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.

She Works Hard For The Money!

Well not really...I try to work as little as possible for the money without doing anything illegal, but that doesn't make for a very good song.
What I'm trying to say is the job search is over! And my office attire can be pajamas or my birthday suit because I scored yet another job I can do from home. I won't say exactly what it is because I've gotten into trouble mentioning job related stuff on my blog before so I don't want to go on that route again....but it is a typing job (mindless), I can pretty much set my own schedule each week, the pay is awesome, I can keep my current job but most importantly I can drop off and pick up my girl from school.

So hollah!!

Ok, stop. You're loud.
God, I can't take you guys anywhere.

Onto other things.....

This weekend, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on life, the fate of the universe, global warming and how tonight, I was going to celebrate my love for you. But sadly, the moment was lost when a big giant droplet of sweat fell into my eye.

It's hot and summer needs to go away now.

I did not get out of the hotbox of east county El Cajon, move into a condo by the coast and pay a mortgage I can't afford only to be hotboxed again goddamn it!

And yet, here I sit, crotch a sweatin'.

The kicker is that my condos do not have air conditioning because they figure, hey bitch, you live by the coast, you get the beach breezy!! And while that's true 90 percent of the time, 10 percent of the time (usually end of August), there is NO beach breezy and our upstairs feels like the underneathy parts of John Goodman's nutsacks. I know, I know, it could be worse. I could be my friend Debi who has been melting under the Arizona 100 plus degree sun since early June. But right now, its really hard to feel grateful for the "wonderful" California weather when mine shorts are damp, for my asscrack sweateth so profuseth.

We actually went to the beach on Labor Day weekend, crowd be damned. And really, unless you were face down on the beach, it was still hot as shit. On Monday, viking hubby bought a nice sized pool for the munchkin. Well, it was SUPPOSE to be for the munchkin, but by the time ol' girl got into her bathing suit, her mom and dad were already in there doing backstrokes.

I can't tell you how much I wanna dry hump an ice block right now.


No, no, no, Mr. Van Winckle...you heard me wrong. I said nothing of humping the vanilla kind.
But you keep wearing outfits like that mister and I might change my mind.

Danny Devito's Special Request

This is supposedly how they got Danny Devito to do a third season of "Its Always Sunny In Philadelphia." It's sick, twisted and hilarious!

Work Schmurk! Get me another Mai Tai!

I've decided to dip my toe back into the warm stagnant pool of the workforce. Granted, I haven't been completely out of the work force, but I work at home and lately, with so little hours clocked in, I get slightly embarrassed when I tell people I "work."
I love my job and the pay is great; however, that all amounts to not a damn thing when you're clocking in 15 hours a week. I am grateful for landing this job because it allowed me to stay at home with the munchkin, which was the whole reason I took my ass out of the work force in the first place.

But now the munchkin tires of me and longs to play with other children that don't annoy her like the big one at home she calls "mom." We found a school nearby that had a large facility and a small amount of students. The teachers seemed to know their stuff and were on the older side (ie: no college students working part time w/ Monday morning hangovers. Oooh listen to me! I'm OLD!) they actually had a nice curriculum (is molding blue Play-Doh into the Statue of David too much? I didn't think so either.) and best of all the monthly payments were decent, as in I didn't have to go and get a job as the cow that hooks the corner for Chick-Fil-A.

So with her off to preschool, I decided it would benefit our financial situation greatly if I got another job. At first, I decided to make dust off my degree in FASHAWN (fashion) and applied to several modeling agencies, I got a call from two and the haughty tone in their voice (ummm, you're a receptionist. Relax Rockefeller.) reminded me of why I had decided not to go down that path after college. (the business of beauty is really quite ugly.)

I put my degree back into its cave, for yet another couple years of hibernation and decided to look for a job that I can do in my sleep with no stress. I figured this was just for extra cash, no need to have an ulcer over it.

I came up with two things I can do in my sleep, which might be beneficial to the workforce.
One of which is typing.
Yeah. I know. Big whoop. But I actually like to type (oh the sweet sound of the keyboard's clickity clack. Heaven I tell ya) so it wouldn't be like working at all and at 90 words per minute, I'm sure there's a company out there that can make use of my cracked out typing skillz.
So whooosh!...I sent off my resume to as many repetitive data entry positions I could possibly find.

