Go 'Head. Make My Day

Well, I'm employed. *puts down dirty rag*

I won't start for a couple of weeks. New boss guy has to do a back ground check and all that jazz before I can start. I'm not really worried about that triple homicide I committed showing up. I don't think they have my DNA on file anywhere in the criminal system. *metallic clicking in the back ground*

So in the mean time, I still here at the home front, making sure the grass grows and the cats fart. *opens small cardboard box*

The house is perfectly clean...in comparison to what N. O. looked like after Katrina anyway *sharp metallic clicking* and the neighbors are ready for me to go back to work. It seems to me, that I'm the only one around here that is a fan of 80's music and bright neon colors in my wardrobe. Never mind that I suffer from hearing loss blasting my music so loud that the neighbors can hear, *SHARP metallic click* and my eyesight will never be the same.

It's not that I give a crap what they think of me really *puts chamber in the round of gun* especially since the bastards have driven all the moles the the tri-county area into my yard and I'm out for a little revenge. *poses in mirror trying to look cool and cop like*

I've tried everything to get rid of the little fuckers....I mean, if the dog can't dig 'em up, what am I supposed to do? (the moles I mean, not the neighbors) *ties on Rambo bandanna and attempts lopsided grimace in mirror....dog barks*

The new job is the same as the old one, just a different company. There aren't that many places out there that want someone who can only work during the day and no weekends. (the fuckers) So here I am, mole hunting, and waiting to start work on a job I had hoped I was done with. I'm so fucking excited I can't stand anyone. *shoos cat out of room*

Maybe I'll just start job blogging. *ties socks together to make holster* There are some freaks out there, that's for sure.

Anyway, I'm off to my own little hell in the front yard...and the back yard, and the side yards.



BLAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




shit, I think I just shot the dog.

I Aint Dead Yet

Hi Folks

Sorry to deprive you of my snark recently but I've been on a hunt...job hunt that is...and that's been pretty hard to do considering I'm sick and I've lost my voice. I mean, how am I suposed to interview if I can't speak? It wouldn't exactly make a good first impression for me to whisper and croak intermitantly...unless you're a freak and you're into that sort of thing....and then God only knows what in the hell I'd be hired to do. BLECK. Gives me the hebbie jebbies just to think about it.

I'm tired of insurance. I'm tired of sales. I have no idea what I'm going to do. I'll let you know what I'm doing when I figure it out.

I'll be checking in on all you weird people (and the not so weird people) from time to time.

I'm going to post this draft that's been in here since March since I don't feel like writing anything new.

__________________________________________________________

Okay people. Lets talk personal hygeine.

It's painfully and DISGUSTINGLY obvious that some of us don't know when to get a pedicure or when it's okay to wear sandals.

We just had couple of days where the weather was nice and warm and everybody broke out capris, shorts, and sandals....they did NOT however, GROOM themselves and that's so damn nasty it hurts....it hurts my eyes because I have to look at scary feet, and it could have hurt the back of my legs because of nasty people in crap-tack-ular open toed sandals didn't cut their toe nails and that's just WRONG. I cut my dog's nails for Pete's sake. Why don't you cut your nails people? I was thinking of buying some shin guards and putting them on backwards to protect my legs for your nasty, black toenails - and I don't mean they're black because that's the color of the nail polish. They are blaringly SANS nail polish, and normally that would be okay if you cleaned yourself BUT, if you've got BLACK toenails that hang off the end of the sandals - you aren't fooling anyone - you don't wash - and we know it. (I'm guessing all that black under your tonails is asphalt from where you've been scratching the road...but I could be wrong)

So for the sake of keeping the people around you from throwing up, I've listed some handy-dandy pointers for you.

1. Buy nail clippers. There are a couple of different types, please ask for help if you get confused.

2. Buy a pumice stone...or if it's something you're not comfortable using - I'd like to recommend a cheese grater and sand paper.

3. Buy Lotion - please GOD! buy some lotion. Your feet need it. No really. They NEED it. You see all that cracked dry skin on your heels? Yeeeesssssss, of course you do. You couldn't possibly miss it. That's where the application of lotion comes in and does it's magic.





Please feel free to print them out, write them down and email them to your friends and relatives who may need help or reminding. These guidlines can easily be laminated and taped to the TV - which is where those freaks are sitting instead of taking a shower.

Things That Just KILL Me - aka ANAL RUBS

I have a few things I need to get off my chest - and I'm not talking about my boobs.

I haven't had a good rant in a while and I'm do - so shut your trap about it.

First - Why in the hell didn't somebody tell me that eating healthy would make me fart so damn much? I'm not talking about a little "poot" here and there - saying I "poot" would imply that they are somehow lady like and non-offensive. No so I'm afraid - I'm talking I can blow the windows out of a vehicle with bullet proof glass. I get around on my own jet propulsion. I don't have to buy as much gas because MY gas is a suitable substitute once liquefied (now if that isn't a sick thought I don't know what is). I'm loosing friends. I'm using WAYYYY to much air freshener...and it doesn't even really work - my office smells like a shitty spring breeze and you don't EVER want to go into the bathroom here because it seems I'm always just coming out of that bad boy and the walls have mysteriously turned from white to green - but I'm not claiming responsibility for that. - I'm blaming you.

Second - The cats around my house....AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH.

