Resolutions

Yeah, I'll admit it. I have them. I'm not above the allure of a fresh start, new hope to fit into my size 8 jeans...but I don't establish said resolutions because it's a "new" year, but because January 1st is a date that has a solid 6 month jump on any kind of major festivities that could possibly cause me to overeat.

Valentine's Day and Easter ain't shit...it's the summer celebrations that draw me into the fold of fatty goodness.

The Fourth of July is evil. It celebrates the birth of our country, you say? Well, I say it celebrates the beginning of 6 months of fat collection on my ever-expanding ass. Examine if you will, my personal timeline of doom.

July: Barbeques, numerous family birthdays...all opportunities to shove cake and ice cream and burgers and potato salad into my piehole with both hands. Damn you, July. Damn you.

August: Family vacation. Being away from the comforts and childproofing of home for 7 days straight is a complete fucking nightmare. I migrate toward booze and potato chips to dull the pain, every time.

September: My birthday. Cake, candy, eating out, ordering in...my birthday isn't a "day", but a week of stuffing my face. Next year will be particularly dangerous since I will be one step closer to 30. Dear God. Somebody get me a pizza.

October: Motherfucking Halloween. Damn the pagans, and damn the Mars company for their "fun size" Snickers.

November: Thanksgiving. Pumpkin pie, and enough turkey to choke a large animal. I love Thanksgiving, not because I see my family and "give thanks", but because I get to stuff my face yet again.

December: This month is my absolute downfall. Stress, food, candy, stress, holiday buffets, stress, company holiday parties, candy, stress, dessert, dessert, dinner, more stress...I think I probably gain a solid 5 pounds during the holiday season, no exaggeration.

New Year's Day is probably the least fun day of the year. Hung over, you can't even eat what you want, and guilt will FORCE you to go to the gym.



So, Baby New Year...my old nemesis...we meet again! I plan to get obscenely drunk before your arrival, and eat as much dessert as I can before the clock strikes 12. Then my ass belongs to you. Fucker. Just don't expect me to change your shitty diaper, I'm already knee deep at home.

Today's Random Internet Findings

UK Personal Ads

This one just cracked me right the hell up...and turned me on a tiny bit...heh heh...


Oh, those crazy Brits! Find the rest here.

Meet Clocky

If you dare hit the snooze button on this alarm clock, it speeds off the bedside table and looks for a place to hide, all the while screaming "GET UP! GET UP!" and buzzing maniacally. Out-fucking-standing. Having one of these would probably prevent those fuzzy morning moments where I crack one eye open and think, "Who 'dat? Who 'dere?" as I try to figure out what day it is and where I am. No time for that nonsense, I'd be far too busy chasing this furry little miracle around my bedroom floor. W00T!

Knife Wielding Teens

15 year old girl stabs sex-hungry boyfriend to death

A 15-year old schoolgirl from Moscow has stabbed her 18-year old boyfriend six times with a kitchen knife and killed him after he insisted on having sex with her despite the fact that he had earlier contracted a venereal disease.


Good for her. If some fuck came after me waving a VD-infested cock, I'd gut him too

"Good job, honey...
just like Daddy taught you...
now, what do you do if some

awful, dirty boy tries to touch you?"

"

The most immature thing I've ever done

So I was perusing Kevin Federline's myspace profile, and saw that he is adding "friends" at an exponential rate. The whole thing is making me sick, really...my South Beach Diet microwave pizza was just creeping up my digestive tract, tickling my tonsils, nagging at me much like Britney probably nags at his sorry ass to stop leeching off of her and get a job. Suddenly, I remembered that I had registered a myspace account a while back just so I could view some moron's profile that was featured on GorillaMask, so I logged in and requested an add from good old KFed himself.

I've got my blog link listed in my profile, and I thought to myself, "There is no way that whoever is adding these friends for him is going to put me down as a friend. My last fucking post was about what a douche he is." Well, lo' and behold, he must have some kind of 'bot doing the dirty work for him, because it's official:

I'm a "friend of Kevin Federline"

I giggled maniacally when I logged back in and saw the news...I read some of the comments that have been left, and clearly some are not being screened. My disgust at the possibility of this horrible piece of trailer park scum becoming yet another reason for the rest of the world to point and laugh at America led me to do something rather childish...

I decided to leave a comment. And leave a comment I did...

My maniacal giggles turned to the guffaws of a crazy person as I hit the "Post Comment" button on my screen. Take THAT, friend! MUAHAHAHAHAHA!

Unfortunately, I was then taken to a screen that informed me that all comments are moderated, and that I was in a queue for approval. BLAST! DAMN YOU, KFED! DAMN YOUR LEECHY HIDE!

So now I'm keeping an eye on his comment section to see if my little gem slips past. I may occupy myself by TP'ing the neighbors house. I feel so inspired! Stay tuned!

What. A. Douche.

Kevin Federline on MySpace

Oh look! He even has his own website: http://www.kevinfederline.com/home.php

Listen to the clip on his MySpace profile. What mindless drivel. And will somebody please tell me what the fuck a "PopoZao" is supposed to be? Is that from some kind of Asian language? Or is it a popular phrase among the trashiest of the white?

The best part is that his piece of shit site is leeching off of Britney Spears' server. Those coattails must be full of holes by now.

If this tard's single actually takes off, I'm going to Canada. Think about it! Cheap drugs, marijuana fields as far as the eye can see, legal orgies and NO KEVIN FEDERLINE. I just want to puke at the thought of this douche on stage. Doesn't anyone get famous from just being plain old TALENTED anymore rather than by association? This sucks.

Yo, check it...I impregnanted
the B to the S and the pears.
Buy my record, AAAIIIIIIGHT???

Swingin' free in Quebec, Canada...

Swinging is A-OK as far as Canada is concerned, eh?

In a landmark decision on Dec, 21, the Supreme Court of Canada lifted a ban on swingers' clubs, ruling that group sex among consenting adults is neither prostitution nor a threat to society.


Sounds good to me...but check out the poster couple for the story...





Uhhhh....Great Aunt Fran? And Uncle Herman? IS THAT YOU???





















I say, to each his/her own, and the idea of an orgy is kinda hot, but for fuck's sake, did they HAVE to use THESE people as their example couple? I think I'm gonna have nightmares for weeks.


Yes, I know that old people have sex. Yes, I realize that I'm going to be old someday, and that my vagina won't suddenly stop functioning when my hair goes gray and my tits are down to my knees, but you certainly won't see ME at some sex club, wrapping my hefty bag boobies around some grandpa-lookin' dude and his old balls.

Crappy Christmas Gifts

My crappiest gift this year was definitely the used VHS from my Grandmother of some obscure Christmas episode from that defunct show "St. Elsewhere". I've never even SEEN St. Elsewhere. And what the fuck is up with the title. "Santa Claus is Dead"??? Merry Christmas to you too, Grandma. I guess this is what chicks with big noses and fat asses get for the holidays.

I want you to tell me about yours. I've got a running list going...mustard yellow towels, homemade wreaths made out of wine corks and chunks of hot glue, clothing that is 3 sizes too small, Halloween sweatshirts...you get the idea.