The second thing I love to do even more than typing and I can do until the end of time is talking. I'm what I like to call a "talking technician," ..a yammering yoda you might say. I think a tour guide would be the easiest job in the world for me. My dream job has always been to steal this job from this lucky bitch. She must die retire so the era of the traveling midget can begin and be watched by millions on the Travel Channel.

But that's a long term goal, back to my short, misguided ones...

I took a chance and typed in "tour guide" and found two that I applied for. The one I'm hoping that I'll get is to be a tour guide on one of those double decker buses. It drives around the San Diego sights, I get to babble to my hearts content for the poor saps that are stuck with me for the ride. Another one was to be a personal tour guide for San Diego for wealthy investors and their families. It supplies you with a company vehicle, pretty damn good hourly rate and of course the tips were supposedly amazing. It sounds to good to be true but I shot off my resume anyways trying to ignore the voice in my head that screamed out,

"Are you NUTS?!?! You're ASIAN..you can't DRIVE AND TALK at the same time!!!"

I ignored it.
Much like I ignore my left blinker for at least a mile and half before I realize I still have it on and all the cars around me give me the finger. I do the "I'm Asian" shrug and wave at them.

But that's another post for another time.

Now gimme your good luck vibes and then get off my lawn.

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.

Going To Hell...Won't You Join Me?

I think everyone already knows that I bought my ticket to hell when I couldn't help but giggle at THIS.

I felt horrible for laughing and since I did really really sincerely hope that the woman newscaster was okay, God put my ticket to hell on hold.

HOWEVER, after inappropriately laughing at the article below, God has officially bought, confirmed and stamped my ticket.

*******************************************************************************
Pet camel kills Australian woman

The woman was found dead at the family’s sheep and cattle ranch near the town of Mitchell in Queensland.

The woman had been given the camel as a 60th birthday present earlier this year because of her love of exotic pets.

The camel was just 10 months old but already weighed 152kg (336lbs) and had come close to suffocating the family’s pet goat on a number of occasions.

On Saturday, the woman apparently became the object of the male camel’s desire.

It knocked her to the ground, lay on top of her and displayed what the police delicately described as possible mating behaviour.

“I’d say it’s probably been playing, or it may be even a sexual sort of thing,” the Associated Press news agency quoted Queensland police Detective Senior Constable Craig Gregory as saying.

Young camels are not normally aggressive but can become more threatening if treated and raised as pets.
***********************************************************************************

I tried not to laugh. Really.
It's a tragic, tragic event...
....being humped to death by your pet camel.

("humped" get it? tee hee.)


Dammit I'm sorry!.. but at least the camel loved her right?
Was he just overwhelmed with passion?
Did he mistake her cries of pain for pleasure?
Most importantly ...did they not have a safety word?!?!?

Okay, I seriously need to stop.

August 16th Twas' A Memorable Day Times Two

Today is the anniversary of The King's death and while I wish I was in Graceland (well..no not really, its hot as shit there right now) I'm here doing my little blog honor to my dead lover. Instead of the usual Jailhouse Rock, Love Me Tender..blah blah blah clip...(the "popular" songs I usually skip right over)....here's A REAL Elvis jam that you'll see me belting out in my car.
This performance/session is the essence of Elvis cheese that I love so much. Its complete with loud shirt, sneer, a prescription drug buzz look in his eye and giant CHOPS.

Those chops make me hot people. I'm not even joking.

What else is special about this day? CHECK my other Blog

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:

HAPPY MCMONDAY!!!!

Nothing starts the week off better than a hot cup of WHOA!

So glad to see that my "No T-Shirt For McConaughey in 2007" campaign is still going strong!

Its Dead I Tell Ya....Dead.

