Taking our relationship to a whole new level....

Focus52 prompt for this post is "Line it Up" so I'm doing you a favor and 'lining up' some essential questions and doing a meme.

I realize my 4'8 stature is intimidating to most people therefore making it hard to ask all those questions they've been dying to know the answer to. Am I totally reading your mind or what?! It's okay. Don't be embarrassed. I'm a terribly interesting person so I understand the curiosity. Breathe a sigh of relief, because today is your lucky day.

Should I have passed out sick bags before making you read all that? My apologies. I had to hype up the post so you guys wouldn't notice that I'm totally copping out of the Focus52 challenge this week.

(shout out to LBB for the meme questions)

1. What must you do before you go to bed at night?

I MUST take my phone with me so I can read or watch something before going to bed. If you must know, I do my phone HARD. I honestly don't know how it's still working. I'm waiting for it to give up on this bitch. I do my grocery lists on it.I Facebook on it. I tweet on it.I take pictures and video with it. It's my alarm clock, my assistant, my friend, my therapist, my lover. If there was a penis app, I would give it a blow job but for now, I just fondle it relentlessly.

2. What is one thing you must snack on at the theater?

I LOVE popcorn with Reeses pieces in it. I have to physically restrain myself from putting the bucket on like a feedbag and only stopping to come up for air....and even then, I'd still debate on whether I want to breath air or continue inhaling the salty, sweet and peanut butter heaven up my face.

3. Before going on vacation what must you do?

Well BEFORE I had little people coming out of me, all I needed was a book and a snack. NOWADAYS, I will take anything I need to take to keep the little people quiet and amused during the flight. If I want to pack lightly, I give them both a Benadryl cocktail....now, now, don't call CPS just yet, I'm just kidding. Although, I've thought about giving the cocktail to the Viking hubby who turns into a nervous, pearl clutchin' Grandma when he's on a plane.

4. What is one thing you must do every day?

I MUST make all the beds. I am far from being a neat freak. In fact, 80 percent chaos is the norm for my house but the beds are always, ALWAYS made. When a bed is unmade in my house, I have tunnel vision all day and the only vision in that tunnel is the unmade bed taunting me and insulting my bed making skills....which isn't even that good. For all the stress that I put on myself for making the beds, I could at least be excellent at it, which I'm not. I fluff out the pillows, throw covers over it and don't even entertain the thought of tucking a corner or smoothing a sheet. What am I? Martha Stewart? So maybe I should rephrase my first sentence; I MUST have the ILLUSION that all the beds are made.

5. Is there something you do that must be done in a particular order?

Put on my bra immediately as my massive mammers are not allowed to EVER roam free. Drink coffee. Drop a deuce. Check Facebook. After those four things have been done in that order, I go about and proceed life with my pinky up like the lady that I am.

Now see? Aren't you glad we did that? I feel so close to you now. So close that if you were here, I would spoon you while we watched badly made movies together on Lifetime.

HOPE on a rope. HOPE on a stick. HOPE with gravy. The more I talk the more things lead back to the subject of food.

WARNING. The following post will make this much sense.

I'll be honest, this week's word (HOPE) had me groaning. (sorry Jan) That's a pretty hard word to squeeze a decent penis joke out of, even for me. The word hope conjures up images of cherub like children gazing at sun rays and butterflies. Hope IS NOT a college party with guys tea bagging each other. And if you know me but at all, if I had to pick which situation to blow up into a picture and wallpaper my bathroom wall with, it's team teabag all day long. (a tea bag theme bathroom. Oh the possibilities! Tea bagging toilet paper! Tea bagging air freshner, tea bagging toilet seat cover...).

So hope, let's see hope......um, hope is a middle name not a first name. Hope sounds like a happy balloon... but whenever I think of balloon, I think of people who get caught at the Mexican border with balloons of cocaine stuck up their colon hole. Seriously. If you say balloon, a thought bubble pops up in my head that says, "....up your ass, full of cocaine" in comic sans font. That's just the type of person I am to the very core.

I know, my children are blessed.

This Focus52 weekly challenge is a lot more difficult than I had HOPED it would be. I HOPE that I can write up a decent post but I can see right now that it's a losing battle. You know who's a famous HOPE? Bob Hope. Can you believe he's partly made most his living telling you to cut off your pet's baby makin' junk? (Did I just squeeze a genitals joke out of HOPE?? Oh I hope I did!!) And yet behind the scenes, Bob Hope humped the Barker Beauties.... shit. You know what I did? I just confused Bob Hope with Bob Barker... ...oooh awkward! Which one's dead? Like it matters.. anyways, let's jump off this thought train shall we? Hold my hand ..1...2...3... GO!

Phew. I HOPE you're okay.

Hmm, isn't it funny how a word starts to look all weird and misspelled the more you say/see it? That happened to me 10 years ago with the word DIARY. I don't know why the fuck I was looking at the word dairy for so long but it warped on me and it's never been the same since. It still looks weird to me now. It's almost like I shared a unintentional drunken grope with diary and now I don't see her as 'just my friend.' I don't know why diary would be a 'she' but if it was a 'he', he most certainly would have flat ironed hair, black fingernails and describes his outlook on life as 'brooding.'

A baby reaching into their own diaper, grabbing handfuls of poo and painting the walls with it is sort of like what I'm doing with the word Hope right now. I HOPE you know that the baby shit smearing story is a true story and is a worthy chapter in my husband's life.

If you've reached the end of this post and you're still not completely annoyed by me, I will reward you at the finish line with a random, money saving DIY TIP:

HOMEMADE BABY WIPES:
(because even if you don't have a baby, baby wipes is a cool and refreshing shower for your leather cheerio. Sometimes, when one gets too busy for hygiene, baby wipes is a cool and refreshing shower, period. )

1 roll of soft, absorbent paper towels
1 tall container with tight-fitting lid
2 tbsp. of baby oil
2 tbsp. of liquid baby bath soap
2 cups of water.

Cut the roll of paper towels in a half with a serrated knife, and remove the cardboard tube. Place half the roll, on end, in the plastic container. Mix the liquid ingredients, pour the mix into the container, and close the lid. The towels will absorb the liquid. Pull the wipes up from the center of the roll as needed.

THERE! Now you can't say you didn't get anything from this shit smear of a post!

So until we meet again, I really HOPE (the cherub children kind, not the teabagging kind) that you have a wonderful day.

The Secret World of Good Green and Bad Green

Green is a color, the perception of which is evoked by light having a spectrum dominated by energy with a wavelength of roughly 520–570 nanometres (I'm going to assume that in the color world, Green is really well hung!) The word green can be used to describe the color of plants or can be used as an expression or slang. But little is known or can be found about the battle of the good and bad greens.

The quiet war between good greens and bad greens has gone on since Adam picked his first booger. When greens are little babies, they are forced to choose between being a good green or a bad green. The ongoing green war between being fresh and clean or rotted and vile still goes on in front of us everyday. Let me introduce you to the main players of both armies.

GOOD GREEN: Corporal Key Lime Pie.


Made from the most honorable of greens (a lime), this good green has been known to satisfy millions of tastes buds. The impressive combination of sweet and sour with the light and airy texture is enough to make you sit back with each bite to savor the flavor harmony humping your mouth. Key Lime is a green of high stature and quality that can turn your tongue into its groupie.

BAD GREEN: Head Commander Green Meat.


