Friday, July 29, 2011

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy!


A little ditty where we answer a few questions on Friday to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break.  Copy and paste to your own blog if you so desire!  Enjoy!

1.  Sun or rain?  Roses or tulips?  Romantic movie or comedy?

Rain - big time.  I love rain.  Rain is perfect for cuddling with Rambo and watching a movie.  It's the perfect excuse not to go anywhere or do anything.

Roses - hands down.  Rambo used to put roses in my locker weekly in high school and always sent them to me wherever I worked in the hugest bouquets ever.  He still sends them and it's always roses.

I'd prefer a romantic comedy - how's that for an answer?

2.  I've been sick lately and haven't eaten in two days - except for ice cream...which leads me to ask - what's your favorite ice cream flavor?

I thought mine was pralines and pecan (which is pecans and caramel in vanilla) but while I've been sick the only thing Rambo has been going out and getting me is soft serve blackberry.  To die for I tell you.

3.  Are you a door locker - in your house and car?

This is so interesting to me.  I grew up in a family where we locked nothing.  Still to this day - not only do my parents not lock their doors but they literally leave their sliding screen doors that go into their house WIDE open.

Then I married Rambo.  This man locks his cars in his own driveway. 

So I've become a locker.  I suppose it's good because I work in a secured access building and my access key is in my car and we're not supposed to leave our keys in an unlocked car but my first thought is never to lock anything.

We live in podunk.  The only crime here is someone parking on the wrong side of the street and getting a parking ticket.  It often makes the front page of the paper.  It'd be funny - if I was kidding.

4.  In the spirit of my being sick and wanting to die - tell me your "go to remedies" for when you are sick?

I take baths - in warm water or Skittles - both work
I sleep - in massive quantities
I whine - like a 2 year old
I secretly want my mother
I drink Mountain Dew
I eat ice cream
I eat chicken noodle soup only Rambo can make
I wear huge pajamas
I need Rambo to not go to work without me asking and praise God when he indeed doesn't
I inhale Tylenol cold medicine like a doper inhales meth

5.  Repeat question:  Summarize your week in blog land and in real life.

Blog land is great!  I mean how can talking about Italian calf hair not be great, right?  Ah and yes - we had many discussions about prisoner poop and surprisingly enough - I only lost one follower.

Real life is very um....unpredictable.  I was going on all great and fine and then wammo - I got sick but dammit I put on my big girl panties and still made it through Botox in my armpits.

20 shots in each pit girls.  I swear to you I only felt about 4 of the sticks.  The needles is tiny-winy and they put a numbing cream on first and it takes all of 15 minutes.  The effects (meaning I shouldn't sweat) should last 3 months.  I shall keep you posted.

Oh and Nutrisystem is still good.  I'm down 8 pounds as of today!  Woot!

My neuro also put me on a new migraine prevention pill since I didn't qualify for the Botox for migraines.  Here's hoping that works!  Ice Queen - girl you should try this! 

I see Jenny next weekend!  Sheniqua is doing freaking cartwheels!  A vlog may just be in order!

Thursday, July 28, 2011

I might die. For realz.

I wasn't going to post today - because well - um - I'm sicker than a dog who sniffs other dog's butts all day.

Coughing so hard I almost vomit.
Tears come out of my eyes.
My ribs hurt.
Snot drippith from my noseth.
My heads hurts BAD.
I have drank an entire bottle of Tylenol cold medicine in one day.
My fever is so high the insides of my eyes and ears burn.
I want to die.

But?  I have Botox in my armpits!!!  Woot!

It did NOT hurt.  Not at all.

The worst part was almost passing out because I haven't eaten because I feel like - well - duh - read the above. 

Have I mentioned I want to die?

Rambo kept bringing me cold washcloths and taking my temp last night when I finally asked when he was going to bed since he had to work the next day.  He touched my BURNING UP face and said,

"Baby, I'm not going to work.  I already called in so I could stay home and take care of you."

Now doesn't that just make you all warm and fuzzy?

The end. 

Back to dying.

If you don't see BYOC tomorrow - it's because I actually did die.  Jenny will alert the media.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Italian Calf Hair

Today is botox in the armpits day. I have to admit me and my tender little pits are a little scerrrred. 25 pokes per armpit. I’m just going to focus on the fact that Rambo working with piles of poop is all worth it because I get to have Botox for free because of his great insurance. I’m guessing if you asked him, he might not say it’s worth it but this is me we’re talking about. Me and my dry armpits.

Moving past the armpits and onto Italian calf hair. Stay with me here – I swear to you I have a point. It’s not a good point – but I do have one.

I’d like to say that in my podunk little life, there are just some things I don’t give a shit about. One of them is Italian calf hair in general but mostly - on clothing.

I was flipping through a magazine last night…one I’d never gotten before. I think it was supposed to go to superstar down the street and it came to my house by mistake.

You’d have thought I was having a heart attack with the way I was gasping and grabbing my chest and “Oh my God-ing” as I flipped each page.

For the low price of a few hundred dollars you could buy an Italian calf hair belt that was about an inch wide or an Italian calf hair sweater for nearly one thousand dollars – if you really wanted to.

My question is – why would you want to?

I turned to Rambo and asked him if he knew about “Italian” calf hair. He – being the high class hick that he is – of course replies, “Yes, duh.”

He’s an effing liar. I will be the first one to admit I had no idea that calves even lived in Italy.

I asked what the difference was between Italian and American calves. (Of course then he pretends to be asleep)

Why is “Italian” calf hair better? Do they only feed the calves pasta? Do the calves pick grapes out of the vineyards with their hooves from 8 to 5 every day? Do they drink wine laced with 24kt gold?

Here’s the deal - in case I never mentioned it – I grew up on a farm. All I remember about calves is that from the moment they come out they are covered in some sort of slime or filth…and that’s how they prefer it. They eat a lot and poop a lot and then there’s the rubber band castration day and the scowers – oh my God – I just threw up remembering.

Let’s just put it out there that calf scowers is theeeee grossest word in the world. I don’t even think I’m spelling it right. If you don’t know what they are – please don’t ask. I’ve met my quota on talking about poop for one week, thank you.

Anywhoozle, why in the name of Michael Jackson’s one white glove would I want to wear anything that was on a calf at one point AND pay hundreds of dollars for it?

Calves taste good IN my belly. They do not look good ON my belly.

Women at work ask me a lot about where I shop…and I usually laugh. The answer is simple. Walmart, Kmart and Target. In fact I have a new shirt on today. With long white shorts. Total cost - $20.

High class, aren’t I? Don’t hate. Go to Walmart. There are 50 more shirts just like the one I got one.
Go getchu one.

That’s not to say I don’t shop in other places – I do…but the majority is at those three stores. And I have been known to pay way too much for something I simply cannot live without which is usually tied to some brand name (damn you Harley for putting pink rhinestone bling on a pair of jeans knowing I couldn’t leave the store without them!) but mostly - I could care less.

For me – I’d rather spend money on BIG things – like Harley motorcycless and boats or trips or remodeling or something. Not a shirt I wear to work where Explosive Man works with Martha Stewart’s nose up his ass.

They can suck my left titty if they don’t like how I look.

I’m pretty sure “Mr. I wear deerhunting orange to work” isn’t going to have much to say about my green shirt and white shorts from Walmart.

If he does – the right titty is available for suckage too.

And just so you know – if you LOVE Italian calf hair and you have your couches upholstered with it and your toilet paper is made out of it – I say “have at it”….to each his own. If that’s what you want to spend your money on and you love it – YAY YOU!

Send me your address because I have a magazine filled with Italian calf hair items I should send you if you want it. Oh wait – too late – it’s already being used in the cat litter box. Sorry.

Second – never ever take a tour of a farm with newborn calves. Ever. Um…cuz….you’ll want to get rid of your “Italian calf hair” couch when you get home.

I’m just sayin.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

More poop and prisoners plus sweat and sex.

Honestly - if that blog post title doesn't sucker you in - I'm not sure what would.

I would like to say thank you to all of you that blatantly commented about your outrage on the prisoner poop pile sitcheeation. (yes, I spelled that wrong on purpose)

You make me feel sane again.

