown into the middle of America where the only way I can view the ocean is through Google Earth.

And hell, I might continue my show in Missouri! - who doesn't want to see a Filipino midget slip and slide in cow poo at PJ's dairy farm? Wouldn't it be so funny if my little Youtube series got more hits than Australia's fancy schmancy oooh lookit me I'm a marine biologist who's built orphanages underwater and now I'm Australia's marketing bitch blog?

Ahhh there I go dreaming big again. Someone really needs to stage an intervention with my brain's grandtabulous ideas and dreams.

Stay tuned. I'm taping my first episode tomorrow in La Jolla, California. I'm going to a Japanese restaurant with my main gay Joey and oh the precious moments we will have! We shall talk about the food, get loopy on the drinks, observe (talk shit) to the La Jolla 'richy" scene and walk into stores where they will see us for the peasants that we are and get kicked out on our paycheck to paycheck livin asses!

Oh yeah, I'm really doing it.

Austraizzle, can suck on my nutsizzle.

But again, I'm not bitter.

FACT: A Body In Motion Tends to Really Hate You While You're Doing It.

2009-02-25T09:16:00.000-08:00

(Brain): Is someone chasing us?

(eyeballs): Not that we can see. Then again I think the homepage of Facebook has been burned into our retinas, compromising our ability to see clearly, so don't take our word for it.

(Brain): Can someone inform her that we're not being chased?

(Me): We've been through this before guys, I'm running now remember?

(Brain): oh so this is like a regular thing?! For no reason. We're just running....all the way over there...and back? And no one is chasing us? I'm confused.

(Shins): Sonuvabitch. Can you inform her that Ms. Thang is no longer in high schooland her legs are the size of lil' smokies. We've got to do overtime when she runs!

(Me): Believe me I know, I can feel both of you burning in contempt.

(Legs): You know I think she's got nice stems for a short girl.

(Me): Me too - thank you Legs.

(Shins): Yeah, sexy lil' smokies.

(Me): Shut up. We have to do this...we have to run...

(Ass): Why don't we just call it out like it is! It's ME okay! She's trying to get rid of me!! (sniffs)

(Me): oh ass, don't cry. It's not you, it's just all the extra friends that surround you.

(Ass): Don't try to be nice to me now that everyone's listening ....

(Lungs): Is...it... possible...for you...to...argue...(pant pant) ...with yourself...while...sitting down...at ...that...lovely Denny's ....over there....see? They have.....pancakes....in there...go...let's run ...there!

(Brain, Eyeballs, Shins, Stomach, Arms, Fingers, Toes, Hair, Ass): YEAH! Let's EAT!!!

(Me): No one wants a Grand Slam more than I do guys but come on, if I keep eating like that I'm going to have my own gravitational pull.

(Ass): You're talking about me again aren't you? Admit it. I heard you cursing about me in the dressing room at Target. It's not my fault you couldn't fit into those jeans!

(Me): well..actually, yeah it was. I was having a hard time getting past you to put it on.

(Ass): Shut up! You're trying to kill me is what you're doing. How the hell was I suppose to breath in those!? Who needs jeans!? What's wrong with your sweats for chrissakes!?

(Stomach): It's not just you ass - I haven't seen the light of day since her daughter was born. Remember all the good times we had together in Palm Springs, Lake Havasu, or anytime it was hot. I don't even remember what the sun feels like anymore!! I saw you eyeballing a one piece this past summer! Are you ashamed of me!?!?

(Me): This is exactly the reason why we cannot run to the Denny's.

(Stomach): Ooh you know what they have at Denny's - the Rooti Tooti Fresh and Fruity.

(Mouth): Omg! Let's go NOW.

(Brain): That's IHOP genius.

(Mouth): Whatever! Let's go to IHOP then!

(Me): No! On top of possibly looking like an exercise ball, do you know how all this fattening crap will screw with my health? I mean, hello, heart disease is only a couple In & Out Burgers away.

(Mouth): If you speak ill of In & Out one more time I swear I will make you swallow your own tongue!

(Heart): And please, don't be bringing me into this shit, I'm fine. I say eat all you want, I can take it!

(Me): That's really admirable but you're not going to be saying that when I'm hauling my 2 ton ass off the couch and you have to work over time just so I can get to the kitchen to have another glass of gravy.

(Mouth): mmmmm - gravy.

(Ass): There you go again talking shit about me. I have feelings too you know.

(Me): This is good for all of us okay? I know it sucks but you know the alternative sucks more.

(Brain): What's the alternative?

(Me): Well remember that lady at Wal-Mart that was in a flower moo moo who smelled of moldy towels, taking up half the aisle as she perused their vast selection of Pop Tarts?

(Brain): RUN GOOD WOMAN RUN!!!

If I win, I might do a Bushman's hanky all over myself...

2009-02-18T20:59:00.000-08:00

EDIT: Go vote on my video now! (5 stars only - Lie to me! Help me win ;p)

Bushman's hanky : Emitting nasal mucus by placing one index finger on the outside of the nose (thus blocking one nostril) and blowing. - Koalanet.com

So here goes nuttin!.....below is my video application for the Best Job In The World. It was especially tough to try and fit everything I wanted to say in one minute because if you think I'm long winded in my posts, you should talk to me in person - sometimes I start feeling around my own back to see if there's an off switch somewhere. No luck thus far.

