"People who drink whiskey are nothing but tree-huggers sucking on bark." -father
"[Vodka] makes me want to sing." - sister
"Casey's like a brother to me, I'd take a bullet for him. Then punch him in the face." -me
"When your dog gooses me from behind, it feels like it's happening from the front." - nephew
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Special Moments with Dad
So I'm working on a sketch upstairs in the designated TV room when I realize my father has fallen asleep mid-click, and I'm now forced to either pry the clicker from his meaty hands and hope not to wake him, or watch whatever is on. Luckily he fell asleep mid-click on a mildly entertaining new show called Men of a Certain Age with Ray Ramono, so I decided to watch it.
The show starts out with Ray's character having a black-eye and then the episode is him telling the story of how he got the black eye.
So I'm watching, now with sincere earnest, dying to know how he got his black eye, when my father wakes up and immediately resumes the channel surfing, not skipping a beat, and also not realizing he'd taken a 30 minute nap in between flips. He also didn't realize that I'd gotten desperately interested in a show where a 40 year old gets a black eye. I must know what happened! So I ask him to switch it back and he obliges.
Shortly after that the sex scene starts. I'm not even uncomfortable watching the sex scene with my father, it's a TNT series so they were basically clothed. But then Ray Ramono's character pre-ejaculates and in his humiliation throws the girl off of him and runs for the bathroom. Still not awkward watching this with my father until my daddy asks me: "What just happened?"
Um, err, eee, uh, err...yeah.
Nothing like having the birds and the bees talk with your 65 year old daddy.
The show starts out with Ray's character having a black-eye and then the episode is him telling the story of how he got the black eye.
So I'm watching, now with sincere earnest, dying to know how he got his black eye, when my father wakes up and immediately resumes the channel surfing, not skipping a beat, and also not realizing he'd taken a 30 minute nap in between flips. He also didn't realize that I'd gotten desperately interested in a show where a 40 year old gets a black eye. I must know what happened! So I ask him to switch it back and he obliges.
Shortly after that the sex scene starts. I'm not even uncomfortable watching the sex scene with my father, it's a TNT series so they were basically clothed. But then Ray Ramono's character pre-ejaculates and in his humiliation throws the girl off of him and runs for the bathroom. Still not awkward watching this with my father until my daddy asks me: "What just happened?"
Um, err, eee, uh, err...yeah.
Nothing like having the birds and the bees talk with your 65 year old daddy.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Holidays
Finally the arduous holiday's are over, and I'm handling them this year by restarting therapy this Friday. It's weird to be with my family because the person they see me as is not the person I see myself as, nor does any of the people I consider to be my family (my friends.) But alas, every year, I end up acting like the person they see me as. (which is a bitch) As if I want to prove them right. And if I don't act like that person, well then they improvise.
Let me explain.
If you know me, or have been reading this blog, ya all know by now that I live in my parents basement. So when we celebrated Christmas with my family, my nephews (ages 12-14) were playing hide and go seek down in the basement, where part of my living space is. Now, really, it's not a good idea for them to be in my room, I'm doing them a favor...no pre-teen needs to experience seeing their aunt and uncles underwear strewn about, with condoms and sex toys not put away. No one is ever allowed in our room but us, so we don't care to tuck those things away in drawers a lot of the time.
Anyways, so I go down stairs and these were my exact words to them in a calm voice "Hey are you guys still playing hide and go seek?" They answer yes, "Well that's cool if you play, but can you not go into my home (gesturing to my bedroom and art room) while your playing?" In which case one of my nephews says okay, and all is well.
Except for the fact that apparently I traumatized one of my nephews who now refuses to ever go to his grandma's house again. He's the nephew that refuses to make eye contact with me, or talk to me, even if I say his name and say hello, he pretends I don't exist. I've never understood it. But once he told his dad what happened, his dad told everyone else in my family that I basically told his son to get the f*$% out of my house, which I find very unlikely. Then my mother tells me that we're in trouble because I can't hold my tongue? Hello? The reason why I have this blog is because I've been told that I "swallow" my anger rather than expressing it, and I'm trying to find some pathetic way of expressing it where no one will know about it, because somehow feeling angry makes me feel guilty. WTF?
However I did apparently traumatize my thin-skinned brother who's five years my senior when I told him that day that I thought he was being pretentious and judgemental. Maybe not the best choice of words. He was going on and on about Avatar and how James Cameron is arrogant, and that the movie was a piece of shit and that people aren't going to like it (????) and then he equated the movie to him creating shit and selling it....or something like that.
Really though, critics are a pet peeve of mine, because anyone can be a critic, but not everyone can be as successful, talented, and creative as James Cameron, so until you are even in his league, nobody gives a shit what you think, so stop trying to make your opinion matter more than everyone else.
If you've never made a movie before you probably shouldn't pass judgement on someone else who's at least tried (unless that movie is I Know Who Killed Me, seriously that movie was the worst).
...and if you've never tried writing a book before, maybe you're not the best book critic.
Or if you've never been a parent, you probably aren't the best person to give parenting advice...