When Rambo tells me about a prisoner stockpiling poop and I’m passed out and later vomiting and yelling, “Stop – no more – I beg of you!”HE is calm. It’s no big deal to him.

The man is used to poop being smeared on walls and piles of human poop in tiny little cells.


I’m betting you don’t like Rambo as much as you did about 30 seconds ago right?

Let it be known that I’d prefer to be married to a man who thinks poop piles are a tragedy to mankind because it’d just be easier that way.  (I'm too tired to trade him in for a newer, younger poop-hating model I have to keep him.)

But anyway – when I begin to think that my gagging at his story and having nightmares about it are weird - like maybe I’m the only one that thinks pooping in a corner on camera is crazy - well, I just read your lovely comments.

I especially love my follower who professes every inmate should wear diapers and they should have to change each other’s diapers until they learn to poopoo in the looloo like normal human beings. Bravo! I may seriously contact the warden today with that suggestion!

I asked Rambo if anyone cleans up the f*ckwad’s cell and he said, “Nope. Not right away.  He can live in it – we have higher priority issues at hand.”

Did I mention it’s 100 bazillion degrees hotter than Satan’s crotch in the prison with no windows or moving air and 500 men who don’t shower daily – now along with piles of poop that are allowed to STAY piles of poop for good portions of time?

Again I say – I cannot deal.

Again I say – I’d rather be forced to go shopping with Casey Anthony for OJ Simpson’s birthday gift.

The only other thing I’d like to report is that I’m getting botox in my armpits tomorrow. I shall remain the crazy gumdrop farting, Skittle bath-taking lunatic that I am but I will no longer sweat.

I did ask the doc if my armpits stop sweating – will other places sweat more? Like will sweat start shooting out my ass because it can’t come out my armpits anymore?

She said no. Let’s hope she’s right.

I don’t qualify for Botox for migraines because the criteria is very strict. You must have almost daily migraines…oh well – did I mention I won’t be sweating anymore?

Lastly, remember the stupid 3rd job issue I’ve been having with the Public Service Commission? I’ve been STRESSING. Not over necessarily the fact that there’s a problem with our yearly reporting because I am, after all – human…but more that I have no idea how to fix the problem.

I’ve had countless convos with 3 other clerks and gone over the numbers with Rambo incessantly. I’ve emailed him way too many times to cry and say life is ending to which he only says, “Baby doll…don’t worry…it’ll be okay.”

He’s dumb. He has no idea if it’ll be okay.

Until last night. I figured it out. I was screaming and hollering and flitting around the house like a fairy on meth with a new tutu and sparkley shoes.

I went out to the living room to share the good news and give Rambo a high five!

I yelled to him, “Aren’t you proud of me?”

His reply?

His ONLY freaking reply – after he high-fived me?

“Wanna go have “woohoo you figured it out I'm so proud of you way to go” sex now?”

This is my life. Pretty classy huh?

Don’t hate.

I’ll sell him if you want him.


Yes – to recap – my blog is now about poop, prisoners, armpit sweat and sex 24/7.

Jesus, Mary and Edgar. I need to stick to Nutrisystem, don’t I?

Monday, July 25, 2011

More Ss, Ms and JPDs!

It’s Monday (good thing I told you or you wouldn’t have known huh?)…so in Care Bear Land that means I don’t have a lot of brain cells at my beck and call. Therefore – you’re gonna get the blog that requires no explanation but the below.

I’m going to do Ss, Ms and JPDs. If you don’t like it…well fine. Remember the new me? I don’t give a fat witch’s left titty if you don’t like something I do. But seriously – it’d be nice if you read it anyway. Um – like pretty please.


S – shockers
M – morsels of info
JDP – just plain dumb things

Shocker: I got in a car without Rambo and drove my SAD (social anxiety disorder) ridden ass to a family picnic. I did not die. I didn’t even get hives. I sweated like Whitney Houston about to take a drug test but I survived.

Morsel: I cleaned the bathroom this weekend – which included the toilet. You all know how much I hate toilets and any word that starts with a P related to the toilet area right? I swear to you I gagged the whole time. When Rambo got home I told him how incredibly heroic I was for cleaning the toilet. That made him think of poop – at work. The latest prisoner on his “shit” list (I crack myself up) is a guy who has taken to smearing his poop all over the walls of his cell. Yes, I was dumb enough to ask if the inmate uses his hands to do this. (He does.)

Rambo noticed on the camera that the guy is stockpiling his poop.

Yes people – that is correct. There is a pile of poop in this guy’s cell in the corner.

Now can you say dumb? I mean it’s one thing if I get to go poop in Explosive Man’s house in the corner and run away BUT to poop in my OWN corner where I can’t get away from it?

Does this person have a brain?  Is he human?

I simply cannot deal.

Morsel: I’m going to get a Botox consultation today for my armpits. Yupper – hopefully soon this little raving over-sweating lunatic will never sweat from her pits again. I’m sure it’ll hurt like a mo fo but whatever. Beauty is pain right? Then again – not sweating really isn’t beauty is it? Whatever. My insurance pays for it so I don’t care. And while I’m there I’m checking on Botox for my migraines. Holy red rhino peckers – can you imagine – no migraines and no sweat??????

Just Plain Dumb: Jenny nor I have won the lottery yet – so we are both stuck still working numerous jobs to be able to allow our husbands to live in luxury. Ha!

Job #3 is kicking my MOOLY ass right now. I cannot satisfy the PSC to save my azz I tell you. And let’s just be honest. I’m stressing. We’re talking government agencies and mucho dinero and tax figures for entire villages and blah blah blah. Please someone – get me the f*ck out of here.

Shocker: Did you know kids will still not clean their rooms even if you take away their food? One more point scored for me in the Mother of the Year competition right here. My 5 year old wanted a peanut butter sandwich. I said no – not until she cleaned her room (which I’m not kidding you – you cannot see the floor). Yup – that’s me – the mom who withholds food from her child.

I rival Barney when it comes to being good with kids, don’t I?

In fact, I used to be Barney but purple just got old so I became a traitor and moved to Care Bear Land where all the pretty pastel colors live. Sue me.

That or come live with me there. It’s fun pretending the real world doesn’t exist.

You should totally try it.

Friday, July 22, 2011

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy...

It’s Friday my dear blogging Skittles!

You know what that means, right?

It’s BYOC day! Bring Your Own Crazy! We answer a few questions to get to know each other better and to give our blog brains a break! Copy and paste to your own blog and enjoy!!

1. Alright – forgive me – we’re gonna get a little personal here. I was flipping through my organizer and saw in big bright letters “ANNUAL PHYSICAL DUE” coming up soon. Then I remembered that last year my lady bits doc said that since I haven’t had a bad pap in so many years – that I don’t have to come back for another 3 years if I don’t want to. What the what? Did you guys know that?

No speculum in the vaginulum?

Anywhoozle – it sounds all good but really – do any of you follow this medical rule? Do you go every three years if you’ve never had a bad pap?

Jesus – that was a hell of a question huh? I obviously don’t have an answer since I’m asking the question. Part of me things woohoo – no sweating like Elvis before he takes a drug test naked on a table with my legs spread eagle for my doctor and of course 15 student teachers to observe. BUT then – it only takes 30 seconds and it’s a relief knowing I am proactive in my health.

You know – if they just made speculums shaped like penises, more of us women would be lining up at the doors for physicals don’t you think?

2. If you read, what are you reading right now? Or how about what is your fave music right now?

I read – a lot. Funny thing is I read either political or trashy romance novels.

Right now I’m reading Sarah Palin’s “Going Rogue”. Yup – I said it and you guessed it – I’m a conservative Republican. I never talk about it here and I’m not going to start but I have two brothers who are highly educated in the world of politics so I can’t help but follow along right?

And music – again – weird combos. I literally have old country on a CD right now mixed with heavy, heavy, head-banging mosh pit music.

I never said I was normal.

3. Name some of your favorite smells.

No – you cannot say Drazil gumdrop farts though those do smell pretty shitabulous.

