In Case You Were Wondering.....

Being a woman does not make me less than a man.

I will not submit to you. I don't care if you are a woman or a man.

I will not jump if you want something to drink or eat or anything else. I will step quickly and with motivation if you need toilet paper...simply because you not having any grosses me out though you probably deserve to go without it.

I am not your bitch. I am not your slave. I am not your super woman....though I do have the power to cuss a blue streak and piss off everyone in my immediate vicinity - which I have displayed on many occasions.

I will not use the excuse "I can't because I'm a girl."...and if I hear you trying to teach that crap to my daughter again, I will forget that you are my husbands mother and let you have it....we've spoken about this before. I will not "speak" to you about it again.

I don't want to hear you snickering while I'm splitting wood. Granted, I probably look ridiculous doing it, but that's not what you're snickering about. You're snickering because you think it's funny that I'M splitting splitting wood....but I'd bet my bottom dollar that you'd have something to say if I didn't.

Do not make me feel like the bad guy when my children need to be disciplined.

Do not make snide remarks when I put my dishes in the dishwasher instead of washing them by hand.

Do not give my side long glances when I hang my clothes up or put them in the dryer. If I do it one way, you think it should be done another.

Don't play the poor suffering woman with me. You're a manipulative old bat that's tough as shoe leather.

To be clear...there's basically one thing you're allowed to do when you come to my house....

LEAVE.

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.

Large Pieces of Crack Anyone?...Anyone?

Just checking in with all you boys and girls. Hope you're doing well and all that shit.

I'm still jobless and so damn broke I couldn't get financing for a candy bar.

On the up side...you lovely people still take the time to comment on my blog and send me email....which is good...because I really hate mopping the floor....and reading comments is the perfect excuse not to do that. Thanks Yall!

Like today for instance.....I went to check my email and I had a couple new ones in there. One was from a blogging buddy and another one was from Annemarie Van Dijk. Who's that? you ask? My answer...fuck if I know. Basically, the bitch spammed my blog email address...and it totally pissed me off. I don't give out my blog email address to anyone for any reason, so the bitch had to get the shit off of here.

The email went like this.....

SEE MESSAGE FOR DETAILSREFERENCE NUMBER: NLSUK/9408/756/2007BATCH NUMBER: NL2/02/-052AWARD NOTICE STAATLOTERIJ NL.RESULTS FOR CATEGORY ADear Winner,We are happy to inform you that your email address came up in the first dip.Invariable,means that you have emerged a winner under the First Category of our promotion.Winners were picked by computerized system, drawn from company and individual e-mail addresses worldwide.The draws is officially announced today 27th of Sep., 2007.You have therefore been awarded a lump sum pay out of 500,000(Five hundred thousand Euros), which is the winning payout for Category A winners.NOTE: For easy reference and identification,find below your Reference and Batch numbers. Remember to quote these numbers in your correspondence to our claim Department.REFERENCE NUMBER: NLSUK/9408/756/2007 BATCH NUMBER: NL2/02/-052Please contact staatslotreji claim department immediately for due processing and remittance of your prize money to a designated account of your choice with the following details:(1) NAME.(2) CONTACT ADDRESS.(3) TELEPHONE AND FAX NUMBERS.(4) TICKET AND PRIZE NUMBERS.(5) NOTIFICATION DATE.***********************************************************************

********Contact Person:Dr Michael AvansContact Email :staatlotcustom@aim.comContact Tel :0031-634238365******************************************************

*************************Sincerely Yours,Mrs Annemarie Van DijkPROMOTION CORDINATORN.B: Any breach of confidentiality on the part of the winners will result to disqualification. Contact your claim department immediately.

....and because she won me over with her charm and charisma, I decided to send her an email address thanking her for this "Winning" opportunity. It went something (or rather exactly) like this.....

Dear Mrs Van DICK,

Why don't you shove this phony ass contest up your shriveled and wart encrusted ass.

I don't see your dumb ass sending me a check now do I?

Do I have a sign on my head that says "Gullible little shit - please fuck with me" on my head?

I'll tell you what. I've got $50,000 sitting in a bank in Nigeria and I'm having trouble getting the funds here to the US. Why don't you give me the name of your bank, routing number and account number so I can deposit it in your account so I won't have any problems with those pesky people in the US government? I'll give you a 10 percent fee and everything....right after everything clears.