Leave a comment on this post and I will compile a list to be used in a future post. You don't have to have a blogger account, you can leave them anonymously without logging in. If you'd like to email me pictures, send them to dailyskweez@gmail.com.

Someone's gotta have something to beat my St. Elsewhere tape, bring it on!

Fa-ra-ra-ra-ra. ra-ra-ra-ra...

Christmas morning was actually fairly peaceful. The kids actually waited patiently until 8:30 to open their presents, and it was fairly organized and non-confrontational. We got duplicates of many toys so there would be no fighting. Now for years I have been against this, insisting that my children just suck it up and learn to share, but my nerves are frayed and I've been reduced to wielding a Sharpie and marking each toy with initials so we know what belongs to who. So far, so good.

The kids only had about an hour to play with their toys before we were stuffing them into Christmas attire and hauling them out the door. First stop: Grandma Hooter's house to drop them off for a couple of hours so we could have dinner with the Chinese in peace. I wasn't too keen on leaving them alone there, since I had found Middle Child puffing on one of Grandma's cigarettes the night before, but at that point we had no choice. I pleaded with Grandma to hide her smokes and left to deal with the other side of the family.

We got to the restaurant to find my Grandfather red-faced and breathing heavy in an empty parking lot.

K: "What's going on? Why aren't you inside?"
G: [heavy, stress-induced breathing] "There's a sign on the goddamned door..."
K: "What?"
G: "They don't open until 1:30. Auntie said she made reservations..." [huff puff...]
K: "Hang on, I'll call her."

A phone call to Auntie confirmed that she had indeed made reservations for noon. The place must have either made a mistake or made a last minute decision to open later. She started ranting and raving that she was going to shove terriyaki up the manager's ass if she ever got her hands on him. I figured that was a good time to hang up.

G: "Goddamned chink shitbirds! They've got a goddamned nerve..." [more racist ranting]

Husband made a quick phone call to a Chinese place across town.

H: "Yeah, what time do you open?"
Chinese Guy: "1 o'crock."
H: "Can you take a reservation for six?"
Chinese Guy: "What time?"
H: "Uh, now?"
Chinese Guy: "20 minutes. You come now! Now!!! We take you erry! [translation: early]"
H: "Uh, ok."

We waited for Auntie, who informed us that my drama queen mother had decided not to come because she was "feeling depressed." Poor pookie. Whatever, more pork fried rice for me, beeyatch!

Our caravan headed across town to the other Chinese place, the LoKai. We were greeted with this on the way in:


Just inside the door, there was a spot where the pay phone had quite obviously been ripped off the wall. What the fuck...

H: "Clearly, they didn't use the Sharpie on their pay phone."

Classy shit for sure.

We stopped going to the LoKai because it's buffet style and the food is usually cold or just plain crappy, but beggars can't be choosers and they were opening early to accomodate us, so whatever. The manager seemed thrilled to see us...I mean, really really thrilled.

M: "Oooooh, I remembah you, you come every year."
A: "Yeah, for many years."
M: "Othah place screw up resahvation?"
A: "Big time."
M: "Oh well, hahaha. Welcome back to RoKai."

We'd been watching "A Christmas Story" all day and night, as it had been on for the 24 hour marathon on TBS, so naturally I looked over at the husband...

K: "Fa-ra-ra-ra-ra..."

It was a moment that was the true culmination of "Hello, we're fucked up and we eat at a Chinese restaurant on Christmas."

We dug into the shitty buffet and the husband claimed to have seen a familiar face walking into the next room: Pat, our daycare lady. I thought the husband must have been crazy because Pat would NEVER be caught dead in a Chinese place on Christmas, so I walked over to investigate. Lo and behold, there she sat with her family.

K: "Fancy meeting you here!"
P: "Hey! What are you doing here?"
K: "Dysfunctional family. What's your excuse?"
P: [hangs head] "I forgot to put the turkey in."
K: "Fa-ra-ra-ra-ra..."

We had a good laugh and exchanged holiday greetings, at which point I was forced to go back and deal with my own family. Naturally, shit was talked about my crazed mother, who started all this drama about coming to dinner for the first time in years and then backed out at the last second. Classic. Whatever, my Christmas was shaping up to be sucky enough, so I was glad to have been spared a confrontation. We finished stuffing our faces and bid each other adieu, each of us relieved that we wouldn't have to deal with each other for another full year.

Back to Grandma Hooter's house to pick up the children, who reeked of cigarette smoke and were covered in candy. Hey, it's the price you pay for child care on a holiday, so we hit them with a few wet wipes and hopped in the car for the 30 minute drive to the father-in-law's house.

We were forced to eat again as soon as we got there, and then it was on to the opening of presents. I came face to face with the strangest presentation of cash I've ever seen:



Fifty ones, crumbled up in a jar. It took me 15 minutes to take the shit out and straighten it. The husband thought it was a riot, but with the weekend I've been having, I was fairly annoyed. Oh that father-in-law, always the prankster...merry friggin' Christmas.

The father-in-law also thought it necessary to buy my oldest son a Nerf-N-Strike:

Notice the giant fucking missile launcher. My father-in-law decided to shoot it at my brother-in-law, who was holding a glass of red wine and wearing a white shirt. Needless to say, he was not amused. He grabbed the smaller gun and it was full-out war, the men running around the house with guns (when you separate the whole thing, there are three working parts), women and small children ducking for cover. The father-in-law's girlfriend got hit in the neck with one of the small missiles, so she took her wrist rocket (which he ironically had gotten her for Christmas) and shot a baby carrot right at his crotch, dropping him to his knees. All in good family fun.

Unfortunately, my son then decided it was ok to run around the house like Rambo, picking off his brothers, so it had to be taken away.

We finally headed home at 6pm, exhausted and stuffed to the gills, with Oldest Child whining that he didn't get everything he wanted. I was fucking FUMING. I told him that I had kept a copy of the letter he wrote to Santa and that I would SHOW HIM that he got all he asked for and 10 times more when we got home. Ingrate!

At that point, we had a chance to open the presents that my insulting Grandmother (she of "you have a big nose and a fat ass") had left for us. We all got matching slipper socks. Fabulous. Mine had cats on them, one of whom looked slightly odd:


The dog got more presents than we did; all kinds of treats that are sure to make him shit up a storm, and a huge dog-shaped cookie jar that screams "WHO LET THE DOGS OUT" when you flip the head open. It's driving me nuts.

Perfectly screwed up ending to a screwed up holiday. I think I'm going to Hawaii next year and telling everyone to merrily go fuck themselves.

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were rather eventful, so I've chosen to tell the stories in two installments, starting with the debaucle of Christmas Eve.


My weekend of Christmas hell started with a late lunch at the Olive Garden with my aunt and my grandmother (This is on my mother's side of the family. This is not the Grandma who hangs out at Hooters). Grandma had been bitching about going to the Olive Garden since it opened, so we finally decided to throw the old lady a bone and go there on Christmas Eve.