Fresh cut hay – I’m a country farm girl at heart

Anything that Rambo has worn that has his smell on it

Jenny’s JUICY perfume. I bought some after I loved it on her and every time I wear it I think of her.

My kids – right under their chins/necks. I kid you not – the other night my 5 yr old fell asleep in her bed early and I went in there like I was some crook sneaking in and I shoved my nose right under her chin and just took a big ol’ whiff. There’s nothing like the smell of your own child.

4. Showers or baths? Shampoo only or shampoo & conditioner? Shave daily or just when you start feeling and looking like an ape?

Um – this one is pretty obvious right? Baths. Every. Single. Day. It’s my one thing I do for me every day – even if I’m running late. I usually take two a day – one in the morning and one at night with Rambo.

Shampoo only.

I’d love to say shave daily but it’s more like every other or every couple. Armpits daily but the rest can wait.

5. Repeat question: Summarize your week in real life and in blogland.

Blogland is good as usual. I bit the bullet and posted a bikini pic and I will be taking that down tomorrow just so you all know. Ha! Also, just as I suspected, you are all in love with my brother now.

I’m staying busy posting on my own blog and doing BOOBs features too. So fun!

Real life is Won. Der. Ful. Something in me clicked this week and I just don’t give a damn about the little things at this point in my life.

I’ve asked Jenny to draw me a cupcake so I can get it as a tattoo from my bestie since she’s a chicken butt and won’t actually get a tattoo with me. We are still discussing the bikini wax excursion and I have plans to see Jenny in person in two weeks!

Two family picnics and a HUGE family party next weekend too.

Remember me? Anti-social girl who wants to live in a closet and suck her thumb? Apparently life has other plans.

I am completely on track with Nutrisystem (they even commented on my blog review) and am working out almost daily! Go me right?

Oh and I am OBSESSED with getting hair extensions so 99.9% of my time is spent researching them. Not sure if I want permanent or clip in? Anyone got any experience with either?

Love to you all.

I wish you days filled with baths of Skittles…and a few M&Ms thrown in for good measure.

XOXO and Much ♥

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

There’s something wrong with me.

As of yesterday (due to my big aha moment) I decided once and for all I don’t give a flying witch’s f*ck what other people think. That is clearly reason #1 it’s clear something is wrong with me.

Reason #2 could be that Rambo wanted to take me on a Harley ride Friday to go shopping all day and I said NO! Holy blue beaver balls! What the hell is going on? I told him I want to lose more weight before I buy more clothes. Did my idiot mind forget that Sheniqua and her chumpy friends still need to be covered in cute as hell clothing NOW? (let it be known I have the right to change my decision about this shopping trip)

I have TWO – yes count them – one and two – family picnics this weekend. Now – let’s all just admit that I would rather be crocheting a baby blanket for Casey Anthony’s next child with Satan and Charlie Sheen. I mean really? Both days? Who the hell plans this shit? Anywhoozle – reason #3 it is clear I have morphed into another person completely is that I could care less who is there, who will see me, how I will look and what they will say.

I’d normally go buy two new outfits (see denied shopping trip in reason #2 above) but today I just don’t give a guppy’s ass really. When all the political shiz went down in my state, my brothers and I got into Facebook fights with most of my cousins who will be attending and there was even some de-friending (gasp!). True colors were shown and normally I’d be broken out in hives and boils but I just don’t care.

My God I feel so free. I might even go naked.

Maybe not. That’s kinda pushing it, isn’t it?

Reason #4 isn’t all that shocking but it is a little. Our daughter is in soccer. And I’m not just being an idiot parent who thinks their child is great when I say that she is pretty good. She plays the whole game and scores quite a few of the goals. Rambo and I don’t allow her to miss practices or games even though it’s summer league (ALL the other kids miss). You sign up – you commit. Period.

Tonight though? The actual temp here is 100. The heat index is 120. We will not be taking her to the game. It’s just not worth the danger in running for a complete hour non-stop for a kid’s soccer game.

If the coaches are shocked at our decision – well so be it. Shed a tear and get over it. If you want to give me a guilt trip about how the game will be lost without her – go ahead. I can take it. I’m not who I used to be remember? I won’t even fall down into a puddle of tears and beg your forgiveness. I swear.

Let’s try it and see.

Oh and I forgot to tell you Rambo and I got asked to become coaches next year. That’s kinda fun huh?

And lastly – reason #5 that it’s pretty obvious that a Care Bear has indeed invaded my brain with nothing but lollipops and gumdrops and faucets that pour Mt. Dew…is that the very FIRST email I came into this morning was one for my 3rd job – the PSC – and yours truly didn’t even panic. The Public Service Commission is the lovely federal agency who I love as much as the DNR (Dept of Natural Resources)…(so funny some of you thought I meant Do Not Resuscitate). They have a problem with our income reporting.

Guess what I did? I told them I’d check on it and get back to them. Like la-de-dah – I could care less. I mean I do care but really – what can I do here at work with none of the paperwork in front of me. What will be, will be. I’ll fix it – I always do. No point in ruining my whole day over it.

I’m signing off now.

That’s enough of this “I think I live in Paradise” bologna, don’t you think?

Just to prove that the old me – the one with Drazil the asshole lizard sitting on my shoulder whispering nasty things into my ear – still exists somewhere in a dark cavern…I will tell you that I did something last night the old me is known for.

I worked out - outside – in the heat.

Calm down – Rambo went with me so he knew I wouldn’t die. And I took water. And I only did three miles. To prove how sick and twisted I am I made Rambo take pics of my sweaty shirt.

When I asked him to take the pic for my blog – he looked at me like I had three heads. I told him that everybody does it – to prove they worked out. Like that’s so completely normal or something. Duh – who doesn’t want to look at sweaty pictures?

Get with the program Rambo. It’s what people do when they live in Paradise City with Care Bears…like I do.

A Skittle bath awaits – I must go.


Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Good f*cking riddance.

I’m not who I used to be anymore.

All I can say to that old me is…good riddance. Finally – good f*cking riddance to the heavy that lived in my soul for what seems my whole life.

You see, I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I had 200 miles on the back of a Harley and gorgeous scenery for about 10 hours this weekend so I had time to do some pretty deep thinking.

About where I was. Where I came from. Where I’m going. And who I am.

I used to want to be someone else every moment of every day. I hated my personality. How I talked, how much I talked, what I said, how I laughed, how I cried…how I looked, my choices, and what I figured people thought of me. I wanted to be like and look like anyone but me.

I used to live in constant fear that one day I’d lose everything because I was fully convinced that everything I had was a dream meant for someone else. I had no right to be happy or be loved. I wasn’t worth that.

If a fairy Godmother ever happened upon my doorstop – you can bet my first wish would to be for her to make me someone else – and take away the hate I had in my heart for myself.

The me I saw in the mirror was just one big flaw – and most days – living with someone you hate that much becomes torture. Some days – you don’t want to live at all. You can’t see beyond the pain that the self-inflicted hate brings. You just want to be okay for one damn moment.

But I’m not that me anymore.

I mean obviously – I don’t look in the mirror and see Barbie. But the key is that I can at least look now.

I swear to you I used to not even be able to look myself in the eyes in a mirror without crying. The hate I had for myself would come out in tears within seconds….so I stopped looking in my eyes years ago. I only focused on the outer shell because it was all I could do.

Now I’m in a different place. I don’t know if it’s just age or what – but I’m comfortable with who I am.

I cannot tell you what that feels like. To not be putting constant 24/7 energy into trying to change who I am. My God – that was exhausting.

Now, if I want to buy hair extensions – it’s not because I hate my hair anymore. It’s because I’m fine with my hair but hell, if I want to enhance it – I’m damn sure I can pull that off and it’ll make me feel even better.

If I want to use Nutrisystem to lose some of Sheniqua – I will. If I don’t lose anything – meh. I’ll live. If I lose 20 lbs – get out of my way – cuz me and my bikini are gonna run your doubting ass over.

If I want to tell you how I feel I will now. I refuse to live in fear over losing you in my life because now I know I have others who will never leave me.

I’ve noticed lately I keep asking myself things like “when you’re 80 are you going to care that you pissed off so and so or will you regret that you stood silent?”

