IT'S FAN LETTER TUESDAY!!!

Be still my heart?!?!?! A weekly thing? Maybe. I don't know. Just shut up and enjoy eh?


Dear Tyra,

Through sheer bad luck and evil forces from the unknown.. I was forced to watch your daytime show. You couldn't just sit back and enjoy the brilliance that is ANTM, oh nooooo, not you Tyra. You done thought you were the next Aaron Spelling.. only taller, with bigger boobs and not white......so behold, the crap that is The Tyra Banks show was born and the world shuddered. But I sat back, willing to give it a chance because A. I can't believe its still on and B. this episode happened to be a thinly veiled informercial about ANTM. So I was actually enjoying myself for a bit.. UNTIL, you proved to me once again why you are so NOT the next Oprah....(you're not even the next Ricki Lake come to think of it) Whilst Oprah builds new orphanages in Africa, you Tyra, oh dimbulb, tugged at our heartstrings by giving a girl with no eyebrows an EYEBROW surgery. .............................................................................................what?!
Seriously Tyra???? You couldn't come up with a better charity case than that????? Okay, if that's how it's going to be, check out this sob story:
"oooh Tyra (sniff, sniff, tearing up), I ....(gulp) ...am only 4'9!!!! (okay, 4'8.. but give a bitch an inch will ya???) [The audience gasps in unison] Yes! yes! It's true! I admit it. When I go to Target, I can't even pay for my items with my ATM without having to stand on my tiptoes to press the buuutttooonssssss on the ATM Thingggyyy!!!! (sobbing uncontrollably). And for the longest time....(sniff sniff)...I can't believe I'm admitting this on national television.. but .. I had to have my husband order for me at Pick Up Stix because I couldn't reach the counter!!! .....WAAAAH!! please Tyra, give me some shin extensions!!!!"

Love, Me.


Dear Britney,

I don't know whether to cry for you, laugh at you or throw you some change. I could have told you not to open thy legs up to a rebound. I could have told you that a guy who cannot pull up his pants and serenades you via "a rap song" is not exactly a good choice. I could have told you to get on the pill, have that fucker put on a condom AND pull out, lest his seed finds your garden...shit, I could have told you NOT to fuck that idiot at all and to just buy a vibrator! But no truer words were spoken when someone said: "You can take the girl out of the trailer park but you sure can't take the trailer park out of the girl." (your picture here)
You cheated on Justin Timberlake and immediately fell for a guy who LEFT HIS PREGNANT GIRLFRIEND for you?? DING DING!!! MARRIAGE MA-TE-RI-AL!!! YEEEHA! Now every picture I see of your poor baby, he has this look of perpetual surprise on his face. He's surprised he was concieved and he's surprised that you're stupid enough to get PREGNANT AGAIN.
What is it? Is it his Caucasian corn rows? His chain smoking? The cute little pot belly that protrudes through his dirty wifebeater? Or his mad rappin' skillz?
Whatever it may be, it's time to leave the trailer park Britney. I know, I know, there's endless amounts of pork rinds and cigarettes to be had there, but it's just not good for you sweetie. Leave. Now. (don't forget to put your shoes on first...they go on your feet...there you gooooo..)

EDIT: Okay, seriously now, someone has to save this poor child from Britney's clutches. Why oh why is the baby FACING FORWARD in his child seat???!!!! OMG, I never knew stupidity of this caliber existed until Britney Spears decided to procreate! Somebody SPADE OR NEUTER HER NOW!
Love, Me


Dear Penelope:

I think it is imperative for you to start a blog. And not just any blog, because I really don't care about your "career," the current movie you're working on, the free shit you get from designers or how for reasons unknown to man, your accent gets worse and worse the longer you live in America....no one cares..(well except that last part. How do you do THAT?) I only care about your boyfriend. What's THAT LIKE?? How does his abs feel? What about his butt? When he kisses you, where does his hands go? Let us live vicariously through you oh Penelope, you lucky bitch. That's the least you could do after scoring such ass.
Please include descriptive details and lots of pictures.. preferably half nude to fully nude ones... of him coming out of the shower.. or walking around the house...or maybe when he's giving you some good lovin'. They have those little prop up cameras nowadays for cheap Penelope, he'd never notice.

Come on.
Please?

Love, Me


Dear Japanese people,

I love you guys.

Why yes, I will have a creamy ball.

Love, Me

TAG DAT ASS!

I LOVE when I get blog-tagged. Especially when I have nothing to write about and this happens to be one of those days. I bent over and requested to be tagged by the all mighty Laurie. And since I basically do whatever Laurie and CP says (they're secret midget pimps), I have no other choice but to do it.

Basically Laurie assigns me a letter and you have to put down the first ten words that come to mind and what that word means to you. Laurie gave me an "M' for OBVIOUS reasons, so on with the show...

Mug: from which I drink the hot sweet nectar that is coffee every morning.

Mashed Potatoes: make a sculpture, have a bite, or drown it in gravy. Either way, its the perfect carb-filled delight.

Maxim: I'm totally convinced that the publisher of this magazine has A.D.D. Open up a copy, you'll get whiplash reading the billion tiny articles they jam pack into one page. But that's what I get for "reading the articles" huh?

Mensies: A cute word for a disgusting monthly friend.

Million: dollars. Ya got any? This "working for a living and being a grown-up" is highly overrated.

Madelaine: who's behind me "combing" my hair. Thanks girl, even though Mommy told you never to climb on her office chair ...I'll let it go this time..because I think you're catching on that Mommy doesn't know what the hell she's talking about.

Marshmallows: are fun when stuff them in front of your mouth and pretend to be a boxer. Wait? what? who does that?

Moley: moley moley moley!!!!

Mariah: You know that bitch's real name is Maria Vasquez Gonzalez and she's from West Covina or some shit like that. Mari-AH my ass.

MADONNA: 12 more days my love. TWELVE. MORE. DAYS.

Phew! That was good. I need a cigarette .....or something close to it that smells suspiciously sweet.

************************************************************************************
other random thoughts for a Friday morn....

* If Jade from America's Next Top Model wins the competition, I will personally hand deliver a can of whoop ass to Tyra Banks that will be so devastating that the vibration of my midget fist connecting onto her knee caps will be felt round' the world. VIVA NAIMA!

* Attention all guys (or girls from France). Look under your arm. Does it look like POWs can hide in there? Does it look like you have Buckwheat in a headlock? Then DO NOT WEAR a tank top. I think I've address this issue before but with summer coming up, I feel the need to address it again since nothing is more bile inducing than a sweaty fucker, neck deep in armpit hair wearing a tank top. The same goes for hairy feet and flip flops. Sonuvabi......RAZORS. SHAVE. DO IT. or wear some SHOES. I don't care how hot you are, when you come into my line of sight please note that at that point, it's all about ME. Thank you. This has a been a public service announcement.

* Can people please oh please stop bitching about the Da Vinci Code? Oh look! look! It's under FICTION! As in "made up," from "ones imagination," falling under the category of Unicorns and K-Fed's successful rap career. Why don't we call attention to the REAL controversy? Tom Hanks' hair. Whoa. Seriously, who knew a little hair on that guy would officially make him mayor of Fuglyville?


*.. and finally, Coffee makes me poop, so I gotta go lest I have an unfortunate accident.

Have a great weekend everybody and HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!
(Dads/Kids, let mom sleep in and upon waking up, have some coffee, a fattening breakfast and a foot massage awaitin'. )

Fan Letters...kind of.. sort of....okay, not really.

Dear Denise,
Girl you had me. I was SO on your side. I had my little Charlie Sheen voodoo doll and poked it in certain regions that only drag queens know about. But then, you had to pull the the universal "OH NO SHE DIDUNN'T" move. You're dating your best friend's ex-husband. Did you not get the memo when God blessed you with your vagina? YOU DO NOT date your best friend's ex- ANYTHING! Ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, ex-dog, ex-donkey from Tijuana..NOTHING. And to top it off, it's Richie Sambora. Girl. Come on. He was only "mildly" cool back in the 80's when he was Bon Jovi's girlfriend...now I can barely look at him without having to choke down some of last night's cordon bleu. I could probably stomach it better if you had an affair with Heather Locklear herself. Yeah, sure she's had her skin pulled back so many times that a penis is bound to pop up at some point, but damn, anything is better than Richie Samhorrah. Please place your vagina and estrogen on the table and step away. It's been revoked. You're officially something that rhymes with "bunt".. check the next letter after "b" girl.. there you gooooo... yeah, that's you.

Love, Me.