I got there first, snagged a table, and had myself an $8 glass of wine while I waited. My big fat Italian waiter had thrust a sample upon me, and who was I to say no to fruity alcoholic goodness? Besides, I needed the drink; it was 2 o'clock and I still had to hit Marshall's, Barnes and Noble AND the liquor store (Hooters Grandma had requested Kahlua for the Christmas Eve festivities, and I knew she wouldn't let me in the house without it). Yes, I am a woman, and I shopped right up to Christmas Eve. For shame! I'm already hanging my head about it, next year I pledge to be better prepared. And thinner. But anyway...

Grandma and Auntie showed up, Auntie looking annoyed and Grandma bitching about the temperature in the place. Then they proceeded to complain that Fatty the Waiter was taking too long to take their drink orders. While we waited, I gave Grandma my presents, which consisted of a cashmere scarf and a framed picture of me. Now, I don't like giving out pictures of myself...I find it conceited, but Grandma constantly complains that she doesn't have any recent ones so I sucked it up and gave her a picture.

G: [stares at the photo critically]
A: "I think she looks beautiful in that picture!"
K: "Thanks Auntie. I'd just had my hair highlighted. And it's my 'good side'."
G: "Your nose is much prettier in person."
K: [stares]
A: "What are you talking about, Mum?" [annoyed "stop being a crazy old lady" voice]
G: "It looks really big, the way you're tilting your head in the picture."
K: "Gee, thanks Grandma."
G: "You shouldn't tilt your head like that."
K: "Noted."
A: [rolls eyes, makes the 'crazy' sign with her hand and points to Grandma]

Lunch continued uneventfully until I dared to allow a piece of lettuce to fall off of my fork, leaving a small oil spot on my pink shirt.

A: "I hope you weren't planning on wearing that to dinner!"
K: "I was, actually. Oh well. That's what spot remover is for."
G: "Well your boobs are huge."
K: "WHAT?"
G: "It must happen a lot." [rolls eyes with disdain]
K: "Yeah Gram, it usually happens when I'm shoveling food into my piehole with both hands."
G: [scowls]
A: [makes 'crazy' gesture again]

We finished up dinner, but not before Grandma told the waiter that he had a fat ass. Auntie just about shot her $8 worth of wine out of her nose. I think that when you get old, you lose that all-important "filter" that keeps you from making outrageously insulting statements. We parted ways shortly thereafter, her telling me that we should take a family picture for next year's Christmas card, and me commenting that I would clearly need a nose job and liposuction before that could possibly happen.

I left for Marshall's, where I picked up a single item; gloves for my Dad. I headed into a line and found 2 pairs of eyes scowling at me. I asked if they had been planning on going into that line, and they said they were, and quite huffily. Never mind that their cart was facing in the opposite direction, and they were still perusing the endcaps of the registers, but they turned around and cut in front of me with a cartful of crap. Whatever. I tried to keep my holiday spirit and smiled.

Another cashier came running over.

C: "I CAN TAKE THE NEXT PERSON IN LINE!"

I headed over with my gloves, only to find the assholes with the giant cart full of shit hot on my heels, gasping that I dared to go into line before them. They actually took the stuff they had already started putting down OFF the counter and ran up behind me.

K: [smiling] "I have one item, and I'm paying cash."
Obnoxious Couple: [grumbling, whispering, pointing...catching the attention of a manager]

Manager: [to the couple] "I can take you over here."
Obnoxious Couple: "Good! Some people..."

I couldn't take any more at that point...I turned around...

K: "Listen. YOU CUT ME OFF IN THE FIRST PLACE, and I let you go ahead. I have ONE ITEM, and you have like THIRTY. If you're actually gonna hold onto this, then you have got serious issues. BACK THE HELL OFF."

I handed the girl $20 and was on my way. The obnoxious couple and cashiers were in absolute shock, mouths agape. I fucking hate people who will talk all kinds of shit behind your back, but when you call them on it, they have nothing to say. ASSHOLES.

I went next door to Sears, picked up one thing, and went back to my car. I looked through the window and they were STILL checking out. I hope they choke on their gourmet cherry cordials. Some people just suck.

Anyway, I hit the liquor store (where they were turning off the lights so the last-minute alcoholics would get the idea to leave) and headed home to pick up the husband and kids. On to Grandma Hooter's house for Christmas Eve festivities. I decided that I needed to be drunk, and soon.

As soon as I walked in, I headed straight for the kitchen to start mixing drinks. Kahlua and milk was being consumed at an alarming rate, and it was more like " a little milk with my kahlua" rather than the other way around. That shit was dark, and it was fabulous. 4 drinks later, I was completely lit and getting a little chatty.

K: "My grandmother told me I was a big-nosed fatty during lunch today. What a fucking bitch! I hope she chokes on her leftovers." [finishes another drink]

K: "My mother is supposed to come to Christmas dinner tomorrow. Fucking drama queen! Why can't I be an orphan..." [gulp...gulp...]

K: "Why does Santa get all the credit? I busted my ever-loving ASS this week and that fat fuck basks in the glory? IT'S NOT RIGHT!!!" [Grandma was ready to clamp her hand over my mouth at this point]

K: "I love kahlua...fucking GREAT invention...who invented it? I shall give him a hand job if I ever find him." [I had already scared the young children out of the room by this point, so it was all good]

Present exchange was no better...

K: "Here ya go...I think this is for you...what the hell did I get you, I forget...Shit, I really hate Christmas...where's my drink???"

I was not the only obnoxious family member, however...my brother started commenting on how much each of his presents cost, my sister actually complained OUT LOUD that a shirt my grandmother bought her was "ugly", and my Dad started telling racist jokes. Pretty standard family get-together.

At the end of the night, we collected the booty and piled into the car. After stacking the mountain of presents under the tree, I promptly fell into a booze-induced slumber.

Christmas was even better. To be continued...

Guess who's coming to dinner...

Today I received the news that my estranged mother will be attending our annual Christmas dinner at the Chinese food place. My mom's side of the family prefers dining with the Chinese becase:

1) Nobody likes to cook

2) Even though I offer to cook, nobody wants that because eating at someone's house involves foreign concepts like "being a family" for a few hours, and "helping to clean up."


Chew and screw is the general idea, and we've become experts.


Anyway, my mother and I have had various fallings-out since I reached adulthood, the latest of which came when she said that she "shouldn't have to deal with those kids" whenever she comes to town to see ME. I went fucking ballistic and told her that my kids are better people at age 5 then she could ever hope to be and that she has a goddamned nerve talking shit about MY kids, who she doesn't even choose to know. Well, mommy dearest didn't like that little slice of reality, and decided that I don't exist. Again. What the fuck ever, lady, I've got my own shit to deal with. All has been peaceful for a year, and now she has chosen to crash dinner. Fuck fuck fuck.

I've been in serious denial over the situation. So many times I had allowed her back into my life only to take it on the chin all over again. She's manipulative and emotionally abusive, and I've finally become OK with not having a mother who is there for me, and now this. We had a heated email exchange this time last year, and I still have 3 emails sitting in my inbox that I've never opened. Sheer denial. I couldn't cope with it at the time because I KNEW that whatever she had to say would be upsetting to me, so I chose the ostrich approach.