I did manage to put in most of what I wanted to say in the video - just a little taste of the midge and a whiff of the sour sick smell permeating from my brain that you all voluntarily partake in every week when you come (by your own volition!) and read my blog. What's wrong with you people? (I'm talking to you 5 readers out there. seriously. get some help.) I'm hoping that the judges are a little sick like all of you and like my video.

They will be choosing 50 top applicants in March - at that time, those 50 applicants will also be voted on by the public so that one 'wild card' can go to the interview. They are picking a total of 11 people to interview in May and hopefully when July rolls around - we'll be packing our backs to go to Australia! (and I'll be grabbing my nutsack in Missouri's direction.)

Good Australian vibes guys....send them my way mate! ;p

Dakota Fanning is on crackwatch...and other mindless musings.

2009-02-13T12:57:00.000-08:00

Mimi's gave us a 'free meal' due to our "Potato Funk Fest 09" incident at their restaurant in Chino Hills - a whopping 15 bucks. Um. Thanks - I think I can get another deep fried bug on a stick with a side of chum flavored potatoes with that - Brandie and I will have to share this time though.

I went to into the Rite Aid and realized it's that time of year again:

Peeeeeps! Crap, I forgot, I'm trying to lose weight. I'll just bite off their cute little heads and traumatize my daughter by giving her the leftovers.

Speaking of traumatize, you know, sometimes a cute little kid explanation never hurt anyone and someone needs to remind me of this. The munchkin asked me about her belly button and I went into this whole Gray's Anatomy schpeel about how there used to be a cord there when she was in my belly, yackity schmackity and then we cut it off when she was born because she didn't need it anymore, (I know! I can't believe I said this either) and it's best to cut the cord off now and not when she's in her 20s lest she becomes dependent on mommy and turns into Michael Jackson...blahblah...(I didn't say the last part out loud surprisingly.)

Her response was: "That's kind of gross mom." And then the next morning she told me she had a dream about how her cord was still there and I kept stepping on it! I apologized for the cord story and tried to come up with a cuter one filled with puppies and rainbows but she wasn't buying it. If I keep this up, I'm going to have to pair up the college fund with a therapy fund.

I found this picture of Keshia Knight Pulliam - the girl who played Rudy on The Cosby Show - and I can't tell you how refreshing it is to see a former child actor whose hair isn't plastered to her face with meth sweat and dried up coke boogs up her nose.

I applaud her parents; however I do not applaud the 1992 leftover prom dress that's she's sporting here.

I was going to blame Beyonce's mom for this tragedy but it's too tame. (FYI: Beyonce's mom is a 'stylistLOL' - that's her official title btw - LOL attached because she's so ridiculous). Keshia's dress doesn't have her signature gold foil fringes or a bedazzled brooch in the coochie area.

And I'm holding my breath on Dakota Fanning. It SEEMS like she's going to turn out all right but I'm still on crackwatch until she's at least 21.

Did you hear the chick with the longest nails broke them in a car crash? She's been growing her taint scratchers since 1979!! Heart breaking. I'm surprised she didn't impale herself with one of them! Now she's going to have to actually reach down and scratch her ass like the rest of us have to - on the positive side, she can finally pick her nose without giving herself an accidental lobotomy.

New show to watch? RuPaul's Drag Race on LOGO. If you don't have Logo, click here for full episodes. Seriously, you won't regret it. It's like ANTM only RuPaul's prettier than Tyra, the challenges are harder (they're automatically trump ANY Top Model challenge when you have to tuck your peen into the crack of your ass.) and the contestants have more fierce in them than the entire cast (present and past) of ANTM. With names like "Nina Flowers" and "Ongina" - I dare you not to love it. (True story - I bought RuPaul's album Supermodel of the World in 1993 when I still had no inkling that I was predisposed to love the gays.)

ANTM is losing it's oomph for me by the way - especially when the winner ends up working at a hair show in Watusi, Ohio the next year. (Is there a Watusi Ohio? If so, I'm totally moving.)

In fact, I don't really have a lot of shows I'm 'passionate' about lately. Any suggestions? Please don't tell me Gossip Girl or 90210 - please. If I want to watch pretty people who can't act have sex I can get that shiz in five minute intervals on youporn. That's what I've HEARD anyways..not that I've ever ..anyhoohas.....Those shows are like The Hills with a bad script....oh wait. The Hills does come with a bad script. (I was over that show a thousand years ago). Regardless. I don't care if I sound old. I want Wonders Years back. At this rate I'll take Dawson's Creek back....actually no, never mind, I don't want that Paula Cole's song in my head all day.

Too late.

Well that's it - just little nuggets of nonsense by yours truly - have a great weekend and Happy Valentine's day!! I know it's really hip to say this day is overrated and "you shouldn't have a day to say you're in love - you should say it everydaaaayy'' blah blah. Whatever. I like Valentine's day because of Valentine's day CANDY!! - and Valentine's day candy means chalky Valentine's day conversation hearts! YUM!!! (none of that sweet tart shit. I want the chalky sugar type!)
And really, if you're married, in a relationship or single, nothing beats Valentine candy. Except maybe when you're trying to lose some back and face fat. (ahem)

Damn it!

Okay, never mind. I hate Valentine's day too.

I Want To Kick Last Week Hard In The Balls.