A truly disgusting specimen that not only attacks you visually, but in most cases, it also attacks right up through your smellin' holes. It zips by your nose hair as though they weren't there and kicks your gag reflexes right in the balls. Stay classy green meat.

GOOD GREEN: Super Warlock Cannabis.


Misjudged by many and secretly loved by almost everyone (AFTER they meet him.) This green is stoic, calm, peace loving and has been known to bestow its joy to everyone he encounters. Cannabis loves up everyone's Autonomic Nervous System, making it feel special and pretty. That in turn, expands the individual's breath, relaxes their body and oxygenates their blood, leaving them to feel cleansed, happy and peaceful. Unfortunately, there has been an old rumor following the Cannabis family for years that they are a green of the bad variety. This vile untruth has limited Super Warlock Cannabis to doing their magic with only a handful of people. (And by the way, Super Warlock Cannabis and Corporal Key Lime Pie totally hooked up.Oooh! Gossip!! We're bad!)

BAD GREEN: High Wizard Bile.

Ill mannered and bad tempered, this seemingly harmless liquid can pack quite a disgusting punch. A lazy son of a bitch that's usually quiet and does its job, it takes great pleasure having a night out right when you feel like it's time to turn in. After you've puked the entire contents of a liquor store out your mouth and all you want is a cold glass of water to wash the alcohol, rotting food flavor it left, bile comes in at the very end to kick you while you're down. It comes alone, with no other flavors to mask it's bitterness. Bile is a strong, bad green force that can take down the strongest of men just by showing up.

GOOD GREEN: Master General Green Hills of Ireland.


Majestic and impressive, the Green Hills of Ireland are so exquisite that a whole country mainly represents itself to the color green because of it's grandeur. Simply put, these hills are alive with the sounds and feelings of awesome. A beauty so powerful, you clutch your pearls in disbelief.

BAD GREEN: Ninja Sensei Money.


The most suave of all the bad greens, a master of disguise. Everyone has met him and everyone knows that, despite how many doors he can open and how many things he can purchase, he has the power to ruin lives, cause wars, envy and hate among people who aren't aware or choose not to be aware of his skills. He is used for both good and bad, but in the end, this is the kindling of choice to feed the fire of evil.

So there you have it, the green front lines. Imaginary non-informational nonsense brought on by fatigue, hunger and being slightly constipated. Reading this post was a lot like being front row to a Gallagher show isn't it? It seems like it should be enjoyable and hey, everyone's laughing so something's funny right? However, in the end, you walk away with sticky hair, a couple of watermelon seeds up your nose and the feeling of being slightly ripped off.

Xenu's Burning My Meatloaf and Other Delightful Nuggets...

Despite my love for sweets, (see love letter to Funfetti cake mix post below!) I'm pretty proud of myself for not being 300 plus pounds which I could easily gain if left alone at a 7-11 overnight. Do I want to stick my head under the blueberry slurpie nozzle, turn that lever and shotgun that sucker like a kegger? Yes. Yes I do. With every fiber of my being; however, I refrain because I care about my health! (actually I just haven't had the opportunity because the damn cashier is always eyeballing me when I start to circle the machine.)


At this point, do you think Jon Gosselin sweats dirty vag water? I know we throw the word 'douche' around in jest but I think that the universe has agreed with the masses for once and is turning him into an actual douche. If he starts growing a plastic spout of his ass, we'll know my theory is true.


I got so busy the other day that I actually told my poo to stop bothering me and come back again later when I'm not so busy. Like it was a Mormon knocking on the door or something. Well, no that's a lie, I would never tell a Mormon to come back later.


Last night I woke up around 2:45 a.m. and thought I smelled meat. I know - don't walk away yet, it gets better. I'm sitting there trying to determine what the smell was. It wasn't overpowering, it was just a hint of a smell. So every possible reasonable explanation goes through my head in about five seconds, 'did viking hubby just cut a fart with some extra stank on it? (no, because the smell didn't make my face want to eat itself which is usually my reaction when hubby lets one go). Is the dog breathing on me? (no). Did we leave a frying pan on the stove and maybe it's turned on slightly? (hmm, possibly.) So the next logical thing is to go check it right?

Well this is where you and I are differ. My brain made a U-turn out of logic town and heads to Tom Cruise's Xenu House of Crazyville because then I start thinking, well - what if this is some kind of ploy (by ALIENS. I know....SIGH...) to get me out of bed (double sigh) so they can electroshock me and put heated pokers up my bum? Fun for Tom Cruise sure, but for me, not so much. I swear, this TOTALLY made sense to me at 2:45 a.m. In my head, I was certain that in the alien handbook on how to attract and abduct humans, cooking meatloaf on low heat topped the list. It was nothing by the way, I ran to the kitchen, didn't see anything and ran back to bed. Because you know,...aliens can't possibly catch me when I'm onto their sneaky cooking schemes and scurrying quickly.

And yet, after all that, I still can't wait to watch THIS MOVIE.


I twitted the other day that I think I am allergic to PTA moms and actually I felt kind of bad about that because I'm sure most of the moms in the PTA are lovely people. So let me be more specific. The things about the PTA that causes my eye to twitch uncontrollably and make me wish for tourettes syndrome are...

* those in the PTA that emphasize and drag their vowels ...'oh that's greaaaaat.' 'Oh that's absolutely daaaarling.' 'Hey yooouuuuuu, how have you beeeeen? Oh wondeeeerful!"

* those in the PTA who can't differentiate whether they're talking to adults or children, so they just talk to everyone in the same, condescending baby talk. And usually, it's the same people who drag their vowels. They're a hoot to have a forced conversation with.

* those in the PTA that treat the planning of a bake sale fundraiser with the same seriousness as feeding starving children in Africa. You're selling homemade cupcakes girlfriend, not rebuilding a village in Darfur. Take it down a notch.

* those in the PTA that give me the side eye because I can't volunteer for 50 events in one week. I have a thing called WORK and Facebook to do when the munchkin's in school. Piss off.

* and finally those in the PTA that can't handle a tasteful dick joke once in a while. (when its just the adults around of course) God forbid I interrupt your fascinating monologue on how much better your child is than some other mom's kid, THEN when said mom comes around you smile in their face and tell them that they're just daaaarling.

Sorry, I got kind of ugly there didn't I? My apologies. My panties get into quite a bunch when I'm denied my sub-par dick jokes.

Dear Joe Simpson, Quit Creeping Around My Legs! (Jeopardy Answer: Things Jessica Simpson would say.)

A funny thing happened to me when I went to go see the red-headed messiah and comedy idol, Kathy Griffin, this weekend with my gays.

I got R.L.S.

What's R.L.S. you say? Restless Leg Syndrome.

Yeah. I know. What the fuckity fuck? Leave it up to me to get random shit at the most inopportune time. I'm surprised I didn't get a whooping cough on top of it. Anyways, come closer, hold my hand and walk down short term memory lane with me won't you?

If you don't know what restless leg syndrome is, let me explain. It's this super creepy crawly feeling that you get in your legs and you're just unable to keep them still. There's this urge to MOVE. If you have gotten restless leg syndrome, then you know the feeling that I'm talking about. (or if you're Jessica Simpson, you know the kind of creepy that I'm talking about, right Joe Simpson?) I don't know much about it, but I've gotten it on and off throughout my life. I even saw a commercial for a magic pill that would get rid of R.L.S. in exchange for wonderful side effects like growing a giant fuzzy mole in the middle of your forehead, powerful bowel movements and sporadic turrets syndrome.