I am again playing ostrich, because I checked my caller ID and saw her number, and I've got a little red flash nagging me from the phone stand. I told the husband that he needs to check the message because I can't. More denial. I am so ordering the scorpion bowl tomorrow.

You want it? Come 'n git it, sucka!!!

EDIT: Apparently the boyfriend forced it down her throat and told police the story below to save his own hide. What a fucker. Off to prison with him, and I sincerely hope he ends up as someone's bitch.

Woman Swallows Cell Phone After Argument
By Associated Press

3 hours ago

BLUE SPRINGS, Mo. - It was a conversation stopper. A lovers' dispute over a cell phone took a serious turn early Friday morning when the woman ended the spat by swallowing the phone whole.

Police said they received a call at 4:52 a.m. from a man who said his girlfriend was having trouble breathing. When they arrived at the house they found the 24-year-old woman had a cell phone lodged in her throat.

"He wanted the phone and she wouldn't give it to him, so she attempted to swallow it," Detective Sgt. Steve Decker of the Blue Springs Police Department. "She just put the entire phone in her mouth so he couldn't get it."

Police said an ambulance transported the woman to St. Mary's Medical Center in Blue Springs. A hospital spokeswoman said she couldn't give details about the woman's health since police have not released her identity.

Decker said police had closed investigations on the swallowing, the first such incident of its kind here.

"This is the first I've heard of this happening," said Decker. "I don't know what kind of phone it was. I don't know if it was on ring or vibrate, either."


Wow. Just...wow.


That Detective they interviewed is such a smart ass. That last quote makes the whole story.

Admitting a problem is the first step toward recovery.

I was inspired by Riss to make a list of the worst songs I have on my hard drive.

13 Songs I Am Ashamed to Admit That I Once Liked
(and might still like...gag)

1) Bye Bye Bye by 'nSync

• Catchy shit. I can't believe I once sucked bad enough to download it, however.

2) Candy Shop by 50 Cent

• I like this song, but I would never be caught dead playing it with anyone else in my car. Chubby white girls are not allowed to rock out to "Candy Shop" in public.
  

3) Never Ever by All Saints

• Fucking cookie cutter girl bands. Fun to sing along with, however.
  

4) Blame it on the Weatherman by B*Witched

• This one was on the "Charmed" soundtrack, so that's my justification for this one.

5) Because You Loved Me by Celine Dion

• In my defense, it was my wedding song. Shut up.
  

6) Foolish Beat by Debbie Gibson

• Fond memories of cutting holes in my jeans and attempting to draw smiley faces on my knees with magic marker. More fond memories of my mom kicking my ass for said activity.
  

7) He Loves U Not by Dream

• Guilty pleasure. No excuse.
  

8) Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne

• I dream of being a milf one day. Not one that actually fucks children, but a milf nonetheless.
  

9) Put Your Ass Into It by Ice Cube

• Another fun song that chubby white girls are not allowed to like.
  

10) I'm Sensitive by Jewel

• Fucking horrible, whiny fag song. Die.
  

11) Candy by Mandy Moore

• I'm missin' you like caaaaannnndaaaayayayayayaaaaaaaaa...just sing it, admit you like it, and shut the fuck up. I know I'm not alone in this one.
  

12) Hanging Tough and The Right Stuff by New Kids on the Block

• These were NOT my fault, Ghengis burned me a bunch of mp3's and snuck these on the disc. I loaded it without even knowing. Fucker.

13) Truly Madly Deeply by Savage Garden

• I thought a chick sang this song for the longest time. Ugh.
  

I know, I know...it's awful. You don't even want to know me anymore now that you've seen 'nSync in my music catalog. In an attempt to salvage my now-damaged image with my loyal readers, I give you...

21 Bands I Am OK With Admitting Are On My Hard Drive

(alphabetically)

1) ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail of the Dead
2) Ben Lee
3) Breaking Benjamin
4) Butch Walker
5) Dave Matthews Band
6) Evanescence
7) Fall Out Boy
8) Foo Fighters
9) Green Day
10) Kay Hanley
11) Letters to Cleo
12) Linkin Park
13) Nine Inch Nails
14) Queens of the Stone Age
15) Rachel Yamagata
16) Sarah McLachlan
17) Sevendust
18) Sublime
19) The Killers
20) The Used
21) Third Eye Blind



My taste doesn't suck, but I have clearly had a few weak, pop-infected moments. I don't delete any of my music because it's almost like a history; good, bad and sometimes ugly. Besides, it's fun to look back and admit that you used to rock out to Mandy Moore with the windows rolled up and nobody else around.

The Carver: Prada-Wearing Cockless Wonder

I don't know how many of my loyal readers are nip/tuck fans, but the finale was last night and the identity of the individual hidden behind the porcelein mask and Prada sweater of "The Carver" was revealed.


Pretty fucking outrageous episode, I have to say. Making a mysterious criminal into a prominent plastic surgeon who happens to have been born without a penis and was in cahoots with his deformed sister/lover/investigating detective the whole time? The only things missing from this show are aliens and a Michael Jackson guest appearance.

I will say that I was simultaneously amused and grossed out when he taunted Christian with the dildo ass rape incident from last season [something about "making sweet love"....muahahahaha]. I suppose I qualify as twisted enough to enjoy this program.

Good show, but what a guilty pleasure. It's got more camp and spit-swapping than a daytime soap, but we eat it up like a fat kid at the China Buffet. I don't see how they can top this shit next season, but I guess we'll see.

Company Christmas Party

The husband's holiday shindig was last night at soime hoity-toity restaurant out of town, so we conned a relative into watching the monkeys and headed out for some rare interaction among adults. It was already decided in advance that I would be the one driving, giving the husband full license to take advantage of the open bar, so I figured it would make for an interesting night.

We walked in and made our rounds, smiling and mingling with people we barely know, standard holiday party fodder. The appetizers were slightly odd...bruscetta consisted of bread with tuna and anchovies. I had one piece and didn't find out about the anchovies until after the fact. I still feel dirty. Where can a girl get some normal garlic bread with cheese around here? Clearly, I am too white trash for such an establishment.

The place had high ceilings, and it looked like there may have been a mezzanine at some point, as there were a couple of spots in the corners where it had been sectioned off with wrought iron gating. Behind the gates, there sat a giant antique pot that had to be four feet tall.

K: [pointing] "What the fuck is THAT?"
H: [staring] "Storage up there maybe?"
K: "I dunno...what's the deal with the cage?"
H: [snickers] "Maybe that's where they have dancing on weekends."
K: "Yeah, when this town goes to shit, this will be a strip bar and there will be cage dancing nightly."
H: "Maybe even bukkake shows."
K: "One can hope."

The husband's female boss directed us all to start sitting down for dinner. It was then that we were informed that we wouldn't be sitting at the table, but at the bar. Basically, everyone under 35 was relegated to the bar.

K: "We have to sit at the bar? No big table for us, huh?"
H: "Apparently so."
K: "Oh well, I haven't sat at the kiddie table in years. This will be fun."
H: "Hey, at least we're close to the alcohol!"

Husband was already 3 drinks deep, so this development was fantastic as far as he was concerned.