2009-02-07T08:16:00.000-08:00

Have a seat as I try recap my crappy week syllabus style.

Well, it started off all right. I FINALLY made myself get a haircut last Friday. I can start a whole new blog on how my hair went into a downward spiral ever since my mohawk. Neglected and bitter, that's what the blog would be called because that was my hair. My hair was down to my waist, my roots had become unattractive plants and the ends were so dry, they crackled in the wind. So I chopped it off, went back to my original color and wala - I was reborn as Joyce Dewitt and Lady Ga Ga's love child:

By the way I'm not trying to be sexy in that picture, I'm totally constipated - too much cheese not enough fluids, you know how it is.

Anyways, Saturday rolls around and I took myself, my fierce new bond girl haircut, picked up my friend Brandie from her house and off we went to a party that I had been looking forward to all week. Before making our grand entrance, we decided to eat dinner before going because we were both starving. This is when the madness happens.

We settled on a nearby restaurant, which will remain unnamed ...um ... Mimi's in Chino Hills....and ordered breakfast for dinner. I ordered a chicken fried steak, B ordered some sausage and we both had potatoes and eggs. We immediately knew something was up when B smelled a strong fish odor coming from her plate. Seeing that she ordered no seafood with her breakfast sausage she began sniffing around her plate to see where the smell was coming from. She even looked into the next booth just to make sure Pamela Anderson wasn't sitting next to us.

Meanwhile, feeling sorry for B and her fishy smelling plate but not sorry enough to stop me from eating my food (I'm an awful friend when I'm hungry) I start to dig into my potatoes and notice something....odd. The potatoes were sauteed with a bunch of spices, onions and what not, with the skin left on them and I noticed an unusually large piece of "potato skin" lying in between the pile of potatoes. It particularly caught my eye because it looked like a perfectly shaped diamond. I looked closer and put it on my fork to see if indeed this was a potato skin or a large piece of onion because if it was the latter, it was headed for my napkin because onions - EW.

Only it wasn't an onion nor was it a potato skin - and I know this because it CRAWLED OFF my fork as I was examining it.

Dinner was officially over as I huddled in the corner of our booth swatting imaginary bugs off my hair and downing my tea just in case any bugs got in my mouth even though I hadn't taken a bite off my plate. Then I panicked and wondered if bugs were in my tea so I tried to spit it back up and .......yeah, you get the picture. I was a mess.

Meanwhile, B was still trying to solve the mystery of the fishy smell and immediately solved it when she took a bite of her potatoes that she discovered (too late) were rotten. Henceforth the culprit for the low tide scent of her food was found. (Pamela Anderson was off the hook ..for now.) She hunched into her corner of the booth eating sugar packets by the handful trying to get the rotten fish potato taste out from the back of her throat.

It was a sad scene.

The waiter tried to say the bug must have 'flew' into the my plate; however unless the bug 'flew' into my plate and decided to roll around in the spices and oil for kinky bug reasons unknown to us, there was no way that could have happened. There was no 'flying' bug in or around our area when we sat down and this bug was COVERED in spices and looked a tad bit singed. That bitch was flying no where even if it wanted to. He also tried to tell B that her potatoes shouldn't smell or taste like fish since they don't cook their meats on the same grill as the potatoes - I don't think he addressed the fact that they were rotten but I did notice that as he took away the plate he had it about as far away from him as he possibly could. Thankfully the manager knew that shit was nasty and didn't make us pay for the food; however, the damage had already been done as B got seriously sick in the car. We didn't make it to the party. I ended up with an unopened half gallon bottle of Mojito sitting in my fridge, calling it an early night and having nightmares about bugs spicing up their bug sex life by rolling around in my sauteed potatoes.

Now normally - a bottle of mojito and me are automatically good friends but the friendship is brief because I will drink that bitch up. However, the reason for the unopened bottle is because the next day, my throat began to throb and hurt whenever I swallowed. Little did I know this was the beginning of what would ultimately end up as strep throat with a sprinkling of the flu. I was a zombie Monday and Tuesday - living off of mushy foods, liquids and medicine.

When Wednesday came around, my left lymph node was swollen to what felt like the size of a small ping pong ball only this ping pong ball was made of puss filled flesh.

Tasty.

It also felt as if my throat had one of those one way only spikes you see at parking lots and anything that I attempted to swallow was immediately going the wrong way. By the time I made it to the doctor's office on Thursday, I could barely swallow my own spit without crying out to sweet baby Jesus for mercy. She gave me some antibiotics that was about the size of a small child and told me to take TWO of these baby sized pills twice a day right AFTER I told her that I felt like soiling myself whenever I swallowed anything bigger than a rice krispy. Thanks doc.

And why is it that EVERY TIME I go to the doctor's office the conversation always leads back to my crotch??

I know, I know, this post is long enough without me going off on doctor's crazy obsession with pap smearing me until I'm smeared the fuck out. But seriously, I was in the office but 10 minutes with a throat bigger than my own head trying to tell her via sign language that I haven't eaten in a week and she wants to know about how the citizens are doing in Vagina Valley and when can she schedule a day to go downtown and have a visit?

Um Vagina Valley is fine thank you - now can we please address the unborn twin that has made an appearance in my throat? Thanks.

Long story cut short - I'm fine now .....

and I have a pap smear scheduled next week.