Granted I understand that everyone has their own likes and dislikes, and ways of doing things, but just because you don't like something doesn't mean other people wont. Maybe your just not the targeted audience. So don't assume that because you don't like something, that somehow your opinion is more right than someone else's.
Now granted if I don't like something, I'll say that I didn't really like it, or that it wasn't for me. It's not like I try and sugar coat everything to live in a rose colored world. I simply just recognize that opinion is simply that, an opinion, not a fact.
God created diversity for a reason, lets all try and get along.
Let me explain.
If you know me, or have been reading this blog, ya all know by now that I live in my parents basement. So when we celebrated Christmas with my family, my nephews (ages 12-14) were playing hide and go seek down in the basement, where part of my living space is. Now, really, it's not a good idea for them to be in my room, I'm doing them a favor...no pre-teen needs to experience seeing their aunt and uncles underwear strewn about, with condoms and sex toys not put away. No one is ever allowed in our room but us, so we don't care to tuck those things away in drawers a lot of the time.
Anyways, so I go down stairs and these were my exact words to them in a calm voice "Hey are you guys still playing hide and go seek?" They answer yes, "Well that's cool if you play, but can you not go into my home (gesturing to my bedroom and art room) while your playing?" In which case one of my nephews says okay, and all is well.
Except for the fact that apparently I traumatized one of my nephews who now refuses to ever go to his grandma's house again. He's the nephew that refuses to make eye contact with me, or talk to me, even if I say his name and say hello, he pretends I don't exist. I've never understood it. But once he told his dad what happened, his dad told everyone else in my family that I basically told his son to get the f*$% out of my house, which I find very unlikely. Then my mother tells me that we're in trouble because I can't hold my tongue? Hello? The reason why I have this blog is because I've been told that I "swallow" my anger rather than expressing it, and I'm trying to find some pathetic way of expressing it where no one will know about it, because somehow feeling angry makes me feel guilty. WTF?
However I did apparently traumatize my thin-skinned brother who's five years my senior when I told him that day that I thought he was being pretentious and judgemental. Maybe not the best choice of words. He was going on and on about Avatar and how James Cameron is arrogant, and that the movie was a piece of shit and that people aren't going to like it (????) and then he equated the movie to him creating shit and selling it....or something like that.
Really though, critics are a pet peeve of mine, because anyone can be a critic, but not everyone can be as successful, talented, and creative as James Cameron, so until you are even in his league, nobody gives a shit what you think, so stop trying to make your opinion matter more than everyone else.
If you've never made a movie before you probably shouldn't pass judgement on someone else who's at least tried (unless that movie is I Know Who Killed Me, seriously that movie was the worst).
...and if you've never tried writing a book before, maybe you're not the best book critic.
Or if you've never been a parent, you probably aren't the best person to give parenting advice...
Granted I understand that everyone has their own likes and dislikes, and ways of doing things, but just because you don't like something doesn't mean other people wont. Maybe your just not the targeted audience. So don't assume that because you don't like something, that somehow your opinion is more right than someone else's.
Now granted if I don't like something, I'll say that I didn't really like it, or that it wasn't for me. It's not like I try and sugar coat everything to live in a rose colored world. I simply just recognize that opinion is simply that, an opinion, not a fact.
God created diversity for a reason, lets all try and get along.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Um, Yeah...
My friend recently asked me if John Lennon was a part of The Beatles.
Of course I stared at him stunned in which case he said, "John Lennon is a musician, right?"
Of course I stared at him stunned in which case he said, "John Lennon is a musician, right?"
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Are we still talking about Tiger Woods?
Seriously?
I ran into my own mailbox once, in the middle of the day, sober, not talking on the phone or texting or anything? Can I make headline news?
***Regrettably a True Story***
Thanksgiving quotes....
"Everyone expects me to act like a crazy bitch so I'm going to act like a crazy bitch!"
-Said by my mother at 9:30 a.m. that morning.
Me: "Why did you flip your son off during the prayer?"
Brother-in-law: "Because he's having a birthday soon."
Friday, November 27, 2009
Thanksgiving - A brief update
My favorite part of Thanksgiving, (apart from the food) was the prayer given by my father. It went a little something like this:
"Heavenly Father, we're not Catholic...."
Glad we cleared that up!
"Heavenly Father, we're not Catholic...."
Glad we cleared that up!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
And it begins....
I think I'm going to have to document the Thanksgiving madness in smaller increments so I can better digest it. Starting with last night....When I told my mom we needed to talk "Thanksgiving" and she threw her hands up in the air and started waving me off saying she didn't want to talk about it. Then she had to add that nothing was going to get done anyways so why bother....this is normal. This is why she becomes a basket case on Thanksgiving....But I got her to talk about what needed to be done and pulled in reinforcements from family to help things move a tad smoother.
So I'm feeling pretty good about that.
Then I wake up this morning and my husband tells me that he couldn't sleep last night and got to thinking about all the things he is frustrated about with my sister and her husband (regarding a business that he started with her husband) and decides to send her and her husband a pissy e-mail.