We sat and female boss started distributing gourmet cookies with little "Merry Christmas" tags attached. As soon as I got mine, I started to snicker.


K: "What the fuck...kiddie table AND cookies?"
H: "Check out his arms...they're like stumps. Jerry's Snowmen."

[hysterical "we're so going to hell" laughter]

K: "What's up with his broom? It looks like he splooged all over it."
H: "Snowman Bukkake?"

[more laughter]

Only we would come into a classy restaurant and make 2 bukkake jokes withing the first half hour. You can't take us anywhere.

At the bar, we had fancy holiday cocktail napkins.

This was particularly funny, since two of the owners of the company have this tiny little teacup poodle that they take to work because "She can't be alone!" The thing shits everywhere and will lift its leg to anything more than an inch off the ground. She also picks through the trash. They actually had to start feeding her some kind of gourmet granola because she "wasn't well", which is probably because she regularly digs through the trash and eats all the leftovers from lunch.

Anyway, the dog is hated by the men of the company, and husband fights off daily urges to squish it under his shoe. We were all expecting professional photos of the dog under the Christmas tree, but napkins would apparently have to do.

We were sitting next to a perfectly normal-looking couple at the bar. The husband, Trevor, works for the company, so we all ended up in conversation. Apparently, Trevor and his wife are from the Midwest, and are a bit red-neckish. Trevor commented that his bedroom had been in the crawlspace under the house before he left home.

K: "Wait...the crawlspace?"
Wife: "There were SPIDERS! Can you imagine?"
K: "Uh, no, I can't actually."
T: "Big spiders too. And every spring, my bedroom flooded."
K: [stares]

Dinner came, and it was fairly fancy shmancy. The restaurant's specialty is whatever meat they can cook in some wood stove that they have, and I opted for the steak. Husband had the pork, and Trevor had the venison. A few bites in, Trevor looked distressed.

H: "How's the meat, Trevor?"
T: "Kinda dry..."
H: "Really?"
T: [summons waiter] "Could I get some ketchup?"

The waiter, the husband and I all stared at him in shock. This is the kind of place where the average dinner for two would be over a hundred bucks easy, classy by our standards. I seriously doubted that they would stock Heinz or A1.

W: "Ketchup? I guess I can check." [disappears into the kitchen. I swear I thought I heard laughter from behind the door]

The waiter returned with the sad news that ketchup nor steak sauce were kept in the kitchen. Trevor unhappily finished his meat and excused himself to get some air a short time later.

K: "Where's HE going?"
H: "He's probably walking across the street to the pizza place to find ketchup."
K: "Knocking back a few packets perhaps?"

It was at this point the husband was pretty well liquored up and hitting his comedic stride.

H: [pretending to hold a ketchup packet to his lips] "I'll suck yo' dick for some ketchup!"

If you're seen Boyz n the Hood, you'll get the joke. If not, just trust me, it was a funny comment, and probably true. Trevor came back into the restaurant looking somewhat relieved. It was all we could do to control our snickers. We toasted to finding a couple that's more white trash than us and continued on with our evening.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Trevor ordered Tiramisu for dessert, and we informed him in all seriousness that this was not a food that you can put ketchup on. He didn't think it was quite as funny as we did. After dessert, we said our goodbyes and headed out. We'd already been gone 5 whole hours, and we were certain that we would return to find that the children had burned the house down if we stayed any longer.

...and for a dollar, you can stick furniture in my ass...

Click the picture to view "A Charlie Brown Kwanzaa"




This is easily the most offensive thing I've seen this holiday season, but I don't think I've laughed this hard since I heard Paris Hilton's debut single. I apologize to those who don't have a sense of humor. Don't click if you're easily offended. You've been warned.

Best accessory EVER

Meet the new case I just picked up for my mp3 player at Old Navy.


I've named it Peter, and it's easily my greatest find this holiday season. Yes, I realize that the cutouts are more tailored for an iPod, but I have access to all my functions and I can read the screen, so who fucking cares? It's got earmuffs, people, AND a bowtie, which clearly makes up for any other issues. Really dresses up the old Dell DJ for Christmas, don't you think?

Oh yeah. AND it was only $3.75. W00T.

They also had a yellow duck, which I was tempted to pick up for Ghengis, who has an iPod that is practically his fifth appendage. The reason the duck appealed to me is because it reminded me of this great story he tells about this time his mother came across a duck at their house.

Apparently, his mother had heard something in the basement, and went to investigate. She opened up the furnace and this duck stumbled out, covered in soot. Apparently, it gave off one last "QUACK" before it fell over dead. You'd have to see him tell the story to understand, he imitates the duck and does this whole spastic "AFLAC!" thing that is quite hysterical. So I thought about buying him the duck and writing "AFLAC" across the duck's scarf with a Sharpie. Now, I know that he would never actually use such a gay accessory, but it would be a good joke.

Then I remembered that Ghengis is too busy porking a vet to bother coming around this neck of the woods before Christmas, so he gets no goddamn duck. I'll just have to keep the awesomeness all to myself.

I love live TV news

This is just hilarious. Click the image to view "Snowplow".

Someone's baking bread, and it's not me for a change

Last night, I went to change Youngest Child's diaper, and was greeted by a big swollen mass on his little peepee.

K: "Uh, husband? Come take a look at this."

Now, whenever there is a penis issue with one of the boys, I immediately call the husband in for a consult. When my oldest got his first bit of morning wood as an infant, I actually called him at work.

K: "How do I get it into the diaper?"
H: "It's just wood, it'll pass."
K: "I'm gonna bend it! It's gonna hurt him!"
H: "No it's not. How do you think the rest of the men in the world get their pants on?"
K: "What the hell am I supposed to do with this thing?"
H: "Just put the diaper right over it, it'll be fine."
K: "WHY COULDN'T WE HAVE HAD A GIRL? GIRLS DON'T HAVE INFLATABLE PARTS!"

By the time I was done with my hysterics, his wood was gone anyway.

So the husband looks over briefly and says, "Oh, it gets a little red sometimes, it's fine." I insisted that this was different and he finally came over for a look.

H: "WHAT THE FUCK!"
K: "I TOLD YOU!"
H: "Jesus Christ, where's the ass cream?" [translation: diaper rash ointment]
K: [puts a handful of zinc oxide on Youngest Child's crotch]
H: "Is that gonna help?"
K: "How the hell am I supposed to know? I guess we'll see."
H: "If it's not gone by the morning, he should go straight to the doctor."

Husband is obviously not one to fuck with the health of his son's penis. I swear, men will walk around with back pain, chronic pooping problems, migraines, and a myriad of other health problems and flat out refuse to go to the doctor, but when it comes to the penis, they don't fuck around.

We checked him this morning and it still hadn't gone down. It looked like a big red grape was wrapped around his little peepee. Off to the doctor, who informed us that he has a yeast infection, and prescribed an anti-yeast ointment.

I called the husband on the way home.

H: "So what's the verdict."
K: "Your son is baking bread."
H: "WHAT?"
K: "Yup."
H: "On his dick?"
K: "Yup."
H: "I didn't know that could happen."
K: "Me neither. I'll be home in a few."