I love cats. Really I do, but I'm gonna kick some kitty asses. Granted - I was the dumb ass that left my windows down the other night so the kitty could get in my car. BUT THE FURRY LITTLE BASTARD DIDN'T HAVE TO SPRAY IN MY CAR. I had a meeting with several other people in offices all around the state and I smelled like cat ass....and the first person who laughs and tells me I smelled like a Pussy is going to get the stomping of their life. I guess I'm lucky cause nothing makes a good impression like stink lines and and the odor of cat ass.

Third - You people are some twisted fucks you know that? No, really, you are. I'm not kidding. There is no way I could count the times that people have clicked on my link when they google NIKKI THE NEXT DOOR PORN or some such shit. Apparently, there's a very popular on-line porn chick named Nikki, and I can tell you, this girl is LLLLOOOOVVVVVEEEEDDDD. I have also been found by someone who googled hairy armpits, people who are looking for the advantages and disadvantages of having CURVES, and some poor dumb shit who is apparently stressing out because her baby keeps sticking his tongue out and she wants to know how to stop it. Who ever you are lady, you really need to chill the hell out. If your BABY is sticking out his tongue and you are stressing out over that - you're gonna have a friggen break down when he blows chunks all over your new white shirt. Take some Valium and get back to parenting already - your kid will thank you.

Forth - Don't send me an email full of questions and then call me and ask me all the questions you just sent me before I can respond to you. HOLY SHIT. DON'T DO THAT AGAIN. I mean really. What's the fucking point of doing both? Do one or the other for Pete's sake. Try not to show the world that you're a dumb ass humm?

Fifth - I finally flipped out today in traffic. I let a dumb bitch in traffic and the little trick didn't even wave her thanks. After sitting in a traffic jam for 90 mins, and only going 8 miles, I had had it. I pulled up beside her - motioned for her to roll down her window and proceeded to education her tarty ass in some fucking driver courtesy. That little bitch. I was nice enough to let her in, she can be nice enough to throw her bright pink claws in the air to say thank you - that is - if she can wave and pop gum and the same time - the stupid little shit.

Sixth - Why in the hell don't people around here know that when another driver flashes their lights at them it could mean a couple of things - turn your lights on - or the most obvious one - THERE IS A COP UP AHEAD! SLOW DOWN OR YOU WILL GET A TICKET. Okay, I have to be fair, some people do know what it means, and 2 or 3 of them have actually waved thanks...but do you know what really kills me?????

I was flashing my lights at on coming traffic on a sunny morning to alert them to a cop up ahead, got waves of appreciation from a few, when the DUMB BITCH IN FRONT OF ME SLAMMED ON HER BRAKES!!!!!!! Now, I wasn't tailgating her - she was a good 7-8 car lengths in front of me (AND SHE HAD PASSED THE COP TOO!!!!!!) and apparently she got upset that I was flashing my lights at her. ... ... What a stupid bleach blond bitch. I told her oh so nicely that if I had been flashing my lights at her - I would have been riding her ass and not giving her so much space in front of me...and then I had to explain why I was flashing my lights. OMG.

I fucking HATE women drivers. Women seem to be so much more in tune with the popular TV shows, trendy fashion, and where the best sales are on cute shoes...but are friggin oblivious - OBLIVIOUS to the rules of the road and driver courtesy.

Admit It

I entered the poem below in the AMERICAN MIDOL contest over at Cheaper Than Therapy. It was a competition of crappy poems, and while I agree that several people out there submitted crappier poems than mine - I still don't thing it was recognized as a truely crappy poem - and that's important to me.

Read it and weep - then tell me what you think.


Boy, does Post Partum Depression Suck
I wish I could get mad, but I have no truck
with the doctor, that cad
or the ambulance driver that was, to say it nicely, bad

But next time I'll know what to do
when the mailman tells me "The next Publishers Clearing House winner could be you."
I'll slam the door in his face
and put that sneaky sucker in his place

He didn't profess love undieing
nor did he ever stop trying
he looked at me with eyes so innocently
and I hadn't had any carnal attention recently

So I couldn't resist
and before I knew it I had been kissed
and it culminated in urgent lovin'
and putting a bun in the oven

Now what do I tell my husband true
this baby growing inside me belongs to you
never mind about your vascetomy
I know you've been meeting the preachers wife at the rectory.



Come on now, you know it's terrible. Fess up.

Getting Even

My dear, sweet, would never hurt a fly, Aunt Debbie has egged me. She virtually egged me, but she egged me none the less, so I must, in the interest of keeping the ever important standard of one-up-man-ship - retaliate...and expose her for the hostess of evil that she is.

I present to you - Her Bunny Collection

**Arthur's Note** - All of the Bunnies are real. These are not figments of my imagination or creativity. They assume guises of statuesque cute and cuddliness while I am near, but I know what they are. They may be roaming in your neighborhood today as she periodically lets them out of the house precisely at midnight. If they are spotted, run to the nearest corner and cower there until the danger passes.

First I would like to present BLOODY RABID BUNNY. It's a shame really. He was so sweet and then he went and caught rabies and killed all the townspeople's children. tsk tsk


BLOODY RABID BUNNY

They eventually caught him and this is what's left of him. Ironic justice don't you think?


REMNANTS OF BLOODY RABID BUNNY

This was his younger brother ....YUMMY BUNNY(and friend). I think the picture says it all really.