It was her birthday today.
Ooops. Guess my husband forgot.
My sister's used to someone freaking out on her on her birthday. What my husband did still doesn't beat the year that my sister got the double flip off from my mom. But I think it's in close second.
I can already feel myself wanting to stress eat....I guess I can be grateful for the fact that there will be plenty of food to do that with tomorrow.
So I'm feeling pretty good about that.
Then I wake up this morning and my husband tells me that he couldn't sleep last night and got to thinking about all the things he is frustrated about with my sister and her husband (regarding a business that he started with her husband) and decides to send her and her husband a pissy e-mail.
It was her birthday today.
Ooops. Guess my husband forgot.
My sister's used to someone freaking out on her on her birthday. What my husband did still doesn't beat the year that my sister got the double flip off from my mom. But I think it's in close second.
I can already feel myself wanting to stress eat....I guess I can be grateful for the fact that there will be plenty of food to do that with tomorrow.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thanksgiving Traditions
Thanksgiving isn't a holiday I look forward to because my family is crazy...hence the douche blog.
The last two years my father has told me to eff off. Of course he said the actual word, but I will edit it out and use eff instead so that in a hundred years eff can be the first three letter curse word.
With that being said I'm thinking that if my dad tells me to eff off this year I'm considering it a tradition.
See the last two years he told me to eff off because I was sitting in HIS chair. I didn't know he had a chair, but what usually happens is I end up doing everyone else a favor by cramming myself into the smallest space around the dining room table in the cramped dining room. Then when my father yells at me for being in his chair and orders me to move, I do him another favor by relaying to him (since apparently he's not seeing it) that his 300 + lb ass is not going to fit there, and he needs to sit elsewhere, hence the eff off. Naturally I say it with a little more class than that...just a little....
I also may have some friends coming for Thanksgiving, which should be interesting since my family has no filters on what they should or should not say in front of/or to people they don't know. Politeness doesn't exist within these family walls.
I remember last time I had a friend over my father asked him if he was gay. Awkward.
In which case my friend responded with a surprising, "I don't know, maybe."????? and we're still waiting for the closet to swing open on that one?!?
Oh, family traditions, can't wait to see what happens this year. I'll keep you posted!
The last two years my father has told me to eff off. Of course he said the actual word, but I will edit it out and use eff instead so that in a hundred years eff can be the first three letter curse word.
With that being said I'm thinking that if my dad tells me to eff off this year I'm considering it a tradition.
See the last two years he told me to eff off because I was sitting in HIS chair. I didn't know he had a chair, but what usually happens is I end up doing everyone else a favor by cramming myself into the smallest space around the dining room table in the cramped dining room. Then when my father yells at me for being in his chair and orders me to move, I do him another favor by relaying to him (since apparently he's not seeing it) that his 300 + lb ass is not going to fit there, and he needs to sit elsewhere, hence the eff off. Naturally I say it with a little more class than that...just a little....
I also may have some friends coming for Thanksgiving, which should be interesting since my family has no filters on what they should or should not say in front of/or to people they don't know. Politeness doesn't exist within these family walls.
I remember last time I had a friend over my father asked him if he was gay. Awkward.
In which case my friend responded with a surprising, "I don't know, maybe."????? and we're still waiting for the closet to swing open on that one?!?
Oh, family traditions, can't wait to see what happens this year. I'll keep you posted!
Monday, November 16, 2009
Speaking of Karma
I say what I'm about to say in reference to my last post...
One of the really difficult things about an anger blog, for me, is that I realize that you can't really be angry at someone or something without realizing on some level that you, too, are a douche. (This is true in most cases, NOT all, and if your assuming your case is the exception there is a 99.9% chance that you are WRONG.)
***Brief Moment of Psychobabble***
All anger is a projection
Now with that being said, anger is a human emotion that gets to be expressed. It doesn't, however, validate your own superiority, and reinforce your right thinking.
Speaking of Karmic Projection:
I'm about to turn 27.
I live with my parents.
I'm broke.
I am getting adult acne.
Basically I'm reliving all the things that sucked about being 17.
What the hell?
That is why I want to acknowledge that I've got plenty of my own douche just as much as the next person does. Even the dumbass douches that listen to Glenn Beck and Sean Hannity.
But seriously, people who use the word "gay" to denote something other than happiness or same sex attraction are super-douches. It had to be said.
Thank you and goodnight.
One of the really difficult things about an anger blog, for me, is that I realize that you can't really be angry at someone or something without realizing on some level that you, too, are a douche. (This is true in most cases, NOT all, and if your assuming your case is the exception there is a 99.9% chance that you are WRONG.)
***Brief Moment of Psychobabble***
All anger is a projection
Now with that being said, anger is a human emotion that gets to be expressed. It doesn't, however, validate your own superiority, and reinforce your right thinking.
Speaking of Karmic Projection:
I'm about to turn 27.
I live with my parents.
I'm broke.
I am getting adult acne.
Basically I'm reliving all the things that sucked about being 17.
What the hell?