FLF is going to probably be a spur of the moment type of thing now since all the crazed celebs took mommy midget's advice and went to rehab/jail or are so incredibly crazy that its not even crazy anymore. (Her name rhymes with Shitney Steers). Although, one crazy who's still in denial and won't answer my phone calls is Paula Abdul. True she's not the classic, slurring tater tot eatin' hillbilly like Anna Nicole was. At least Annie was SOO out of it, she didn't have time to be a bitch. She was too occupied chasing her dog Sugar Pie underneath tables and laughing at herself. In other words, Annie is like a happy drunk whereas Paula Abdul is the mean drunk you never want to take to the bar because they end up fighting with the pool table after a couple of beers. True, Paula Abdul is a tad bit more functional than Anna but somehow this makes her crazy tirades even more of a spectacle. Because you start to THINK she's normal and then wham, she does this shiz:


Um. wait. Did she just say, "Where is God when you need him?"
Hold on Paula, let me ring up God, I think he might be in Darfur. God's cell phone isn't getting any signals over there but I guarantee you that once God hears about you getting fired from the Bratz movie, he'll drop everything and come running.
Genocide and mass killings will just HAVE TO wait.
I really can't even watch "Hey Paula"..I'm so embarrassed because I used to think Paula Abdul was the coolest in the sixth grade. I can't tell you how many midgets like myself rejoiced that a fellow midget like Paula Abdul became such a success. (I can't hear "Forever Your Girl" and not be reminded of sixth grade or my sixth grade boyfriend Ray. He looked like Fred Savage. I was his Filipina Winnie Cooper. hollah.).
Paula seemed like a down to earth chick back in the day. Damn Paula. Didn't we almost have it all? When love was all we had worth giving!?!?
Sorry.
I think the midgets and I need to have a meeting and throw her out of the Lollipop Guild ...cut up her union card and everything.
Remember when crazy only applied to Tom Cruise...?? and it was only because he jumped on the couch and told Brooke Shields to walk it off and take some vitamins??? It wasn't because he had called out to God (Xenu) in disgust because he didn't get an Oscar or feed Suri Pop Tarts and soda. (um. rhymes with Shitney Steers.)

I love you Tom.....The ride with you was worth the fall my friend
Loving you makes life worth living,
Didn't we almost have it all
The night we held on till the morning,
You know you'll never love that way again
Didn't we almost have it all...
(sniff...excuse me. I have to go choke out Katie Holmes for stealing one of my gays).

Where Have All The Spartans Gone?

I FINALLY saw 300 since it just came out on DVD. (People with kids don't go to movies, that's why Netflix was invented.)
My friend Debi couldn't stop blubbering about it and when she got it on DVD she made sure to tote it along with her when she came by to visit. I already had a favorable view of 300 because the previews showed men in briefs and a cape with a six pack getting their fight on. DING DING!!! Sounds like an Oscar to me my friends!
When I finally saw the movie, it lived up to all my expectations except for the fact that the 300 sets of pecs and abs were seriously distracting me from the plot of the story. I had to catch myself a couple times going..."huh? wha? ...oh sorry. my mouth was open again? I left a puddle on the carpet you say? Good heavens. Apologies all around. Now what are they fighting for again?"

In a world where we are currently surrounded by "men" who get mani/pedis, facials, go to therapy, keep journals, wear eyeliner, have hands softer than mine and are VEGAN (oy. sorry Shadow), 300 was like jumping into a nice cool pool of testosterone when you've been sweating it out in the estrogen sauna.

For example, just a couple of minutes into the movie, do you know what happened to the fool messenger when he dared speak ill to the king Leonidas' wife?

First he says: "Bitch Please."


Then he kicked his ass down the hole.


I don't know what the hell is at the bottom of that hole ...maybe shards of sharp glass, Paris Hilton's dirty underwear or maybe it just takes you straight to Arizona. (ha! Debi would appreciate that dig since she lives in Satan's taint). Either way, there's chivalry, fighting, swords, grunting ...and not a Banana Republic collared shirt or khaki pants in sight! I immediately fell in love with this movie after a couple of minutes.

I obviously highly recommended you watch this movie. If not for the abs/pecs (you REALLY need another reason?) for the cool cinematography,(I loved how the whole movie looked "dreamlike")and the whole "Rocky" underdog defies the odds type of plot. (Again..I'm a fan of these movies because midgets need that kind of reassurance. Why yes laine, if RUDY can do it, then by god all 4 foot 8 inches of you can do it too!) And damn if it didn't have some great memorable quotes...a few of my favorites were:

Messenger: A thousand nations of the Persian empire descend upon you. Our arrows will blot out the sun!
Stelios: Then we will fight in the shade.
(Oucha. That line was practically foreplay for me..)

and my FAVORITE..the reason the messenger pretty much got his ass kicked:
Messenger: Who does this woman think she is that she can speak among men?
Queen Gorgo: Because only Spartan women give birth to real men.