Dear Tom,
Please let Katie go. Look at her. You changed her name to Kate, her nursing bra is showing for all the papparazzi to see and she's wearing flats to make you tall. She's done Tom. That horse has been ridden and beat DOWN. It's time to replace her and I am here to say that I will gladly take her place. Unlike Kate, I will happily put on that beard and strap-on dildo without a flinch. I'll be your Daddy and spank that little million dollar tushie of yours hard, because I know that's how you roll Mr. Cruise... you like your womens to be a bit rough....and scraggly.... with a bit of a mustache to tickle your jigglers... and well.. you actually like your womens to be mens, but I know that's not going to fly on your celeb status. So just send Katie back home and kindly hand me those buttbeads. I'll do the honors Mr. Cruise.

Love, Me.






Dear Usher,
Newsflash: You nasty DAWG. And by DAWG, I mean DOG. woof! Woof! You know.. the kind that Filipinos eat? Yeah. That kind of dog. Ugly bastard.

Love, Me.
















Dear Star Jones,
On paper it probably DID sound like a GREAT idea to go get some gastric bypass surgery and a boob job to up your hotness level huh? I mean, let's face it, as far as hotness goes, you were running neck and neck with Shamu.. and Shamu had the upper hand with all those cute little tricks that she does. But NOW, well well, lookit YOU..you lost you some weight, got some fake boobs.........and yet....somehow....and I don't exactly know how this happened....you turned into the ugliest thing alive. Yeah you're not fat and your boobs are pointing in the right direction but OH MY GOD. What is up with your FACE??? Did all that weight somehow transfer to your EYEBALLS? You're freaking me out Star. At least when you were fat, we could just give you a Ding Dong and you'd shut up for about three seconds while you choked it downed with a cup bacon grease, but now.. I don't know what to make of you. You're a blabby ass bitch and you've turned into E.T's freaky looking aunt. I never thought I'd say this, but please go have a big helping of something fried with cheese on it. Get fat again so those eyeballs will go back into your useless head. It's giving me nightmares.
Oh and your husband's gay.
Tom told me.

Love, Me.

Dear Madonna,
Listen, I know you're mad that I didn't come sniff your crotch at the Coachella concert. It wasn't my fault, I swear. I was standing on my BACKPACK trying to reach you, but alas, it was not meant to be that night. But listen, I had to file for bankruptcy because I'm going to TWO, yes TWO of your concerts and I'm about as close to you as middle class can fuckin' afford okay? I'll be there. So keep your panties on. Meanwhile, can you please have some beers with me after the show? Yeah, I know, I don't drink beer, but I will down a cup of chew spit if I could get you drunk and take advantage of you. Oh I hear you, "Oh but Laine, you're married. Don't you claim to be straight? what about the age difference? What about the restraining order? blah blah blah"
Can't you see I've gone cuckoo for your cone bras?
I love you, you old hag you, with your sinewy muscles and wrinkly hands....
ROWR.

Spank, Me.

***EDIT: Madonna was looking for me........(currently crying and snotting all over myself.....)

Shock And Awe

If this is for real......the ASS WHOOPAGE I would be throwin' down on this game will be talked about and studied for years to come.

I AM the Accordion Hero.

You best be recognizin'.

Hollah.

Coachella Hell and WHY MY HUSBAND ROCKS DA HOUSE!!

High Hopes. I had high high hopes for Coachella. It was probably my only chance to be that close to my idol but sadly, dear readers, this did not happen. It was a combination of many things, but to break it all down, I did not get there on time in order to get a wristband to be in the pit. I waited all day by the tent hoping with all my midgety might that they would pass out more wristbands. They didn't. They had JUST ran out of pit wristbands a half hour before I got there. So I was kicking myself in the ass the entire time. I should have been there earlier like a true Madonna soldier. I should have went alone so I could have left at 6:00 am without dragging anybody into the madness, I should've, would've, could've, etc. I was in a depression yesterday for missing such a golden opportunity. I didn't even get a good spot outside of the pit because the geniuses at Coachella thought, "hey Madonna is playing in a tiny little tent, maybe we shouldn't have anyone else on at the same time so that 60,000 plus people could jam pack the place! Good IDEA!!! " I saw a blip of my queen while standing on my backpack, as resourceful midgets do. Meanwhile, I had non-Madonna fans all around me, standing there like a bunch of idiots, not screaming, not yelling, not dancing, just standing there. Why the fuck are you here steamin' up my tail then?? Go have another piece of granola and NOT take a shower somewhere else, so I can have more room!!!! As much as these psuedo-hippies bitched about Madonna being at Coachella, they sure came in droves when it was time for her to perform! Oh and did I mention I got puked on, TWICE..one splashing "oh so conveniently" by my leg? Did I mention the other sweaty people who fainted on top of me? Did I mention all the superficial, botoxed bitches who got to go into the pit and didn't even CARE that Madonna was performing?? As they were too busy walking around the pit, primping, flirting with security and getting drinks at the bar. Fucking faked tittied WHORES I tell ya!! If looks could kill, so many OC bitches would have been twitchin' on the desert floor that night, with blood dribbling from their incision scars. But alas, my powers have not reached to that level yet.. (I still have to pay more money at my local Scientology Centre to attain Cruise-like Powers such as those). I went home defeated. So close, yet SO FAR.

Curses!!!

Then, just when I thought my husband couldn't get any cooler, he went into complete arctic cool. He was so distraught at my missed opportunity that he told me yesterday to go ahead and log onto Ticketmaster and see what kind of seats I could get for her show that had just been added to the Staples Center. They were having a presale for Madonna fan club members (yes, I'm a member.... okay...I'll wait for the laughter to subside.......wipe your tears..... get a grip on yourself), so I halfheartedly checked, figuring I would just get the same type of seats that I had at the LA Forum. I tried three times to get floor tickets and lo and behold this is what I got on my third click:

Section: Floor 1, Row 26, Seat 1. in other words....OH. My. GOD.

The Staples Center hasn't released the official seating chart yet, but this is what the set up is thought to be. I could possibly be even closer to the left catwalk.

So the good ol' hubby gave me the go ahead to buy it!! So TWO, I'm going to TWO of her concerts with awesome awesome seats. Yeah sure, we're broke and probably have to live out in our truck for a while but hey, that's just campin' right? Who cares about a lil campin' in the vehicle when I get to be up close to Miss Madge's crotch!

My husband gave me the gift of Madonna's crotch. Thank you, oh dear husband of mine. The General sure is getting a purple heart for this one.. and by "General" and "Purple Heart" I'm talking about....this IS a family blog after all..

The Coachella Fiasco

Madonna was hot.

I was hot.

But bringing someone else, not getting there on time and having NO wristband was not.

I'm tired yo. I will post my Coachella nightmare and missing out on meeting my idol later tonight.

Meanwhile, enjoy this clip from Coachella of my main bitch asking the audience if she should take her pants off. and singing Ray of Light.

Viva La Queen Madge!!

MISSING: One Eyeball. Reward If Found.

Yeah, two posts in one day.
I've gone MAD I tell YA!! MAD!! (insert snooty British accent here)

Anyways....on with the show...

Everyday, this is what I think about..

...which damn bills do I have to bend over for today?
.....didn't I JUST WASH those clothes and/or dishes!? How come they've turned into Mount Everest again? ..wait...is that a mountain goat climbing on my colander and/or underwear?!"
... check my email to see if I have work and have this inner argument with myself:

Lazy Laine:"Please don't let there be work.. please oh please oh please...." Uptight Ass Laine:"Don't say that! You need the hours and the money!"
Lazy Laine: "I KNOW.. MOM. sheesh. a bitch can't say nuttin' round here..." (lazy laine is kind of ghetto..)
Uptight Ass Laine: "Well I'm just sayin'.... you bitch when there's work and you bitch when there's no work!"
Lazy Laine: "Because.. the money should just come in the mail because I'm an awesome awesome person."
Uptight Ass Laine: "Getting checks because you're an awesome person? That's only like one check a month, we'd still need more money than that..."
Lazy Laine: "Piss off."

So the usual crap as you can see. BUT (you KNEW there was a but, don't act so surprised) also on a daily basis, I often wonder...

"What would I do if my eyeball popped out?"

Seriously.

I know what to do when someone is choking or if someone cuts off a finger, even if someone swallowed some toxic window cleaner ...(Point and Laugh. DUH.)...
But what would you do if, OOPS! Something jams your eyeball "just right" and bam, you're playing hacky sack with that bitch? A fun game sure, but after playing around with your dangly eye, at some point, you're gonna have to smoosh that baby back up in your head. So what's the eyeball protocol? If you hold your eyeball all the way to the hospital, it's gonna pick up some lint and then DRY OUT on the way there. It would turn into a shriveled thing that the doctor will gape at, but since he doesn't want anyone to think he's incompetent, he shoves it back in there and calls it good. Then (gasp) tragedies of all tragedies, you'd be dubbed "raisin eye" much to the guffaw of your friends and family AND you have a giant eyeball surgery bill that you can't pay for. SO, you end up going to the court t0 sue that bastard doctor for your shriveled eye. He claims you're totally faking the funk for the money and your eye is in better shape than it ever was! You try to plead your case, but the judge, jury and lawyers are all laughing their asses off because your raisin eye keeps falling out of the socket everytime you get worked up. You attempt to have a sidebar with the judge but your eye falls out again and you step on it like a dirty roach. So there you have it. You ruined your chances of ever recouping your eye and lose the case because hey, lets face it, you just stepped on the evidence.