I Had A Pre-Pubescent Mustache - True Tales From Unfortunate Girl.

2009-01-30T06:14:00.000-08:00

When I'm not diligently working, sometimes....SOMETIMES....on occasion ... - I'll take a peek onto Facebook and just browse around for like five minutes before going back to work. Although Facebook must have some sort of weird energy field because whenever I go on there, my clocks go haywire and by the time I get back to work, it says I've been there for a half an hour.

So weird.

Lately these Facebook friends, most of them old high school peeps, have started posting photos from when we were back in high school or even as far back as Jr. High or Elementary. I don't know who started it, but it caught on like wildfire - that even I got swept up in the commotion and posted a few. Thankfully, I wasn't really a part of the 'popular group' and I was an unfortunate looking child that no one was lining up to take a picture of, so I knew that there wouldn't be a lot of old pictures coming back to haunt me on Facebook - my best friend Judy might have a few she could blackmail me with but she is without a personal computer right now so I posted my collection indiscriminately, feeling confident it wouldn't come back and bite me in the ass.

However, it did come back and bite me in the ass when I woke up this morning and saw that old h.s. chum, Sherri, had tagged me on two pictures titled 'Back in the day..'

CRAAAAAAAP.

And OF COURSE - one of them was from Jr. High. when my appearance resembled that of the transgendered variety. And while it's true that everyone looks dorky in Jr. High, most people at least still represented their gender whereas I think in this picture, I had the makings of what appears to be a light mustache. Fabulous. Thank god I didn't smile or you would have seen my grill in all their crooked pre-braces glory.

It briefly made me want to go back in time and give that little boy a hug and tell her it'll be okay, you get amazing boobs junior year! For reals! And you'll start looking like an actual girl by the time college rolls around! And for the love of Nair - wax that caterpillar off your lip!

Those awkward years sure are the best. Especially when they last well into high school!

Moving right along, sorry I haven't blogged in what seems like forever - there has really been nothing going on as of late, just the usual life; although I am getting ready to do my audition tape for the Australia job and again, I hope you come out in droves and score me five stars after you see it so I may get the gig, pee in my pants with excitement and postpone the move to MISERY (Missouri) if only for 6 months.

I'm sure you've heard of all the hubbub about Britney's new song coming out called If You Seek Amy. And while I agree that it is an inappropriate song to be playing during the day when children can sing along to it - (particularly MINE - lately, the munchkin belts Heartless by Kanye in the car with full abandon.) - I'm REALLY surprised that other lyrics haven't been called into question - not so much for their profanity but more for their stupidity. One particular lyric I had in mind was from Sean Kingston's song, Take You There:

We can go to the tropics, sip pina coladas, shorty I could take you there, or we can go to the slums, where killers get hung, shorty I could take you there.

Clearly the obvious choice is number two, - who wants a boring ol Pina Colada when you can get a front row ticket to a hanging! It's so retro, so Salem Witch Trial chic! I'm only disappointed that Sean didn't offer me a starring role in a snuff film.

Another lyric is Lil Wayne's song Lollipop. Now I could go on and on about Lil' Wayne and his no rhymin' ass - I don't care how great of a rapper you think are when you start singing rhyming words by mixing up your Scrabble game pieces, you've got problems:

I told her back it up like burp burp and make that ass jump like shczerp shczerp.

Now, before I go off about this - is Lil' Wayne a Lil' Slow? Because if he is, then I can almost excuse that lyric otherwise, what exactly is he talking about? Are they having sexual relations or is he having an intervention at a buffet? And how does one make ones ass jump like 'shczerp shczerp?' Inquiring minds want to know because at best my ass can twitch and flap but only when I've eaten some bad Mexican food and there's no restrooms available.

I know - I'm just babbling aren't I? Too bad, the bell doesn't dismiss you, I DO.

Okay, you're excused.

Have a great weekend!

If The Camera Adds 10 Pounds, how many cameras are actually on me???

2009-01-21T13:59:00.000-08:00

I just realized that January is almost past us (whiplash. that was quick) and I have failed to put down some of my resolutions. I know, I know, it's so cliche and last year I totally rebelled and said screw resolutions! As a result I've put on some uh, 'additional pounds'. Yes, I blame my non-resolution havin' ass for the rotund person that stands before you today. And NO, the endless bags of Circus Peanuts and Tobleron bars had nothing to do with it! Don't EVER blame the sweets!

You've been warned.

I guess you see where I'm headed with this - I'm doing quite the opposite this year, not only do I have resolutions, but I went all SUPER DUPER cliche and added "losing weight and eating better" as one of them. Yawn I know. Only this time, I think I'm actually going do it instead of just writing it down somewhere and then using it as toilet paper the next day. So what's the difference between this year and the years prior where I've had the same resolution you ask? (in that all knowing, motherly yet doubtful tone.) In the past, I've always wanted to lose weight but it was MAYBE 5 pounds here and 10 pounds there, which was the difference between eating 2 Circus Peanuts instead of 5 Circus Peanuts. (I'm really craving those sugar bombs right now, can you tell?) - It was never anything a little starvation and diet pills couldn't shart out of me in about a two weeks, so I never took it too seriously. Well - all that yo yo sharting finally caught up with me, the 5 pounds turned to 10 pounds, turned to 15 pounds and turned to .....(brace yourself)....... 20 POUNDS!!!