YEah! See? Even the Spartan women strapped on a pair.

So before you watch Sleepless In Seattle for the hundredth time, take a moment and partake in the refreshing pool of men that is 300.



EDIT: Here's the trailer to wet your appetite...

Something Smells....

I was saving this story for a Friday much like today. A Friday where I don't really want to think about how a praying mantis and a eyeliner wearing douchebag could have possibly procreated. or how Tara Reid insists on showing me one horrific disfigurement after another:



Blech. Seriously. It looks like her ass suffered some erosion during the rainy season. In other words, it's a slow celebrity news week AKA I don't feel like it. But trust me...the tale I am about to tell is the stuff of legends. Grab your blankie and settle in. Here we go:

So once upon a time, on a beautiful but horribly hot day, my daughter and I decided, it was BEACH TIME! It doesn't take much for us to decide that its beach time since its only three miles away from our place. We're such beach bums we even know all the secret spots on the beach where there's hardly any foot traffic and we can pretend that the beach house behind us is really ours. So anywhoo, this day was one of those days. We packed up and went to one of our secret spots, ready for a day of sand castles and catching sand crabs.

But shortly after finishing tower one of our sand castle.
I felt it.
A rumble and a tumble in my tummy.
I ignored it and continued to work on our sand castle. We were aiming for five towers, a moat and a drawbridge so I couldn't be bothered with ....

OW!
This time it was a rumble and a tumble with a stomach cramp.
I knew what this was. This was a warning that diarrhea of the explosive kind was about to pay a visit.

Now this my not seem like a big deal in any other part of the beach where there was a plethora of bathrooms however, we were in our secret spot. A secluded part of the beach with only beach houses as far as the eye could see. No public bathroom in sight, not even a fast food restaurant where I could drop off my brown bag lunch.

NOTHING.

I panicked for a bit, but then the cramps went away. So I thought, "Okay that wasn't really a big deal...I can hold it."
"No you can't"
"Who's that?"
"Its explosive diarrhea. Nice to meet you."

How very cordial of my diarrhea to introduce itself, I thought. It sounded reasonable enough so I tried to bargain with it.

"Look, I just got here. I can't pack up everything, walk back up that hill, strap my daughter in the carseat and go look for a bathroom. She'd freak out that we were leaving and seriously dude, WE JUST GOT HERE."

"Well that's not really my problem. I have to get out of here. Your stomach isn't exactly welcoming and I'd rather not stay around where I'm not welcome. So if you don't mind...."

CRAMPS AGAIN. Good lord, this time it was twice as bad as the first one.

"Screw you explosive diarrhea. I can breath through this! You don't know who you're dealing with motherfucker. I've been through contractions biotch. You ain't got shit! (ha) You'll just have to hang out there until we're done!"

"We'll see."

I breathed through a couple more of them until they got so bad that even if I were to pack up our things and trek up the hill, there was no way I would make it to the car. I frantically looked at the beach houses nearby for any sign of life. Damn! They were all summer rentals and they were all vacant. I had broken out into a light sweat as I heard a smug voice inside my head,
"I told you I'd come out one way or the other, but noooo, you had to be stubborn. So now, now my friend, you are going to shit your pants right on the beach! This is truly delightful!"

I gritted my teeth and didn't say a word because explosive diarrhea was right. If I didn't find someplace soon, I was going to soil myself right here and NOW. There wasn't a lot of people on the beach but there was enough people around who would notice a brown dookie smudge on my bottoms. Frantic, I looked and I looked, and I saw a gift from God.
Someone had dug a man sized hole near some rocks!! PERFECT! I thought. I made sure my daughter was in sight (she was still busy building our sand castle), laid down into the hole like it was a beach chair, carefully laid a towel across the area that mattered, dug ANOTHER hole under my ass.....
and well...
lets just say explosive diarrhea lived up to its name.