No eyeball. Still stuck with a giant bill.

I really want to avoid this.

I'll stop......I'm kind of scaring myself.
Maybe posting twice in one day was a mistake.
I'm gonna go sniff my Madonna ticket now.

Carry on.

CHECK IT OUUUTTTT!!

I'm SO THERE!

AND

Coachella is on Sunday.

Can't...write....too...excited...........

(Stay tuned for Coachella pictures on Monday!)

Meanwhile, check out my UBER' Talented brother's sketch blog and congratulate him on the new job he got in San Diego that comes with his very own fancy schmanzy office! (if you check out his sketches you'll see why he's being treated like a pimp)
He's movin' on up like George and Wheezy!!!

I Shore Do Love Them The Crazies!!!

I'm in love with Tom Cruise.

I was as disturbed by this revelation as much as you oh dear reader. I don't know how it happened but I can tell you that it all started when I watched this.......

(And the love affair began.....)

As everyone laughed at Tom while he jumped on Oprah's couch, I felt a stirrin' in me loins that only increased as time went on.....(my loins are super tired)

Then he told Brooke Shields where to stick her uterus after intelligently informing her that you don't need drugs for postpartum depression! There IS NO postpartum depression. Yeah bitch. Just work up a sweat and pop some Flintstone vitamins wench! Listen to Xenu WOMAN! I mean Tom.....sorry..


Then he flexed his midgety, yet delicious biceps, at Matt Lauer on morning television. His crazy, vibrating eyeballs and twitchy demeanor only made me want this man more.

As Tom grew crazier and crazier, my love for him only deepened. I fantasized about Tom jumping on my kitchen table in papal robes, calling me a glib and declaring that I was infested with alien seed before scurrying under my bed to hiss at me. I confess that it was a fantasy that I gave into almost every day when Brad refused to don papal robes (I had some in the closet) and gave me a weak argument about being "too big" to jump onto the kitchen table. "NONSENSE!" I screached at him. "TOM isn't too big! TOM could do it!!!" It was then I knew I had hit rock bottom.


I began to wish that I was the one that he had taken hostage. I wished that he had impregnated ME with holy Cruise Juice and made ME an adult pacifier to GNAW on while I gave a "silent birth" to his super Dianetics baby. WHY NOT ME TOM? Why oh why??. Please purge me of the evil that Xenu has spurned upon my body and the body of millions of earthlings!

They do not know.

They are glib.

I love you.

Last but not least, Tom, please know that I mean it when I say......

" bleep bleep boop di di di di grugh goooghr, needlenose banana pants."

That's just between him and I oh dear readers. It's a Xenu Thing. You wouldn't understand....

*it should be noted that my computer FROZE up THREE TIMES while trying to post this. At one point, I couldn't find the saved draft on Blogger! Coincidence???????
Behold The Power Of TOM.

It's A Brand New DAY!

* Brad and I were in the kitchen last night, (him cooking, me on the computer..DUH. Know your place woman!) Our little muddle bug was zipping in and out of the kitchen doing her usual mom and dad conversation/one-woman show:

Her: "Hi guys!"
Us: "Hi baby!"

Then usually she does a quote from Charlie and Lola (her FAVORITE cartoon) in her best faux British accent, enough to rival Madonna's. (sniff.. I'm so proud.) or do a little song and dance to make us laugh. But last night she came into the kitchen and sang this new ditty:

Our girl: "Is a braaan nuuu daaay!" (little butt shake thrown in)
Brad to me: "What song is that?"
Me: "I don't know. I never heard that one before."

Usually, I can guess what she's trying to sing just by the sound, even if I don't understand the words. But this one had me stumped. She kept singing it all throughout dinner.
"Is a braan nuuu day!" (buttshake)
We laughed, we ate and afterwards, we went into the livingroom so I can get my daily dose of Friend's reruns. During the commercials, we finally figured out what Maddy was singing. A commerical came on and she jumped up and started singing with the t.v.
"Is a braaan nuu day!"
Much to our horror, our little two year old was singing......the Herpes Jingle!! You know the Valtrex pill commerical that helps with genital warts and herpes 'outbreak'? Their little jingle goes: "Its a braaaand new day!" or in two year old speak: "is a braaan nuuu day!"
My daughter knows the Herpes Song.
That's right.
Mother of the Year Award here I come.

* I do apologize for not blogging too much these last few weeks. You all know why. And thy name is Madonna. (Fizz, don't act like you don't own a pair of cone bras mister).

*Open Letter to my friend Elisa, who I haven't heard hide nor pubic hair from...

"Hi Elisa. Did you fall off the face of the earth after you got married? I was your MAID OF HONOR . No general mass email Christmas letter? Nothing? You don't see me in your wedding pictures and go "damn my maid of honor was fine. I should call her!" You're not mad because I did my "jazz hands" in all of them did you? And yeah, so I grabbed my crotch more than you should at a wedding, but it livened things up, yes? And what's the limit on crotch grabbing at weddings? No one tells you. I didn't get a damn wedding Syllabus. Jeesh, didn't know that would get your panties in a bunch for THIS long."

* Crapnoodle o mally! How fucking pissed was I when I realized I MISSED the first few episodes of America's Next Top Model! I didn't even KNOW it began! Is it too much to ask for a memo on this shit!? Who am I screaming at? I don't know.. Anyways, I caught up this week and sadly, I am not impressed. Usually at least one girl stands out for me from the very beginning. Please note that I do have a keen eye on who can make it as a walking talking clothes hanger. Seriously. Don't make me bust out the resume bitch. TALENT AGENT ASSISTANT. That's right. I feel your jealousy. I could cuss out a model for not showing up to an appointment, fax AND fetch the actual talent agent some coffee. Skillz baby. SKILLZZZ......
Moving along, yeah, not impressed with this "cycle." If I HAD to pick, I think it would be Jade, Joanie and Nneenah. However, I can see myself tuning out of the show this year. I know. I'm such a sorry excuse for a fag hag. Not keeping up with ANTM. I am MAD indeed! OH and can we please just throw out the bitches who cry about how "stressful" it is? Seriously. Throw them out the minute a tear DARES to form in their eye. Bags packed. Get the fuck out. This is BARELY a competition. Someone does your hair and make up, you live rent free in an awesome house, you're gonna be on t.v. and your "challenges" are posing in front of a camera and walking. Suck it up hanger and have another celery.

*A few people have asked me, "when did you know you were ready to have a baby?" It really wasn't romantic nor was it some kind of "revelation" we both had. The conversation literally went like this:
"You wanna?"
"Think we can handle it?"
"Sure."
"OH hell, let's give it a go."
We got our shit together (finances, work, got my fat ass in tip top fighting shape) and then "gave it a go."
wam bam.
FIRST. TRY.
I wasted my cash on FOUR pee sticks not knowing that it would only take one to make me faint dead on the spot and have Brad do his naked "whoo hoo, I'm having a baby" pee pee wiggle dance.

*Remember the guy that made sex noises at our yoga classes? Remember I couldn't hold my Asian Fried Noodle pose because he kept making sounds like he was getting fucked in the butt and liking it? Remember that? Remember when I chose to go commando under my workout shorts, caught some air "up there" during my Green Bean Casserole pose then it decided to come out during my Tuck up Smell Butt crunch pose with a long and loud..bhrrrr. bur bur bur.......and everyone thought sex noises guy farted??? remember that?? that was cool.

Sorry, I blacked out and thought I was talking to my friend Casey for a minute. Speaking of which... Casey! where the hell are YOU?

Peesh Out.

This Blog Post Has A.D.D.

After having several small heart attacks and "sleep Vogue-ing" in the middle of the night, my psychiatr..er.. I mean... "doctor" has advised me to buy Madonna tickets as soon as possible and call him in the morning. So I did just that. I gave in. I could NOT hold out until the day of the concert in "hopes" that I get a floor seat and most of all, I COULD NOT stand NOT having tickets in my possesion within minutes of the box office opening. For her Drowned World Tour, I got tickets within two minutes of the box office opening and for her Reinvention Tour, I got tickets in literally seconds. Having NO ticket DAYS after the box office opened caused a mild rupture in my brain which resulted in some uncontrollable drooling and spontaneous barking at strangers.

Not attractive.

SO after the second date for Los Angeles was announced, I snatched up my ticket and got a note from my doctor that I was safe enough to go out into the general public once again. I got VERY LUCKY with my ticket too. ..I did not get floor seats but I got the risers right above the floor, which is good for a midget like myself. For Reinvention Tour, I got Loge 9, which was super CLOSE to the stage. I am even closer this year AND she has a runway running on either end of the stage. Holy cow! I'm so excited I think I might re-injure myself!