My restless leg attack was so bad this past Saturday, I would not have hesitated taking a bucketful of those pills. Apparently waking up 5:45 a.m., going fishing all day, stressing out over my dog, drinking two very strong Jack and Cokes (thanks John!), and eating way too much Chinese food was the secret ingredient to a full blown restless leg attack.

So there I was, fifth row at one of the most hilarious shows I've ever seen, trying to enjoy my girl Kathy and I could not, for the life of me, sit still. To top it off, they were taping it for Bravo which is going to air sometime in November, so I couldn't get up and walk it off. AND as if that wasn't bad enough, wouldn't you know it, with only a half hour left of the show, all of a sudden had to go to the bathroom really bad. If my tweaky fidgeting wasn't noticeable before, it was definitely noticeable now.

And I guess that's why I'm writing this post, if you watch it this November and the camera happens to pan on a Filipino girl who's crackin' out like Whitney Houston in her seat; um, that's just overly tired me suffering from R.L.S., full of piss, booze and Chinese food.

I told you I was due for a comeback.

Baton is the cure for cancer and other mundane musings because that post below is so old it's starting to smell bad.

I'm Aliiivvee. Yes, I'm sorry. I went into hiding after my first attempt at being a low budget director, producer, editor, host of a home video that I dared called a 'show.' So many things have happened since we last met so please, sit your ass down and catch up with me will you? Cliffs notes style...

Two Saturdays ago, I got into it with the munchkin's kindergarten teacher over BATON. Yes, BATON. You see this teacher has been teaching baton since Moses was in a onesie and signs up most, if not all, her female students into baton class every year. The munchkin was not really keen on baton when I asked her about it but teacher told me that all the other girls had signed up and oh I better sign the munchkin lest she be the outcast. The munchkin continued to be neutral about baton, liking it more for the social aspect of getting together with her friends and using the batons as pretend microphones, swords, and what have you. Things came to a head when there was a 'baton competition' that the munchkin could care less about. We were there for an hour, she got bored, and we said screw it, and went to the beach before her event was up. Who knew this would get her petticoat in a bunch? I then got lectured on Monday by crazy baton teacher about failing to teach my child 'life lessons' about commitment because I pulled her out the minute she got 'uncomfortable.' The woman means well, and she is probably in her late thousands, but clearly she doesn't know her boundaries with the whole parent/teacher relationship as she reprimanded me in front of other teachers and students, INCLUDING my daughter. Sure, I'm probably a toddler in her eyes too, but please do not tell me how to parent, especially in a condescending manner, as if I'm some open mouth breather at the back of the short bus. Only my parents can do that, and they've had years of training so there's no contest.

I had to break it down for her that the munchkin did not like baton from the very beginning and if it's something that she never liked to begin with, I am not pushing my daughter to do it. Look for your pageant mom elsewhere o' wrinkly one because you won't find her here. I did it in a very polite way of course, because I respect fossils of all types, dead or alive, but still...even when I told her, I could still see that she could not wrap her head around the fact that my daughter didn't like baton. She was almost shocked. I wonder if she knows that baton is just fancy stick twirling and not ongoing research to cure cancer.

My work laptop done broke. Dog got caught up in one of the wires while he was having a spastic attack because viking husband came home. (seriously, this dog is almost 10 and still acts very much like a puppy....that's had like 10 pixie sticks). I ended up going on craigslist and found a very nice computer with a 17 inch lcd monitor for 160 bucks! The guy who sells it apparently steals buys computers in bulk from open delivery trucks offices that are going out of business. Either way, I got a great price and I blame the economy for having to go through back alley computer dealers from craigslist.

And I got a vacuum from craigslist too - normally a 200 dollar vacuum that I got for 40 bucks. It was used and missing one attachment. I was excited. Then depressed that I got excited over a vacuum cleaner. Then excited again when I began to think about how clean my rug is going to look when I use it. Then got depressed again because...well, do I really need to explain? Again, I blame the economy.

I was checking out my bangs to see if I needed to touch up my roots or if the hairstylist did indeed match my original hair color. Well she didn't - and I don't blame her because apparently, my original color is now GRAY. YES. That's right. Raise a glass of Ensure and please toast it in my honor. I found a cluster - not one or two or three - a CLUSTER, a BUSHEL, a CROWD, a HANDFUL, a DISTURBING amount of gray that had sprouted up around the front. What the fuckity fuck? I can't grow a measly three inches to be out of the 'little people' category (or an Olympic gymnast. I could have been a contender. Just sayin.. ) and somehow I have fucking gray hair. God has a sick sense of humor, I'll give him that. But I don't blame God. I blame Jenna Jameson for giving me a horrible visual when she 'gave birth' to her twins with UFC fighter Tito Ortiz. 'Giving birth" as in I picture the doctor walking into her twat garage and walking out with two bobbleheaded babies. I think I just sprouted two more gray hairs just typing about it.

I hate people who add me on as a facebook friend and can't be bothered to say "hi" on my wall after I add them. If you just want to be a snoop then at least be honest. Leave me a note like; "hey I don't really give a shit about what's going on in your life, I just wanted to see if you had gotten fat since high school and how fucked up your life is. Don't mind me. Just add me as a friend and kill the curiosity will ya?"
That I can respect. And I would most definitely add you. (Then delete you later after I'd taken a gander at your pictures). Fair is fair when it comes to facebook.

Other than that, more mundane stuff that's so beyond mundane that I can't even write about it here without feeling completely guilty that I'm subjecting you to such crap. (plus if you're really interested in my need to put Nutella on everything, at all hours of the day, just look at my twitter posts. I tweet mundane crap at least twice a day.)

Who needs a vacation? That would be yours truly.

Five Minutes of Complete Drivel By Yours Truly...

And please note that I accomplished 500 facial expressions in just five minutes. That's like a record or something right? Oh and this goes without saying but this Vlog was totally caffeine induced. I love you Folgers.

Is There Anything Worse...????

..than waking up in the morning to an empty coffee can? Murrrr....

...than getting spams in your yahoo account almost every hour!?!? Seriously, who's manning the switch over there at yahoo?! I just proclaimed my devotion to yahoo on Kristi's site and then had to turn around, eat my words and get a Gmail when I had 80 SPAMS in my inbox! ...in ONE DAY! So screw Yahoo and its neglectful ways. Gmail pays attention to me, it tells me I'm pretty and agrees wholeheartedly that the only kind of Spam that's good is the Spam that comes in a can.

...seeing that you paid 45 bucks for 10 gallons of gas? (my spinchter hurts from these ass fisting gas prices)

...than realizing in a dream that you're dreaming and you CAN CONTROL EVERYTHING. So you turn whoever's in front of you into Angelina Jolie, make a grab for it and then THE ALARM GOES OFF!!!! NOOooooooOOOOOooo!!!! Oh Angelina, our love has been thwarted yet again.

I like that word: TWHARTED...its like the word farted only with a tight pair of jeans on.
No clue where I'm going with that, so moving right along. (but seriously say it a couple times, its a great word, second only to FRIIIJOOOLEESS!!!)

...than grown men who wear sunglasses indoors while getting interviewed by the Today show BILLY RAY!?!?!