I used to only be able to think in the moment and live in the fear of it. I used to think everyone had to love me or I was Satan himself. I was consumed with needing everyone to love me – because maybe if I could accomplish that – then I could love me too right?

Wrong. Who gives a shit? Really!


If so and so down the block hates me because I fart gumdrops why the hell do I care? She can dance on my grave when I’m dead. What am I going to do about it? To think that I would live my life differently or expend energy to try to get her to change her mind about me – just amazes me today. I mean really – it points to the fact that I have an ego problem.

It’s so hypocritical and ego-driven to have needed everyone to love me. Hell – I can’t even love me – why did I expect and need everyone else to? Try starting at home honey.

And while I’m still in awe of things like Rambo’s love for me…I’m to a point where I don’t question it and I allow myself to have it – without feeling guilty or holding on to it with white knuckles in fear that it will be ripped from me at any second. I will lose him one day but I can’t live in that fear. That does our love no justice at all and it can’t grow if I’m squeezing it to death in fear.

My heart is good – and that’s enough. I am not evil and I’ll give you my last penny if your need is valid. I am not less than any other human on this Earth.

I look how I look. I feel how I feel. I am who I am.

For the first time in my life, I’m not making apologies for the woman I see in the mirror.

I finally figured out that you don’t have to like me.

It is I who has to like me.

I can’t even tell you how it feels to be okay with me. It may sound simple…but it is earth-shattering over here in Care Bear Land.

So much so that the little shits are going to throw me a party later complete with cupcakes and sprinkles and a ride on the clouds.

You gotta love those Care Bears right? They’ve had it right from the beginning.

Face it – have you ever seen anyone as happy or self-loving as a damn Care Bear?

Yah, me neither.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Ss, Ms and JPDs!

It’s time for more Ss, Ms and JPDs.

Ss = Shockers

Ms = Morsels (of info)

JPDs = Just Plain Dumb (things)

Shocker: Did you know that boats go in water? Like float atop the water even? Who knew right? I was in my parents garage the other day and was walking around in it (yes, it’s big enough to put a race track in) and there sat a boat. Hmmm…funny. My parents don’t boat. In fact, my mother is deathly afraid of water. She almost drowned as a young child and after being trapped in our flooded home as an adult – she can hardly even sit through a rain storm without panicking. But “they thought they might like to fish”.

Turns out maybe not. They took it out once. My mother sat on the bank. The boat is now for sale.

Shocker indeed. Hell – this could have also been a Just Plain Dumb now that I think about it.

Just Plain Dumb: I cannot say no. Someone could ask me if I’d like to light my eyes on fire and I’d probably say yes. My nail lady asked me to make her all her business cards and sit down with her and figure out an advertising campaign. Apparently I think there are more than 24 hours in a day or that I’m not busy enough. Jesus, Mary and Bart.

Morsel: I went on a 200 mile, 12 hour Harley ride on Saturday with over 20 people. Some I knew, some I did not. I wasn’t scared to go. I didn’t get nervous. My ass never popped a single hive. I was sweating – but it was from the 100 degree weather. Holy violet vibrating vagizzles – did you read what I just wrote? It’s freaking monumental if I do say so myself!

Morsel: Because I was out being a leather biker bitch all weekend, I didn’t eat the greatest. I didn’t go overboard but just to try to work off the non-Nutri-system food I did the treadmill for 75 minutes last night. I refuse to weigh for a few days just so I don’t get too pissed at myself. I’d like to just say that in all the motorcycle pictures I look super chumpy (chubby + plumpy)…and that made me sad.

Morsel: Remember the blinged out Harley pants? I wore them to the soccer game as we were leaving for our ride right from there and a girl came from across the field and said, “I saw you in these pants and had to come over and see them. They are so cute.” Yup – totally worth the cost of feeding a small country indeed.

Just Plain Dumb: The heat index here may get into the 120 degree range and it’s downright dangerous to be out in. All I can think about is the fact that Rambo has to be in this heat all day – enclosed with no air – in the prison. Some of the inmates get air conditioning but he doesn’t. Ack – can you even imagine the smell? Nearly 500 men who haven’t showered and equally as many toilets with no air circulation?

I remind myself of this little detail every time I whine about how hot it is in my air conditioned office.

PS – Rambo came home safe obviously and so far all 5 guys who had feces thrown on them are okay. One of them got it in his mouth and eyes and they won’t know if he got AIDS from it for a while I don’t think. Thank you for all the prayers and thoughts last week and here’s hoping this week is boring at the prison right?

Just Plain Dumb: My all-time favorite time to run is in the heat. Rambo won’t allow me to even step foot outside to exercise after ending up in the hospital with IVs after the last time I ran in 100 degree heat. Does anyone have any tips on how to erase that one little incident from his head? Mama wants to get her sweat on!

How about you? Got any shockers, morsels or just plain dumb things you’d like to get off your chest?

Friday, July 15, 2011

I can't deal.




I’m sorry friends. I am. This is getting old to type and I’m sure old to read. BUT I don’t want to call my mom or Rambo’s mom or anyone in my real life (Jenny – you can skip this whole blog if you want) because there’s no point in having other people that love Rambo worry about him more than they already do. They don’t need details about what happens at his work when I know they already worry.

But I need to say it, express it and then let it go.

And I would indeed let it go  – if the freaking inmate would just behave.

Remember the guy with AIDS who wants to infect as many white people as possible who also has a list of guards he wants to assault and this week sent a guard to the hospital? (that guard is still in the hospital by the way)

Yah, well….Rambo and I had plans tonight but I doubt he’s going to come home.

5 guards just got hit with a shit cocktail.

One of them got the feces right in his eyes. (I have hives just thinking about it)

Yes, from the inmate with AIDS.

I don’t understand why the guards aren’t super vigilant with this guy – but I wasn’t there so I can’t judge. Rambo says he was put back in a regular cell yesterday so that makes it easier for the inmate to assault them. Who knew? A super maximum solitary confinement prison – and the ease of assault remains.

I’m just so pissed right now.

Before it’s all done Rambo will have to suit up in riot gear and probably gas him (and get gassed himself) and who knows what the inmate will do then. Actually Rambo is hoping this time they’ll just use the tazer to control him.

Right now he’s holding his trap door hostage and won’t come out. That means his arm is in the trap door where they put through his lunch tray and he won’t move it so they can’t open the door to get him out to put him in a controlled cell. He’ll have to be gassed or tazed.

Can you imagine the testosterone and emotions on that range? An inmate just assaulted 5 guards and the other guards can’t do a damn thing – can’t even go in and get him….the inmate retains control.

Until the tazers come out anyway.

He’ll be slapped with another 5 counts of assault and never get out so he doesn’t care.

And the taxpayer money he’s wasting? The police have to investigate these assaults. The cases go to court. The guards who are hurt have to go to the hospital and get their aftercare paid for. Other guards have to work overtime to cover their shifts. If the one guard can never work again – the state has to pay him for that. It goes on and on.

I have to remember Rambo is good at what he does. He’s a highly trained Sargent who will be the Squad Leader when the cell entry/riot squad goes in….which means instead of being the first guy in behind the shield, he’ll be ordering the team commands. I hope. He usually wants to be the first guy in but I hope this time he’s the Squad Leader.

I don’t want to say “cell entries” with tazers and batons and shields are his passion but he’ll admit he loves to put inmates like that in their place – especially if they have hurt children (this guy is a pedofile) and then assaulted his co-workers.

He was asked last night to become an EMT for the local village and I heard him jokingly say, “I’m a life taker, not a life saver.”

He’s wrong about that – he saves my life every day.

He can take care of himself. I know that. He’ll come home safe and sound.

Okay, now I’m done.

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy...

I’m warning you now that this could be sucktastic and downright shitabulous and I’m probably going to ask a question I’ve already asked in the past. I have a migraine and the probability of anything creative or good coming out of my brain at this moment – is well – nill. Add in the fact that my pain pill is kicking in and um…you might wanna skip BYOC this week.