I did a Google image search to check up on this condition, and holy shit, I am scarred for life. His peepee doesn't look quite as bad as those ones do, but I guess it's more common than one would think.

So my public service announcement to my male readers is this: if your equipment is suddenly swollen, don't assume that the Almighty finally answered your prayers. It's yeast. Go to the doctor.

Lost Love

Forlorn Lover Leaves Huge Diamond Ring in Stranger's Car

December 15, 2005

WESTBOROUGH, Mass. --An anonymous gift-giver, apparently depressed over a lost love, left a $15,000 diamond engagement ring in somebody's else's unlocked car in a commuter parking lot.

The ring came in a box topped with a white bow and accompanied by a note, which read: "Merry Christmas. Thank you for leaving your car door unlocked. Instead of stealing your car I gave you a present. Hopefully this will land in the hands of someone you love, for my love is gone now. Merry Christmas to you."

A 37-year-old Northborough man found the three-diamond, white gold ring on the seat of his car, which he had parked at the MBTA train station in Westborough on Dec. 7, The MetroWest Daily News of Framingham reported Thursday.

He called police to report the find four days later, after he had the ring appraised.

"This appears to be random, but we don't really know," said police Lt. Paul Donnelly.

Police declined to identify the man. A police report said he had decided to keep the ring.



I was really bothered after reading this. Did his fiancee die? Leave him for another? What did he do after he left it, jump off a bridge or swallow some pills? How incredibly sad to lose your one true love, and at Christmastime to boot.

Generally, I only have this kind of reaction when I read a tragic news story about a child, but I find myself hoping that this poor grown-up bastard is ok. Those who have loved and lost can probably relate to his pain the most...those who have felt that awful pressure in your chest that feels like your heart is literally going to break in two if you dare to take just one more breath...having that overwhelming urge to just go to sleep to avoid the anguish...feeling like your eyes are going to pop out of sockets swollen from crying...praying for time to somehow reset itself so you could have a chance to make it right...

I hope this guy walked away from that car feeling better and not worse. I hope he's ok.


EDIT:

An anonymous commenter made a good point...maybe a woman left the ring. I suppose this is possible, but it really doesn't change my feelings. Either way, I hope this person is well.

Take THAT, smart ass

I have no tolerance for children who talk back to me. Rolling eyes, stuck-out tongues, mumbling under the breath, arguing with directions...it is NOT going to happen in MY class. I've found that modern teachers & parents alike are much more lax in discipline than previous generations, and I think that's a complete fucking shame. It's no wonder kids have no respect when they get to middle school, then high school, and it doesn't get any better when they're released into society. I have clear rules and clear consequences when those rules are broken, and I stay utterly calm when doling out appropriate discipline. "Andy" is a particularly mouthy child in my class and the other teachers pretty much ignore about 90% of it. Welcome to MY world, Andy, that shit isn't gonna fly.

Anyway, today I was walking around my class, attempting to quiet my students so that I could pass out homework. Andy decided to keep chatting, so I told him to quiet down.

A: "I wasn't talking."
K: "Yes you were. I was looking right at you. Please stop."
A: "WHAT THE HECK IS YOUR PROBLEM LADY?"
K: [stares in disbelief] "Go get a paper and fill it out for being disrespectful."

[side note: We have papers that we give them where they write out what they did wrong and what they will do differently next time. It goes home to be signed by a parent. Andy has been pushing the limits with backtalk all week and I'd pretty much had it by that point.]

A: "I WASN'T EVEN TALKING!"
K: "Yes you certainly were. Get a paper."
A: "FINE!" [stalks off, gets paper]

2 minutes later...

A: [puppy dog eyes] "Please Mrs. K, don't make me take it home."

[Standard Andy behavior: Be a little shit and then backpedal so as to avoid consequences. The other teachers buy this act a LOT of the time, and I've even been known to buy it on occasion. His parents are pretty strict, and he knew he would be in deep shit when he got home, hence the act.]

K: "I've let you off the hook all week, Andy. You're taking it home."
A: "YOU'RE MEAN!"
K: "I'm sorry you feel that way, Andy, but you still need to take the paper home."
A: "I KNOW! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
K: "Lower your voice or you're getting another paper."
A: [pouts, finally shuts up]

Another 2 minutes later...

A: [crocodile tears] "Please Mrs. K, I won't do it again."
K: "Forget it, Andy, it's going home."
A: "I WISH YOU NEVER CAME TO THIS SCHOOL!"
K: "I'm sorry you feel that way."
A: "WHY CAN'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME HAVE A HAPPY LIFE?"
K: [waves another paper in front of him] "Lower your voice, Andy..."

At dismissal, on the way out the door...

A: "I'M NEVER TALKING TO YOU AGAIN."
K: "That's very sad, Andy, but I'm still going to talk to you."
A: "STOP LOOKING AT ME! DON'T TALK TO ME EVER AGAIN."
K: [keeps looking]
A: "AAAAHHHHH STOP IT! STOP LOOKING AT MEEEEEEE! YOU'RE MEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAN!!!!!"

[tears down the hallway, yelling "MRS. K IS THE WORST TEACHER IN THIS SCHOOOOOOOOOL!!!!!"]


In the space of 10 minutes, I was told that I'm mean, the worst teacher ever, and that I make my students' lives unhappy. Not bad for a day's work.

This little piggie...

If I ever lose a toe in a freak Roos accident, someone please remind me to get this tattoo. Thanks in advance.

Bad Mommy

As I've previously mentioned, I've been working the two jobs since November so as not to have a lapse in my health insurance and to adequately train my replacement at the hellhole. I'd intended to stick it out through Christmas season out of courtesy to my employer, but yesterday's incident was the final nail in the hellhole coffin.

Middle Child, who is autistic, came home from school with a note from his teacher:

"Dear Mrs. K: Middle Child came to school this morning with holes in his shoes, and wet socks. He needs new shoes. Let us know if we can help."

It had been so chaotic that morning, and my husband and I were both so tired and distracted (we've both been pulling long hours) that we didn't notice when the poor kid put on sneakers that had holes in them.

I sent my autistic 5 year old to school with holes in his shoes, in the middle of December. I am an asshole.

I went nuts. I cried for hours. What kind of a mother AM I if I can't even send my child to school adequately clothed? His teachers think he's a welfare kid and it's all because I was too tired to notice what he was wearing. He couldn't TELL us that his shoes were ripped because he doesn't talk. How fucking tragic is THAT? Just the thought of one of my babies being cold or wet or uncomfortable for one MINUTE because of ME makes me physically ill. I decided at that point that I was all done with the 60 hour weeks.

As soon as the husband got home, I tore ass to Marshall's. I proceeded to rifle through the racks like a madwoman; not only was my baby getting new shoes, but he was getting jeans and t shirts and a new jacket as well. MY child is NOT going to be branded the poor kid whose parents don't take care of him, oh no...he's going to be a PIMP when he gets on that short bus in the morning.

Stride Rite shoes with lights in the heels (and REAL LACES, fuckers, none of this lazy ass velcro shit, I pledge to lovingly tie his shoes in double knots EVERY SINGLE DAY)...brand name jeans (Faded Glory will simply not do)...overpriced t-shirts with humorous euphemisms on them...all of it flew into the cart in my guilt-induced frenzy.