I also looked on Ebay for tickets and prices are going from the ridiculous to the completely insane for seats that are WORSE than mine! I mean, I LOVE Madonna but paying THIS much for a front row ticket is NUTS. And that's coming from ME...( cuckoo! cuckoo!)
I wouldn't pay that even if Madonna and Guy Ritchie provided "special favors" for me after the show!!! I mean, I would certainly pause and think about it sure.....
AND Coachella is in less than 3 WEEKS!!!! YAAAAAAAYYYYYYAAAAAYYYY!!! Me and Madonna in a small tent!!!

I think I just soiled myself.

In other news... (I'll change my pants later) .....show of hands how many people thought that this kiss:




















Looked at lot like this kiss:











You too huh!? At first I thought it was Michael and Ryan kissing, which, oddly enough, was easier to wrap my brain around than Ryan actually kissing a WOMAN.

on other, other news....

It seems like there is nothing on television these days but new reality shows coming out of the woodwork.. I gave a few of them a try and most of them were dead on arrival. Top Chef was one that I just couldn't vibe with. Although it had the lure of food, it also had bitchy chefs. Making food and being an ass is like eating a Cinnabon while you're taking a shit. It just doesn't go. I don't want a cupful of your anger with a side of chip on the shoulder. Thanks. Top Chef should be a cast of fat, cherub like folk, who smile, laugh and make awesome food. Food and drama just don't mix. Another one that got my panties in a bunch was "The Real Housewives of The OC," or something like that. Listen, I'm the first to admit that I'm amused by the antics of rich stupid folks... I watch Laguna Beach for goodness sakes'. But there is a GIANT difference between teenagers who are being teenagers..(except they have money) and ADULTS who are being teenagers, with money AND WITH kids. I could barely make it through the show without throwing my remote at the television. Things, things things, these things will make me who I AM. If I get a nip, tuck, injections, boob job, hair extensions, etc. etc. I will be more worthy. And HEY, while I'm at it, it will show the kids that what they possess and what they look like, is what makes them who they are! Great fucking parenting asswipes. I swear, the Laguna Beach teenagers seem more civil that these sad ass, "grown women" who "have it all." If THAT is "having it all," then no thanks, I'll keep my postage sized condo, in my so so neighborhood, my comfortable, no brand clothes from Target, (wha wha! God I love Target), my six year old truck and my NATURAL boobies that stay up with a little help from a bra and nothing else, just as long as my daughter grows up knowing that in our house, you're celebrated and rewarded for ideas and THINKING and not for "things" and the brand name on your ass! Sorry..I don't mean to get preachy but that show really chapped my hide! I mean, seriously, its nice to have good stuff, its nice to laugh and point at celebrities but to fashion yourself, your life and your KIDS purely through material things is disturbing and CPS should be called on yo ass! And it's not just on television, if you live in L.A. you know this is REAL and its sad. (I guess its happening in Arizona too.. check out Debi's blog about Trendy Parents. ) SCAWY.

Oh and just in case you were wondering...my hair has now reached The David Cassidy Stage:



Please someone give me a kick in the ass the next time I get decide to cut all my hair off please.

This post blows. So let's wrap this up before it gets ugly.

So in summary, I got Madonna tickets, blah blah blah blah, david cassidy hair, blah blah blah,
I GOT MADONNA TICKETS, blah blah blah, I see Madonna in less than three weeks, blah blah, Madonna. The end.

Forgive me.

My Nose Hair Hurts

I swear I had all this clever shit to say on today's post since I'm taking a break from my Madonna Ticket War. Seriously. I was gonna write about various crap that was going to make you laugh, cry, piss yourself and make you want to drink heavily. (Like you need another excuse for THAT)

Until my dog farted.

Holy Maria, Mother of Juan! I don't know what that fucker ate but the stank is lingering in the living room like it's some kind of screwed up, oil based Yankee Fart candle. I'm surprised there's not a green cloud hovering over the fucking couch. Goddamn, I'm ready to call the pound. No human being should be subjected to this kind of tortu....

Holy crap...

the dog farted AGAIN!!!!

It is a miracle I'm alive at all and that my nose is still intact. I can't even believe I'm still typing in the midst of all this stench. Now the hubby is spraying some kind of Apple Cinnamon spray ....mmmm... annnddd NOW it smells like a dogshit cinnamon roll.

Thanks Honey.

The dog fart completely made my brain circuits crash. I got nothin but dog shit on my brain. If the dog keeps this up, I might have to revert to old skool Filipino tradition and makes some Lumpia and Adobo with his stanky ass. THIS is why I wanted a small dog (small butt, small farts, small shit) or at least a dog that doesn't move much (bassett hound, practically in a coma, so his farts pretty much stay in one designated area) But NOOOO, the hubby had to get the strongest, dumbest, sweetest, most hyper doofus dog you can possibly get. If my dog turned human, he would be Lenny from that book "Of Mice And Men." His name is Gunter but my genius daughter calls him "Dong-ger." Which is such a better name for him. Absolutely nothing going on in that empty head but obviously a whole lotta crap going on in the other end. Literally.

Christ my dog stinks. He hotboxed my brains. Sorry.

All I can offer you is two new blogs I've fallen in love with this past week...(and planning to blogroll if I my website on Explorer didn't look so screwed up.. I don't want to go to my template and touch ANYTHING lest I screw it up even more....Mozilla Firefox people. My blog looks great there).

I gotta catch up on this girl's previous posts, she's HILARIOUS. And she's met Madonna! Gotta love that......Certifiable Princess

This guy takes awesome pictures! Check out the pics from when he and his wife went to Japan! So purty...and he obviously loves his wife a lot. I'm a sucker for mushy crap like that.
Check him out....Lost In California

That's it ya'll. Good vibes on the Madonna tickets is always good. I'm pretty sure that she's announcing more dates come Monday. Write to Oprah and tell her some 29 year old, stay at home mom is slowly becoming delusional and dying to have beers with Madonna and can she PUHLEEESE hook a bitch up? (run on sentence like damn huh?) I swear that woman will hook some guy up who wants to meet The Temptations,????? (I didn't even know they were still ALIVE.. I thought Oprah was going to do a seance' for that guy) yet, Ms. Winfrey can't give me a shake or her magick stick? Its wrong I tell ya.....

Have a great weekend everybody!

The Mission: FLOOR SEATS. Section A, Row One.

So Madonna Pre-Sale tickets came and went.

Did I get one?

NO.

I'm currently still in the trenches.
So NO. There is no time to be berating my friend's ex-boyfriends, or having you sneak a peek at my secret (sick) desires. (*but as you can tell, I totally have time to link you back to those blogs just in case you missed the brilliance...)

This is war people.

I don't want to just "go" to the concert after all.. getting my little paws on the best possible seat to witness the Queen in action IS the GOAL. I practically worked the corner and turned tricks so I could afford these tickets. I'm not gonna have Ticketmaster shove me on the "LOGE" area, row X, seat 112, (ie: close enough to see the other fuckers who got better seats than me.) I've been to two Madonna concerts and although I've gotten close, I have NEVER gotten a floor seat. This year will be different. The tickets I was planning on purchasing today also happened to be opening night. Opening night pretty much means that the front rows will be jam packed with William Morris Agents, metrosexuals, their gay boyfriends and a handful of celebrities. I'm waiting for more dates to be announced. And they will be. Because Madonna never plays LA for just one night.

Point being...

This is my year.

FLOOR SEATS. SECTION A. ROW ONE.

That bitch is MINE.

*************************************************************************************

PLANS OF ATTACK

Mission One: Coachella
Where: Indio, California at the Sahara Tent
Overview: Arrive at destination point prior to gates opening. Upon gates opening, push, scratch, bitch slap any able bodies obstructing the destination zone. Secure destination zone upon arrival. Be on the lookout for platforms, leather vests, men wearing daisy dukes, wanna-be Madonna fans who "like her old stuff better,"and enemies posing as friends in order to infiltrate secured area. Should any of the above attempt to enter secured area, execute a quick, but lethal, two finger "Curly" eye gouge.

SAHARA TENT/COACHELLA

Mission Two: Concert
*note: Plan A for mission two aborted due to date of attack and financial overview (broke).
Plan B pending initiation upon announcement of new attack dates. Currently Holding.
Where: TBD/either The Forum in Los Angeles or The Pond in Anaheim
Overview: Obtain secret passcode to access ticket Presales site. Access presale ticket site within 10 minutes of presale site opening so YOU CAN BE FIRST to order. Upon entering site, obtain a floor seat for the LAST DATE of LA or Anaheim Venue. Prior to attending the concert on the date given on the ticket, arrive at the concert before given date and attempt to obtain a BETTER floor seat. If mission is accomplished, sell ticket that was obtained via the internet to desperate saps on Ebay.