...those that don't adapt to their environment. Examples would be California concrete cowboys with the whole buckle bought from Wal-Mart, brand new hat, and manicured hands, or how about my neighbors upstairs who dry their clothes on the balcony when there's a washer and dryer room right below THEM!? Hey why fuck around with just drying it on the balcony? Go all out and string a line of clothes across the buildings...it'll give the place a very "West Side Story"/Maria's hood, kind of look. Idiots.

...watching the movie Friday on TBS. "Daarrrn, you got knocked the HECK out!" doesn't have the same ring to it.

...than doing laundry? For me, there's nothing worse. The minute I fold that underwear, you can be sure viking hubby has grabbed it out of the pile, (doing the "bottom yank" so that all the other underwears on top fall over one another, totally negating my excellent folding skillz..) wiped his ass with it and put it back into the dirty clothes hamper.
No, no wait, my bad, - he'd put it NEXT to the hamper.

...people with no kids giving you advice about kids? Um, news flash, picking up your dog's snicker doodles from the lawn with a plastic bag doesn't mean you're the Supernanny.

...hot chicks with douche bags. It's about time there was a site dedicated to this, because there's so many running around and I thought I was the only one noticing! It felt very Vanilla Sky...and then I found his site and breathed a sigh of relief.

************************************************************************************
Yeah I know. There are waaay worse things than those little bitches I just put up, like deadly diseases, world hunger or being Amy Winehouse's short shorts being eagerly gobbled up by her cratch. (crack snatch, new word, write it down).

I don't want to leave on a neggy note so watch/listen to this song New Soul by Yael Naim or some such. I know most of you have heard it on the Mac commercial but I really do love this song. Especially with her "borat-y" kind of accent as she sings it. Play it and see if it doesn't make you want to buy a bohemian dress, skip a shower and go vegan.
Okay, I was pushing it with the vegan thing, but at best it makes you want to burn some petulie oil.

Your Change Is By Your Crotch!!

Good heavens, sorry about that Madonna rant. I'm just getting excited ya'll...new album...TOUR. Eeeh! Although...and this is a bit blasphemous for me to be saying this and please oh please may the sinewy muscular arm of Madonna not smite me for saying it but .... she needs to lay off the botox. There I said it. I couldn't concentrate on her accemptance speech because the only thing moving on her face was her lower lip. Age gracefully I say. I'd rather she just look her age since she looks awesome at 49 anyways.
If you see me walking around with a black eye, you know that I've been smithed (sp?) by mother Madonna for saying such horrible things. Okay okay enough about Madonna....sorry. I'll take my Madonna love to my other blog specifically designed to handle my gushing.

Moving along..fellow blogger Elizabeth had two cool posts; one listing her pet peeves and the other was what she was grateful for. I thought I'd mush them together and put a twist on it. (I'm always copying from Elizabeth! Sorry guh! You got good posts!)

5 peeves and cool things at THE GROCERY STORE:

1. Peeve: Those cleverly placed toys in each aisle that is eye level to my daughter when she's sitting in the cart. And it's crap like a plastic ball with a face on it that costs ten bucks that of course the munchkin HAS TO HAVE.
Cool: The free cookie they give to kids at the grocery store we go to (Albertsons). It occupies her for at least 5 minutes (she likes to nibble and talk about her cookie for the first 5 minutes). Even better, sometimes the deli will give her a bag of curly fries that she won't be able to finish and oh don't wanna waste perfectly good curly fries right? Here you go momma. (My chubble ass is the result of those free curly fries at the grocery store.)

2. Peeve: People who go to the self checkout and not know how to use it. Those things are so user friendly a blind monkey with one arm and a horrible case of the crabs could do it. Viking hubby for some reason, gets flustered so he just uses the cashier, which is fine. Know your limits I always say. If you're going to go to self checkout please give it a once over and see if its something you can handle. Do not spend 10 minutes wondering where your change went when everyone behind you saw your change clang and clink into the little container by your crotch that is labeled CHANGE in big white capital letters.
Cool: The self checkout counters! No waiting for the cashier to conclude her conversation about her kids T-ball practice with another customer before she decides to ring in my shit because you know, I've got no place to go, I don't got shit to do, please..do go on with your mind numbingly inane story, no "hey you wanna donate a dollar to the kids with visible underbites fund?" and then disgusted looks when you're like "hells naw bitch, do you know what I can buy at McDonald's for a DOLLAR. Give me my receipt!".....
love self checkout counters! LOVE. THEM.

3. Peeve: 10 for the price of one! What a deal! Not. Because they're usually for crap you don't really need, like the one I recently saw for a loofa. How greasy is your ass that you need 10 loofas at once???? Is it necessary to stock up on these things? Because god forbid the end of the world comes and ...holy shit.... we don't have loofas???
We're as good as dead my friend.
Cool: The free samples lady. Quite possibly the only salesperson I'm happy to see. God bless each and every free sample lady who have generously contributed to the chubble ass by offering me a free pizza bagel bite and a coupon.

4. Peeve: The "health food" aisle. Listen, if you want me to eat healthier you're going to have to do better than two organic granola bars in a box that costs $7.00. Are these things made out of fairy pubes and unicorn spit? That's the only reason I can think of for the price. Health food isn't particularly appetizing anyways but then you slap an obscene price on that sucker, the econo sized tater tots for 2 bucks start looking better and better.
Cool: Um..hellooo?? I just said it! tater tots for 2 bucks!! (How I'm not 300 pounds I don't know....fried things with cheese hold me close to their bosom and promise me comfort and peace what can I say.)

5. Peeve: Those folks with no aisle manners or cart driving skills. If you want to stop and have a look see, fine, but here's an idea, how about NOT putting your cart in the middle of everything and giving way for the rest of the shoppers who don't exactly want to look at you browsing happily at the stores fine selection of Lipton Noodles. Much as we're on the edge of our seat to what your choice will be (stroganoff or chicken flavored?!?!?) we've got other shit to do. Oh and don't give me salty looks when I say excuse me because I want to pass through, you wretched wench. (can you tell this really happened like YEStERDAY?)
Cool: The girl that saw me pondering about what flavor creamer I should get (AND I left way for foot traffic whilst I pondered! SEE? Considerate? I think so.) and out of the blue recommended the coconut cream which was apparently new and out of my eye level..(which is about shoulder level for you people). She even reached up and got it for the midge and now my mornings are filled with coconut coffee deliciousness.
I hope that girl wins the lottery.

So there you have it. My Peeves and Cools list for the grocery store. What's your peeve and cool at the grocery store?

Crab Cakes with Sweet And Sour Sauce..(what? I'm hungry.)

* After our potato funk explosion that happened a couple weeks ago, we had an infestation of fruit flies. Even after we gave the kitchen a chemical bath, they were still flying around. I googled information on how to get rid of them (put out a dish of Dawn soap, put some apple cider vinegar in a jar, heat up milk and sugar and put in a shallow bowl, and many other variations of the same idea.) and nothing worked. I was beginning to think we had extra smart fruit flies. But no, they're stupid, they just really needed a pick me up because I finally got rid of them by innocently leaving a cup of coffee on the counter. They flew in, had a caffeine high and drowned. And even with all their dead fly friends gasping for their last breath, there was still a line of flies waiting to partake in my vanilla latte.

Fly one: (((gurgle)))) help, ...((((gurgle))) I think I'm drowning but damn, I feel like I can swim all day.

Fly two: Damn, that looks good.

Fly one: no! Don't do it! no....

Fly two: Just one little sip, I promise I won't fall i....oh shit....