20 pounds is bad enough on a normal sized person but 20 pounds on a midget puts me at defcon oompa loompa and Operation Don't Be A Fat Ass is now in full effect.

What really forced me to join my friend Kim's aptly titled "Operation Don't Be A Fat Ass" resolution wagon was that I had a lot of events that came up last year - three weddings, two of which I was the 'reverend' and a cruise - and all of which required a lot of video and photo documentation. In almost every picture taken of me, it appeared as though a swarm of bees had descended upon my face and body and stung the shit out of me seconds before the picture was snapped. I looked like I had eaten my skinnier self with a side of fries. In other words, I have turned into a swollen, puffy muffin - I'm a puffin:

Well except Puffins are cute and I, with my extra 20 pounds, cannot be called cute at the moment.

Roly poly? sure. Chubbles, ruler of all fried crap with cheese? Perhaps. But cute, NO.
And yes, I do admit, as much as I don't like to place blame - the sweets and starchy delicious crap I ate with abandon MIGHT have had something to do with the extra jiggle in my jangle.

So goodbye Circus Peanuts - you know I still love you but it seems whenever I do love you the most, the rewards are fleeting and the consequences linger (mostly in my mid-section and my face). The same to you House Special Beef from Pick Up Stix, giant Tobleron chocolate bar, Little Debbie zebra cakes, 99 cent spicy chicken sandwich from Carl's Jr. - for such a cheap little whore, you sure loved me good - alas it hurts me to say goodbye to all of you. I know I'll see you again, (in moderation) but it'll never be like it was before. Sniff.

And this year, much to my surprise, I've welcomed...(gulp) ... RUNNING into my life. I'll admit, it's still in the sucking stage where it feels like someone has stuck blazing hot metal poles in my shins and I die a little inside. But after slowly working my way up to 3 miles last week (with a lot of help from my friend Sandy who has lost a whopping 50 pounds since October) and not collapsing into a puddle of broken bones and tears, I will keep at it until my shins are numb from the pain. Hopefully, this tired ol' resolution won't make another appearance next year.

Anyone else on the lose weight resolution wagon with me? Let's help each other's fat asses try not to fall off this year!

A House By The Beach With A Side Of Hammocks and Flip Flops. Order up!

2009-01-15T05:43:00.000-08:00

There's a movie called Fools Rush In with Selma Hayek and Matthew Perry and Selma Hayek's character believes that there are 'signs' out there that help us out everyday - we just have to be open to see it. For example, if you're deciding whether or not to go to Las Vegas or Hawaii, and later you bump into a pineapple rushing off to work, or you walk out of the bathroom and see a flowery lei trailing from your shoe. It's a subtle sign you should go to Hawaii.

I'm believe in signs to a certain extent - and I always thought I'd be able to catch subtle signs for certain things and run with it but I just realized that for me to catch a 'subtle sign' it's going to have to be as subtle as hitting me over the head with a sledgehammer and causing some blunt trauma. (OMg run-on sentence like a mofo right?)

Let me hold your hand and walk you through my story - pick your feet up, the carpet's a little sticky...

I'm sure you guys have all heard about that 'dream job' in Australia that was all over the internet and radio this week. If not, let me tell you about this 'job' - basically an Australian tourist company is looking for a 'island caretaker' to stay in a 3 bedroom house on an island by the Australian barrier reef for 6 months. You have to do really hard work such as snorkel, dive, feed the fish, take pictures, check the mail on occasion and then blog about your experience. For your hard hard work, you will be paid 150,000 for the 6 months that you are there.
Sounds grueling right?

When I first saw it on the internet, I kind of chuckled because just the other day I was telling viking hubs about how I wish someone would just hire me to sit around on the beach. Then later, when I was driving the munchkin to school, I briefly pondered about applying but figured they would probably be looking for someone with some kind of journalist background or at least a degree in English. (I know what you're thinking - you mean, the writer of the world renowned Fan letter Fridays, where in one instance I refer to Hugh Hefner's sperm as fossil dust, doesn't have a degree in English?? Shocking I know. ) So I decided to turn on the radio to drown out the voices in my head and the minute I turned it on I heard....

" the dream job in Australia is looking for all applicants, the only requirement is to have a sense of adventure and the ability to blog about your experiences...."

They were talking about it on morning radio and I thought, hmm, well that answered my question! I got home and I received several emails from friends telling me about the dream job, but again, after looking at my email - I went straight to Facebook to poke people and send them fake drinks so they can get fake drunk.

I know. I'm a brick with the word 'Duh' spray painted on it. Don't tell me things I already know okay? Now stop interrupting and let me wrap this up....

Finally, the sledge hammer sign came when I checked the mail and saw this:

A random free DVD about The Australian Barrier Reef!! Seriously. It was one of those, here's a free sample and check out our other DVDs about Rome, Alaska, the Caribbean, etc. But the free sample dvd was about The Australian Barrier Reef!

Sledgehammer sign swings, hits and my brick head shattered to pieces.

I'm fully aware that this could be a coincidence and that thousands of other people probably got this same DVD on the same day, I know this. But still....even for a brick head like me, that's too many signs in one day to ignore. I checked to see if you can take your family and you can, but there's a max on how many people you can take (there's only three of us - so we're good) and the cost for the additional tickets are not covered. So that's it. I'm applying. It can't hurt to try right?