YUMMY BUNNY (& FRIEND)


I would also like to meet ARSONIST BUNNY.


ARSONIST BUNNY (WITH MATCH)


He comes from a long line of loving and lovely bunnies that we would all like to have over to the house to warm our laps. You may have heard of a few of his kin....there's ALCOHOLIC BUNNY(no picture available due to the massive amounts of weaving and falling over)


MASS MURDER BUNNY (who was eventually caught and stewed)


MASS MURDER BUNNY

and one of the more well known of his relations:

PROSTITUTE BUNNY(alias' include "Hooker Bunny", "Skanky Bunny", "Trashy Bunny", and "Got That French Disease Bunny")- who is almost single handedly responsible for the population of bunnies world wide. Trust me - they don't ALL mate like you keep hearing.


PROSTITUTE BUNNY

I have had to presume to responsibility of protecting all the bunnies in her area to keep her evil from spreading to them all. They even did this for me to show their appreciation of my guardianship.


ME


Incidentally, you can buy the above poster by going here.

...and just in case you were wondering....they made a picture of her too......


AUNT DEBBIE

6 Weird Things About Me

Jazz tagged me with this one....and now I must add her to my "To Be Drawn & Quartered" list.

1. Whenever I buy a new book, I have to get a new bookmark to go with it. It MUST match. I would never be able to handle having a blue book cover with a brown bookmark. ALL of my books have their own bookmark. If there is a series that I am reading or have read...they DO NOT share...each book has it's own bookmark.
I started doing this a couple years ago. It had gotten to the point where I would loan out a book and it would be returned to me having the spine broken or the pages were dog eared. I hate that crap, so I started buying bookmarks for each book and it rarely happens anymore. I have however, lost a few bookmarks.

2. I can only use a towel ONE time in between washings. I know most people just hang up their towels and use them again the next time they shower...I DON'T. It grosses me out. I may hang the towel up to dry, but it will go in the laundry basket after it's dry. There are however, 2 exceptions to this rule. a) - I can wear my tericloth bathrobe at least 2 times and be okay with it. b) I can use the same towel to dry my hair twice. That is all.

3. This may be TMI but I'm having a hard time coming up with things that are weird so I'm putting it in....
I always wear a bra. Even when I'm at home in a ratty t-shirt and shorts bumming around or doing housework. I don't sleep with it on or anything (at least not regularly) but as soon as I get up I shower, brush my teeth, put on some anti-stink and the bra goes on....before the panties even. I have got to have one on...at all times...period. Jiggle Factor does not make you cool.

4. My pantry is kept in a strict discipline of neatness at all times. Have you ever seen Sleeping With The Enemy and she has to have the cans turned facing front and everything has to be just so? Yeah, well, that's me.

5. I can't put my laundry away unless it is folded in a particular way, or hang the clothes in my closet unless they are all facing the same direction.
For example, shirts. If they are to be folded, then you pinch the seam at the shoulder where the shoulder and the sleeve meet, shake out the shirt with a good POP, fold the shirt back so the shoulder seems that you are pinching touch - and the front of the shirt MUST FACE OUT, smooth the shirt to get at least most of the wrinkles out, grab the cuff of the shirt in your right hand and make sure that the sleeve is laying flat on your arm (doing the same with the other sleeve over the top of that one) and then fold AT THE SEAM WHERE THE SLEEVE HAS BEEN SEWN ON. DO NOT - OMG! - NO NOT FOLD THE SLEEVE SO THAT THE CUFFS ARE TOWARDS THE HEM OF THE SHIRT. FOLD THE SLEEVES TOWARD THE OPPOSITE END OF THE SHIRT. If the sleeves go over the shirt, fold them back on themselves and then fold the shirt in half so that the sleeves are between the top and bottom halves of the shirt. The front of the shirt should be facing to the LEFT, no sleeves should be poking out of the folded shirt. Lastly, smooth the top and you're done.
If you are hanging the shirt, it should face LEFT and have the top button buttoned. (let's all say a quick thankful prayer for hangers shall we hummmmmm?) I'm not kidding when I say that I have gone behind Charles a million times refolding the clothes that he has folded, though I try not to be obvious about it. I could be a little anal retentive on this issue, what do you think?

6. I can't stand it when someone where's their hat inside. In today's day and age of the ball cap, so many people are doing this and it's now considered normal. What is wrong with you people? Show some frigging upbringing. NO, it's not okay to wear it into Walmart - you're still INSIDE...and if you walk in MY door with a hat on your head, you had better be undergoing some serious chemo treatments. I won't even say Hi to you...the first thing I'll say is "Please take your hat off."


I'm all done now. Don't worry, I won't tag you....but you're still weird...weirder than me even.

Fear Me

I'm not a serial killer...but my brother's name is Jason.

Does it matter that I have a chainsaw?

No, no. Really. I'm not kidding. My father-in-law (who I love to death) gave us two of them...expressly for me. (I'm touched..it's just what I always wanted.)

One is dead (the chainsaw smarty pants, not the father in law and no, it wasn't me who killed it) and we use it for parts for the other chainsaw that is exactly like it. They are terriblely old. Apparently, they are the same ones that Charles and his brother Brian used as kids. From what I understand, the chainsaw that I use is the exact same one that Brian used when he was a kid...and damn near cut his leg off with. (I don't know about you...but I'm comforted by that thought.)