I'll also need your SSN, DOB along with your residential address and home phone number...and I'll also need your mothers maiden name ...so I can laugh at you.

Please eat a piece of my shit and catch AIDS.

Have a nice day.

Now the more level headed of you are asking yourselves "and what purpose does this serve? What greater good has she accomplished by being so vulgar, nasty, waspish and hateful?"

My answer to you is this....

Grow a pair of balls and a sense of humor. This shit is funny and it made me feel better. Now I want you to imagine me flinging poo at you....because that makes me feel better too.

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.

What Goes Around Comes Around

I have so many,many nicknames for my short people that it's hard to imagine that they know their own names.

For my daughter there's - Blond Child, Little Bear, Itsy Bitsy, Shrimp, Sweets, Angel Bear, Lovely, Crack Smoker, and I'm sure a couple more that I'm forgetting.

...it's the same for my son

His various nicknames are - Super Baby, Super Kid, Hero, Super Hero, Midget, Little Dude, Evil Baby, Charles the Second, Crack Baby, and again, there's probably a few more I'm forgetting....but let me get on with the story.

This past weekend, Connor decided that he was extra, EXTRA, EXTRA, bored and wanted to play in my little sewing basket....which is really a plastic bag from Walmart....and I gently took the BAG OF DEATH away from him that was filled with EYESIGHT DAMAGING NEEDLES and RESPIRATORY INTERRUPTING, BUT OH SO COLORFUL STRING and told him "I don't think so Crack Baby. You don't get to play with this. No touching please."





and because he's my son, he responded with





"Mine! Crack Mommy!"





Oh yeah, I want a thousand more just like him.

Love Thy Boobies

I know that this is the second time in a month I have a link for you to click on for some do-gooder reason ....and it's probably left you so shocked that you're copiously drooling from all orifices...but hey, I don't have to clean it up...so here goes.



As some of you may or may not know, a mastectomy is when you go in for surgery and have either one or both of your boobies loped off.



I'm not a big fan of boobie lopping myself....but just as long as the removed bits aren't used in catapults and cannons, I'm okay with it. I secretly think that some mastectomies are done simply because the Dr is either a) jealous or b) a man or c) a jealous man, and wants to feel your boobies in the privacy of his own home.....but I digress.



Sometimes boobie loping is necessary due to cancer or the permanent impression of your ex-husband's hand print, and then it's a real big help.



As I'm sure you can all imagine, it hurts like the dickens when this happens and the insurance companies are wanting to make it an out patient surgery (all the quicker the Dr can go home and feel your boobie) while you still have all sorts of medical paraphernalia sticking out of your chest.....don't let that happen.....make the fucking Dr wait at least TWO days before he can go home and fondle you without your knowing.



Click here and sign the petition. They only need your name and zip code.



(I have so much tact and class that it's unreal.)

Yes, I AM A Smart Ass

I drove down to Richmond yesterday to pick-up my Victim (aka Charles). Seems he had a little accident in his work vehicle. OOPS.

...and because I love him soooooo very, very much......and because I'm a cheeky broad....I had to fuck with him a little bit.

"So, you had a little accident in your van huh."

"Yep."

"What did your boss say?"

"He said 'Shit happens.'"

"They gonna clean it up for you?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't be any problem really. There wasn't that much damage."

"Damage? You caused damage?"

He looked at me like I had a wart on my nose. "Damage normally happens when you have an accident."

"That's normal for you is it?"

"That's normal for anybody."

"Well, I'd have to say that when someone has an accident in their vehicle, they don't tell their boss. "

"Only if they're stupid they don't."

"Sweetheart, I don't know how close you and your boss are....but a normal person doesn't tell ANYONE when they have an accident in their vehicle...but you may want to get checked out by a Dr.."

"I did go to the Dr. They gave me a urinalysis and a breathalyzer and I blew a 0.00. The urinalysis results should be back next week sometime."

"Did they check you for a urinary tract infection?"

"Why in the hell would they do that?"

"Because if you pissed in the van, then you definitely have a problem. I mean, it's okay if you want people to think you were in a wreck or something instead of having some sort of bladder control problem. There's a lot less humiliation in having a wreck than having "an accident", especially at your age."




I'm telling you, he has got to love me to have been around me this long.