That is why I want to acknowledge that I've got plenty of my own douche just as much as the next person does. Even the dumbass douches that listen to Glenn Beck and Sean Hannity.
But seriously, people who use the word "gay" to denote something other than happiness or same sex attraction are super-douches. It had to be said.
Thank you and goodnight.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Karma
I've decided that I would like to assist in fulfilling peoples karma. What more noble a calling can you have then to be the deliverance of someones karmic debt. But in order for me to do this, I will need YOUR help.
I've decided, for now, that I'd like to start paying karmic debt to all those people who ignorantly and flippantly say "that's so gay." in regards to something that is stupid or ugly.
I will begin this quest by gathering names of those who use such phrases, and begin to use their name instead.
"That's so gay," now becomes "that's so Jessica." I also thought about using racial profiling since most of the people I know that say dumbass things of this nature are white teenage males that don't know what it's like to be a minority. So what would it be then? "That's so cracker?" "That's so prepubescent teen?" I'm working with the logistics here, but you get the idea.
Next week I think I will do George W. Bush supporters karma where a member of you household will be tortured.
Oh, too soon?
Okay, Glenn Beck, and Sean Hannity supporters then. We will force you to listen to the ramblings of paranoid schizo's that have delusions of being a real reporter, and I'll make sure that one of the paranoid schizo's has loose tear ducts to make it fair.
Oh wait, you're already doing that. Silly me. I'll think of something more karmically legit for that one.
I've decided, for now, that I'd like to start paying karmic debt to all those people who ignorantly and flippantly say "that's so gay." in regards to something that is stupid or ugly.
I will begin this quest by gathering names of those who use such phrases, and begin to use their name instead.
"That's so gay," now becomes "that's so Jessica." I also thought about using racial profiling since most of the people I know that say dumbass things of this nature are white teenage males that don't know what it's like to be a minority. So what would it be then? "That's so cracker?" "That's so prepubescent teen?" I'm working with the logistics here, but you get the idea.
Next week I think I will do George W. Bush supporters karma where a member of you household will be tortured.
Oh, too soon?
Okay, Glenn Beck, and Sean Hannity supporters then. We will force you to listen to the ramblings of paranoid schizo's that have delusions of being a real reporter, and I'll make sure that one of the paranoid schizo's has loose tear ducts to make it fair.
Oh wait, you're already doing that. Silly me. I'll think of something more karmically legit for that one.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Submission:
A couple weeks back, I attended a concert... It wasn't a decent sized venue and the turn out was pretty good, until.... The Douche Band started to play... by play I mean make noise at decibel levels so high that it wouldn't surprise me to learn that lawsuits were pending against these noise loving jack-holes.
Maybe it's just me but when I shell out my hard earned cash to go see a band in concert - I actually want to be able to HEAR the music - and not my ears ringing. I was tempted to post the name of the local douche band I'm referring to in this post... but I've forgotten their name - I'll let you decide if that's a fortunate or unfortunate fact.
Now, I love music - all sorts, so don't think this is a genre thing... actually I'm not sure what genre these guys were - is there a genre called Assorted Rock Instruments in a Trash Compactor - Amplified?
You just know these guys have issues with their daddy's... And I'm gonna go ahead and side with their dads on this one... whatever the issue is... quit your noise making and go get a real job - not that being a musician isn't a real job - but it is a job that requires a skill you obviously don't possess... maybe you've heard of it... it's called talent. Coming straight from a fight with dad, who I'm sure prays nightly that his son will come to his senses and do something beneficial with his life before he damages his hearing and or chemically fries his last few remaining brain cells - and really just wants his garage back...
The Douche Band started their sound check... which unlike the other bands that played that evening had nothing to do with ensuring that their instruments were tuned or at harmonizing volume levels to each other. It was all just: more, more, more, higher, higher, a bit more... a little louder, keep it coming, higher, higher if you got it... Then the lead screamer said something like I want it to roar like a T-Rex... and blow people's ear drums... he didn't say that last part, but I'm pretty sure that's what he was after. I know the saying - If it's too loud... and I'll admit, I'm not a big fan of loud, but when a quarter of the audience consisting primarily of 16 - 25 year old's, (and a few straggling old-guys who are there with their teen aged daughters - poor bastards) flee the venue to escape the pain induced by your music and the ones that do remain plug their ears and scream at you to turn it down... that's not enthusiasm for your "music"... it's because your "music" is too loud. Did you hear me? I said... IT'S TOO FRICKEN LOUD!!!!!!! you over modulated douche bag a-holes!
So, mid-way through The Douche Band's set, the drummer of the band we'd come to see came across me and my SO in the lobby with our fingers in our ears and offered us earplugs. (By the way this guy is one of the nicest, sweetest, most dedicated people I've ever met and is one hell of a musician to boot - no noise - just pure talent.) Even with ear plugs it was still too loud to return to the theater, but it was dulled just enough for me to discover what I had suspected from the very beginning - I mean besides these guys having daddy issues... the one benefit of playing so freaking loud... because you suck.