Now, I can swing an ax. I don't LIKE swinging the ax, but I can if I need to, which is silly really, 'cause if I need some wood cut I just send Charles to do it for me (he he he). But every once in a while, we need big pieces for Charles to chop up into little pieces and I now have my trusty rusty chainsaw to help (I'm a good bitch for helping- what can I say).

The first time I used it....I felt empowered. I AM WOMAN!!!! WATCH ME VIBRATE!!!! Okay, maybe "empowered" isn't the correct word...I felt...abused. Yeah, that's the word...abused. (the thought of me being abused while I vibrate is probably giving a couple of you your jollies - do NOT bookmark this page if that is the case - thanks)

You know, I had always thought that using a chainsaw had to be easy. You just lay that bad boy on the log and let it do it's thing right? Well, don't tell Charles...but I was wrong. (I would lose a bet that I don't plan on losing...and I would really mess you up if you told). You gotta push that thing into the wood. You gotta work to make it work. You gotta pray that the tree you're getting ready to chop up is dry enough to make the cutting easier (oak is a nightmare btw, and that's mostly what we have).

OUCH OUCH OUCH OOOUUUUUUCCHHHHHHHH

MOMMY! IT HURTS. Please make me a really big heating pad...nevermind...I'll throw a body suit in the microwave and save you some trouble.

No wonder Charles is toothpick skinny. I mean, if I painted his head red, he'd look like a match...and I say that with love and not an ounce of jealousy or envy (cough).

Who needs the gym when you go tramping around in the woods on a weekly basis cuttin' up trees, loading the pieces in the truck, driving back to the house, choppin' em up and then stackin' em?

Answer? NO ONE.

All that is needed is A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT OF PAIN MEDS and a microwaved body suit...and hot showers...and massages because you're sore...and pity from your significant other...and chocolate...and sleeping in because you're sore and it should help the body get all better....

Damn, I gotta do this every weekend!!! This is the BOMB!

Or maybe I should open my own business...a retreat for the wealthy and over priviledged to come and experience some real life...like those ranches you hear about (like the one on City Slickers with Billy Crystal). Or I can always kidnap a couple of hunky, muscular mid 20's men and have them do it for me....

HMMMMMM Decisions, decisions.

Hey, Thanks For The Memories Asshole

Dear Mr. Postman,

Thanks to you, I know my neighbors much better than I ever wanted too.

I know that one of my neighbors has a thing for all things Victoria's Secret....it's a dude...an old, greasy haired dude that has about 3 teeth and drives some monstrosity of a car that spews blue exhaust due to that amount of oil it burns.

My other neighbors love them some Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes (you too could be the 10 Million Dollar winner) and get frequent invitations to all things having to do with BINGO.

Yet another neighbor has things mailed to her in discrete brown packages....and that is kinda scary for me - because she weighs so much that she has to use a walker to get around. Reminds me a bit of the Michelin Man....and yet I'm stuck with the knowledge that ADAM AND EVE know who this lady is, and she is apparently one of their best customers.

Another neighbor is deeply religious (guessing from the amount of mail I see coming from Pat Robinson)....and I know I'm bad, but I think it's funny as hell that they live next to the ADAM AND EVE lady.

I would really like to thank you for giving me this insight into their day to day lives...but could you do me a favor?

PUT THE CRAP IN THE CORRECT BOX FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. I KNOW YOU'RE NEW, BUT YOU'RE REALLY STARTING TO TICK ME OFF.

My daughter is crushed that I won't let her check the mail any more. I don't want her handling a package from ADAM AND EVE for Pete's sake. That's just friggin sick. When she asked me who that was...I told her it was from some sort of religious organization. What in the hell was I supposed to tell her? ....and I hope to hell the ADAM AND EVE lady is a frequent hand washer because I had to touch her mailbox to put the package in the correct receptacle.

It creeps me the hell out to know that the old dude beside me could be thinking of Victoria's Secret undies while at the community picnic, and his smile is all of the sudden that much more creepy.

Thanks for the nightmares you dumb shit.

You keep this crap up and I'll make the cat piss on your Christmas cookies.

Give Me Furniture Or Give Me Death

Man oh man!

I need some living room furniture in a bad way. I am absolutely fed up with it.

I would like to be free from fear - fear of sitting on the overstuffed armchair - scared that it's going to try to eat me again. Last time I tried to sit in the damn thing I sunk way down deep in it and COULDN'T GET UP. I felt like those old people on that commercial for Life Alert and wished to hell I had one. It was not pretty - especially since I was at home with just Connor and I was stuck - practically folded in half and pinned by a chair. (Yes,I have grace - what can I say)

*Grunt Grunt uuuugghhhh!*

"Damn it!!!! Son of a...hi sweet baby, mommy will be up to get you some milk in a minute. No, nonononooooo, please don't cry. Mommy will get you some milk, I promise. NO SCREAMING. Connor, look at that toy over there honey - isn't it cool."

*More wriggling and squirming*

"Sorry peice of shi...come here baby, give Mommy a kiss ...NO NO! Don't play with the vacumn cleaner honey, that's not a toy. I said to put it down. Connor Allen! Boy, you're getting ready to have a bad day"

*wriggle squirm wriggle squirm*

"Connor - SON! you're going to break it! Go play with Elmo, that's right Elmo. Elmo likes to dance. There you go! Dance with Elmo!"