Finally, it was on to the outerwear section. A big puffy jacket for my baby, and nothing less! I found nothing but flat ones, and I was getting pissy. Now, I know logically that the insulating material that is used in winter jackets these days is much more lightweight and compact than it once was, but in my mind, Puffy Jacket = Your mommy loves you and spent a lot of money to keep you warm. The world will know that my baby is well taken care of. I left in disgust and headed to Sears, where they had all the puffy jackets my little heart desired. I sprang the extra 10 bucks for the zip-out liner (more evidence that mommy loves him) and was on my way. I came home, put him to bed, and went to the hellhole to resign.

I blurted the whole thing out to both of my male bosses...bad mother...my baby had holes in his shoes...welfare kid...too busy to notice...couldn't stand being a bad mommy for another second...blah blah blah (*snort*sob*). Men don't like having crying women in their offices, so they hastily told me that it was perfectly fine and that I was making a good decision. They were very supportive and even said they'd take me back in a second if I get screwed for a permanent teaching job next year. I talk a lot of shit about that place, but the people I worked for are generally pretty cool. I filled out my separation paperwork, cleaned out my drawer, said my goodbyes and walked out, hopefully for good. I went home and had the best night's sleep I think I've had in two years.

Anyway, Middle Child left the house this morning in full winter gear and brand new sneakers with double knots. Good Mommy in 'da house, beeyatch! I'll be goddamned if I ever let anything interfere with my mommy duties ever again. Lesson learned.

Farewell, My Hellhole

As of 11:30pm EST, I am no longer an employee in the seventh circle of hell.

I've been burning the candle at both ends, so to speak, since the first week of November...as some of you may have noticed, the blog has been a bit lighter than usual...well, my benefits with the teacher union are kicking in shortly and I have no need to stay at the night job. I feel like a lead weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Tomorrow, I'm going to catch up on laundry and bake with my kids...simple pleasures that have suffered since I've been getting 3 hours of sleep per night.

Merry Christmas to me, peeps. :-D

BABY IN THE HOLE! BABY IN THE HOLE!

This is how our friends in Pakistan are finding me. Not sure I'm what our Pakistani web surfer was looking for, but there you have it.

Kinky Santa

I love the O-face on the reindeer. Muahahahaha.

One of these things is not like the others...

...one of these things just doesn't belong...



Figure it out yet?

The first two shoes are common WalMart finds...sensible, boring, schoolteacher appropriate. Well smack my ass and call me Susan if I didn't find a pair of stripper shoes at my friendly neighborhood WalMart today nearly identical to the pair I have posted above.

Now, the way to tell between the $120 pair of streetwalker heels and the $19.97 WalMart variety is rather simple. The WalMart heels have clearly visible SCREWS holding the heel to the shoe itself. The WalMart shoes also LIGHT UP with each step, much like your 6 year old brother's Spiderman sneakers.

Club whores the world over can rejoice! Dressing like a hooker just became that much more affordable. Wally World won't carry CD's that have dirty words on them, yet they're happy to outfit us with slutty shoes. I love this country.

5 things about me

Thanks to the freaking Love Boat Captain for infecting me with this shit. Basically I write 5 random facts about myself, and then pass it on to 5 others to do the same on their blogs. Here goes:


1) I have ugly feet. My husband will not allow them anywhere near him. If they happen to stray to his lap when we're on the couch together, he wigs out. No amount of toenail painting will ever pretty them up enough for him to touch them. Ever.

2) I feel extremely uncomfortable leaving the house without having my nails done.

3) I have an unhealthy obsession with throw blankets. I'm always on the lookout for one that improves over the one I bought before. Microfiber, fleece, knit...you name it, I've bought it. I found one that is microfiber on one side, fleece on the other, and stuffed with down at Big Lots last week for like $5.99, and I'm in my glory. I fight with my kids over it. I've even gone so far as to hide it from them. I think I've reached the pinnacle of my quest, and I'm not sure where to go from here. I'll have to find something new to obsess over. Shit.

4) I hate WalMart, yet I find myself unable to live without it. I hate the fluorescent lights, I hate most of the people who work there, and I hate that I get dizzy with confusion whenever I enter a Supercenter, but the low prices and vast selection call me back for more everytime. They probably pump some kind of happy drug through the ventilation system to keep you coming back. Evil, just evil.

5) I sob like a crazy person whenever I see one of my kids on stage. Christmas shows, preschool graduations, concerts...I absolutely lose it. The other parents look at me like I'm insane, but I don't care. My baby is on stage, doing SUCH A GOOD JOB, and this is proof that maybe I've done something right in my life. Fuck you. Let me have my moment.


Ha! Done. With this post, I hereby infect:

Bobber
Kara
Bukes
Major Bedhead
Immortality LTD

Get to work, fuckers! I refuse to suffer alone!

Marriage

Last night, the husband and I were spending "quality time" together, which generally means that we're in the same room, but each on our own computer. Suddenly, I had a wave of inspiration. I stood up and made my announcement.

K: "I think it's time that you service me."
H: [briefly pries his eyes away from Party Poker] "Huh?"
K: [nods toward bedroom] "Kids are asleep. Let's go."
H: [turns head back toward screen] "Uh, ok..."
K: "Come on! Time's a-wasting!"
H: "Maybe after my game is over."
K: [stares] "Are you kidding?"
H: [tap tap tap...dinging noises that indicate that it's his turn] "I'm almost done."
K: "This sucks."
H: [still mesmerized by his virtual stack of chips] "Hmm?"
K: "Fuck this. I'm starting without you."
H: [tap tap tap tap]
K: [heads to bedroom, defeated]


I'm starting to understand why hardly any of my friends are married. It's pretty bad when even the most direct declaration of "Hey, I feel like fucking, let's go!" doesn't get a married man excited anymore. Thank God for The Rabbit.

I just bought Roos

I was never allowed to have them as a child. They were too "trendy" and "expensive". Oh yeah, and Mom was too busy spending all of her money on weed to spare a few bucks on an investment in my shaky junior high social status.

Well fuck you, Mom. I got my OWN Roos.

Ummm...

O_o


I think I'm officially going to hell if I'm attracting readers because my blog is the 5th AOL search hit for "sodomized and spanked." I'm only 4 links away from OGRISH. Jesus Christ.

No more trips to Long Island for me...

It was Martha's 29th, so the girls decided on another night of dancing and drinks. Once again, Yvonne's brother was suckered into driving our drunk asses around town, so we piled into the Suburban and headed into the city with our red cups full of "magic punch" in hand. What, there are laws against open containers in a moving vehicle you say? No worries, we had a rock-solid emergency plan if we got pulled over; chug, nest the cups inside each other and hide them under the seat before the officer got to the window. Our college educations have certainly not gone to waste, boys and girls, we are WAY SMARTER than the fuzz. Oh yes.