Fly three: Damn, that looks good.

* So after being a mom for oh..roughly about four years.. I think I'm doing an okay job even though I can still say I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't try to give out a lot of "advice" on kids unless I'm asked, and even then it's only a suggestion. I think we all find our own rhythm and what works for one mom probably won't work for another. (and I only have ONE child so that's like still being on the Junior Varsity team.) That being said I DO have one piece of advice for moms that I stand by. If at all possible DO NOT play any baby sing along make animal noises, row row row your boat, Laurie Berkner type music for your kids but AT ALL!!!
I know. It is extreme and I actually like a lot of Laurie Berkner's songs, but this advice is strictly for your sanity. Trust me on this. When they get to around 3 or 4, they're going to want to hear their favorite songs over and over again. So you better be damn sure that you teach your kids to listen to what YOU LIKE. They have no say when they're that small so take your parental power and run with it. Because now, when the munchkin says she wants to hear her favorite song again, I have no problem with playing it because at the moment her song of the month is Ike and Tina Turner's "Proud Mary."
Unfortunately, when we sing, I have to be Ike.
You can't win them all folks.

* My daughter has her own playlist on my Ipod such a music snob is she.

* The viking hubby just traded in our F150 for a F350 for "practical" reasons of course.."gotta have something to pull the boat honey and our truck right now doesn't have enough tork, schmork, diddly engine V10, exhaust, creme pie, automatic, goulash, infinity..." (this is what I hear when he talks "cars"..oddly enough it is the same thing I hear when he talks "fishing"). Someone said that guys buy big trucks as a form of (ahem) compensation. In my husband's case however it is a form of representation.
ZING! High five!

*****ANTM talk Alert*******
(so if you don't watch ANTM then ...what the hell is wrong with you??? Go watch a ANTM marathon and you'll see that ANTM is the show that's the television equivalent of a Krispy Kremes, no nutritional value but deliciously tasty. )

* I can't play Fantasy ANTM correctly. You're suppose to strategically pick girls who are going to rack up the most points in each upcoming episode, but I just can't bring myself to put girls I don't like on my roster. The other week I had Ebony thinking she'd cause drama because on the first episode she was startin' shit with all the girls but nope, Therapist Tyra beat her down in the audition and she done turned Helen Keller on me all of a sudden. THEN sucked at her photo shoot making her one of the bottom two. Minus six points for me.
So screw it, I'm picking my top three and sticking to it. Although I'm still up in the air about my third one...Saliesha could easily be replaced by Ann or the Twiggy Hunter Victoria (damn what's with her hatin' on the Twiglets every panel?) or not quite plus sized, every girl sized model Sarah, she has an amazing face....we'll see.

*Dear guy who always drives in the middle of our street,

I realize that there are no painted lines on our little street and sure, that can be confusing to a "wearing sunglasses at night" douche berry like you howthefuckever last I checked we weren't in Europe either so get on the right side of the road assmunch.

Oh and that three-hair comb over you got goins on isn't hiding the fact that you're bald. You don't gotta lie man. I can see my reflection from here.

Thank you.

and finally....

Because abs are nice on a Monday.

and so is this chick Megan Fox:


See? Eye candy for everyone!
I'm such a giver.

Messages To Myself.....

DO NOT shove a bag of potatoes in the cupboard where they are not in full view. Weeks later, when you have Cloroxed your entire house in a desperate attempt to get rid of a horrible fish smell that Kurt Cobain might have been familiar with when he was married to Courtney Love. (THAT explains the suicide!) Viking hubby will eventually find the forgotten taters and dry heave uncontrollably when he sees that they are but a shell of their former selves. (they began to liquefy!)

REMEMBER to reenact viking hubby's dry heave incident at every social gathering you attend.


DO NOT inch away slowly from individuals who like Bon Jovi.
Instead, feel pity that their momma obviously dropped them on their head when they were but a wee child.

REFRAIN from kicking the little snot nosed brat that calls your daughter "stupid ca ca head" in Preschool. Instead, be proud that your daughter's response to his horribly uncreative insults are: "And what's your point?"

(taking a moment to laugh at that memory. That lil scamp.)

DO NOT give the dog away to the pound because he scooted his shit stained arse around the kitchen trying to get a hair that HE ATE out of his poop shoot. Instead, marvel at the fact that his random skid marks on the floor looked like a side profile of Jerry Seinfeld.

REMEMBER that you are 4'8. ONE cup of coffee will do ya. Two cups of coffee gives you the urgent poops and three cups of coffee for a midget is equivalent to taking a speedball.

MAKE a couple million dollars so you can cross it off your list already. Jeesh.

FIGURE out what circuits are firing incorrectly in your head that causes you to have a secret crush on Hulk Hogan despite the receding mullet hair and fu man chu.

Um. Totally hot. But you didn't hear it from me....

Muff Daddy...at least that's what my girlfriend likes to call me.

* I so haven't been in a blogging mood as of late. Especially this weekend because I'm off to my annual Palm Springs getaway with Brandie and I'm so excited. B and I do it every year. We book a hotel room at the same hotel, put on their complimentary robes as soon as we walk in the door, turn on the A/C and ....SLEEP. We might hop out to the pool once or twice or go get something to eat, but most of time we're pretty much gone. Now if we can just get the hotel to throw in a couple of complimentary bedpans for us, it would be paradise.
I'll catch a few hours of sleep for you guys too. Because I'm always giving people. Always giving.

* My friend Debi (who is in love for the first time...awww/vomit...) was telling me how much her boyfriend annoys her but at the same time she just loves him to pieces and she never knew you could feel those two feelings at the same time with the same frequency. I was telling her that as much as we want to romanticize marriage the fact of the matter is, if two people live together long enough, you're going to get annoyed with each other. It's unavoidable. If you're looking at your fiance/boyfriend lovingly right now and thinking, "Oh no..I could never be annoyed by him/her! They're the best. Swoon." Trust me, they'll be scratching their back with your spatula by year one of your marriage - or leaving their vampire teabag (tampon) floating in the toilet. So the trick is to find the person whose annoyances you would put up with more than anyone. Makes sense? For example, if any other guy left their face fuzz to crust over on the sink after they shaved and woke me up in the morning with a trumpet solo coming out of their ass, let's just say I would wipe vampire teabag on every piece of his clothing before I sent him packing. However, for some ungodly reason, when the viking hubby does these things, I barely even blink. Plus he's cute so that helps out a lot.

* I think it's sweet that Jenna Jameson regurgitates old penises to feed to her boyfriend Baby Huey:


* Its stories like this compared to stories like this that make me think that maybe WE'RE really the animals. Especially when I go on road trips and hit the Midwestern states. I still get weird stares from people like I should still be doing their laundry or something. I try to bring viking hubby along at times like that, then they just think I'm a mail order bride which is better for me because I hate doing laundry.

huh?
what?
Nothing.

* Mariah Carey unveiled the new Jury Duty stamp in New York. Why Mariah? I don't know. Next week she'll be at your local Costco passing out microwaveable pigs in a blanket.....in a leather pantsuit.

* Speaking of why..why a stamp dedicated to Jury Duty? Shouldn't the stamp show someone trying to GET OUT of Jury Duty? Because they know no one goes to that shit without a fight...
well maybe old people with nothing better to do. They should have painted a picture of an old person shouting out "GUILTY!" from one of those old person scooters..with a little dribble coming out of their mouth and maybe a colonoscopy bag peeking out from behind the scooter to give it some realism. ..OH! oh! oh! and a Filipino caretaker in the back wiping the aforementioned dribble from their mouth.
I'd totally buy THAT stamp.