*I try to dance along folded in half and trapped in the chair - the fluffy jaws of death had me in a firm grip - I could not get leverage to get out - it just wasn't happening.*

"Connor honey, don't throw Elmo. Pick him up. Connor, I said to pick him up."

*Connor toddles happily away*

*Son of a bitch - sorry rat ass bastard of a chair! I'm gonna burn this thing...if I ever get out of it."

Grunt, wiggle, squirm, cuss

"Connor! Connor! Come back in the living room sweetie! Do you want to sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider? Connor!"

Then suddenly without warning - the chair released me....I was free, and I haven't put my ass in that thing since.

No one else has had any problems with that damn chair. The frigging thing is out to get me.

I'm going to visit the Basset store....and I'm not buying any stupid overstuffed armchairs either

East Coast Living

I had thought about breaking this up into 3 different parts, but that is going to take entirely to much effort and I have shit to do. Read some now, and come back later and read the rest if you can't stand to read it all in one go. (lazy ass)


I love living here on the east coast. Really I do. I've lived further inland and have visited as far west and north as Montana - and it was beautiful, but I like living here. Lots of trees, lots of green shit all over the ground (the animals have upset stomachs) and I can grow an ass load of flowers and shit if I can ever manage to keep the friggin Japanese Beetles from killing every damn thing (notice how I blame them).

There are a few disadvantages to living over here:

1 - Inbreeding. Laugh if you must, but it's a friggin reality. You know the story of somebody's cousin gettin' hitched to one of his cousins? Yeah well, I have a distant cousin that did that. I'm not kidding. They are second cousins and they have offspring. No shit. They were fully aware when they tied the knot. Apparently, it didn't matter. Their kids have 6 toes (okay, NOW I'm joking - or maybe not - I've never met their kids or seen their feet - of course, If I had seen their feet with out actually meeting them that would imply that they are detachable or they've been severed and either thought is just a little to "out there" for further contemplation)

2 - The BUGS. Oh My God. I have wolf spiders around my house that are as big as my palm. I'm not kidding or exaggerating. It's plain nasty.

We also have Japanese Hornets, Yellow Jackets, Bumble Bees, Carpenter Bees, Honey Bees, Wasps, stinging flies, biting flies, horseflies, gnats, mosquitoes, fleas, ticks, a BILLION species of moth, Black Widow spiders, Brown Recluse Spiders (I just found out the other day from one of my clients that there have been a rash of those biting people here lately), red backed spiders, regular black spiders, garden spiders, Japanese Beetles, cicadas, Katiedids, June Bugs, Beetles, cockroaches, termites, grasshoppers, crickets, camel crickets and any other kind of insect that "The Big Cheese" decided he wanted to torture me with. (Thanks for that God - 'preciate it).

I live in a cloud of DEET, go through endless cans of bug spray and I'm starting to seriously consider having an affair with "Bubba" (cause that is one guy the can chew some Hubby Bubba - even if he only has one tooth) the pest control guy to cut down on the monthly costs of treatment. Hey, it's all about home economics and tightening the budget belt. This is just one of ways they don't teach you in school or talk about in expose magazine articles. I mean, I've already seen his crack - you'd think he was a damn plumber with the way he shows it off or something, and you really know a lot about a guy after you've seen his crack.

3 - Storms. I hate storms. I'm scared of Thunderstorms. (insert wussy jokes here) I hate it when the storms roll in with low hanging clouds and the thunder shakes the house. I'm constantly walking to all the windows in the house - back and forth, back and forth, to look out of the windows. My x-bastard said I looked like a caged puppy - to wit I responded that I wouldn't be waggin' my ass in his direction anytime soon.

Hurricanes and all Tropical Storms suck big donkey dicks. They throw out tornados for fun and that just doesn't endear them to me. I want to keep my shit thank you. I won't appreciate having to crawl out from underneath the ruins of my homestead and walking a mile down the road with the baby on my hip to pick up old bank statements and deny that any of the other rubbish is mine so I don't have to pay to have it removed.

Ernesto the Pesto hit here this past friday. It wasn't to bad. I was expecting worse to be honest. It turned east before we got the full wallop and so we were spared the horribleness of the eye of the storm.

I worked all day and left at exactly 5pm. I was worried about some of the low spots flooding out on the roads for me to get home, so I drove as fast as was safely possible and beat feet to the house. I stopped by the little country store that is 2 1/2 miles away from my house and picked up a gallon of milk and a couple packs of cigs and went home. No worries.

I walked in the house and there was no power, no phones, no nothing. DAMN.

You may remember that Charles has been out of town in NC. We were also still expecting the worst of the storms in a couple of hours. So there I was, in the house with Lauren (who is also scared of storms) and with super baby, a dog, three cats, and I'm sure an endless variety of creepy-crawlys that had managed to squirm, wriggle and bore their way into my sactuary to get out of the rain. Did I mention it was starting to get dark? Yeah, the fun factor went right off the scale.

Like I said, it wasn't to bad. We got a lot of rain - which we needed and that was about it...except there were no lights and no phones. Super kid had mercy on me and went to sleep for the night at 7pm - an unheard of phenomenon. Lauren and I made a great big pallet on the living room floor and I read her some of The Hobbit until the lighting was bad enough I had to stop before my eyes exploded.