Afterwards, I buried my unexpected surprise (along with my dignity) so no one would be the wiser. ( oh and I know what you sick bastards are thinking. Yes, I wiped....thank you baby jesus for my daughter's Kandoo wipes.) Problem solved! I felt slightly guilty that I had polluted our beautiful beach like that but I kept trying to convince myself that poop is biodegradable and would um...feed a lot of plant life ??? in the ocean??? Whatever. I had to go. It couldn't be helped! I simply had NO CHOICE! It was my shorts or the sand..and I really liked my shorts and the fact that I had gone through most of my adult life without crapping myself. I don't know if I can say the same in 40 years, but I kind of wanted to hold onto that crapping record as long as I can.

You would THINK that this is the end of my story yes? It would be a logical end to the story, but you forget who you're dealing with here.

So an hour or two had passed since "the incident" and I had almost forgotten about the whole thing. The beach was getting a teensy bit crowded, so I headed over to our stuff and started to pack things up. From the corner of my eye...I see a teenage boy....
by THE HOLE.....
DIGGING...
WITH A SHOVEL!
Not a plastic Wal-Mart it comes with a Spongebob bucket type of shovel..oh no my friends. It was a real fucking shovel! The kind of shovel that has done its fair share of grave digging. My newly buried treasure was about to be prematurely unearthed! I froze and tried to calm myself.
Denial Laine: "Its okay, its okay, you dug it down pretty deep there's no way he is going to dig.."
Harsh Truth Laine: "Are you kidding me! That kid's digging a fucking hole to China! Of course he's going to reach your brownie pie!"

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod. What the hell is that kid digging for???? Why can't he just build a sandcastle like everyone other kid for chrissakes?!?!?!?!

Then I saw WHY he was digging that hole....a friend of his was standing next to him. Preparing to go INTO the HOLE to be BURIED.

OH.
My.
God.

So not only was he going to dig out the poo but he was then going to put the poo BACK ONTO HIS FRIEND.

This was turning out to be an interesting day indeed.

Trying to cut a long story short, he must have dug past my pile or shoveled it up with a bunch of other sand because it didn't seem like he saw anything. I hightailed it out of there before he buried his friend. The sick, morbid part of me kind of wanted to see it but I didn't want to push my luck. I hadn't soiled myself, I had pooed in public without anyone noticing and it was dug back up an hour later, again with NO ONE noticing. I decided to cash my brown chips and call it a victory.

I'm disgusting and I can't hold my bowels.
I'm sorry.
Don't leave me.

The Neighbors Can Kiss My Lady Spots

I'm sure most of you saw the open letter to my neighbor bemoaning the fact that she basically shrieks at her children at an ungodly decibel at an ungodly hour. She must have visited my blog, because shortly after writing that post, the 'morning wake shriek' has been few and far between.

Good right?
Wrong.

Now that the shrieking is gone, I am now convinced that my new neighbors are in some kind of wierd contest to be the next Sanford And Son. By that I mean that since they've moved in, I have seen a large foldable bed, a dresser drawer, toys, chairs, blankets and pillows strewn about in their front yard. At first I thought..okay, they just moved in, maybe they're just organizing stuff.
UM no.
A month and a half later, their crap has had some offspring and it looks like it's still multiplying. For THREE DAYS they had a FULL SIZED tent pitched up in their front lawn. (on TOP of the crap already on their lawn) At this point, I had to be the bitch and informed HOA that they were infringing on "common area" laws. I'm sorry but I just cannot go next door and tell a grown ass woman and a grown ass man to pick their shit up. I am NOT their momma. I could ignore it but they're literally a NEXT DOOR..like I could stick my hand out of my window and knock on their door NEXT DOOR NEXT DOOR. So, ultimately, I had to have HOA be their momma. I figured I pay enough HOA fees that I can TELL HOA to play momma and maybe even play a little beach boys on the ukulele. The point is...fuck HOA fees. Okay, that's a totally different subject altogether.
Moving along..
So the tent went down a day or two after that, the bed disappeared, only one chair remained and a cooler. Whatever. I wasn't too bothered by that. So we went out early on Sunday to pick up my daughter from her uncle's house and when we came back we saw not only a TENT pitched up AGAIN..this time it was in the middle of the pathway that we use to GET to our condo! There was double the toys/trikes, more pillows and blankets and I'm pretty sure I saw a chicken running around. Our entire front area looked like an open market in Calcutta. But, it was a weekend, I was tired, so I decided to just look the other way and clamp my hand over the viking hubby's mouth (it was hard. I had to get a chair and everything.) since viking Hubby is not so good about keeping his constructive criticism at a low volume. He thinks subtlety and tact is the store brand version of Bartles and James. Has no idea what those words mean.