And just between you and me, I've been having secret nightly discussions with God (I bring the coffee, he brings the donuts - and I don't have to tell you they're heavenly. Ba dum dum. - sorry, couldn't help myself.) ever since we decided that we have to (HAVE TO) move to Missouri - I've been, on the sly, begging G-dawg for some kind of miracle to happen to where we wouldn't have to move there right away. I know it's counterproductive of me since I'm also trying to be at peace with the fact that I'm going to be living in Missouri, but again, this is all wishful thinking. I can't stop my wishful thinking. Wishful thinking is what I do - when I jog by houses on the beach, I imagine living in each and every one of those houses and all the fabulous dinners I would host, when I see a plane fly overhead, I imagine it's going to Italy and I'm on it, and when I see Angelina Jolie I imagine I'm Brad Pi...well you get the picture.

It just happens automatically and I don't really know which order God's actually writing down on his pad. (I'm sure most orders He just looks me and shakes his head.) I'm posting my audition video up for you all to see and vote on next week. (The company is choosing 10 candidates to interview and 1 wild card that the people - you guys - pick.)

And hey! Remember, He took our order for that trip to NY to see Madonna' right??!

Maybe He took my order again. :)

Come - be nerdy with me.

2009-01-11T21:26:00.000-08:00

A lot of people know this - but just in case you didn't know - I'm a giant nerd and one of the things I'm fascinated about is the universe, space, quantum physics, u.f.o.s, etc. If you get me going, I can talk on and on about this stuff, and tell you my theories on certain things that'll make Scientologists look normal.

Anyways, below is a short 10 min. film called the Powers of 10 that my brother showed me a couple years ago that I thought was just amazing. I don't know what year it was made, but it looks like it was stolen off a film reel from a science class in the 1970s. But try to ignore that and watch it anyways.
It'll make you feel small, it'll make you feel huge and it makes you glad to just be a part of it all.
Oh did you see that?? I totally just spit out lyric and didn't even know it! Booya! Poet -don't know it yo.

(see? Nerd. Huge.)

Wal-Mart Is A Puss Filled Zit on The Earth's Face.

2009-01-03T07:20:00.000-08:00

Last night when viking hubs was making dinner, he reminded me that we were out of diet soda and could I be a dear and pick some up. Actually it was more, "hey, get off the computer and go pick up some pop.' After a heated discussion on why it should be called SODA and not POP because I said so, I left to go get the SODA not POP. I was all prepared to drive to Rite Aid to pick some up before I changed my mind and drove one more block to Wal-Mart because hey! Sodas there are only .67 cents because they weasel out of giving their employee health benefits or a decent pay. Sweet. (not really, but I can't afford to take a stand against Wal-Mart right now okay? get off my back.)

Every time I go to Wal-Mart I always feel like I'm going into a different world. The people that frequent the place seem to have been manufactured by Wal-Mart themselves to wander around the store and give the place that "next door neighbor who scratches his butt in public then sniffs his fingers" kind of ambiance. Because I never see the characters I see at Wal-Mart anywhere else BUT Wal-Mart. So anyways, I pull into the parking lot, within the vicinity of the store and immediately I see...

...5 kids under the age of eight 'chasing' each other in the parking lot as their parents hastily walk ahead of them to the entrance. I swear the parents had this glazed look over their eyes as if Wal-Mart had put some kind of 'buy one pack of tube socks get 1 free' trance on them. Meanwhile, I swerve to the side to avoid hitting two of their five children.

...a couple - both on the phone - mindlessly walking out of the store and deciding that the crosswalk where all the cars enter to get to the parking lot would be a wonderful place to have a slow evening stroll.

...3 cars lined up behind one car trying to 'score' the parking space in the front. Mind you, there was an endless amount of free parking spaces about 15 feet from this 'coveted spot'.

Oh but the antics didn't end there...

As I entered the store, I grabbed a cart because I'm already so annoyed at Wal-Mart that I figured I better stock up on the soda not pop so I don't have to come back for a while. I walk over to grab a cart and almost ran over a 3 year old who darted past my legs - as I backed up to avoid smashing her little head with my knee (oh who am I kidding...by knee I mean my thigh), I accidentally nudged her mother. I blurted out a sorry, excuse me because that's just what I automatically do when I bump into someone. She looked at me like I had leprosy, took the cart that I was going after and hit her own 3 year old with the cart in her haste. Her three year old was okay of course, (kids are rubber...or in this case half covered in snot-it makes a good shield) but I couldn't help but smile and quietly thank mother karma.

Deep breaths, grab a cart, go to the damn soda not pop aisle and get the hell out of here, I told myself. After maneuvering my way through several women dressed in moo moos, a handful of hairy beer bellies peeking out from under a too small shirt and morbidly obese people in slow ass motorized wheel chairs determined to get in my way, I finally got to the sodas and stocked up.
As I headed to the check out but a bitter old soul with ear hair bursting out of newsboy cap rounded the corner out of no where and walked right in front of my cart. I had another cart to the left of me and a rack of clothes to the right of me, so I was stuck and had to wait for the cart to the left of me to move so I could let Grumpy Mcwrinkles through. Meanwhile, I smiled at him apologetically even though it was HE who got in my way - he could have easily side stepped into the women's clothing section, between the racks and gotten out of there. He made no such attempts to move, so I scooted out of Mr. Metamucil's way as soon as the other cart moved along. I said, 'excuse me' like my momma told me to and he had the nerve to sigh heavily and roll his eyes!!!! I told him to go have intercourse with himself and hopefully he'll break a hip while doing so.