It’s Friday so that means it’s BYOC – Bring Your Own Crazy! We answer questions today in an effort to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break. Copy and paste to your own blog if you so desire…and ENJOY!!

1. Let’s do something crazy….I’m going to list the rainbow colors and you type the first FOOD item that pops into your head that symbolizes that color for you…’s mine:

Red – cherry
Orange – orange circus peanuts (anyone remember those?) – they were kind of peachy color
Yellow – banana
Green – broccoli
Blue – smurf pie – shitballs – is there any blue food? Oh yes – blue food coloring
Purple – eggplant
Brown – chocolate – duh!
Black – blackberries (had some last night!)

See? I told you this was gonna be dumb.

2. What is on your kitchen table right now?

My new Harley coat. Lia Sophia jewelry I have yet to wear. Leftover crafts from making my calendar. My Polar heart rate monitor from last night’s soccer playing. Two containers I brought home from work and forgot to put in the sink. Flowers. Bucket of clothespins.

Clearly our kitchen table is not where we eat. We have a bar in our kitchen we all sit at.

3. What movie do you watch again and again and again? Not like what movie have you seen 5 times…but like what movie have you seen 30 times or more?

I’ve seen a lot of movies a lot of times – mostly Disney ones because of my kids but if I really stop and think about which movie I have seen repeatedly way too many times to count and still laugh every time – it’s Christmas Vacation with Chevy Chase.

How dumb is that? I start watching it every October – sometimes daily in the background while I work – and don’t stop until January-ish. I can’t stop loving it……..even though it’s reedonkulous.

4. If Satan had a last name – what would it be?

Clearly – it would be Explosive Man. Satan Explosive Man. Totally rolls off the tongue.

5. Repeat question: Summarize your week in blogland and in real life.

Blog land is always fun and always a huge part of my life and my own personal therapy. I’ve written a lot about the prison and my worry and other stuff that randomly bugs me and you guys still haven’t banned me from blogging yet so I’m grateful for that.

BOOBs planning is going strong and I’ve started doing a featured blogger of the day on the official BOOBs blog. Check it out if you can!

Real life is good too….last night Rambo and I played soccer for 1.5 hours again and both of us commented that it’s getting easier. I have stayed on the NS plan and I am down 6 lbs total after three weeks. (right on target for the 1-2 loss per week they say) Yes – had I not gone off plan and completely overindulged on the 4th of July for 4 days – that number would probably be 10 lbs but life is life. Last time Rambo weighed he was down 7lbs. That’s been a few days ago. He has been on plan minus the 4th of July too.

This weekend we have an all day Harley ride that I’m excited about and recovery on Sunday.

Tootles my Skittles!  Love to you all!  ♥♥♥

Paying it forward on a Friday!

Time for a little "pay it forward"!

I haven't done one of these in a while and my pick of the day is Mallory!

She is REALLY special because she's the daughter of one of my dear BOOB friends....
so I guess she's a mini-BOOB.

She's Jacquie's daughter!

And come on - she has the cutest blog name evah!  It's I Run For Cookies!!!

Head over to her blog and check her out and tell her Draz sent you...I swear you won't be sorry!

Thanks lovies!

Thursday, July 14, 2011


I have to type these three things out…or my head is likely to explode and my heart will follow.

Forgive me – you can skip this – none of it is pleasant.

1. Most of you know that a few years ago, my parents lost our childhood home and nearly everything in it to a flash flood. Most of you also know that I’ve never truly dealt with what that meant and still means. The during, the aftermath, the picking yourself up off your knees, the worry and the loss…all things I never let myself think about too long.

You’d think it’d be completely over but I can tell you just this weekend I spoke to my mom about her new house now. She actually started crying and said, “I love it here. I almost love it here more than the old house. And I feel like that’s wrong. Like I’m betraying that old house. Leaving it behind.”

I told her the old house isn’t a person and she didn’t owe it anything and she didn’t leave it by choice and loving her new house is certainly better than not loving it. Still – it’s proof that years later – we all still deal with what the flood has done.

Just about a month ago – the house was finally torn down. As I said in a previous post…I wanted it gone but once it was I was shocked at my heart-breaking reaction. I have driven by it hundreds of times since it came down and have only been able to look at it out of the corner of my eye. I am fully aware that they only took down the house and that two large sheds remain.

If I look fast enough and see the sheds – part of my head can still see the house and pretend all is just as it should be.

Until today.

I could see coming down the hill that something was missing.

I dared to look. Both sheds are gone.


I almost had to pull over so I didn’t throw up. And? I’m pissed at my reaction. Why on Earth this bare spot can provoke such an emotion from me when it’s years later and everyone has recovered drives me crazy. I am not a woman who cannot deal.  I am strong - hear me roar - right? 

I need to step foot on that ground again – and weep – and fall to my knees if I must but I need to look at it all gone – and walk away.

2. Rambo rode to work with me this morning because he had to pick up his car at the shop. The news had the story on about the inmate who assaulted Rambo’s co-worker the other day. So that got Rambo talking…

Apparently the inmate is now in segregation and will not come out as he is afraid the staff will hurt him for what he did. No – that’s not how this prison works but nonetheless – the inmate is scared. So all day long Rambo is dealing with an inmate who won’t comply to anything.

Add in that he’s a pedofile. He proclaims to hate anyone white. He has full-blown AIDS and claims he wants to infect as many white people as he can. He has a list of guards he plans to assault.

I just wanted to scream that I didn’t need to know all of the above. But Rambo needs to talk about his work just like anyone else. But I love living in Care Bear Land where there is no hate, AIDS, lists or pedofiles. Please – someone take me back there.

3. I got a phone call about 30 seconds before I was leaving for the day yesterday. I have caller ID at work so I knew it was the water/sewer plant manager from my 2nd job.

This is how it began:

Me: Hello.
Him: F*CK!
Me: It’s nice to hear from you too. How is your day going?
Him: The DNR has been here all day – 4 of them – we’re gonna need a new plant.

The rest is more of the same.

Can I just say I’m not sure I can handle the stress of building a multi-million dollar plant while trying to please two villages that share this plant? It means talking to numerous officials and pleading my case and showing proof and maybe even begging Mayors and Village Presidents and the like. (Remember me - the girl who would not talk to ANYONE?)  Sometimes I think God does this crap to me just to be funny.

The red tape and paperwork and my God – the DNR…it’ll be a freaking nightmare. And it’ll take years of planning and voting and approvals and money and possibly raising people’s taxes.

God help me.

I’m trying to imagine the sense of accomplishment I’ll feel when it’s over and we have a state of the art plant and we can even make the payments….

It’s just that getting there could do me in.

Okay – all done. Again, I’m sorry – my therapy is writing and I had to get those three things out so I can focus on the rest of my day.

Tootles lovies!

S, M and JPDs.

In continuation of yesterday’s life lessons….I’m gonna throw more bullshit at you today.

I'm gonna call this S, M and JPD. 

Shockers, Morsels (of info) and Just Plain Dumb!

By naming what I'm doing I figure I don't have to offer any explanations or make any sense. 
I may even make this a weekly feature considering it doesn't require any real brain power
 (I'm running short on anything brain-related lately).

Hey - it’s better than being Explosive Man's cleaning lady right? Well, maybe.

Morsel: Am I the only person who sees bloggers EVERYWHERE? I always forget where people are actually from so I’m wandering around staring at people wondering if it could be so and so from that one blog that I love.  

Barb - clearly this is me - being jealous of your new bodacious tatas. 

No worries – you and I both know I’d eat my young before I’d approach a random stranger ...but I’m just saying – you guys are everywhere I go.

Morsel:  I have a brilliant money-making idea. I’m going to teach “proper hugging” classes. It’s for males only.

Rambo has an issue. Like I wipe my butt lint out of my ass with my boxers before every shower kind of problem. Yes – he does that.

He has a problem JUST hugging.

For example, this morning he didn’t have to work. I had on the dress I showed you here. He is sleeping people. Eyes closed. Comatose. Donezo. I go over to kiss him goodbye and he has the audacity to kiss me back AND? Lift up the front of my dress to see what underwear I have on. Funny thing is I had on my black thongs that have “I love you” in rhinestones on the front. So being the smartass he is…he smiles the dumbest smile in the world and says, “Mmmm, I love you too.” Azzhole.