So it's been hard, trying to be patient with my neighbors and trying to be patient with HOA's slow response team all the while keeping viking hubby's muzzle on.

The next morning, I look out the window and thank god, the stupid tent was gone..but there were still toys all over the place and .....
what the?

is that a?
A...a...
A DIRTY TIRE?
IN MY FRONT LAWN?!?!?!?

If only you could have seen how fast my little legs propelled me down my stairs and out the door. I hooked that dirty tire in one arm and threw it into their window!

Okay, so honestly, that's what I PLANNED on doing inside my head.

But what really happened was that I tried to pick the tire up with one hand, realized it was heavy, used both hands, realized it was super dirty and ew...is that going to leave a stain? So I ended up rolling it over to their front lawn.
But like, in a huff and with an attitude, like "uh uh..oh no you deeunt!" type of swagger. I also stood there for a while, hands on my hips and posed like the captain on the Captain Morgan's bottle with a smug sense of satisfaction.

That was yesterday.

The tire is STILL on their front lawn.

I'm thinking about putting a Chia Head in the middle of the tire and making it the focal point of their lawn.

Because when life gives you dirty tires, turn it into landscaping I alway say.

That being said. CAN SOMEONE GIVE US A HOUSE?
Come on. Give us a house. Anyone?
Will this convince you?



I'm NOT picky but I have to let you know that the girl above would prefer a beach house. So if you have an extra one handy........

FLF: Pants Optional

Dear Lindsey,

I guess this letter has been a long time coming and a little too late, but that’s only because I thought that, unlike Twitney Spears, you would be the one to actually go to rehab and come out clean. Silly me. That’s a lot like taking a math test and trying to decide whether to cheat off of the fire extinguisher or a Chihuahua.
Silly of me indeed.
I guess your “alcohol monitoring” anklet failed to do its job and was about as useful as strapping two midgets to your leg with duct tape. I wonder how many DUIs you have to have to get a government issued ball gag? That would certainly be more efficient and would definitely hinder your ability to drink; however, even with a ball gag, I can’t seem to shake the visual of you sipping your red bull and vodkas through your nose.
Speaking of nose…..cocaine in your pockets huh? Brava! Oh except they weren’t yours because they weren’t your pants. Come on now Lindsey. You can get a better excuse than that. You’re supposed to say that you don’t know where your pants even came from and that last you checked, you were wearing shorts. You didn’t even attempt to throw them out the window and make a run for it without your shirt on. Don’t you watch Cops?? Amateur.

Well …I guess the only good thing that can come out of this is the fact that Britney is going to be pissed that you one-upped her shenanigans this week. I’m pretty sure next week we’ll see Britney getting arrested for the murder of Carrot Top and eating a live chicken…naked….in front of a preschool.

One can only wish.

Love, Me.


Dear Dina Lohan,

First, please accept my apologies for bothering you with this letter. Lord knows you’re really busy trying to recapture your youth through your daughter. I merely wanted to point out the fact that while you were occupied with borrowing your daughter’s clothes and partying at all the Hollywood hot spots, your just turned 21 year old daughter has already gone to rehab and is driving around town drunk with cocaine in her pocket. I didn’t know if you were aware of this because I know how making appearances on Access Hollywood and Entertainment Tonight can get in the way of time with the family. (And no, sniffing lines with your daughter doesn’t count as “family time.”)

I just thought I’d give you a friendly reminder that maybe its time to go home, put some curlers in your hair, bake some cookies and chain your daughter to the radiator in the basement.

It’s called parenting.
Duh.

Love, Me.