We made shadow puppets in the flickering candle light and watched the storm whip the trees around a bit.

The lights came on about 9ish and Lauren jumped up and down and yelled "MOVIE!" - so that was the end of the quality mother-daughter time.

The phones didn't come back on until about 6 or so Sunday night. Did I mention I have dial up? Did I mention that I read blogs EVERY DAY???? I was about to DIE. Hello, my name is Nikki, and I'm addicted to the internet.

I was FORCED - do you hear me? - FORCED to spend quality time with my family. Now they think I love them or something.

Yawn

I'm not a movie goer but I went with Lauren today to the movies. We had hoped to see Garfield 2 but no such luck.

Instead, we saw Barnyard. Yes BARNYARD.

This would have been a great movie if I was 2. Alas, I am 32 and it just didn't do it for me. I fell asleep in the movie theatre. Yes, I fell asleep. I'm not exactly the type you want to take to the movies unless there's explosions and shit, especially if the movie we go to includes cartoon animated cows with thumbs. Yes, that's right cows with THUMBS.

After the movie, Lauren and I went and got school supplies and I bought a new hairdryer and then we came home, where I again, went to sleep. (sad isn't it, that I can still be worn out and still think about my hair)

I even slept in this morning. I didn't wake up until 11! I never sleep that late. The latest I can pull off is 8am and then I just feel drained because I slept so long, but today, I slept until 11, cat napped in the movie theatre and went directly to bed when we got home.

I woke up at midnight and was greeted with the scariest kitchen ever. Seems hubby had a hard time holding it together watching little man all day, then having both kids while I was sleeping, and to top it all off, he had to cook dinner too. My kitchen looks like hell detoured thru it. The microwave looks like something exploded in it and I'm considering just throwing the damn thing away instead of having to actually clean it. We don't have a power tool that is that heavy duty.

I'm scared to go back in there. There's empty soda cans, plastic wrapping from something or other, wads of paper towel, dirty pots stacked 3 high and the floor looks like someone dropped some green beans and did the river dance on top of 'em. I'm not even going to talk about how the trash can...never mind.

The living room doesn't look much better. The only thing I can say for it - there doesn't seem to be any green beans on the floor - but everything else is. It would appear that Charles couldn't muster the energy to tidy up in there. Toys are strown from here to there and two of the blinds have broken slats - baby head high. I'm guessing that Little Man wanted to look out the window - what do you think?

The Laundry Room smells funny. I don't know what happened, I'm not going to ask cause I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. I'll just wash whatever that is in the laundry basket and shut up about it. I'm pretty sure though, that I didn't wear that shirt that's sitting on top of the washing machine today and now there's a big pink stain on it. I have no idea what that is. It's kind-a scary to be honest because I can't think of a thing that we have in the house that would leave a big PINK stain. It doesn't look like washed out blood.

The dining room. OY. The most I can say for it is that it's still there - and so are all the school supplies I bought. Tablets and pencils and crayons and glue and new book bag all over everywhere. I can't see the top of the table - and it's not because I'm blind - though, I'm wishing I was at the moment.

The dog won't seem to leave me alone. He keeps pawing at my leg and whining. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was scared of something.

The cats have all been giving me accusitory looks and I'm not quite sure what I did. Maybe they think that they are the only ones who should get that much sleep in one day. I dunno. But I'm watching them, AND my ankles just in case.

I've peaked in on the baby, and he seems to have all his body parts and isn't covered in poo and/or vomit and smells like he had a bath. I haven't gone into his bathroom yet because I'm scared what I might find.

Lauren is sleeping peacefully - TV blaring at full volume and candy wrappers on her floor. It's painfully obvious, from when I went to kiss her cheek, that daddy didn't make her brush her teeth before going to bed. I'll shut up about that too though, because she seems to have had a bath - I think.

Charles is asleep in the recliner in a position that looks like someone knocked him out cold and he just happened to land on the recliner. There are dark circles under his eyes and drool is dribbling down his chin. Yeah, he's sexy.

Me? I'm hiding in the computer room, delaying the inevitable of cleaning up. I'm using the excuse that it's late - or early - and I don't want to wake anyone up. Yeah, I don't want to wake anyone up. That's my story. I'm using that one.

It Takes a Special Kind of Stupid

I really don't know where to start, this is so damn stupid it deserves to be posted for all the world to see but I don't know quite where to start or how to explain.

Um...

On the way back from my HIL's ("Horror In Law" for those of you that are new)hubby and I ran into some bad storms. We were traveling on the interstate and there were reflectors on the road and reflective barrels on the side of the road, and traffic had slowed and several people had put their hazard lights on for easier visibility when following them.

Everything was fine. The road conditions weren't so bad that I had to stop pressing my chest up against my husband's arm for fear it was to much of a distraction. (snicker)

Then out of the darkness, emerging up ahead (because we are gaining on them) is a car. I don't know what color it was or the make/model - but I'm comfortable telling you "IT WAS A CAR" (this isn't the special kind of stupid part)

Well, THE CAR was keeping abreast of A VAN. THE CAR in the far right lane, and THE VAN immediately beside it on the left.

THE CAR started slowing down and almost ran into some reflective barrels on the shoulder of the interstate, THE VAN never wavered in his course or tried to run THE CAR off the road. THE CAR immediately turned his blinker on to get back on the interstate. It was not a "let me pull over" stop or anything like that. Do you want to know what it was?