P.S. When the headlining band apologizes for you playing, thanks the audience for sticking around despite you and further, expresses they hope the audience is still be able to hear them play - that's not a good thing. Listen to your poor deaf daddy... give him back his garage and go get a job you're better suited for - like demolition, or something at at gun range maybe... I think you'd like that, guns are pretty loud.
-Douche Anony
Just a short note referring to my last post. My douche friend that was getting weird about the boob job offered me some advice concerning my skin eruption encouraging me to try Apple Cider Vinegar on it, which did the trick! And he has no idea that earlier that day I was douching the crap out of him. I love you douche blog.
A couple weeks back, I attended a concert... It wasn't a decent sized venue and the turn out was pretty good, until.... The Douche Band started to play... by play I mean make noise at decibel levels so high that it wouldn't surprise me to learn that lawsuits were pending against these noise loving jack-holes.
Maybe it's just me but when I shell out my hard earned cash to go see a band in concert - I actually want to be able to HEAR the music - and not my ears ringing. I was tempted to post the name of the local douche band I'm referring to in this post... but I've forgotten their name - I'll let you decide if that's a fortunate or unfortunate fact.
Now, I love music - all sorts, so don't think this is a genre thing... actually I'm not sure what genre these guys were - is there a genre called Assorted Rock Instruments in a Trash Compactor - Amplified?
You just know these guys have issues with their daddy's... And I'm gonna go ahead and side with their dads on this one... whatever the issue is... quit your noise making and go get a real job - not that being a musician isn't a real job - but it is a job that requires a skill you obviously don't possess... maybe you've heard of it... it's called talent. Coming straight from a fight with dad, who I'm sure prays nightly that his son will come to his senses and do something beneficial with his life before he damages his hearing and or chemically fries his last few remaining brain cells - and really just wants his garage back...
The Douche Band started their sound check... which unlike the other bands that played that evening had nothing to do with ensuring that their instruments were tuned or at harmonizing volume levels to each other. It was all just: more, more, more, higher, higher, a bit more... a little louder, keep it coming, higher, higher if you got it... Then the lead screamer said something like I want it to roar like a T-Rex... and blow people's ear drums... he didn't say that last part, but I'm pretty sure that's what he was after. I know the saying - If it's too loud... and I'll admit, I'm not a big fan of loud, but when a quarter of the audience consisting primarily of 16 - 25 year old's, (and a few straggling old-guys who are there with their teen aged daughters - poor bastards) flee the venue to escape the pain induced by your music and the ones that do remain plug their ears and scream at you to turn it down... that's not enthusiasm for your "music"... it's because your "music" is too loud. Did you hear me? I said... IT'S TOO FRICKEN LOUD!!!!!!! you over modulated douche bag a-holes!
So, mid-way through The Douche Band's set, the drummer of the band we'd come to see came across me and my SO in the lobby with our fingers in our ears and offered us earplugs. (By the way this guy is one of the nicest, sweetest, most dedicated people I've ever met and is one hell of a musician to boot - no noise - just pure talent.) Even with ear plugs it was still too loud to return to the theater, but it was dulled just enough for me to discover what I had suspected from the very beginning - I mean besides these guys having daddy issues... the one benefit of playing so freaking loud... because you suck.
P.S. When the headlining band apologizes for you playing, thanks the audience for sticking around despite you and further, expresses they hope the audience is still be able to hear them play - that's not a good thing. Listen to your poor deaf daddy... give him back his garage and go get a job you're better suited for - like demolition, or something at at gun range maybe... I think you'd like that, guns are pretty loud.
-Douche Anony
Just a short note referring to my last post. My douche friend that was getting weird about the boob job offered me some advice concerning my skin eruption encouraging me to try Apple Cider Vinegar on it, which did the trick! And he has no idea that earlier that day I was douching the crap out of him. I love you douche blog.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
a douche of epic porportions
where do I begin?
First lets point out that I have some serious, gross, ever growing infection on my face. This isn't one of those "bad breakouts" that I got when I was a young little lady. No this is something more horrific entirely that's lasted the past several weeks and is swelling so much that it's actually made my eyes puffy. WTF?
My ever sensitive daddy keeps telling me that it's because I eat chocolate. A lifetime of eating chocolate and only now do I suddenly have an infectious, inflamed growth on my face.
Which, of course, every time he says this I want to have a freakout of epic proportions but instead shove my mouth full of chocolate (spooning it into my mouth as I write this post).
It's so bad in fact I've had several people ask me what happened to my face. If it were normal acne, people wouldn't ask, they'd just stare when they thought I wasn't looking. But this is something else entirely, I've been asked several times if I'd gotten bruised or burned.
I'm starting to have visions of Spaceballs and the alien that jumped out of the guys stomach and began tap dancing. It feels like that's what's happening to my face.
And of course every time I put make-up on it, it gets inflamed even more so I have to expose the alien race for all to see.
So granted I wasn't in the best of moods when my husband informed me that he had found out that a married male friend of mine was making up lame excuses to feel-up a stripper.
Let me explain...