LA FORUM/STAGE SET UP

and yes Shannon, please light a candle for me as these are dark days indeed.........

This Blog Is Experiencing Technical Difficulties...

....we will be returning to our regularly scheduled blog in just a moment......

(BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP, URRRRGGH, BEEEP. URGH.... URGH... URGH..BEEEEEP)

The author of this blog has officially gone to

THE BAD PLACE.

In less than 30 days, she will be within a couple feet of Madonna sweat and wrinkles at Coachella. In addition, Madonna's tour has recently been announced and pre-sale tickets will be on sale tomorrow at the butt crack of dawn. At this moment, the author of this blog has donned a pair of camoflauge pants, a dirty shirt, smeared some unknown brown substance on her face. She is poised over her computer, hand on mouse and ARMED (with her special "Madonna fan club" code), ready to buy tickets that she'll probably have to finance.

We advise that no one come near her for at least 24 to 48 hours, as she is prone to biting, snarling and throwing feces with no warning. (*Should there be a cancellation of a concert date, bad seat assignment by ticket master or freakishly strong tranny steal her spot at Coachella....we extend this warning to a RED ALERT. )

We apologize for the inconvenience.

(BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP>>>>>>>)

The Human Stain

Okay so nothing about this post is going to relate to the title unless I break off into a rant about skid marks, which could happen, you never know. I was just on my Netflix list, changing my movies around, and saw that "The Human Stain," was on my "recommendations" list. Apparently its a drama and the fine people at Netflix thought I would like it. I have NO idea what the movie is about, but judging from the title, I'm thinking its totally about skid marks and the ruination it can bring to a family. Yes? Because skid marks don't just affect the person who caused it, it affects the ENTIRE family... especially the one that has to do the laundry. ...the same thing with "dutch ovens." Dutch ovens can tear a family apart. I should make a movie called "Dutch Ovens." Never mind. The title was fitting after all.

Anyways, I was doing my laundry today and realized that the majority of my wardrobe now consists of pajama tops and bottoms. I sat there thinking, "What happened to all my other outfits?!" Who knows? I do KNOW that I haven't gone shopping for myself in about 3 billion decades. Are parachute pants still in? because I could totally still rock that shit. How about cuffing your pants at the bottom.. is that still cool? Because I could cuff a pant faster than you can say "Lisa Lisa and The Cult Jam" No seriously, I NEED to shop. Its not for the lack of trying. I've tried many times, but I'm beginning to think I forgot HOW. (I think my fashion merchandising degree, slash dust catcher, slash receipt for my gigantic student loan bill, just burst into flames as I typed that.) I know. Someone pass the estrogen IV. Holy HANNAH! I forgot how to shop!
And its not that I don't know how to shop for clothes. I go in there with the best of intentions and get completely side tracked by the customers or the employees of the store. Then later, I realized I haven't gotten shit because I've been people gawking for the past hour. I just can't shop and ignore the other customer's baffling clothing decisions or people who choose the dressing room at an "Old Navy" to have a loud argument with their boyfriend. All pure unadulterated entertainment in every aisle .. who can SHOP?? Its free reality television people!
For example, a couple years ago I was shopping for some jeans and a girl about the same age as me was there with her daughter.....who was like 10 years old. So right there, I'm like.. wow, she must have had her when she was FIVE. ... But I REFUSED to get caught up in my head and continued looking for jeans that would hug my ass just right and not cut into my hips, causing skin dunlaps. That's hard work. You ladies know. It requires your full, utmost attention. So I'm sitting there, studying seams, cuts, low rise, high rise, button fly, pockets, no pockets, the "dirty jean" look? Or save some money and buy regular clean jeans and "dirty" them myself? Decisions. Decisions.
At this point, I had ALMOST forgot about the girl and her daughter UNTIL I hear THIS:

"Alize'.. Alize' don't wander off. Follow me Alize."

Alize?
Alize?
As in the DRINK Alize'????
As in "oh, let me name my daughter a cheap alcoholic beverage" Alize???
Jean shopping now officially over.
It probably wouldn't have been if she hadn't said her name THREE TIMES. My brain simply could NOT ignore it. It was like 'Alize, Alize, Alize," and off I went....

"I wonder if she named her that because that's what she was drinking when she got knocked up?"
"you're mean, how do you know she got knocked up? Maybe she's married!"
"OH yeah, married and looking at the rhinestone halter tops and sheer short skirts with her hooker heels.. yeah, she's SO married. She SCREAMS married."
" Just shut up and shop for jeans. you're so judgemental."
"Alize?? seriously? I mean, I love Smirnoff ice but you can be damn sure Smirnoff Chaney isn't gonna be added to the family tree."
(chuckled quietly to myself..)
"Maybe it's spelled different."
"WHO CARES? It's pronounced like the drink!! Why not just call her "Strawberry Hill? I wonder what her son's name is, Boone. "Boone's Farm and Strawberry Hill, oh what wonderful children they are!"
(holding in laughter as tears form in the corner of my eyes.)
" Or HEY, screw alchohol! Name them after cars! Cheap cars! "
"Hyundai, honey, its time to do your homework!"
"Oh Corolla, clean your room its such a mess!"
"If you don't get down from there Geo Metro, I'm going to tell Dad!"
" Daihatsu! Stop hitting your sister!"
(shaking quietly as I hold laughter in.. tears falling down both cheeks,)
"You're so NOT going to find jeans today.."

Its becoming increasingly obvious that I need someone with a cattle prod to go with me when I shop. Any volunteers?

Lots of People Were Doing The Nasty....

...around June or July about 27 sum odd years ago because I have THREE friends with birthdays this month!!!! So here's my quick blurb on who they are, how we met and why they're cooler than shit.

(disclaimer: if you're a March baby and my friend and somehow I neglected to mention you on this post, then you should go to myspace and sign in your birthday. Seriously, that is the ONLY WAY I remember birthdays. Judy has been my best friend since the SECOND GRADE and I just started remembering her birthday without struggle about five years ago.)

(Pic:Judy and some Cambodian refugee..oh wait that's me..)

Who: Judy

Met: In second grade, I lived across the street from her when I first moved to "The Heights"

Most Memorable moments:
- making mud pies with dirt sprinkles
- treasure hunts and 'Smurf" hunts in her backyard
- going to prom together with our 'dates'. Her with A-hole number one and me with Victim number one.
- Passing out at her own wine and cheese party. A hostess with the mostess I must say....
- Our conversation about "getting pregnant"
(age 8-ish): me: "I don't wanna get pregnant."
Judy: "You don't have a choice, you're a girl. Girls just get pregnant."
me: "How do you get pregnant?"
Judy: "It just happens because you're a girl. I think when you're like thirty or something..."

(Pic: 12 year old Shannon, making long distance calls at my house...)

Who: Shannon

Met: In third or fourth grade (?) . I don't remember exactly.

Most Memorable Moment:
- Shannon had THE first boy/girl party. (she was quite a revolutionary)
- Dying her hair with kool aid and accidentally buying the wrong pack with the sugar already in it. Oops.
- Giving her her first "guy" poster for her birthday in 6th. Grade. I think her dad still has a hit man out on me for that one. (Seriously, what was wrong with me??)
- Sneaking in to see "Pretty Woman." I think we bought tickets to "Joe Vs. The Volcano." Yeah. Now you see why we chose Pretty Woman instead.
- Shannon and Laura as "Overboard" (their band name) singing "Like A Prayer" to the kindergarden kids during recess. We held "concerts" every lunch and I was their manager. Yeah, that's right. I was an early P-diddy in the making.

(pic: Brandie and me..oh wait, that's her dog Bailey)

Who: Brandie
Met: college, I dragged her to her first Tijuana club.
Most Memorable Moment:
- Let her borrow my shirt when we went clubbin' down in TJ. Next thing you know, girlfriend had it in her back pocket after three drinks! I asked her why she took off her shirt and was dancing around in her bra. Her answer?
"I got hot."
Ask a stupid question.....
- Going on so many "mini vacations" trips! She's the bestest vacation buddy ever! Our list includes, Catalina Island, San Luis Obispo, Palm Springs, Rosarito, MX., Cabo San Lucas, Las Vegas, Dallas, TX.
- Going for a "little drink" at the hotel bar at Rosarito and being "escorted" back to our room after our "little drink" turned into 5 shots of tequila... each. The next day we woke up with killer headaches and our clothes strewn about in wierd places. THEN we had to ride back in my bumpy Jeep on a dirt road. Good times.. good times......
- Meeting up with each other after being out of touch for four years and picking up where we left off with complete and total ease. She's my Italian connection.

I love all you hot mommas!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

Now bend over get a ready for your spankins.....