I finish my hair. In walks Rambo. I’m not going to explain the full blown body maul attack that went on in there.

I get my meals ready and he’s now on the chair watching tv. I go to kiss him goodbye again and I get completely felt up.

If I’m not being mauled on top with his hands, then the bottom half of him is going at it. The man simply cannot hug me. I’m not sure anyone has taught him how. Although last night he hugged his mom for her birthday and he did the whole thing perfectly. Ack. I have to say that’s a good thing though.

And I’m pretty sure most men across the country suffer from this syndrome. I could totally make millions teaching this right?

Morsel: My newest obsession is hair extensions. I’ve been watching videos online and Jerseylicious and I want long-er – thicker - hair (currently mine is a little below my shoulders). My parents have the thinnest hair in the world and they passed it onto me. I’m surprised I’m not completely bald yet. Anyone have any currently that you’d recommend?

PS – I’m stupid. Rambo loves loves loves long hair….#2 above is going to get significantly worse.
Crap on a stick.

Shocker:   I would like to get a bikini wax after yesterday when all of you said I should stick my head between my legs and try not to whack off an eyebrow as your best advice for getting a smooth vagizzle. Waxing sounds like the way to go – because I’d look stupid with just one eyebrow. And I’d like to do my pits. I mean I’m getting the pits botoxed so they never sweat – why not never have hair there either? Wouldn’t that be freaking fantastic?

My plan is to make Jenny go with me.

Please leave multiple comments guilt-tripping her about how besties have to do things like hold the other bestie’s hand while some woman rips hair out of her crotch. It’s in the bestie handbook somewhere.

PPS – I’m not going to tell Rambo what I’m doing. And when he finds out and you add in #3 – well – you’ll never see me again.

Crap on a bigger stick.

Morsel:  Not cooking or planning or grocery shopping is almost as fun as shoe and purse shopping. Almost.

Shocker: Holy lizard diarrhea! Would you look at this shoe?????

Do you not want to lick it, call it baby and shove it in your bra so it can go everywhere with you? I was just clicks away from ordering it BUT it’s a 5.5 inch heel. I checked and I think my highest ones I currently own are maybe 5 inches…so I’m not sure if I’d break my neck with the 5.5s. And testing out if you’re going to break your neck just sounds dumb so I’m not sure what to do other than lick my screen and have shoegasms over them.

Just plain dumb:  Remember how I told you I have no problem eating the same thing EVERY day? And that the thing could be pizza if I had my way? Well, this is proof I wasn't kidding. Look at the NS suppers I ordered for next month.

Yup - every one is pizza.  And another whole layer of pizzas underneath.

The end.

Do you have any S(hockers), M(orsels), or J(ust) P(lain) D(umb) things you'd like to share with us today?

Come on - it's fun and remember - no brain power required!

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Positions, chickens and other life enhancements.

I have a couple of thoughts to share that will enhance your life immensely. You’re gonna wonder how you ever lived without these little beads of knowledge. I swear on mini mint midgets. For realz.

1. I’m pretty sure you all want to tell me to SHUT UP about the prison and the worry I have for Rambo but here’s the thing. I can’t. If I write it out then I’m not keeping the worry in.

Therefore I’d like to say – holy pink porcupine penises – what the f*ck? TWO days in a row Rambo’s gas mask has malfunctioned. He suited up and went in on an inmate yesterday and got gassed through his mask. Yesterday – the air handler didn’t work right and MANY staff and inmates were exposed to gas.

Rambo said it was chaos. Multiple inmates have asthma so they cannot be gassed and they were throwing up and calling Rambo – meanwhile Rambo’s first priority is to get the exposed staff safe first. The thing about gas is that once you take a shower – the gas re-exposes you so you feel the effects all over again. Lots of fun for Rambo. I just get irritated sometimes. Period.

2. Just for the hell of it – go to your stats in your blog and see what words people have searched out your blog with. I promise you’ll get a good laugh. Here are a few of mine as of late:

making out + my dress +vagina < (I'm sure I've NEVER discussed all three of these at once)

and the best one:

Does Martha Stewart have camel toe?3. Chickens lay eggs. I know – shocking isn’t it? Did you fall off your chair? This little fact is brought to you by the fact that my parents bought chickens. 5 red ones. So they can have fresh eggs. Funny because my mom doesn’t eat eggs…only my dad does. Funny how she calls me up frantic, hyperventilating, saying, “Do you need eggs? We have too many. We can’t eat them all? I need cartons. Will you take them?”

Hmmm – newsflash…chickens lay eggs. One a day in fact.

4. Liars suck. I work with a girl who no lie – ate out EVERY single day at a fast food joint. She had an entire drawer full of candy and chocolate. She drinks soda all day long. Her breakfast consisted of a Little Debbie washed down with a donut. She did not work out.

Even with all of this she’s probably only 30ish lbs overweight and doesn’t look like it as she is very tall. However, she had her annual doc appt and they told her that her cholesterol was off the charts and she needed to lose weight. So she has.

Yesterday when a co-worker asked her what she has done to lose weight so fast she hoity-toitily (yes – that’s so a word) declared that she had changed nothing except that she walks 2 miles a day – that’s it.

SLAP MY ASS and call me HOMER SIMPSON if that’s true!
Holy teal toad turds people – she’s a freaking liar.

She no longer eats out – EVER. She has NO candy drawer. She RUNS every morning. The only snacks in her office now are carrots and apples.

She might not be full of fat anymore but she’s full of shit and it pisses me off because now my friend who asked her is upset and jealous. Because honestly – just add 2 miles a day and change nothing else and apparently 30 lbs falls off of you?? I call bullshit again.

You never changed anything like my left tit leaks gold. Sure.

5. You’re going to think I’m being an ass (as usual) but I’m seriously asking this question. Remember a long time ago when we discussed shaving the vagizzle in way too great of detail? Well the thing is – we never discussed “positions”. I’m all about the vagizzle that looks like a cabbage patch kid’s smooth bald head BUT I think there must be an easier way to accomplish this rather than tying myself into a pretzel and pinching nerves in my neck.

Seriously – yes – I’m asking. How do you sit or stand when you shave paradise? And while we’re at it – what’s the position you use to paint your toes?

Lately I have found that if I sit in the bath and leave one leg straight down in the water and raise the other one as high as I can like a Vegas showgirl – well – paradise regions are more readily accessible. The problem with this? Well – old chumpy asses like me can only hold this position for about .34 seconds before I start to swear. And well? Remember me – I’m the woman who has no privacy and I never lock the bathroom door when I’m in the bath in case the girls have to pee (they can’t seem to walk to the other bathroom)? I have been mid-excessive spread eagle scissor leg girl with a shaver in my hoo-hah and my kids have to come in and pee. Um yes – there are some things I just can’t explain away so this position only works if I know I’m alone.

Seriously – do some of you sit? Do you stand? Hunched over? Upside down? Propped up on the sink?

There’s got to be an easier way, right? Someone rock my world with an answer.

And the toes? Is it just me or is there no good position to paint one’s toes without feeling like I can’t breathe? Do you prop your foot on a chair? Sit on the floor? Sit open Indian style?

Or say f*ck it and let someone else do your damn toes? There’s got to be a way I haven’t thought of yet – right?


That’s all I got. Was it good for you? I hope so – now get to work – I need answers on #5.
Oh and you have an assignment on #2. There’ll be a test later. Be prepared.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Mommy, why were you and Daddy naked?

Well folks – it happened.

Most of you know I have two kids. One is 10. One is 5. They are both girls.
They are the spawn of drama.  I have no idea where they get it.
I’ve escaped this horrid experience I shall recount below - until now.
A good, solid 10 years under my belt. I was on a roll.

Which is why I apparently got cocky. Or more accurately – Rambo literally got “cocky”.

Yup – you guessed it.

We got “caught”.

Oh yah – this from the girl who writes posts about this exact thing happening.
After it happened here to my friend, Mrs. Fatass - my mantra became “shut the door”.