His wife, who's boobs have inevitably gone the way of the after-baby-sag, wants to get a boob job. My male friend says "you wouldn't pay for a car without test driving it, and since I'm paying for her to get a boob job I should be able to test it out to see if I will even like what I'm paying for."
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
Until you have morphed your body into something unrecognizable to carry YOUR child for 9 months, only to have to breast feed that baby in the middle of the night with your nipples screaming and straight up sobbing, only to have your boob's deflate when your milk dries up, YOU have no fricken right to stand on your self-righteous high horse and say "Well I'm paying for it..."
Nevermind that its not your body and has nothing to do with you, you don't get the right to say it's something your paying for, and therefore get to "test drive it."
Let me put it another way. Lets say you were to pay your wife for everything that she does. Pay her for childcare, laundry (starching your stupid white shirts just right), cleaning the house so it's immaculate, oh and doing all your college course work (no lie). Calculate that! And when you do you will realize that your wife is making more money than your stupid sorry ass, and therefore can use the money you make at your pathetic and meaningless job to do whatever the hell she wants. Got it?
I feel slightly better. But the chocolate wasn't satisfying enough.
Dammit!
First lets point out that I have some serious, gross, ever growing infection on my face. This isn't one of those "bad breakouts" that I got when I was a young little lady. No this is something more horrific entirely that's lasted the past several weeks and is swelling so much that it's actually made my eyes puffy. WTF?
My ever sensitive daddy keeps telling me that it's because I eat chocolate. A lifetime of eating chocolate and only now do I suddenly have an infectious, inflamed growth on my face.
Which, of course, every time he says this I want to have a freakout of epic proportions but instead shove my mouth full of chocolate (spooning it into my mouth as I write this post).
It's so bad in fact I've had several people ask me what happened to my face. If it were normal acne, people wouldn't ask, they'd just stare when they thought I wasn't looking. But this is something else entirely, I've been asked several times if I'd gotten bruised or burned.
I'm starting to have visions of Spaceballs and the alien that jumped out of the guys stomach and began tap dancing. It feels like that's what's happening to my face.
And of course every time I put make-up on it, it gets inflamed even more so I have to expose the alien race for all to see.
So granted I wasn't in the best of moods when my husband informed me that he had found out that a married male friend of mine was making up lame excuses to feel-up a stripper.
Let me explain...
His wife, who's boobs have inevitably gone the way of the after-baby-sag, wants to get a boob job. My male friend says "you wouldn't pay for a car without test driving it, and since I'm paying for her to get a boob job I should be able to test it out to see if I will even like what I'm paying for."
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
Until you have morphed your body into something unrecognizable to carry YOUR child for 9 months, only to have to breast feed that baby in the middle of the night with your nipples screaming and straight up sobbing, only to have your boob's deflate when your milk dries up, YOU have no fricken right to stand on your self-righteous high horse and say "Well I'm paying for it..."
Nevermind that its not your body and has nothing to do with you, you don't get the right to say it's something your paying for, and therefore get to "test drive it."
Let me put it another way. Lets say you were to pay your wife for everything that she does. Pay her for childcare, laundry (starching your stupid white shirts just right), cleaning the house so it's immaculate, oh and doing all your college course work (no lie). Calculate that! And when you do you will realize that your wife is making more money than your stupid sorry ass, and therefore can use the money you make at your pathetic and meaningless job to do whatever the hell she wants. Got it?
I feel slightly better. But the chocolate wasn't satisfying enough.
Dammit!
Monday, September 14, 2009
Kanye. Oh Kanye.
So about two weeks ago a friend of mine was mercilessly making fun of me for not knowing who Kanye West was.
Now, after seeing Kanye completely ruin Taylor Swifts speech at the VMA's last night and another gem that I googled today with Kanye talking about Hurricane Katrina, I've realized I am grateful that he has stayed off my radar for so long. Because frankly he is one of the biggest douche's I have ever had the privilege to douche. Wow.
After this post I'm going to try my best to forget him. Just like I've almost forgotten Paris Hilton. Almost.
If you didn't see Kanye make a total ass of himself at the VMA's click on the link below.
http://www.comcast.net/video/kanye-west-s-vma-outburst/1252443416/Comcast/1252800479/
If you would like to see the hilarious and sad Hurricane Katrina video. Check out the toolbar.
Now, after seeing Kanye completely ruin Taylor Swifts speech at the VMA's last night and another gem that I googled today with Kanye talking about Hurricane Katrina, I've realized I am grateful that he has stayed off my radar for so long. Because frankly he is one of the biggest douche's I have ever had the privilege to douche. Wow.
After this post I'm going to try my best to forget him. Just like I've almost forgotten Paris Hilton. Almost.
If you didn't see Kanye make a total ass of himself at the VMA's click on the link below.
http://www.comcast.net/video/kanye-west-s-vma-outburst/1252443416/Comcast/1252800479/
If you would like to see the hilarious and sad Hurricane Katrina video. Check out the toolbar.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Take The Hint, Get A Clue & STFU!