*and by and by, where can one acquire an old person scooter? Walking is entirely overrated, plus I want to put a pirate flag on my scooter. That would be bad ass.

* Do you see WHY I need a weekend getaway?


*Have I mentioned that I love Japanese people??? If you don't fall in love with them after checking out Engrish.com, then truly you are dead inside.

Have a great weekend everyone!

Skid Marks

* One of my workout DVDs is called Hip Hop Abs and the guy that teaches it is so incredibly gay that he makes Richard Simmons look butch. He looks like he's in heat and every workout move he does has a weird sexual undertone. Top that off with the fact that he sounds like Buffalo Bill from Silence Of the Lambs ....
"And crunch your abs, hold for one and two....now, put the lotion in the bucket....Great! Stretch it out!"
After watching it, I felt sore, fit and kinda violated.

* I went to Target today and the cashier looked like an escapee from Madame Tussaud's Museum. I literally started to walk to another cashier because I thought she was a mannequin until she said, "Ma'am, I can take you over here."
How lifelike! I thought. I don't think she appreciated me eyeballing her asscrack when I was trying to figure out where she was plugged into. She completely lost it when I tried to swipe my ATM down her waxy cleavage.
People can be so touchy sometimes.

* So Britney Spears is opening for the VMAs this Sunday. I'm pretty sure that her performance will involve some type of chili dog eating contest with Mariah Carey.
As usual, Britney will make a complete fool of herself because everyone knows Mariah can chow down.

* I'm currently reading a really boring book. It teased me with a very exciting summary (2 girls on a bike trip get chopped up by a guy with an ax and surviving the ordeal-true story), but really its all about one of the girls bringing the suspect to justice and interviewing a bunch of people who tell the same story ...blah blah blah...snore. But, for some reason, I cannot abandon a book after I've started it. No matter how horrible. I guess it's the optimist in me. I keep hoping that it'll get better and by the time I've lost all hope, I'm already in the middle of the damn thing so I figure, shit, you got this far..just finish it. I don't know why I'm torturing myself like this...but thankfully it looks like I'm going to have an out. We're running out of toilet paper so I think I'll put the last few chapters to good use after a nice meal of carne asada burritos with extra beans.

* My BIL is a recovering meth addict and I am fascinated as to why people would try this drug. I guess the upside of meth is that you're "energized," so energized that you're up for days feeling invincible and fabulous. This is what fascinates me. Because personally, if I had to be addicted to a drug, I want one that will knock me the fuck out so I can SLEEP my life away. Screw the whole jittering down the street at 4am, picking at the "worms" in your face, thinking you can fly type of high. That'll only get you into trouble. I believe that if you're going to be a druggie bum, bum it out right. I want to be the bum that's passed out and soils themselves in front of the laundry mat next to the 7-11. The bum that kids poke a stick at to see if you're still alive. The bum with the urine/b.o./sour ass stank that can part a crowd like Moses parted the red sea.
I guess I'm just a perfectionist that way.

* What if you were in a coma right now and the life, people, places and things that you see around you is really a big dream? What if you woke up and realized you were actually Katie Holmes? or worse....Star Jones' ambiguously gay husband? Imagine making sweet sweet love to that lump of flap and eyeballs.
I would personally look for the first brick wall to run into....well maybe not right away if I was Katie Holmes. I'd like to see what taggin' Xenu midget ass feels like. (because you know Tom is totally a bottom.)

* I've been in a hair rut basically since my faux hawk grew out. I'm putting off getting a haircut because my mature 31 one year old self wants a sophisticated yet fun haircut that's easy to style...but at sometimes at night, I secretly wish I can cut my hair like this:



Sigh. Mike Score didn't know how good he had it.

U N UR Hand

Remember the opening credits of Family Ties? The one where there's a portrait of the family and some heavy handed jackass starts painting Elise's dress with A. too much red paint and B. the wrong type of brush.
This'll jog your memory:





As far as I know, I'm the only psycho that got annoyed by this because by the time the opening credits were finished, they showed this beautifully painted portrait of the family. I remember sitting there completely annoyed because I KNOW that couldn't have possibly been done by the unseen, obviously never painted before in his/her life hand they showed in the beginning. I mentioned this to a friend once (her name was Angela Bower people. No joke. I can't tell you the plethora of Who's The Boss jokes I bombarded that girl with. I'm pretty sure she's in therapy now because of it.) Anywhoo, I mentioned it to Angela and she was like, "Who cares?"
I told Angela to get the hell out of my house and don't forget to tell Mona I said hi.

I wonder what happened to that hand? For sure that hand wouldn't have gotten a job as the Country Crock talking hand, it would have violated the toast by buttering it way too hard.

Another useless thing I'm passionate about is regarding the many artist renderings of Superman. In case we ever meet and just so you know, Superman is suppose to look like this:



THAT my friend was drawn by a brilliant man name John Byrne. That's the Superman I fell in love with at the comic book store and THAT is what Superman is SUPPOSE to look like. Strong jaw, dimpled chin, thick neck, thighs you can just sink your teeth in (am I getting sexual over a cartoon??!? Why yes. Yes I am.).
Please don't argue with me and please don't EVER say you like long haired Superman:



Because I will scratch your eyes right out.

Finally, (yes, I'm ending the post waaaay before you even begin to figure out where exactly I'm trying to go with this.) Just because you can pick up some brushes, paints and discount canvasses at Michaels does not make you an artist. Because you can splotch together some colors on a piece of canvas does NOT make you an artist. I paint too bitch, but I don't call myself an artist even though I'm pretty proud of this sorry piece:


You know WHY I don't call myself an artist? Because that painting above took me FOREVER to complete and it's only a tad bit bigger than a sheet of paper. Plus, look how I don't know how to draw hands...I cover it up by blurring that shiz or hiding it behind something and I have a very vague idea on how to draw things near and far. Look at that guy's right arm.
I like to call him Stubby.
I also don't call myself an artist because I'm so NOT original enough to think of an "image" in my head and "bring it to life" on canvas. I see a picture I like and I try to draw it. (I got that one above from a old movie poster). Big whoop. It's a hobby. I am by no means an "artist."
Another reason why I don't call myself an artist, because I grew up with my brother who draws shit like THIS people:



Oh yeah, and that was a "quick sketch" he did or some shit to "warm up his hand." Talented motherfucker. I couldn't draw THAT even if you promised me that I'd make sweet sweet love to Madonna if I did. (Visual of me drawing frantically and erasing frantically while crying and wiping snot because my chance to sleep with the hottest geriatric is slipping away....)
My brother also makes a very good living by drawing. Like people pay him and shit to draw...so yes, I think you can safely say HE is an artist.

So please, before you sell your "artwork" on ebay and defile T-shirts with it thinking you can make a buck or two on Cafepress...look at my brother's "sketch" and then look at your paint by numbers "ooh I made a turkey from a tracing of my hand" painting and stop calling yourself an artist. Stop.

Yes that last part was directed at someone and no I won't say who. You nosy old lady.

On a totally different note, like omigod did you guys like totally watch The Hills??? WTF is Audrina doing dating, what can only be described as a clean shaven Geico caveman? Did you smell the bowl of bullshit he was giving her when she tried to break up with him?
"I accept who you are and the heart you have..."
(gurgle. Vomit.)
And what does she do??
She smiles, accepts the bowl of bullshit and licks it clean.
Dumb broad.