Apparently part of my guilty conscience knew some day I’d be in this exact predicament.
Karma has slapped me in the ass.

Let me set the stage for you. It’s nothing all that brilliant – which is the problem. It was spontaneous.

Remember me? I’m the girl who schedules when I take a pee.
I don’t do spontaneous because it always backfires.
THIS story is proof.

We were getting ready to go to the fireworks. I had on a pair of shorts that were t-shirt-y material so unless you wear a thong, underwear lines are going to show. It was 105 degrees out and the less clothes the better so I opted to go commando. Therein lies the first mistake.

Rambo hugged me and his hands automatically figured out there’s only one tiny layer between him and “paradise”. Son of a bitch and icicle shitballs. I knew I was in trouble.

Our kids are intently watching TV.
He convinces me that we HAVE to do this, it CANNOT be avoided,
and the kids WON’T even notice we are gone.

Obviously I forgot on the way to the bedroom that the person talking to me has a penis
and therefore every word that comes out of his mouth is probably a lie.

So as not to be too specific and grotesque here (My God – I’ll lose 50 followers with this next paragraph I’m sure) let’s just say this was no romantic romp. There were no rose petals, candles or soft music.
Hell – there wasn’t even time to switch on the light.
And who needs a bed when there’s a hope chest at the end of the bed that works just fine?
And why take off your clothes when that’s just not necessary?

Nope – let’s just move them down or up or awry because we’re on a time limit here.

We ain’t Romeo and Juliet.

We’re more like the Roadrunner and Wiley Coyote. You can guess which of us is which.

And before you start lecturing me and calling the authorities and starting the witch hunt – I want to be clear.

RAMBO SHUT THE DOOR! We’re not nearly as stupid as we look.

Remember all of you “dessert” experts?
All you said I had to do was shut the door and everything would be alright.

This is the part where I call you all LIARS!!

Obviously some of you have children with manners - who knock when they approach a shut door.
Or children who don’t have the nickname “Curious George”.
Or children who don’t move when you put cartoons on.

I, however, have a child that is the opposite of the above.
She doesn’t know how to knock.
A closed door is like a puzzle and she must figure out what’s behind it.
And cartoons are just lame unless your parents are watching them with you.

Jesus, Mary and Bart. Kill me now. I’m having trouble typing this.

Okay moving on. We were done… (I told you it was quick)…but let’s just say we “held our positions”…
to bask in the afterglow.

Or cuz Rambo got a cramp in his leg and moving could be dangerous at our age.

And then?

Yup – the door opens. There stands the 5 year old.

Let me just say the only benefit to not even taking your clothes off is that in just such a predicament they sure do pull up fast and easy. Hmmm – fast and easy – sounds like someone I know. Shoot me now.

The next few moments are a blur. A flurry of clothing and hand motions and screams of “please get out” and “save me Jesus” and lights flashing and the earth shaking.

Okay maybe not that last part.

There was no, “You rock my world. I love you more than ice cream. That was amazing.”

There was only, “Get me out of this room so I can erase this moment from my memory.”

My little girl had left immediately.

She isn’t damaged – as far as I can tell.

Her head didn’t start spinning and she didn’t start speaking in tongue.
She stayed upright and she could still walk.

About an hour later after I’d thought we’d all survived, she said to me,
“Mommy, why were you and Daddy naked?”
My lips wouldn’t move. Probably because my tongue grew hives the size of my old boobs on it.

Rambo was nearby and I swear to you I have never loved him more than in that moment when he said:
“We were changing our clothes.”

She said, “Oh, okay.” And skipped out the door.
Yes, she still had enough brain cells to master skipping.

And I’ve never heard about it again.

Now apparently my kid isn’t all that smart.

Curious? Yes. Smart? No.

Because her mommy and daddy came out wearing the same clothes they wore
into the bedroom and she didn’t notice the error in our explanation.

For those of you thinking I had given up trying to win the “Pervert Mother of the Year” award…
well this little episode proves I’m still in the game.

Watch your backs. I’m taking home the trophy.

And here’s a little tip from me to you – free of charge. It’s not really about shutting the door.

It’s about locking the damn thing, mmkkaayy?

I’m working on a petition to get “LOCK THE DOOR” added as the 11th commandment.

Anyone willing to sign it?

Random giraffe poop spewing........with pictures.

Let it be said that there is no point to this post.
Just your basic random giraffe poop spewing forth from yours truly.

Do you all know that it’s been three weeks since I’ve had real, cheesy, orgasmic, take-out, thick crust pizza? The owners of the pizza joint called last night to inquire about my health and to ask if I was dead. It seems their profits are suffering since I’m not ordering every other day.

It also turns out that Skittles and even M&Ms are not necessary to live. Can you believe that bullshit? I haven’t had a real piece of candy or a candy bar in 3 weeks. And get this? I don’t even care. NS desserts are like candy bars so I’m all good. Yes, I’m aware that half of you fell off your chairs just now. Get back up…I have more to say. It’s not nearly as shocking as  the candy bar announcement but it’s still fun.

I ate a piece of Extra gum…one of those dessert delight ones. Those are the ones that are flavored like desserts – like key lime pie and strawberry shortcake. The ad folks at Extra say, “It’s like eating the dessert without the calories!”. I’m here to say, “NO IT ISN’T”. It’s like chewing flavored gum. The end.

Rambo and I went to the local park yesterday to run sprints up hills because we’re insane and we like to experience what it will feel like to live in hell. I thought I might die. 100 degree weather and 800 degree humidity didn’t help. And when a gnat flew up my nose I nearly laid down and had a tantrum that could rival any 5 year old.

Yesterday I was also reminded again of how much I hate Rambo’s job some days. He emailed me at home and said it had been a bad morning. Now for me a bad morning is Explosive Man not only shitting on the back of the toilet but leaving pubes on top of the toilet and in the sink.

For Rambo – that’d be a walk in the park. He had to send an Officer to the hospital via ambulance after an inmate got out of hand and backhanded the Officer. The Officer hit his head against a wall and then hit the floor. Rambo instructed his guards to get the inmate under control and every part of him wanted to beat the mother-effer with his own two hands. Not only because he assaulted an Officer but because Rambo knows the guy is a convicted pedofile. Multiple counts of sexual assaults on a child. Not worth the air he breathes if you ask me. But all in a day’s work for Rambo….

I had a little shopping disaster fun this weekend too. I decided I wanted a bigger Harley jacket than the one Rambo brought me so we went back to the Harley store. That was my first mistake.
By the way - here's the coat.  Though I admit it is much less blingy than I like and it's not pink -
when it's on it's very nice and fitted so I love it!

I bought Harley jeans. Check out the ass on these suckers.

Yes – they cost enough to feed starving kids in a small country for a year but still.

And a sparkley pink doo-rag too.

Then these Jerseylicious zebra sunglasses called my name so I couldn’t leave them in the store.

I happened to hear a cute pink watch yelling out about how it wanted to see itself on my wrist...
for my ride this weekend.

So I bought it! 

Oh oh – and I bought a cute little mini strapless dress too. Wanna see?

The real point of the trip to the mall was to buy my M-I-L a birthday gift…so here’s what I got her.

And the best part of the weekend? JENNY called! I nearly licked the phone. I feel like I am whole again! Serious purple grasshopper balls – I’m not kidding – I missed her terribly!!! I’ll be seeing her in person in a few weeks so maybe we’ll do a vlog together again for you!

I put feathers in my sister’s hair this weekend and that reminded me I promised you pictures of the ones I put in my girls hair and my green, blue and purple ones! So here ya go!

For those of you attending BOOBs 2011 in Chicago in September – be sure to watch the
BOOBs blog as each person going to Chicago will be
featured so we can make sure we all know each other a bit before the big day!

That's all I got for today....just a bunch of nonsense like I warned you it would be!

Tootles Skittles...

Monday, July 11, 2011

Gym rat turned...."not" gym rat.

It’s time for a little recap of what’s been happening in the way of exercise in Care Bear Land now that the year is half over.

Let me just say that this little recap explains, well – pretty much everything in regards to my weight.