In the nicest way possible of course.

Then I prayed to God to forgive me for cursing out a bitter old piece of jerky and to please, please, pretty, please part the wave of idiots so that I may cross over to the promise land of the check out counter (you know, like he did in biblical times.)

God came through and I got to the self check out post without much incident. Well..except for that Wal-Mart employee who came up from behind me and yelled into my ear, "BEHIND YOU!" I thought maybe she was carrying something heavy so I immediately moved out of the way, sensing the urgency in her voice. Come to find out she wasn't carrying anything, she just REALLY needed to get her hands on a bag of chips.

Whew! Good thing I was on top of my game otherwise who knows what would have happened if she hadn't gotten those chips! She might have had to go to the check out aisle next to me that was closed and had no people around it! Or...(gasp) ..she might have had to use the term, "excuse me" in an appropriate volume - but that's apparently a foreign concept to about 95 % of the people who frequent/work at Wal-Mart.

Moral(s) of the story: I should have stopped at Rite-Aid. Less Wal-Mart and More Target in 2009. I should drink more water and less soda not pop. Wal-Mart is to men and women with muffin tops as refrigerators are to magnets. And it's called soda not pop. don't argue with me.

Happy New Years Everyone!!

2008-12-31T18:25:00.000-08:00

I'm staying in of course because when you have a child, the best party to have is a party on the couch with a big bowl of Tostinos and ranch. We're doing our usual, appetizers for dinner to ring in the New Years. I wish I had some sweet story on why this has become a 'family tradition' as of late, or at least some cultural reference - like this is what viking hubs great ancestors used to do every new year... rape, pillage and fry up some Tostinos to reward themselves for a hard day's work.. but no, there is no significance to our 'appetizers for dinner' New Year. Truth be told, Viking hubs and I take whatever occasion and turn it into a mini deep fry fest. No joke. We'll be doing appetizers for dinner again for Superbowl too and neither of us even follow football.

Seriously though - we'll be staying in, eating bad fried food and viking hubs begrudgingly agreed to have a Kathy Griffin night. (we're watching the entire first season and ringing in the new year with her on CNN with Anderson Cooper). Again, this isn't some 'tradition' in the family although I'm actively trying to make it one because I could watch Kathy Griffin all the live long day. But Kathy is kind of an 'adults only' comedian so while munchkin is awake, it'll be Spongebob - THEN Kathy after she goes to bed.

Here's a funny little cartoon made from her stand-up cd called 'For Your Consideration' - which she specifically made as a joke to try to get nominated for a Grammy - and she did!!! It's brilliant.

EDIT: This is from last night's telecast and why I love Kathy, check out the 4:30 mark where she tells some heckler on the street to shut up and 'knock the dick out of your mouth!' omg. she's fantastic.

HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE!! I'm so happy to be welcoming 2009! Stay Safe and I'll see you all in the New Year!

Age Vs. Pamela Anderson, Round 15. Guess who's winning?

2008-12-20T22:30:00.001-08:00

Spontaneous FLS! WHoot!

To My Darling Pam,

Thank you Pam – I’ve always wanted to know what a moose knuckle would look like if someone bedazzled it. I don’t know what’s more disturbing, me having odd thoughts about front wedgies or seeing your snatch having a light lunch with your leotard. I vote the latter but it was a pretty close race. After seeing this picture and peeling my eyeballs from the back of my skull, another thought occurred to me. How are you going to take this thing off dear Pam?What with the Kid Rock and Tommy Lee residue you’ve accumulated over the years leaving your body permanently sticky and smelling like beer soaked cigarette butts, I really hope you had an extra hand available to help you pry open your vagijaws to get it out – I’m sure it was a lot like pulling apart a grilled cheese sandwich.

And on that note, I’m going to gargle out the vomit from my mouth and scrub my eyeballs raw. TTYL!

With Love,

Yo Momma

To My Darling Jennifer,

Okay, okay, I get it. You have a new movie coming out. If I promise to go see it, will you please stop parading around with ‘he who sings with runny ca ca face?’ (It’s his Indian name). You might also want to tell him that during these stage photo ops, he should try and look like he’s happy to be with you, not like he’s about to be led to his own execution. Now, normally I try not to see movies with you as the leading role, because all the yawning gives me lockjaw. (EXCEPT Along Came Polly. High five on that one) – but I’m afraid all this shameless promotion will escalate to yet even more staged photo ops with your man-child - only this time you'll be dry humping his leg like a Chihuahua.

So YES! I will go see your movie!! There! Satisfied? Now can you please go back inside the house and tend to your Brangelina shrine? I know you’re day just isn’t complete without putting yet another pin in your Angelina Jolie doll and coating your Brad Pitt poster with fresh tears.

With Love,

Yo Momma.