Hateration Week

You ever have one of those weeks where your pizza falls on floor cheese side down? you explode in the toilet and there's one square of toilet paper left? your hair looks like Joyce Dewitt's? the laundry starts reproducing more laundry and the dirty dishes thought it was a good idea and did the same? the sound of others BREATHING in your direction makes you want to kick them squaw in the arse? your bank balance is negative a couple thousand dollars and top ramen is starting to look like a gourmet meal? each cup of coffee you have is either too sweet, too bitter, or has already gotten cold? when friends seem a world away and annoying motherfuckers are within choking distance? when your obvious genius isn't appreciated in your own time?(heh),when there's ham, no burger? Peanut butter no jelly? Your mind and body feels like it got a good ol' Ike Turner beat down? When everyone else seems like they got their shit together except YOU? when the pen runs out of ink in the middle of writing a check? where a "power nap" just won't cut it and what you really need is a "power week" of sleep? when all your hard earned money seems to go to everyone else but YOU? your blog looks funny on Internet Explorer but yet looks fine on Mozilla Firefox and you're not computer competent enough to fix it? the rug seems to have pores that actually produces dirt and lint? you feel you've been vacuuming said rug so much that if you totaled up the miles you've vacummed, it would circle the earth EIGHT TIMES? prozac starts sounding pretty darn good, downed with a shot of tequila coupled with a lobotomy? the person who gave you a bad first impression makes an even WORSE second impression? everyone thinks "whorebag" is a malicious word? (its actually a loving term people.. a whorebag coupled with some PMS pants and bitchy heels makes for a great ensemble), when you want a piece of chocolate cake and there's only sugar free crap in the cupboard? then you realize it was your dumbass that bought the sugar free crap? you're finally SO SO happy that it's Friday and then you realize you're a mom and moms don't really get a REAL "friday?"

yeah.

That's the kind of week I had. Love me.

Now cheer me up and leave a dirty joke in my comments section!

Eat Here.

On today's menu:
Free Advice!!

Starter/Appetizer:
"If one chooses to go diggin' for shit, one should not complain when one gets crap on ones hand."

Today's Special:
"If one chooses to stick ones nose into a hairy asshole, one should not complain about the smell."

Side Salad:
" If one chooses to smell ones finger after scratching ones ass, one should not complain about a smelly upper lip."

Dessert:
"If one chooses to fuck Paris Hilton, one should not complain about the burning sensation that one feels whilst they pee.

So that's all I've got to say about THAT.

Hollah.

A Potpourri of Poop

- The milk chocolate covered Oreo is touting itself as "the most seductive cookie ever." I didn't even realize there was a competition amongst cookies as to who was the sexiest. However, after tasting the chocolate covered Oreo, I must say IT IS indeed the "Angelina Jolie" of the cookie world. It was so seductive that I damn near brought the whole box into bed with me. I say "damn near" because about halfway to my bedroom.. oh ...oops.. lookit that.......I done ate them all! (ok, wishful thinking.. I'm still sharting it up with Slim Fast, but HAD I been given a box, thats what would've happened.)

- AmbienCR is one of those unneccessary pills they advertise on t.v. to help you sleep better. I love this and the other pill commercials with the wierd names (Nexium, Crestor, Camel Toe..you know the ones..) because I LOVE hearing the "possible side effects" that happen when you take such a pill. It can range from dizziness, losing your hair, growing a third eye, sharting your undies uncontrollably, being unable to function 5 hours AFTER you wake up (Ambien says do NOT take the pill unless you can devote a full 7 to 8 hours of sleep before you need to be active again. Um, If you can DEVOTE 7 to 8 hours sleep everyday you wouldn't NEED the pill right? Just a thought.) and possibly getting Turrets Syndrome.. blah blah blah, but HEY, you got a good night's sleep didn't you?!? Quit complaining about your soiled panties and that growth on your back! At least you're well rested!

- Can someone please tell the THREE GRAY HAIRS I found on my head that they are WAY TOO early and they seriously do not need to bring friends. (yikes).

- Gianda De Laurentiis from "Everyday Italian" scares the bejeesus out of me. Her head is so incredibly huge. Is this a condition? Is this what happens when you eat too much pasta fagioli? Everytime I watch the show, I'm on the edge of my seat waiting for her neck to give out under all the pressure causing her to fall head first in the vat of boiling pasta noodles and pesto. And oh glory be if she happens to have her hair up! That's like adding 10 more pounds of pressure to that poor neck of hers and literally I'm all nerves throughout the show.
Huge head.
Huge.
SCARY Huge.

- Dear Aroma Kitchen Appliance Company,
In your haste to make the handy dandy, all-in-one toaster oven, griddle AND coffee maker contraption, you neglected one little itty bitty thing. The coffee pot should pour coffee INTO my coffee cup and NOT dribble out the sides, spilling coffee on my counter and burning the crap out of my hand. EVERY. MORNING.
You owe me some Neosporin and Clorox Wipes you bastards.
And FYI: being able to toast just ONE piece of bread is about as useful as *'titties on a boar. (*taken from "Brad's Big Book Of Exasperated Hillbilly Sayins")

- As a cooking disable person, I especially appreciate sayings like "Just Add Water" on food products. (Krusteaz Pancake Mix, how I love thee.) If only more things were this easy and user friendly. I'm anxiously awaiting "The Jetson's" house that will take my messy living room, fold it up, tuck it under and pop up an identical but neater living room in its place with the push of a button. Heck, I'm not picky, how about an electric shock administered to the hubby when he "misses" the toilet. Useful AND entertaining!

- Whenver I'm at KFC, I am tempted to order just a big bag of "batter crispies" with a side of gravy. Why yes, I AM a picture of health and wellness.

- I was watching another reality show called "Cheerleader Nation" or something like that. A teenage girl on the show told her mom in an exasperated manner that she 'NEEDED' a cell phone. I automatically thought, "HA! You don't 'need' a cell phone, back in my day we used to write notes and fold them into swans!" Then I realized I'm at a point where I even HAVE a "back in my day" story and waited for my hip to give out.

- I'm disturbed by my growing attraction to Hulk Hogan. That fu manchu moustache, doo rag and fanny belt he wears makes me feel funny inside.

- List of people who should be spade or neutered. Someone alert Bob Barker.
1. Courtney Love
2. Anna Nicole Smith
3. Jerry O'Connell (this guy is bEYOND annoying.. what is he drugging Rebecca Romin with??)
4. Howard Stern. I'm afraid he and his girlfriend would create this wierd blond praying mantis creature. (Shannon, digiscrap that image for me please...)
5. Star Jones and her gay husband, because an African American Elton John is something the world is not ready for.
6. Bob Saget, I can't even believe a guy this cheesy exists. What a Saget!
7. Carrot Top. Is an explanation really necessary? From the looks of things though, I'm afraid that he's going to start procreating with himself.
8. Jessica Simpson, because I'm seriously afraid that her dad will do the honors. ewww.
9. Paris Hilton, again, explanation not necessary.
10. People with Mullets

- Dontcha' hate people who tell you to "go outside and experience life" blah blah blah. Newsflash, 'outside' will still be there after I get off the Internet and watch all my reality shows that I've Tivo'd. Now leave me alone. I like looking pasty and gaunt.

and finally, an essay queston for the weekend:

Can YOU smell what The Rock is cooking?
What's he been cooking this whole time?

Please note that you will have two minutes for each question.

GO!

Whorebags will get SLICED.

So I get this email from my "supervisor" whom I don't particularly like and it goes something like this....

Hi Elaine,

Don't forget we still have to schedule a day for you to train for the blah blah (work talk) reports and we also have to schedule you a ride along with one of the investigators too.

Thanks,

Whorebag.

*************************************************************************
Whorebag,

Is there anyway I can do my ride along and training on the same day? That way I can just knock it all in one day. (IE; which means I don't have to have my aunt babysit for two days, instead of one AND I don't have to do the hour and a half drive to the office TWICE.)

Thanks!

Elaine

***************************************************************************

Elaine,

That's fine. We'll train on blah blah day and afterwards you can go with blah blah for the ride along.

Thanks,

Whorebag.

Great. It's all settled right? Then I get this email AFTER I already told my aunt what day I need her to watch Maddy:

Elaine,

Is there anyway we can just do this on Monday (another coworker was coming in that day to train for the same thing)? You can just do the ride along when there's one in San Diego (it doesn't really MATTER if the ride along is in San Diego as I would STILL have to get a babysitter! and what was the reason for this change of heart ask???? keep reading..) I would just rather do it with both of you at the same time and blah blah here so I don't have to train TWICE.

OH I'm SORRY Whorebag! Am I inconveniencing YOU??? OH DEAR ME, I didn't realize that I wasn't bent over in front of your dildo with no lube. Here. See that? I'm ready to take what you got and HARD because I live my life just so as not to inconvenience YOU, you TRIFLIN', BITCHY, TWO FACED, MICROMANAGING, NO PERSONALITY HAVIN', BROWN NOSER, SUCKIN' THE BOSS' DICK 24/7, WHOREBAG!!!