Submitted Story:
My wife and I had friends visiting from out of state, while they were here we took them out to dinner at my favorite restaurant/pub. We'd just finished dinner and were chatting, when some guy who looked vaguely, distantly familiar - as in didn't I see you at a stop light last week? familiar - who has been sitting at the table next to us for most of our meal says my name.
I had no idea who this guy was.
Days later, I'm still not sure but I think he might have been an acquaintance from back when I was trying on church - like ten years ago. I didn't even remember this guys name, I had to ask. Seeing as how I know the waiters better than I know this guy, I was hoping to go for a quick exchange of cordial greetings and then back to my dinner guest - my friends I haven't seen in months, invited out to dinner and whose conversation was just interrupted by a practical stranger.
A stranger who just couldn't take the hint....
Attempt #1 to end the conversation: Well it was nice to see you again, I hope your family is well.
By the way, I hope you're family is well is not an invitation to tell me all about your family, or your wife - what's her name OR to engage me in a lengthy conversation about what I do for a living. (All of which he did.)
Attempt #2 to end the conversation: Introducing my out of town friends, and stressing the fact that they are from out of town, are here for a very short while and I haven't seen them in months!
By the way. this is not a segue to ask me all about my job, my family and what I've been up to for the past decade. (Thank god my friends have a sense of humor. They found the whole situation highly amusing and were concealing their laughter behind bright red faces, huddled together as if sharing some private - and hilarious - conversation)
Attempt #3 to end the conversation: Completely fed up at this point, (wishing I drank more) and much to the delight of fellow pub patrons, the wait staff, my wife and my friends - who all get that I'm trying and failing to end this conversation, the guy who apparently knows me and my family SO well asks: "How's your mom?"
My mom died over five years ago, a prominent member of our community, more than one local paper wrote articles (not standard obits) about her life/death. The city where she worked built and dedicated a walking trail in her name, and police and fire services shut down roads for her funeral motorcade....
So I replied, "My mom?"
Douchebag: "Yeah, you're mom. I haven't seen her in a while. How's she doing? How's her health?" (now, from time to time, despite my mother being so well known, I do run into people who didn't hear about her untimely death. It's a sensitive issue that I usually tackle with a velvet glove because it's always a bit of a shock for someone receiving the news for the first time. but I was completely fed up with this guy.)
So I replied, "she's dead! " With absolutely NO attempts to sugar-coat or soften the blow. So as neighboring tables erupted into laughter including one guy who shot his mouthful of Guinness all over three of his dinner companions, and one of mine, the douchbag (finally) showed appropriate response by gasping and clutching his hand to his chest.
(P.S. My mom died of a massive heart attack - you've just got to love the irony in that.)
Much to my chagrin, death is not a conversation ender. In response to his shock he stuttered "What? When?" (I guess they were really close or something) I continued with my dead mother assault: "It's been a few years now."
"Six," my wife offered.
"Five and a half," I did the math.
Sensing the next, in a line of questioning I've become quite familiar with, I decided to take the initiative to answer before the question was asked and said, "But my dad's doing great!"
Attempt #4 to end the conversation: (The one that succeeded.) I decided to take the 'out of sight, out of mind' approach, before the conversation that wouldn't end somehow found its way to politics, or worse - religion. And so, after neglecting my friends and entertaining the masses for well over fifteen minutes, I stood and said, "Well, we were just leaving." My friend quickly finished his black and tan, while our wives gathered their purses and we left, continuing OUR conversation in the parking lot of the restaurant.
So now, days later, the story has made the rounds and far away friends are texting me to ask: How's your mom? (Whom I'm sure is also having a good laugh, where ever she is... ) To which I respond: She's dead! (she finally gave up the goat.)
Until the next douche,
How's your mom? How's her health?
My wife and I had friends visiting from out of state, while they were here we took them out to dinner at my favorite restaurant/pub. We'd just finished dinner and were chatting, when some guy who looked vaguely, distantly familiar - as in didn't I see you at a stop light last week? familiar - who has been sitting at the table next to us for most of our meal says my name.
I had no idea who this guy was.
Days later, I'm still not sure but I think he might have been an acquaintance from back when I was trying on church - like ten years ago. I didn't even remember this guys name, I had to ask. Seeing as how I know the waiters better than I know this guy, I was hoping to go for a quick exchange of cordial greetings and then back to my dinner guest - my friends I haven't seen in months, invited out to dinner and whose conversation was just interrupted by a practical stranger.
A stranger who just couldn't take the hint....
Attempt #1 to end the conversation: Well it was nice to see you again, I hope your family is well.
By the way, I hope you're family is well is not an invitation to tell me all about your family, or your wife - what's her name OR to engage me in a lengthy conversation about what I do for a living. (All of which he did.)
Attempt #2 to end the conversation: Introducing my out of town friends, and stressing the fact that they are from out of town, are here for a very short while and I haven't seen them in months!