To My Darling Pete,

Here’s a list of things I would rather do than hear you talk to Howard Stern about how much you heart ~~penis~~ vagina and how great your ‘sex life’ is with Ashley Simpson:

1. Watch Carrot Top work out in thong.
2. Listen to Kevin Federline’s ‘Popozao” song on a loop for 24 hours.
3. Handle Pamela Anderson’s used leotards and eat a sandwich immediately afterwards.
4. Make sweet sweet love to Star Jones. (Okay, I dry heaved while typing that.)
5. Touch Paris Hilton without a hazmat suit
6. Pop Danny Bonaduce’s steroid induced back pimples.
7. Listen to Poppa Joe Simpson inappropriately talk about his daughter Jessica Simpson’s breasts while he has his hands shoved deep into his pockets ‘looking for change.’
8. Look at Joan Van Ark’s picture before I go to bed.
(that link is not for the faint of heart)
9. Get my eyebrows plucked by this hot bitch:

10. ..AND a bikini wax.

Seriously Pete, I'm quite positive the only ‘sex life’ you have with Ashley Simpson was when she rear ended you with your flat iron because your three speed, hands free dild ran out of batteries -or when you and Papa Joe Simpson play ‘hide the gerbil.”

Stop fronting. You, my friend, are no Tom Cruise. At least Tom Cruise has the decency to make his wife look like a little boy.

With Love,

Yo Momma.

I know, can you believe it?!?! In between the Christmas shopping madness and the munchkin's birthday party, I managed to put together a semi-decent FLF for you guys! I'm a little rusty and for that I am sorry, but I figured I owed you guys something since I've been pretty much MIA on this blog for almost a week now.

Just don't start expecting it on a regular basis just yet - well unless Pamela Anderson keeps wearing things that make her crotch look like a stale stack of pancakes -then expect a post every other day.

I've Got The Shoes Baby, You've Got The Motion...

2008-12-14T12:13:00.001-08:00

Mr. Bush was causing a commotion at a press conference in Dubya and revealed his cat-like reflexes!

In the middle of the press conference a reporter proceeded to throw two of his shoes at President Bush who dodges them surprising ease. I have to admit, I was impressed. I think Mr. Bush missed his calling as a prize fighter. Quick left! Quick right! Stick! Move! Jab jab! He could give Pacquiao a run for his money! Mr. Bush already functions as if he's punch drunk anyways, so no amount of hits to the head could affect him.

What am I talking about? No one would be able to catch Mr. George "Slick Weaver" Bush.

'Slick Weaver Bush.' I think I saw that movie on Showtime at like 2:00 in the morning...

Your Best Friend's Fetus Just Added You As A Friend! Click here to Confirm.

2008-12-10T14:08:00.000-08:00

* So I FINALLY opened a Facebook account in September because everyone was like, "OMG, you sad little raisin still hanging out at myspace. The older, more mature folks kick it at Facebook!" And the funny thing about Facebook is if you find one person from high school, Facebook takes it up on itself to suggest adding every person who ever went to your high school along with their unborn children. It's freaky. But on a positive note, my good friend Elisa, whom I previously thought to be lost in space, found me on facebook and alas, she's not the space cowboy I thought she was. She was just in Portland somewheres - but she has space cowboy tendencies and that's good enough for me.

* For fun, sometimes I like to pretend I'm in Pamela Anderson's head, watching her thought process. (which I'm guessing is a lot like watching clouds pass over the sky - only with a faint smell of cheese Doritos and hot garbage in the air). I was particularly interested in learning what went through her head (besides wind and lint) when she put together this outfit.

"Hmm, maybe I'll let my open crotch sores get some air and not wear pants today. No one will notice if I carry this shiny purse."

Oh Pam, why so classy?

* Operation get the hell outta Dodge is in full swing. We're officially going to be living in Bumblescum, Missouri in about 8 months or so. No, Bumblescum is NOT a real town otherwise I'd already be Mayor - nothing but awesomeness can come out of living in a town called Bumblescum.
I'm almost welcoming the move at this point. I'm just over being broke. Moving to Missouri means we can breath again and that is a good thing....well that and I just realized that they have Sonic over there and the thought of getting tots covered in chili through a drive thru makes my soul sing sonnets.

* Along with planning this move to Mizzo, I've looked at some hip hop classes in Kansas City that I can take. Not just to keep myself busy but to work on my meet Madonna masterplan number 687. Since my masterplan (686) to polka my way into Madonna's tour with my accordion didn't work this year. In fact, I was still so bitter about it that I was giving the guy who did get the gig the side eye and hateful glares during the concert whenever I could. So my next masterplan is to improve my dance moves so that I may pop and lock my way into her tour next year.
She SHALL fall in love with the midget's sweet sweet moves! Trust it.
Quick, what should my B-girl name be???

* Is it weird that nothing in my head says this is ridiculous? In fact, the more ridiculous, the more my brain gives me the green light to go ahead with the idea. Even viking hubby is no longer surprised. He just smiles and nods at me like I'm a short bus rider with a helmet.

* I used to know a guy who, even after taking a shower, would still kind of look sweaty and dirty. I mean, part of me know that he was damp because of the water, but he still appeared to have a dirty film covering his body. It wasn't visible but it was there. A dirt dusting that's so powerful in it's scum that normal water cannot washeth away. I think Matthew McConaughey might be one of those guys. I can't tell if he just got out of the shower or the gym - he looks as if he smells of bong water and whiskey, even worse, I can't understand why I find it so appealing.
Maybe it's his abs?
Naaaah.

Just to make sure, let's see what those abs look like again....

Nope. Those abs don't look appealing at all.