Don't get me started on Heidi and Spence......simply put:
Painting GRAFFITI on my apartment wall = your pale wrinkly sacks in a ziplock bag.

Okay, That's IT. That's all I'm going to say about The Hills because it is sad, pathetic and yet so many of you are just itching to talk about it with others like I am, but embarrassed because you know...we're like grown ups (kind of) talking about some scripted reality show on MTV.

Sad.

It's a lot like admitting you watch porn...only with a lot less credibility and worse acting.

Wearing A Thong is an intentional wedgie which is a lot less annoying than an unintentional wedgie.

Because at least with a thong, you know its there, shit, you put it there! and there's a lot less cotton up your ass as opposed to having an unintentional wedgie from a full butt coverage underwear. You don't want it there and there's a lot more digging you have to do.
Just go commando is what I'm saying.

The pointless drivel above is what happens when midgets can't find a proper title for this post.

Moving right along....

I've gotten two blogger awards recently from fellow bloggers, which is my favorite kind of award. First is from Lizzle The Blog Schmooze Award for"people that were exceptionally adept at creating relationships with other bloggers by making an effort to be part of a conversation, as opposed to a monologue. These bloggers have all worked hard to build a reputation for themselves by commenting on other blogs, participating in blogging communities, replying to comments left on their blog and overall just doing their part to interact with other bloggers."


Although I'm no good at responding to comments on my blog, I do admit that I try to comment on most of the blogs that I visit because I'm one of those annoying people who has shit to say about everydamnthing. So thanks Lizzle for encouraging my obnoxious trait. :D
I'm suppose to tag other bloggers but I'm to lazy to link everyone.
So much for schmoozing.

Another reward was a Thinking Blogger Reward from A Strange Life.


Apparently, my stories of poop, gratuitous partial nudity posts of men and bashing of celebrities makes Karen think. About what, I don't want to know but all I have to say is....
I'm sorry.
Especially the post about making a poopy pie on the beach. But thank you for bestowing upon me this the award!

I know there's a bunch of other things I have to do like link this post to the blog that awarded me and then link them over to a bunch of other blogs I like who then link back to me for nominating them and then we send out a mass email to everyone about having a blogger orgy in Las Vegas and OH don't forget B.Y.O.B! Then we all meet in Las Vegas, get tanked and wake up the next morning with no recollection of what happened the night before but all we know is that somehow we all have each other's panties on our heads and there's a strange smell in the room. We pinky swear not to tell anyone what happened although we don't even remember what happened, but judging from the various glow in the dark rubber dilds, the sex swing that was haphazardly attached to the closet and Ryan Seacrest's lifeless horribly beaten body (but immaculately manicured fingernails!) in the bathtub, it couldn't have been good.
We all go home and attempt to blog as if nothing happened but at night, we all feel dirty and no shower is hot enough. Eventually, no matter what we write about, our posts somehow always end up being about rubber dilds, sex swings and our incredible need to put a bat to the television whenever Ryan Seacrest is on.
(Although I already want to take a bat to the t.v. whenever Ryan is on, I figure after the blogger orgy it would just intensify to me wanting to actually SHOOT the television....)

I, for one, don't want to be responsible for THAT mess whatsoever so I'm not going to do it.
This has nothing to do with the fact that I'm lazy.
Nothing at all.
I'm just concerned for the well being of my fellow bloggers.

And finally, I've been meaning to post this video but to tell you the truth. I got scared. I kind of think that it's like that video from The Ring..except you don't die after watching it, you just get an incredible urge to reenact the video to complete strangers. (God knows I have.)
But I think I'm ready to take that risk.

Don't try to understand, PLEASE just watch:

Bleep Glurgle Oogle, that's Xenu-ese If You Nasty.

I'm sorry guys but I'm so over Fan Letter Friday. It used to be so tasty but now its getting kind of stale and has a chalky aftertaste. BUT, I have an idea that's brewing in my lil' noggin' that might be a tad bit funnier than FLF. Its still in the works, but I gotta do something that'll make making fun of celebrities enjoyable again.

I miss Tom and his couch jumping, cradle snatching, crazy eyeball antics.

Bleep glurgl oogle, Tom.
Bleep glurle oogle, Tom.
(its Xenu-ese folks. You wouldn't understand.)

So random things to kill a Friday afternoon...

* I had a near miss with a cup of coffee the other day. I had it on top of my car roof while I was putting the lil' one inside her car seat. After I got her situated, I took a swig of my coffee and for some reason, something told me to spit it back out into the cup. I sat there with the coffee in my mouth for a second, wondering why I felt such a need to spit it out. My gut and I are friends, so I trusted my gut and spit it out. I looked in the cup.

NOTHING.
well, nothing but a cup of coffee backwash anyways.

So I poured it out and whaddaya know......a teeny tiny dead cockroach was in the cup!
I could have easily swallowed that sucker because it was no bigger than a tic tac. (CRINGE)
HOW did it get into my coffee and what was it doing on top of my car in the middle of the grocery parking lot? Ya got me. But a big high five to my gut. It might be a little squishy right now but it knows my hatred for all things that scuttle and crunch when you step on them..and it knew I wouldn't be pleased having one as a snack.
I seriously think I brushed my tongue completely clean of tastebuds after that mess.

* I always want to NOT watch reality shows. Really I do. They're like the trans fat of television. But I swear I get sucked into one reality show after another. One that I actually scheduled to Tivo??? "Scott Baio is 45 and Single." Why? Because I'm fascinated that he's banged as many hot chicks as he has. Am I the only one on the planet that never thought he was hot? I would have so banged Ralph Malph way before Chachi. And now he's 45, never been married, and the root of all STDS.
okay, I made the last one up, but you know he's had his fair share of hot green pee and scrotum scratchies.

* Speaking of reality shows, I've been watching America's Next Top Model reruns on MTV because...well, I'm kind of going through ANTM withdrawals. Right now, they're showing my favorite, cycle 4, the one Naima was in.
(I forgot how much I also loved Britney in that cycle, if Naima wasn't going to take it, she was the one that I was rooting for next. Check out her special announcement at the end of this post.) Anywhoo, viking hubby asked me if any of the winners actually became models and modeled for more than their "ANTM prizes". It was a innocent question but I got queerly defensive:
"Well of COURSE they do! The title of the show is America's Next Top Model, and that's what they become, Top Models. I mean, I've seen a few of them in some magazines and commercials, (I haven't) and I'm sure most of them are all the rage in Europe or Asia somewhere (I don't have the foggiest clue if that statement is true..). So that's just crazy. That question. Crazy.
Sheesh, I mean, why...why would you even ask such an inane question?
One of them was even on the Tyra show the other day. So there. Silly man."
Tyra's got me completely snowballed.

* I want to get a job as a sign holder so I can get paid to listen/watch my Ipod all day.
Yeah. That's how addicted I am to that stupid thing.

* If my life had a soundtrack, this would be the playlist:

Birth: I'm Coming Out by Diana Ross

Childhood: Dancing Queen by Abba, ANY Carpenters song and ANY Elvis songs.