Okay, phew! Sorry, I had to get that out. This blog is THERAPY to me, so truly, I'm sorry you had to see such ugliness, but hey, you know what you signed up for comin' over here. There's more than meets the eye to my rage over whorebag but seriously, that email took the cake with me. I thank God EVERYDAY that I work at home because besides the fact that I can raise my girl and work in pajamas, if I had to deal with whorebag EVERYDAY, she would have been chopped into pieces and ground up into my doggy's food bowl. The first time I met her my "shady bitch-o-meter" went haywire. Luckily, I had a different supervisor when I first started and she was the coolest chick EVER. Best supervisor I have ever worked for but she had a baby in the past couple months and quit working altogether, which I was fully supportive of. The downside is that the "Age Of The Whorebag" began shortly after.
Long story short, I emailed her back and told her that my aunt could not take the day off that she wanted and if it really inconvenienced her to "train twice" then she could kiss the fattest part of my ass. (in a professional, well typed out email of course).
This is what I got:

Elaine,

Tuesday's fine. That's fine.

Whorebag.

You bet your melted ice cream cone ass that's "fine!" Biznatch.

If I had to choose between bitchy co-workers and toddlers with the terrible two's, I will take the toddler EVERYTIME!
But again, this job really isn't THAT bad because I've had worse. FAR WORSE. SO FAR in fact, that my job right now is just a dot if you had a view of it from my old job....which happened to be IN "HELL, Inc." The only good thing that came out of "Hell, Inc." is that I met one of my bestest friends (Debi) whilst working for Satan HERself. (Yeah, sorry ladies, I have seen Satan and she's a moody biatch.) . I think one of the main reasons we're so close is the same reason why people who experience a tragedy together remain close. We met so many "characters" (homeless people, crack addicts, felons, gangbangers, prostitutes) in "Hell, Inc." because Satan just attracted them all. It was a telemarketing business, selling websites to small businesses. Debi was in charge of training and supervising the call center and I was in charge of creating the websites along with writing ad copy, quality control, customer service and manning the receptionist desk (for a whopping $9.50 an hour. CHA muther effin' CHING! oOOOKAAAY??? *****head roll, hand up****). Debi and I practically ran the place because Satan would be in her office eating puppies but sometimes (like twice) her other personality would take over and she would actually be semi pleasant. On these days, she would regale us with stories of riches and bling that we would be showered with if we were persistent and hardworking (ie: working overtime with no overtime pay, taking her shit, watching her eat puppies and little to no raises). She spoke of champagne wishes and cavier dreams, when, at best, she was offering Colt 47 wishes and pork rind dreams. Satan's minions would EAT THIS CRAP UP though and practically RUN to their phones after her Tony Robbinsspeech. The speech would get them rearin' to go up until they had actually made some money. You would THINK that now that money was coming in they would work harder right?? But nooooo, they would get a fat paycheck, call in sick for a week, spend all their money on crack, whores, gambling, or (insert life destroying addiction HERE______). Then they would come in the next week defeated and desperate. OR quit altogether and go back to their "Welfare" job. (I don't know what company "Welfare" is but apparently a lot of them worked for this institution. ) The turn around rate at that company was dizzying. We would constantly be hiring, training, firing and fighting with disgruntled employees. Debi and I even witnessed employees coming to work all tweaked out on crack. One girl literally looked like she had JUST came from a bar down the corner. At 7:30 am, she came trottin' to work wearing a silver disco dress, one strap hanging off her shoulder, eyeballs twitching and mascara/sweat smeared all over her face. She walked into the office at about one hundred miles an hour and spattered out fifty fast hellos in a span of 2.2 nano seconds. (Damn Debi, those were GOOD TIMES). Many a times, the cops were almost called because the employees failed to read the fine print of their job application (which stated that if they were fired or if they quite 45% of their check would be taken away just in case any of their orders fell through... Satan was a bitch AND a damn good con man to boot). We DREADED giving out the last paycheck to an ex-employee because WE KNEW that after walking out the door with their check, they would come running back in demanding to know where the rest of their money was. It wasn't just regular ol' "anger" either, it was a "I was gonna buy five dime bags of crack and now I can only buy one" type of RAGE. One time, Satan and her husband went on vacation and then PHONED Debi on payday to inform her that the callers wouldn't be getting their checks that day and that they would have to wait until next week. To this day I don't know how Debi did not shit her pants right there on the spot when she had to tell felons, crack whores, gangbangers and prostitutes that they wouldn't be able to feed their habit that weekend. We literally had to let all the callers out of the office that day and then lock ourselves in until they all left. In fear that we would get shanked while walking out to our cars.

Point being.......um.. wait.. what was my point? OH yeah, I guess compared to THAT, whorebag isn't that bad...and the fact that being a stay at home mom is the BEST. JOB. EVER.

Screw the office.

Viva la SAHMS!!

When I grow up, I want to take endless naps......

Dream job at 10: Scientist
Dream job at 13: Army
Dream job at 16: Actress
Dream job at 23: Travel channel talk show host
Dream job at 29: The first ever rock and roll Accordi0n player. ("Polkadonna" I'm still working on this I swear)

...notice how the jobs went from pretty reasonable to totally ridiculous as I "grew up?" that's because I think I've slowly figured out that working sucks hairy donkey balls and working for someone else is about as satisfying as hitting yourself with a bag of hammers...in the conch. Yeah, I work for someone else NOW but that's only because I get to take care of the munchkin AND work in my pjs. Otherwise, it would have been rock and roll stardom already.. accordion STYLE! Plus, that whole hogbull about wanting to be a "scientist" at 10 was because I thought being a scientist meant that you mix crap up in test tubes and watch them fizz over. Little did I know that was the path to creating a meth lab.

Actually, I'm quite surprised that I don't have body parts hidden in my floorboards right now (although there are some people at work who are vying for that honor). I stumbled on my early attempts at story writing from 6th grade. I was digging through some old shit when I saw a big red 'A' scrawled across a paper I had written. Wanting to see what genius I had spewed at such a tender age, I reread my paper (plus I was looking for an excuse to pat myself on the back, even though its kind of hard with stubby midget arms....) It was called, "The Answer is Blowing In The Wind." I can tell you right now that I had no idea who Bob Dylan was in 6th Grade, I just know that Elise Keaton sung a beautiful rendition of it on an episode of "Family Ties." The title sounded kind of pretty until I kept reading. The story was about a boy that gets picked on at school. While walking home depressed about his lot in life, a piece of paper hits him in the face. He looks at it and it says, "The Answer is Blowing in the Wind." Suddenly, he driven by an unseen force to build a robot in his basement, complete with razor sharp implements for some slicin' and dicin'. The robot then goes on to kill the bullies that picked on him and whoever else decides to pick on him. (heads being sliced in class, blood spurting on classmates clothing, the little boy doing the evil "mua ha ha" laugh.. this story was CHOCK full of CRAP that was seriously disturbing and entertainingly descriptive.) Consequently, the little boy gets drunk off his power and the robot goes on an uncontrollable killing spress, turns on him and kills him at the end. I described how his brain sounded as it hit the floor, how it resembled cottage cheese after the robot ran over it... nice. The end is of another little boy in another little town, getting hit in the face with the bob dylan posessed piece of paper, getting the robot buildin' urge and causing more carnage to those who dared screw with him.. (I left the story open to a sequel which I knew was good for book AND movie sales.)

I was quite a charming little 6th grader wasn't I?

other random musings just to fill up blog space....

*Is there pain like the pain that one experiences when one stubs ones little toe on the corner of a coffee table? It literally renders you speechless. You can't scream, you can't move, you just bite your lip and shed a tear. It hurts the soul.

*It is truly a shame that guys in my high school didn't look like Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles.

* I can eat bags and bags of Salt and Vinegar chips until my lips are white and my tongue has salt burn on them. Why? Because chips that smell like feet gets my stomach a' growlin.

* Instead of just sayin, "gross, there's bird poop on the windshield" my husband says:
"Did you know that birds poop their pee? Yeah, they don't have a regular urinary track so the green stuff is poop and the white stuff is pee."
me: "okaaaaay.... thanks?"
husband: "that's gross huh? you KNOW another bird that gross?? The blah blah blah......."
then he talks about some bird that pees on itself to keep itself cool.
Aaah, my husband. He just oozes poetic songs doesn't he?

* When my husband hacks a loogie, he lovingly calls it "Lung Butter." Again, the charm..it just OOZES.

...aaaaand I'm spent............

Spank it.