THE CAR RAN HIMSELF OFF THE ROAD.

I shit you not.

How in the fuck do you run yourself off the road? There was no swerving, so he didn't loose control, there was no light on inside he didn't need to pull over to read a map etc.

HE RAN HIMSELF OFF THE ROAD. It takes a special kind of stupid to run yourself off the road.

Who in the hell gave this guy (could have been a woman - I couldn't see) a friggin drivers license anyway? W.T.F.

This kind of dumb shit begs the question - was this an armless driver? It must be a real pain in the ass when you're trying to make a turn huh.

And while we're on the subject of really dumb ass drivers, let me relate this story to you - it's true - I swear.

Remember that movie National Lampoons Vacation where Chevy Chase is in his station wagon and he slips beneath an 18 wheeler going down the road?

Yeah, I know a guy who did that, but the 18 wheeler ran him over. He's fine. Walked away from the accident and everything - which is why I will now talk shit about him.

Do you want to know what he said to me? He said he didn't see the 18 wheeler there when he was trying to change lanes. I'm not bullshitting you. He was sober and very serious when he told me this. He said - AND I'M REALLY QUOTING HERE - "I didn't see him."

HOOOOLLLY SHIT. Is this the same stupid fucker that RAN HIMSELF OFF THE ROAD?!!!!

How in the hell do you not see an 18 wheeler right there beside you. Even if you are blind and ARMLESS - you can hear those fuckin things MILES away.

My theory - he had to have been stoned out of his gourd to not know that there was an 18 wheeler there. THAT'S A SPECIAL KIND OF STUPID right there buddy.

I say with sincerity - I hope these over achievers don't breed.

Ode to Red Clay

oh how you suck

You serve no purpose
other than to cover up huge rocks
Hiding in my yard

oh how you suck

you are naught but acres full
of potential stains of clothing
bleach can't drive you away

oh how you suck

nothing grows in you
except sticker briars and razor weed
and the occasional nasty blackberry bush

oh how you suck

you hate pretty green grass
all I have to say to you
is that you can bite my ass




+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Okay, I know the Ode sucks, but red clay sucks more. What sucks most is the great BIG red clay stain on my white capris.

Stupid slippery steps....

Stupid red clay.

They Just Had To Go And Do It

I find this to be absolutely disgusting - an abomination in the land of toys. Aren't the rubber and plastic ones bad enough? Do we have to take this one more step? Why couldn't they have just come up with another really cool remote control car?

Whoever came up the this concept should be shot - preferably by me.

Jim, I'm telling you right now that if you buy this thing, it better not come crawling into my office. I will squish the mechanical terror with a heavy book or two from my credenza.

I will then retaliate by letting you enjoy this. Yes, I am threatening you on a public forum.

Don't even think of telling Charles about it. I will monitor all future conversations between the two of you.

UGH! Nasty, nasty things. I firmly believe that anything with more than four legs should be killed and that death should be accompanied by a nice crunching sound.

I hate, HATE spiders. I woke up the other night with one crawling up my arm. Charles thought there was an ax murderer in the house with all the screaming I did. I woke up the baby and everything. Fuckin ORKIN man had better get his ass back out to my house and spray PRONTO or I will rip off his head and use his skull as a bowl. I will eat his liver if I see another spider in my house! GAH! I can't help it if they freak me out. They are indescribablely gross.

It bad enough the nasty little boogers have way to many legs and far to many eye balls, BUT THEN THEY HAVE THE NERVE TO GROW HAIR!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

I came across one really nasty one a couple of weeks ago while cutting the grass. It was brown and it looked like it had a really bad case of acne. I put it out of it's misery and then realized that it didn't have acne. It had a whole shit load of baby spiders on it's back. When I squished it, the little boogers flew off in every direction. (I put some force into that stomp I can tell you) A couple of them crawled across my shoe and started going up my leg. I was screaming like a mad woman. My dog started barking at me and chasing me while I was running around doing the freak out dance and slapping at my leg.

Yeah, I'm a big sissy when it comes to spiders. I admit it. I don't care. They should all die, and it's my mission to make sure that they do.

Who's with me?

The Worlds Smallest Violin - Just for Me

Hubby and I were talking last night and it got me thinking about the last year. Man, did it ever suck ass.

This time last year I was super pregnant. Not just pregnant - but super pregnant (sounds like a Super Hero doesn't it. My side kicks were Abstinence Man and Condom Boy - neither of them were the father). Both of my pregnancies were very painful, but when I was pregnant with C, I could barely walk. His head was wedged so firmly against my pelvis that it split all 5 joints in my pelvis! Did you know your pelvis has joints? I had no fucking clue until I started walking like the elephant man - with boobs.

"Oh yesh, yesh." says the doctor with his very Sean Connery voice, he even had the hair to match. "He's wedged in there pretty tight." No shit Doc. I'm glad you told me. I was afraid that he was going to fall out at any time. You have soothed me with your great bedside manner.

When he asked me if I wanted to be induced I was all for it. "Are you free today?" I asked. I was trying to give him a taste of my wit and beam my charming smile so he would like me and induce me right then and there in the OBGYN office. He didn't notice - either that or he didn't like my wit - or maybe I still had breakfast in my teeth - whatever, all I know is I had to wait to get the alien out.