Dear Promises Rehab,

I don’t mean to question your methods but I’m pretty sure having your patients read old issues of Highlights and telling them to pay special attention to the Goofus And Gallant section doesn’t qualify as rehabilitation.
Like I said, I’m no expert but I have a feeling that being rehabilitated at Promises is a lot like a gay man marrying a transsexual and claiming that he’s cured from the gay.

(Let the joke sink in for a minute. It makes sense I promise.)

Love, Me

Whew. I reached hard for that last joke.

I couldn't ignore the Lindsanity this week so I caved and joined the Lindsey Watch bandwagon. Seriously. What happened to the days when celebrities would get coked up AT HOME and choke on their own vomit IN PRIVATE. Even Jimi Hendrix gave us that courtesy. What's wrong with shooting television sets, taking prescription drugs and passing away on the toilet ala Elvis? What? Are you better than Elvis?? I think not.
Can't these chicks get their nose blow to go? Or hey! How about hiring a driver?
Oh well. No one ever accused these gals of being rocket scientists. (I would say Nasa but they got a little diaper wearing Britney nutcase of their own too.)

Anywhoo. I’m broke everyone!!! Isn’t that a great way to start a weekend!?!?!
"MONEY make take away my ability to be a consumer but it won’t take away MY FREEDDOOMMM!!”


Well…actually…it kind of does, a little bit.
So let me rephrase that statement:

“Donations are WELCOME!!!!”

Ah. Much better!
Oh and because I'm a giver. Here's your new desktop wallpaper:
(insert Twilight Zone theme music HERE). You can thank me for the nightmares later.

Have a great weekend everybody!!!!!

Slow Blogging Day?

GO ON YOUTUBE!!!

Yeah, I've been kind of sucky sucky on the blog postings. It's simply because I've had nothing blogworthy to write about.. unless you want to hear about how I "cringe" every time I look at my bank account..but that's kind of depressing and not at all interesting.

I'd rather be a tiny bit evil and laugh at other people's expense.

YOU TOO??!?
See? This is why you and I get along.

Here's a reporter who encounters an obstacle:




Yeah, I know. I suck.
Just make sure you don't fall down in front of me because, while I WILL most definitely help you up, brush you off and make sure you're okay.....there's also a pretty good chance that I'll laugh...and then reenact it for those who weren't there...and MAYBE blog about it for people who missed the reenactment....

Oh THIS will THRILL you alright....

Remember the time when I found that youtube clip of those 14 year old boys gangbanging a couch and I was totally speechless????

This clip is even better...not only was I rendered speechless, my mouth stood agape, drool dripped down my shirt and my brain leaked out of my ears.

Watch first. THe class discussion is below.





Wha?
Wh?
bluh?

That was like a small gift from God was it not?

These are 1500 inmates from Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in Cebu.....PHILIPPINES.
That's right.
They're my peeps.

Show of hands who's surprised.

Yeah. that's what I thought.

I don't know why they're doing it.
All I know is if this is wrong, then I don't wanna be right.


OH and by the way, that tranny that looks like Steve Buscemi is officially my new hero.

FLF: Like A Booger I Can't Flick Off My Finger

Yeah, FLF is still here. I never got the time this week to work on my nifty idea that I mentioned last week. So FLF is here to stay for now. I always threaten to leave FLF behind, but it gives me that pouty face and I go running back.

Sucker.

Let's get this pahtee stahted......

Dear Giant Dill Pickle Tara,

I obviously made a mistake and overestimated your level of intelligence. I merely patted you on the back and congratulated you when you said you were going to get your botched boobs fixed. Silly me. Clearly, I should have been holding your hand and directed you over to a decent plastic surgeon instead of leaving you to your own devices. I should have at least told you that Craigslist probably isn’t a good place to find a reputable surgeon. It’s a lot like getting a “reputable masseuse” on Craigslist but at least with those guys, you get a happy ending. It appears your surgeon ran out of saline bags and opted for produce instead. The one on the left clearly looks like a mango and the other one is a toss up between a giant grapefruit or a honey dew melon, either way, it doesn’t look like its safe for consumption anymore.
Or maybe the surgeon was trying to be make your boobs cutting edge and multifunctional by installing a GPS tracking system in there. It would’ve been an ingenious idea, except for the fact that it appears to be broken. One boob wants to go straight and the other boob clearly wants you to go to hell.