Anyway, we planned to go to this restaurant called SoHo. Very modern, minimalistic, with graphics that looked like boobs all over the menu. My kinda place. The martini list was thrust upon us and we immediately ordered the Espresso variety. It looked like diarrhea, but we chugged that shit like we were scat porn stars. Hazel and I neared the bottom of our drinks and even rediscovered our respective cherries.



The Espresso martinis were a bit heavy, however, and I moved onto my standby: Long Island Iced Tea. This drink is incredibly dangerous, as it has enough alcohol in 1 to equal 2 1/2 normal drinks, and it tastes like regular fucking iced tea. After 3 magic punches, a martini and a Long Island, I was completely lit. Everything was hysterical. I saw a girl in a sequinned tank top and suddenly found myself doubled over with laughter, not caring if she noticed.

It was at this point that Hazel fatefully decided that she "had to go tinkle".

Being a responsible friend, I saw it as my duty to lead her to the ladies' room, as she was a full drink ahead of me and a bit wobbly. I led her to the back of the restaurant and scanned the bathroom doors to determine which one was the little girls' room. Imagine our surprise when we came upon the bathroom doors and found no stick figures on them. Hazel stopped dead.

H: "Umm...K?"
K: "Yep."
H: "Which is which?"
K: "Uhhhh...."
H: "Think they're, like, unisex?"
K: "Right, like in Ally McBeal."
H: "Don't get me started on THAT skinny whore."

[Hysterical laughter. We lean against the wall to stay steady.]

K: "Oh wait...there's letters..."

Above the handles were an "M" and a "W", respectively. Fuckers. We chose the "W" and headed in.

I was heading to the lefthand stall when Hazel stopped me again.

H: "Uh...K?"
K: "Yep."
H: "There's a TV in here."
K: "WHAT?"

Thinking she must REALLY be drunk to be imagining this, I walked into the handicapped stall...lo' and behold, a fucking TV. It was in a really shitty spot, I mean you really couldn't have watched it from any throne in the place, but whatever. There was a TV.

H: "I gonna turn it on, K!"
K: "Ok."
H: "Why have a TV if you're not gonna have it on?"
K: "Good point."

So she got up on the toilet, heels and all, and turned on the TV.


H: [up on the toilet] "K, I think I'm a little dizzy."
K: "Ooooh shit."

She was really starting to wobble, so I helped her off before she broke her neck. As soon as she dismounted, the toilet flushed. We both stared in awe.

H: "How did THAT happen?"
K: "Hmm...must have a sensor?"
H: "Woooooow...fucking cooooool."

Hazel did her business in the stall next door (I guess she didn't feel like watching the game) and came upon another snafu: her toilet wasn't flushing automatically. We stared at it...no handle, it must just not have sensed her getting up. We waved our hands in front of it, sat up and down...nothing. Finally we discovered a small button on the side that did the job. I guess only the handi-stall gets the fancy auto flush.

As Hazel approached the hand dryer, more adventures awaited. She pushed the button and there was a sound like a fucking plane taking off, and she could barely keep her hands close enough to the dryer. It was like one of those dryers at the car wash that blows all the beads of water off of your car at the end, really impressive. I actually had to help her hold her arms up.

More hysterical laughter ensued. She finally got her hands dry and we turned to leave. Once again, the door was playing cruel tricks on us, and we couldn't figure out which side to pull to get out. It looked roughly like this:


2 giant handles, one on each side.

Stumped. Absolutely stumped.


K: "Which fucking one is it?"
H: [staring closely] "I dunnoooooo..."
K: "Why are they so goddamned big?"
H: [goofy look on her face] "They're tall like the treeeeeeeeees....."

[more hysterical drunken laughter]

We yanked on the door and took our leave, stumbling back to the table with our arms wrapped around each other, partly because of our bathroom bonding experience and partly because we probably couldn't have stood up on our own if we'd tried. We ordered up another round and toasted to modern bathroom technology. Then I remembered that I'd been so busy laughing at Hazel that I'd forgotten to take care of my OWN business...back to the bathroom. Dumb ass.

After the hilarity that was the Soho sanitary facilities, the rest of the night was a let down. We ate, drank ourselves silly, danced a little...now, I don't normally dance, but 'Golddigger' by Kanye West came on, and I was dragged to the dance floor by some chick I don't even know very well ("It's KANYE! WE HAVE TO DANCE." Uh, ok.). Hey, what the fuck did I care, I was 8 drinks deep! AND I got to see the birthday girl bust out her 80's dance moves, which is always a treat.


We did our obligatory "chicks always dance with each other in a circle" thing and left.

Even though we spent the night at a semi-classy place that was out of town, our white-trash roots led us back to a local bar for last call, where I ran into a guy who always stops me to chat because he is completely in love with Yvonne. Needless to say, he was a bit drunk.


He went on for a few minutes about how much he wants to go out with her, blah blah blah. I distracted him by pointing out a hot blonde with huge tits and disappeared into the crowd. I had started to sober a bit by this point, and seeing what an ass he was acting like pretty much sobered me up the rest of the way. Tsk tsk, I can't IMAGINE making an ass of myself like that! (snicker)

On the way home, everyone gave me shit for falling out of the Suburban the LAST time we went out, so I was determined not to give a repeat performance. I was carefully putting my foot on the running board to get out when Yvonne's asshole brother decided to hit the gas, sending me flying out the door. Hilarity ensued. I flipped them off and headed inside. I stripped, promptly decided to jump the sleeping husband, and passed out until 2:30 this afternoon.

Once again, I find myself having trouble keeping up with my single friends. How they do this every weekend, I have NO idea...it was a good thing the bathroom was such a good time because otherwise I woulda called the night a bust.

Best idea I've ever had

Don't say anything yet.

Allow yourselves a few moments to absorb the pure awesomeness.

It's ok. Take your time.

Mirror Mirror on the wall...

...who's the sassiest bitch of all?

It's you, man. You. And Target makes it possible.

Speaking of white trash...

Just happened across this little gem after I published my last post...strangely appropriate, I think.

Click the image to view "White Trash Christmas"

The Circle of Life

Modern family values have definitely changed since I was a kid. The nuclear family is a thing of the past, baby daddies abound, and the resulting children have a bird's eye view of all the Jerry Springer-esque drama that surrounds their young parents. Kids don't have the same ideas about family that we did at that age, and it's really starting to show.

The music teacher just got married, and announced her happy news to the class. Several of the children raised their hands to ask questions.

Boy: "So when are you due?"
Teacher: "What do you mean?"
Boy: "Well, you must be pregnant. That's why people get married in the first place."

Anyway, last week in our class, Miss Vicky confiscated a homemade book from one of the boys. She went rather wide-eyed after she saw what was inside, so naturally I couldn't resist a peek.

We've been covering life cycles in science...mammals, amphibians, insects...and this particular boy had decided to write about and draw his own version of the life cycle in this book.

• Boy meets girl
• Girl gets a baby
• Boy and Girl get married
• Baby is born
  
• Boy goes to jail for killing some guy
• Girl bails boy out of jail
• Boy goes to jail for 25 to life
• Girl gets a new boyfriend
• Baby grows up, meets girl
• Cycle starts over again

Isn't science grand?

Kids like this have scared me into never getting divorced. E-V-E-R.