By the way. this is not a segue to ask me all about my job, my family and what I've been up to for the past decade. (Thank god my friends have a sense of humor. They found the whole situation highly amusing and were concealing their laughter behind bright red faces, huddled together as if sharing some private - and hilarious - conversation)
Attempt #3 to end the conversation: Completely fed up at this point, (wishing I drank more) and much to the delight of fellow pub patrons, the wait staff, my wife and my friends - who all get that I'm trying and failing to end this conversation, the guy who apparently knows me and my family SO well asks: "How's your mom?"
My mom died over five years ago, a prominent member of our community, more than one local paper wrote articles (not standard obits) about her life/death. The city where she worked built and dedicated a walking trail in her name, and police and fire services shut down roads for her funeral motorcade....
So I replied, "My mom?"
Douchebag: "Yeah, you're mom. I haven't seen her in a while. How's she doing? How's her health?" (now, from time to time, despite my mother being so well known, I do run into people who didn't hear about her untimely death. It's a sensitive issue that I usually tackle with a velvet glove because it's always a bit of a shock for someone receiving the news for the first time. but I was completely fed up with this guy.)
So I replied, "she's dead! " With absolutely NO attempts to sugar-coat or soften the blow. So as neighboring tables erupted into laughter including one guy who shot his mouthful of Guinness all over three of his dinner companions, and one of mine, the douchbag (finally) showed appropriate response by gasping and clutching his hand to his chest.
(P.S. My mom died of a massive heart attack - you've just got to love the irony in that.)
Much to my chagrin, death is not a conversation ender. In response to his shock he stuttered "What? When?" (I guess they were really close or something) I continued with my dead mother assault: "It's been a few years now."
"Six," my wife offered.
"Five and a half," I did the math.
Sensing the next, in a line of questioning I've become quite familiar with, I decided to take the initiative to answer before the question was asked and said, "But my dad's doing great!"
Attempt #4 to end the conversation: (The one that succeeded.) I decided to take the 'out of sight, out of mind' approach, before the conversation that wouldn't end somehow found its way to politics, or worse - religion. And so, after neglecting my friends and entertaining the masses for well over fifteen minutes, I stood and said, "Well, we were just leaving." My friend quickly finished his black and tan, while our wives gathered their purses and we left, continuing OUR conversation in the parking lot of the restaurant.
So now, days later, the story has made the rounds and far away friends are texting me to ask: How's your mom? (Whom I'm sure is also having a good laugh, where ever she is... ) To which I respond: She's dead! (she finally gave up the goat.)
Until the next douche,
How's your mom? How's her health?
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Wow. I just got douched....
I'm douching you for not douching the douches who spam douche blogs with there douche bag porn douchings. Douche
Thanks for the submission. Humbling indeed to be douched by a complete stranger...
Thanks for the submission. Humbling indeed to be douched by a complete stranger...
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Aye Douche
So I have some good news. It wasn't my brother with his child on his lap reading my posts and leaving strange comments.
I started to realize this once the comments were left in Japanese rather than just a random button being pushed.
Then someone had to point out to me that I didn't have a word verification so I was getting spammed by porn sites. Yipee. So with that being said now you have to do a word verification to leave a comment so I don't get absurd comments from Japanese peeps selling porn.
Good day
I started to realize this once the comments were left in Japanese rather than just a random button being pushed.
Then someone had to point out to me that I didn't have a word verification so I was getting spammed by porn sites. Yipee. So with that being said now you have to do a word verification to leave a comment so I don't get absurd comments from Japanese peeps selling porn.
Good day
Monday, August 31, 2009
Douche of the Decade
I don't really have much to say other than this guy is the a big fat douche. See for yourself:
http://www.goodasyou.org/good_as_you/2009/08/audio-this-culture-war-is-all-fun-and-games-until-someone-wants-to-execute-you.html
Anonymously submitted
I also have to add that I have listened to this big fat douche and have been inspired to become a recruiter. Because I would rather have more Clay Aiken's in the world than bigots.
Isn't he adoreable....
Douche...
http://www.goodasyou.org/good_as_you/2009/08/audio-this-culture-war-is-all-fun-and-games-until-someone-wants-to-execute-you.html
Anonymously submitted
I also have to add that I have listened to this big fat douche and have been inspired to become a recruiter. Because I would rather have more Clay Aiken's in the world than bigots.
Isn't he adoreable....
Douche...
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
What the douche?
I'm getting the strange feeling that aliens are trying to contact me through the comment section of my blog to tell me that they are the ones that created the swine flu.
Either that, or my brother (who shouldn't even know I have this blog...)was reading it with his child on his lap.
Check out the link:
http://anonymous-douche.blogspot.com/2009/06/swine-flu.html
The last three comments are pretty telling....
P.S. And if it was my brother reading this then all I have to say is....Hi, and no I'm not going to apologize for previously douching you.
Either that, or my brother (who shouldn't even know I have this blog...)was reading it with his child on his lap.
Check out the link:
http://anonymous-douche.blogspot.com/2009/06/swine-flu.html
The last three comments are pretty telling....
P.S. And if it was my brother reading this then all I have to say is....Hi, and no I'm not going to apologize for previously douching you.
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