The Joyce Dewitt Phase

As most of you know, I'm growing my faux hawk out because I'm over my "straight but looks lesbian" hair fad. My hair has now officially reached "Joyce Dewitt" phase. I don't really mind really since I think Joyce Dewitt was the best "Three's Company" roommate ever. I think I might even don some super short blue shorts and a terry cloth top with no bra. (right) Damn I love Three's Company. (R.I.P.: Don Knotts. I'll miss you Mr. Furley.) I feel somewhat old knowing that TWO castmates from my all time favorite t.v. show are dead. What's up with that? Jack Tripper and Mr. Furley are suppose to be immortal. If Joyce Dewitt kicks to bucket, I'm going to need therapy.

* So the Oscars came and went. (yay Reese and damn you George Clooney for being so orgasmically charming..). I seriously need to stop watching the Oscars every year because that "L.A. Actress" part in me that I bludgeoned to death with my reality stick rises from the dead. I get this silly idea to just "give it one more shot." Forgetting the fact that every time someone says, "thespian" I have the urge to say, "Oh no, I'm straight...." AND that I'd rather stab myself in the eye with a needle dipped in tabasco sauce than go to another audition. (Cast of characters from my last audition:
-90 pound girl cheerfully regaling me with stories about her rapant bulimia,
-wierd yoga guy twisting himself into a pretzel in the corner of the room going "ommmmm",
-40 year old man asking if his "hair plugs" are noticable. I didn't have the heart to tell him his head looked like a corn field.
- metrosexual male spouting out his "impressive' resume to anyone that would listen.)
No thanks. But what about that Dolly Parton huh? How bout' them hooters?! Sure she may be sixty but the hugeness of her boobies never gets old.

* My Slim Fast Testimony:
Dear Slim Fast, Last week, I had reached a plateau in my weight loss and the needle on the scale was being a stubborn bitch, refusing to move for weeks! I regretfully lost my temper and yelled at Billy Blanks to take his double punch combo and his lazy eye and shove it up his sweaty Tae Bo arse. Just when I was about to reach for that bag of pork rinds smothered in gravy, you came to the rescue. Sure you taste like sugared potting soil and whoo nilly! You sure do give me the "fast poopies" but darn it if you didn't get that scale moving in the right direction again. Thanks to you, I'm sharting my way to a better body! THANK YOU Slim Fast!"

I'm usually very nice to folks who come to my door pitching "their religion." I don't necessarily agree with the "door to door" faith salesmen but whatever floats your boat, I'm sure it helps out a lot of people... blah blah blah. Sometimes I even take the pamphlet and have a look-see (although they never answer that age old question of, "what exactly DID Jehovah Witness and why is he the only one privy to the information???"). Today was a different story. First a side note (or warning): NOTHING gets the steam rising from every crevice of my body than somebody interrupting Maddy's nap. Not only because her nap equals a much needed down time for me but put no nap and being TWO YEARS old into the equation and you get a TOTAL MELTDOWN, from her AND me. Messing with my girl's schedule is like messing wit my emotions!
Anyways, today I hear the door bell ring TWICE in the middle of putting my girl down for a nap. I ignored it. The doorbell rang again and the dog started barking. Thankfully, Maddy had already fallen asleep, but I was pissed nonetheless. I mean, if no one answers the door after two rings, GO. AWAY. I answer the door and there THEY ARE with their pamphlets. I didn't even let them get a word in edgewise before my head spun 360 degrees. I spewed bile on their shoe, turned green, breathed a cloud of smoke in their faces and growled,
"I'm BUDDHIST!!! ARGHTHREHGTHEL BPOGPO LDOLCUNGGFRRRRBLE!!!!"
Then I started speaking in tongues and they ran away.
Hmph. Some Buddhist. Go meditate bitch.

* Have I ever expressed my EXTREME hatred for "METROSEXUALS" yet? Yes? Well here's some more. If I see another metro with the studded belt, the brand name jeans, half tucked in shirt, plucked eyebrows and shiny hair that required a straightener to get it "just right," I'm going to reach in and revoke his fuckin penis and balls with one good yank. You're a pussy. So you don't get to have a penis. They're two seconds away from bending over anyways, so you gimme those nuts sissy man. God forbid all the real men get weeded out and the pussification of America goes into full swing by the time my daughter is of dating age. I'm going to have to tell her stuff like,
"You know, back in the day, men didn't share his jeans or hair products with you.."
DIE ALL YOU RYAN SEACRESTS OF THE WORLD. Take that lovely Dolce and Gabbana belt you're wearing, fashion a noose and kill yourself before you get a chance to BREED. OR rip out your own nuts and save me the trouble.


This has been a public service announcement.

Fear The Midget.

"When A Midget Gets Excited"
A poem by yours truly,

When a midget gets excited,its quite a sight to see.
A dancy jig of midget feet with shouts of joy and glee!
"Tell us little midget, oh why do you dance so gay?"
"Because I heard Madonna was going to play at Coachella today!"
Oh my word, that IS big news, whatever did you do?
"I plunked down all my cash for tickets, because I am a stalker, true!"


Within minutes of the announcement, I bought tickets to the music festival and booked my room in a blink of an eye. My plan of attack is simple: show up early and take down big giant gay men who dare park their Brazilian waxed ass in MY SPOT. WHICH IS IN THE FRONT. Back up bitches and fear the midget.(Oh and afterwards, Brad was greeted at the door with howler monkey-like screeches and the midget jig {see poem above}. Is he the luckiest man in the world or WHAT?!?!?)

Onto other news......

* My neighbors are officially tapdancing on my last nerve. Last I checked, the laundry room does not say "Welcome Entire World! Do your Laundry HERE!" Yet, EVERY week, these bastards bring an entire country's laundry to be washed at our laundry room until the wee hours of the night. I guess the laundry door must also be slathered in bacon grease because it seems to slip out of their hands and close with a thunderous bang everytime they go in there. Oh and to add to their fine smurf blue decor they also decided that it would be a good idea to build an outdoor patio ..... with particle board. It peeks out at us every morning and says "Hi! I'm here to bring the market value of YOUR condo way below what you purchased it for. Have a nice day!" I wonder if they are aware that they live next to a hillbilly gun collector who foolishly taught his wife how to shoot a Magnum BFR with frightning accuracy?? Again I say, Fear the midget! >:D

* Just saw a preview for "The Hills Have Eyes." Before seeing it, I shrugged it off as the usual "scary" movie with a pretty enticing title, but nothing to back it up. But after seeing the preview, I sharted myself (and since I go commado, it made for a horrible mess). In a nutshell, it's basically backwood rednecks dipped in toxic waste who harasses an innocent family passing through town. Its so disturbing, I might have to add it onto my Netflix list when it comes out on DVD. (because let's face it, being parents means its a Netflix night, EVERY night. I REFUSE to get anal raped by a 14 year old babysitter who charges 15 bucks an hour to babysit.) Afterwards, I'm sure I'll be double checking the toilet at night to make sure that no radioactive rednecks gnaw on my ass for a midnight snack. (the only redneck that can do that with no consequences sleeps right next to me.) I just NOW got over the stupid Chinese meowing boy from "The Grudge." Damn you meowing boy.

* Riss mentioned this on her blog and I had to make additional comments on the grossness that is the "Diva Cup." I recycle paper, I recycle cans, shoot, we're even planning on buying a Hybrid car in the future. I'm as concerned about the planet as anybody out there; HOWEVER, I draw the line at washing my "menses cup" right along with my dishes to save the environment! Tree huggers everywhere, please STOP. Stop it right now before I have to shove your dirty Birkenstocks up your arse. Having your period is inconvienent enough without having to excuse yourself from dinner to empty your "diva cup." And nice try on naming it so eloquently but let's call a spade a spade shall we? "The Bloody Bowl" sounds more appropriate. Really, if you're going to be gross enough to introduce this product, have the balls to back it up with a realistic name so we know what to expect.

* My Elvis obsession is officially out of control. Yes, I love ELVIS. I said it, so there! I love him so much that I still get the shivers when I see him performing on the Ed Sullivan show from the 50's. That man was beautiful, regardless if he got fat and disgusting in the 70's, the majority of his life, he was HAWWWWT. rowf! To honor the gorgeousness that was this man, I've decided to dedicate the decor in our half bathroom downstairs to Elvis. (totally appropriate since the man died on the pot). I have recently purchased a set of Elvis bathroom accessories (Elvis toothbrush holder, soap holder AND cup) and I'm currently browsing ebay for Velvet Elvis' paintings and a velvet toilet seat cover. Yes, my gawdiness knows no bounds. But since the rest of our condo looks decidely "adult" ..(snore")..I have to get gawdy somewhere so the half bath it is! (Again, the hubby shakes his head in disbelief and scans the marriage certificate for some kind of 'Elvis/Madonna obsession" clause from which he could then escape the clutches of the midget. Sadly, no such clause exists! MUa ha ha ha!!!)

That is all. Class dismissed. Have a great weekend!