C was finally born and everything went great for the first 2 hours - then they rushed him to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care) where he spent the first 4 days of his life. They would hardly let me hold him. They finally let us take him home, but we had to have a heart and respirations monitor on him all the time. C's heart rate would drop and he would stop breathing - or vice versa - or one or the other, and then the monitor would scream like hell to tell me something was wrong. Where upon I would have to try like hell to not scream along with the monitor. All muscles would immediately tense up and I became the most alert mother fucker on the face of the earth.

C had surgery when he was 5 weeks old and has been fine on that front ever since. Thank God for that huge blessing. I'm now immune to adrenaline. You could push me off the Empire State Building and my only reaction would be "Wow, all this wind is messing up my hair."

After that, everything continued to suck ass in a big way for the rest of the year. L ended up having to be hospitalized for Viral Meningitis. This oh so conveniently coincided with C having dual ear infections - one of his ear drums having had ruptured from said infection. One day after she was discharged, I had to take Hubby to the hospital for the big VM as well. The hospital here had no beds because they were over come with a mini-epidemic of VM here in the Burg. They sent him home - home to live with my daughter who still looked like death, to a very ill and screaming baby, and not one of my friends would watch C. NOT ONE. They were scared he would carry the germ to their house and get their kids sick. I now understand what it must have been like for one of your kids to have small pox back in the day.

On the other side of this, it takes a lot more to stress me out these days.

JEEEEZZZZ Does it ever stop!?

Okay, I'm going to touch on a subject here that is going to offend quite a few people here but so what.

FEMALE DRIVERS

First lets get one thing straight, I am a female driver. Of course I am. I am female after all. It would be icky if I was female all the time except when I drive. The big difference between me and 99 percent of the rest of the female population is I know how. I'm not talking about driving the damn lawn mower here. I'm talking about the automobile with which we all use to get around in our daily life. No shit - I can tell you 99 percent of the time which sex is operating the vehicles around me. To my gender shame, females are absolutely clueless when you get them behind the wheel. The whole driving OVER the lines on either the left, right or middle of the road tends to give them away.

The women drivers are dangerous and ...well, stupid and careless. Putting on the mascara as they drive, lipstick, blush, foundation (first the liquid and then the powder - or they might have the liquid/powder combo that you can apply in one application), trimming their nails and de-linting their outfits as they tool on down the road drives me batshit. They have turned me into a road rage hag. I see them do something stupid and a string of swear words that were never meant to go together flood from my mouth (I said I know how to drive, not cuss), my hair will stick up on end, and any make-up that is on my face will instantly turn a strange burnt umber/red/black color and vaporize.

My daughter "L" who is almost 8 now can tell by my facial expressions (caused by swallowing the cuss words when my kids are in the car) when someone has done something wrong on the road. She'll look at me and say "Woman driver right." I'll sigh gustily and say "Yes, stupid women drivers" and then I'll give the poor kid a quick lecture on why you should never drive like other women. "Keep your mind on the road sweets. Drive BETWEEN the lines, not over them and remember that if you have to put on you make-up on after you leave the house, do it while you are parked in a parking lot and not at a stop light or driving down the street. These dipshit's are trying to kill someone!"

I do try my best not to road rage when my kids are in the car. Really I do. It's not an example I want to set, but I have to admit, I do sometimes slip, even though I may not know it at the time. The perfect example to this would be about a week ago as we were all heading home (L,C, and I) after work, school and day care. L looked at me and said "Mom, what does dumbshit mean?" I knew immediately she heard this from me. It is my favorite word for women drivers. I explained to her that she should never repeat that word, and I should never have said it, to which she replied "It's okay Mom, it's not your fault." "Of course it's my fault" (this is me trying to teach her responsibility for her own actions) "No it's not, it's those women drivers that make you do it." I admit, I had a hard time convincing her that I could control my language when I couldn't stop laughing. Needless to say, I have been extra diligent in watching my language lately but she still knows. Yesterday she heard me sigh and grunt on the way to drop her off, and she stared into the car on our right as we passed it "Yep, woman driver mom." I'm considering telling her that I'm constipated when I do that so she doesn't develop pre-pubescent road rage. That would be something wouldn't. I mean, her feet don't even touch the floor in the car.

I want you to try something, I want you to try and look and see who is driving the car that's swerving, or just isn't driving well. I'll give you 10 to 1 odds it's a woman. Do it for 1 week, you'll see what I mean.

You'll also notice, that most of them don't have any driver courtesy. Let a woman driver in a lane that is backed up with traffic and see how many of them give you a wave to say thanks. They just keep applying their lipstick. AND OH GOD! I hate it when I get behind a woman driving a minivan!!!!! They seem to be the absolute worst!!!! GOD FORBID you go the speed limit! Oh no! Anything but that. And buddy, you are guaranteed to pop a blood vessel if you get behind a senior citizen driver on a Sunday! I'll dig your grave for you if she has a hat on. It is a historically proven fact that any senior citizen with a hat on that is driving on Sunday has nothing to do and thinks you don't either. Now don't get me wrong here. I appreciate our senior citizens and everything they have done for our communities, but just because it's Sunday doesn't mean that I don't have the right to have a corinary when I get behind them going 15 in a 45!

JEEZZZZ!