Pre-teen: Venus by Bananarama,
Hazy Shade Of Winter by Bangles, and last but not least,
Lost In Emotion by Lisa Lisa And The Cult Jam

High School: Whoomp! There it is!By Tag Team (this was NON stop on the radio in high school)
Weak By SWV. (that was me and my bfs song..awwwwwwww! BARF.)
Vogue by WHO ELSE??,

College: C'Mon N Ride It by Quad City DJs, (my roommate felt the need to blast this song on the radio on our way to Tijuana), Ray Of Light by Madonna


...I actually tried to limit the songs by Madonna and Elvis, because their songs are just kind of peppered throughout each significant phase. But yeah, so far that's it. I'm still gathering up significant songs to mark my "post college/mom/being an adult" phase. I don't really know what song is going to "take me back" to this point in my life but I'm pretty sure that Fruit Salad by The Wiggles will be one of them.

* Guess who got engaged? Let's ask Britney, a previous contestant from America's Next Top Model:



I don't know why I think that's so hilarious but it is. So laugh!

Anyways, have a great weekend everyone!!! Next Friday..sumtin' special. I swear!

Sleeping & Circus Peanuts = Midget Drool

I saw this meme on Tinakala’s and Webmiztris' blog. Even though I wasn’t tagged, I thought I’d tag my own ass and take it because A. I’m horrified by the mediocrity that was last week’s Fan Letter Friday and I don't want that sorry ass post at the top of my blog, B. because when an opportunity arises where I can tag my own ass, I just can't say no and C. I’m trying to avoid my workout.
(so if you hear me bitch about "those last few pounds" please redirect me to this post and tell me to shut up and step away from those circus peanuts.)
mmm… circus peanuts……orange sugary goodness made of god knows what…yum.

My Six Sleeping Commandments:

1. Thou shalt have the fan on.
Not necessarily pointing at me, but I like to hear the whirring noise. I blame this all on the Viking hubby. He’s always hot so we always have the fan on. ALWAYS…even when it’s negative zero outside, that fan IS ALWAYS on and blowing right at his face.

2. Thou Shalt Have The Closet Door CLOSED.
Yes I’m scared of the closet monster. This is because I read way too many Stephen King books (and horror novels in general) AND I still have the imagination of a 9 year old. Plus, I have to walk by the closet when I go on a midnight pee pee run. I’m already scared that the kid from The Grudge is in the bathtub, watching me pee and waiting to pounce, I just don’t need the extra stress of the closet monster.

3. Thy Bedroom Should Be Cleaneth.
Or semi clean…nothing on the floor at least. Because if it’s messy, I just can't sleep. I’ll be laying there and Viking hubby’s undies will call at me from across the room:
"I’m dirrrrtyyy and just a mere few feet away from the hammmpeerrr..put me awaaaayyyy with the rest of my dirty clothe brethren."

4. Thou Shalt Not Sleep In Thine Birthday Suit
I cannot sleep naked or near naked. If I’m naked I feel as if my hoo ha is extremely vulnerable to the outside world…specifically any creepy crawlies of any kind. No, I don’t have bed bugs or anything but you’ve heard of that true/or not true fact that an average person unknowingly eats X (5 or 6, cannot remember) amount of spiders a year while they sleep?
I don’t care if it isn’t true, I’m not taking a chance. Hand over those pajamas STAT. Spiders are not welcome at my Hotbox Hotel.

5. Thou Shalt Cradle The Sweater Meat
If you're a regular reader of my blog, you know I have a wierd thing about keeping my boobs UP. The only time I am ever without a bra is when I sleep, so I MANUALLY support my girls when I sleep. I sleep on my side so it’s not that hard to do the one arm support. I rarely if ever sleep on my back because I hate the flattening sensation that gravity gives to my boobies...like they’re being pushed towards my armpits. UGH. I cringe at the mere thought of it.

6. Thou Shalt Lay A Foundation For Thine Dreams
To ensure that I have a good dream, I usually like to kickstart them by daydreaming a bit before I nod off. I usually think of things that would please me (a million dollars and a bag of circus peanuts for example), I daydream about the trips I would take, where I would go, what I would do. I daydream about outlandish things like becoming a rock star…with my accordion, having dinner with Madonna who is then so enamored by me we’re like totally BFF after our second round of cocktails.
Like Totally.
For sure.
(Along with the imagination of a 9 year old, I also have the unwavering belief of a nine year old that all these dreams are totally going to come true..no matter how outrageous they are.)

So there you go.
Yet more evidence for the court that I need a nice padded room.
Also, feel free to tag your own ass with the sleeping commandments meme if you feel the need.

And finally I leave you with today’s Monday Wake-Up quiz. See if you can answer this pickle:

A Fan and a Humidifier will DIE tonight.

It's a slow newsday celebritywise and to be honest, the hum of the fifty gajillion humidifiers and fans that are in my house is making want to gnaw my own ears off. (that would require a serious yoga pose but in the crazed state that I'm in, it can be done) Add that to the fact that half our roof is gone and you can see why I'm not feeling particularly clever at the moment.

On the bright side, insurance is pretty much going to pay for everything.
Can I get a woot woot?
or an Amen?
Even an old skool Arsenio Hall woof woof dog pound yell would suffice.

Plus, the humor of celebrity life is sometimes so hilarious that there's really nothing I can say to top it.

A fine example would be this:


See? I don't really have to say anything do I? Her orange julius tan (which goes very well with my template background I must add!) and her camel toe, high waisted pants say it all for me.

If celebs keep doing it up like Jessica Simpson. Fan Letter Friday will be reduced to just looking at pictures. On that note...HIGH WAISTED PANTS?? Please lord in heaven don't tell me these are coming back in fashion. Especially the ones that Jessica is wearing. What's with the puffy pleats in the middle of her crotch and stomach area? It looks like she pooted and then put them in her pockets for later use. (hey! John Mayer could be into that kind of kinky stuff. Don't judge.)

Or hey, check out my favorite poseur:

Again, who am I to add to genius such as this?
Avril's look is really nailing that "girl next door that works minimum wage at the mall but at home she's the lead of her garage band look. "
And by band I mean, keyboard.

Seriously. There's nothing going on. Go to Perez Hilton or Dlisted.com and you'll see. Not a damn thing. Britney Spears..yeah yeah, she's a nutjob, Paris Hilton, SLUTEROOSKI, Lindsey Lohan...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

So lets see...what else...oh! ANTM is down to its top 5. This is the first season where I keep changing my mind on my top three. Brit has always been on my list, Dionne has been on my list since the third show but it's a toss up for the third chick. First, I did NOT think Natasha would make it this far but she is impressing the hell out of me. A betting man would bet that the top three would be Brit, Dionne and Natasha.
But call me crazy...
I'm pulling for Jaslene. Yes, I know she has a mean accent (I love it) and god, she does look like she's totally taping some peen between her legs however, I just love her. I can't explain it but I do.
Go Team Tranny!

OH ...and next Saturday I'm going to see this biatch in concert in Phoenix, AZ.



Whoo hoo! And this time I'm bringing a video camera so I can maybe post my vacation hijinks on the blog. See? Always thinking of YOU dear reader. Always.

And finally...tell me why I got overly excited when i saw THIS.

Why do I love her so?? and check it out, you (I) can get an autographed picture for 20 bucks???!!!

SOLD.

Now go buy me a piece of Joyce will ya?

Its 4/20 today! Double PUFF PUFF and an exhaaaallle..
Have a great weekend everybody!
Fan Letter Friday will be back next week.
Stop the hate.