I play the “I don’t eat that badly, how can my weight keep going up – I must have a tumor that weighs 20lbs!” game with myself A LOT.

If there’s one thing I learned in this journey to a healthier me – it’s that diet alone NEVER EVER works for me. Even at less than 1000 calories a day I wouldn’t lose weight – unless I was doing workouts too. There could be a multitude of reasons for this – like:

1. I am getting older and my metabolism sucks tiny green grasshopper testicles.
2. I eat WAY too much pizza and wash it down with Mountain Dew.
3. I carry muscle like the Hulk so in order to lose weight, I must keep toning.
4. I am getting older and my metabolism sucks tiny green grasshopper testicles.
5. I eat WAY too much pizza and wash it down with Mountain Dew.

Hmmm…see a pattern anywhere? Jesus, Mary and slippery seal semen….who am I kidding?

Anywhoozle….let’s recap my last 6 months of workouts.

        Days Mins  Cals   Miles

Jan    16    857   5189  48.8
Feb   17   1235  9511  77.6
Mar   3    175    1051   10
April  0     0       0          0
May  5     278   1849   16.6
June  13   568   4074   33.6

I’m so predictable huh? Look at me go in January and February with all the “new year” “post-holiday-eating-binge” enthusiasm. Then look at how by March I’m tired and I don’t give a damn and Winter is getting old and I’m ready for Spring.

In April I’m pretty sure my mantra went something like this, “As soon as Spring comes, then I’ll eat better and work out. Right now it’s just too cold to do either one.” You know cuz who can work out on the workout equipment downstairs when it's cold OUTSIDE? 

Then comes Spring and suddenly I decide this fat isn’t going to disappear on its own unless I actually get off the couch. And I realize bikini season is slamming into my cellulitic ass and pretty soon as Summer approaches I’ll want to ride topless on the Harley and my GOD I’ve got to start working out.

Ah well – this little recap teaches me one thing. I’m no workout warrior like I used to be. Before you would have seen 25 days out of every month and a diet under 1200 cals too. Now? I’m just not so sure I want to spend that much time caring about the last 15-20 lbs.

I just think life is about more than that.

And I didn’t have 3 jobs when I began this journey so I had more time to work out. I didn’t have soccer 4 days a week either. Should I go on with more excuses?

The truth is I don’t want to be a gym rat anymore. I used to wear that like a badge of honor and puff my chest out when I’d hear people say, “that girl never misses a day and runs forever”, “she’s a die-hard”, or “she’s running when I get here and still running when I leave”.

But really? Who gives a damn? It got me healthy but now it’s done. I have other things I need and want to be proud of…like my work, my family, how I live my life, my friends, etc.

I work out now because it feels good. It relieves stress. It shows my kids working out can be fun. It gives me time with my kids (soccer). It helps my health (BP and migraines). It helps me mentally fight off depression. The weight loss is just a bonus.

It’s not about never missing a day anymore. I’ve got nothing to prove. No one is going to give me a medal for spending more time working out than I spend time living life.

I don’t begrudge anyone who is in the “gym rat” “every day” phase. Those people still amaze me. For me, it was necessary and imperative during my big weight loss stage. It was where I needed to be in my journey and it worked and I don’t regret it.

It’s just not where I need or want to be now. And I never thought I’d be able to say that.

I just know with every bone in my body that there’s no way in hell that I’ll be 75 years old and regretting that in April of 2011 I didn’t work out. Hell – I won’t even be able to remember back that far I would guess.

I’ll continue with Nutrisystem – mostly because I wanted a break from cooking, grocery shopping and even thinking about food. I also wanted to eat healthy for continued lessening of my migraines, for my cholesterol and BP and because I have realized I will not and cannot work out every day anymore. Of course, if it helps me get closer to goal, I’ll take it.

This last 20 lbs is just window dressing and I’ll get there – but my life won’t be anything less or more when I do reach goal.

I won’t be doing or not doing things “when I hit goal”. I’ll do everything I want at the weight I am now.

Because the fact remains that all I have is this moment, right here, right now.

And friends?

It’s a damn good moment if I do say so myself.

Friday, July 8, 2011

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy...the crabby, selfish version.

It’s Friday – holy orange owl boners – can you say finally???

It’s time for BYOC – Bring Your Own Crazy…a couple of questions we answer to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break! Copy and paste to your own blog and enjoy!

I’m just telling you now – this BYOC is going to be VERY self-absorbed after the week of shitabulous crankiness I have suffered. If you want roses and gumdrop farts and rainbow poop….you should find Smurfette’s blog and read it. (can you imagine if Smurfette really blogged?)

1. If you were asked to symbolize yourself as an animal – which animal would you be?

I ask this completely selfishly because yesterday I spent half the day designing future tattoos for myself because drawing helps my mood. I decided if I ever get a tattoo to represent my brothers, I want to symbolize them as animals. That got me to thinking what I would be if I had to choose an animal for myself.

First off I decided my older brother would be a lion – the ring-leader, proud, professional, strong and caring. My younger brother would be a bear – angry as hell sometimes but deeply loyal, strong and has a heart of gold.

I know this sounds ree-dick – but you know what? I’d want to be a damn unicorn. They are graceful, pretty white with blinged out manes and sparkley horns. No one else has a horn like that so they are unique and carefree and free-spirited and beautiful and they can run like the wind. And they are a fairy tale…you know – just like living in Care Bear land.

Yup – totally a unicorn.

2. Did you ever play an organized sport – with coaches, rules and scoring? Tell us about it.

I ask this again, selfishly, because last night I played soccer for 1.5 hours. Yes – HOURS. And I didn’t need oxygen and neither did Rambo. I burned nearly 700 calories and sweat through all my clothes. And my God did it feel good. I should have played more sports in high school because I’m built like a brick shithouse BUT I had double E boobs back then and I was too embarrassed to do any kind of sports in them EXCEPT track. I was a speed runner….and won lots of medals. Now I’d rather run distance. I definitely regret not doing more though…I dare say I might have been good at it.

3. When did you start shaving your legs?

Again – you get to help me try to be a good mother and you get absolutely nothing in return. Great deal huh? My 10 year old asked the dreaded question…”Mom, when can I shave my legs?” Shit. Puberty is right around the corner, isn’t it? I ran from the bathroom. Because I’m so mature.

I think maybe I was in 5th grade…I do remember begging my mom to let me for what seemed like years before she actually said yes.

4. When you’re in a crabby – pissy – want to stab everyone you see kind of mood – what do you do to get out of it or do you revel in it?

I have to say that though I’ve been kah-rabby this week…it doesn’t really get to me like I say it does. What I mean is that no one around me even knows I’m crabby or having a hard time…I hide it well. When I feel like this, I tend to think a lot and revert back to things that truly comfort me.

I baby myself – with running or drawing or writing or bathing. I don’t do a damn thing but take care of myself and try to figure out what’s behind my mood and what I can learn from it.

And then I step on small bunnies. And throw rocks at small children who dare ride their bikes by my house.

Let’s face it – every day simply cannot be rainbows BUT even in my worst mood – in the back of my mind I NEVER lose sight of how blessed I am and how grateful I am to have what I have and to be alive. Period. Plus it’s impossible not to smile with Rambo next to me…..and new surprise Harley coats sure don’t hurt either.

5. Repeat question: Summarize your week in blogland and in real life.

Yes, well – I bet no one wants me to summarize my week in blogland. I was a true turdfiddle. Grumpy and crabby and even snotty. I cannot believe Martha Stewart is still alive. Explosive Man is on vacation or he’d be dead for sure. My dear friend Barbara is out of surgery and her outlook could teach us all a thing or two. BOOBs planning is kicking ass – you should see the SWAG you girls are going to get!

In real life – things are good. Even after the shit storm of eating that I put my body through for four days over the holiday I only have to lose 2 lbs to be at my lowest since starting Nutrisystem again. I’ve been totally on plan since the holiday and feeling great again. Can I get an AMEN?

Oh and it’s pretty obvious I miss Jenny. I feel like my left leg has been cut off since she’s on vacation. She deserves this time off though!

Tootles lovies…..