My sincerest apologies Tara. I hope you can forgive me, but even if you don’t, can you please tell that old man face on your stomach to stop mean muggin’ me. I’m getting scared.



Love, Me.


Dear Readers,

I’m NOT writing this to Britney because I’ve done it before and it doesn’t work. Plus, I’m not going to burden her with a hard task like reading, because lord knows, that poor hamster inside her head is tired of running around the rusty wheel. In fact, I’m pretty sure if you opened up her head (once you get past the Wal-Mart weave) you’d see the rusty wheel spinning slowly with a dead hamster beside it.
No, I’m not writing a letter to her. I’m writing a letter to YOU dear reader. Does ANYONE…. ANYWHERE…know how to MAKE THIS THING GO AWAY??

Someone’s gotta have an elephant gun in their closet that’s just gathering dust right? Can we just club her over the head and pretend she never existed? Her parents were smart enough to bring a spare, can we just replace her with Jamie Lynn Spears? They’re practically the same, …minus the KFed stains, the itchy scalp, the alchy bloat, the plantars warts, the Cheetoh dust stained fingers, the skid marks on her panties…well..you get the picture, even though I know you wish you didn’t.

I'm makin' a comeback ya'll!!!

SOMEONE PLEASE MAKE IT GO AWAY.

Love, Me.

Dear Person Who Ate Val Kilmer,

I don’t know who you think you are eating the IceMan, but you better pull a Nicole Ritchie and regurgitate that man this instant!!

Love, Me.
















I really hope Val Kilmer is doing that for a movie role because I saw this white legged midget at the airport a couple years back. He was a tiny tiny guy...totally dashed my IceMan fantasies! Not to mention the fact that he had the NERVE to wear shorts when his legs where frozen chicken white and appeared to be from the toothpick family. Although judging from this picture, I think he fixed that problem with a few servings of fried bacon and ice cream sandwiches.

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND EVERYBODY!!!!!

The Angry Post

Dear Neighbor,

First, let me start off my by saying that I am not a perfect mother. Its a hard job and even the best of all mothers get frustrated at one time or another. So, if anything, moms are the most sympathetic to other moms. (Well, I AM anyways) Whenever I see a mom having a hard time with her kids in public, my heart goes out to them because I've been there. It sucks when the little buggers turn into Sybil at the frozen food aisle. So I just want to make it CLEAR that I understandy understand understandaroo like no other.
HOWEVER (you knew that was coming right?) when your children CRY at the top of their lungs EVERY MORNING and you yell at them to "SHUT THE HELL UP!" EVERY MORNING so loud that my daughter hears you and asks if there's a monster outside, you might want to re-access your morning routine.
One way to make your mornings less "noisy" would be SLEEP. When your daughters are still playing outside at 10:00 pm, you can probably expect them not to be such happy campers when you wake them up at 7:30 am and rush them out the door. Shit, who's happy waking up in the morning anyways? Even I want to cry and flail my arms about if I wake up earlier than I want to. You can't really blame them for being whiny and cranky in the morning when they were up late enough to watch the Jay Leno show.

To sum up, More sleep = less howler monkey like toddler.

Love, Me.

Argh. Seriously guys, I'm not the type of person to judge how one raises their child at ALL. Just as long as you're CONSCIOUS of the fact that YOU are RAISING them. I mean, yes they cut the cord, but for the first ..oh I don't know...18 years or so, you kind of have to pay close attention to them. You would think that after a morning or two of cranky toddlers, she would be like, "Oh..hmm, maybe they're not getting enough sleep?" She's THERE when her kids are still up at 11:00 pm (they're 2 and 3 respectively) so I don't understand why that logic has escaped her. It pisses me off even more that she's yelling at them to "shut the hell up" so loud that the whole block can hear it, as if her daughters are crying simply to annoy her and ruin her day. And again, I can't stress enough that I'm not the perfect parent. I've lost my temper with my daughter, yes sometimes I let her watch too much t.v. and she has had days where she hasn't had enough sleep and she was cranky as hell, but typically that's not the norm. If there is one thing that I am a real stickler about with my daughter, it's SLEEP. That girl gets more than enough sleep for her health and more importantly for MY SANITY.

So I guess I just don't understand why my neighbor hasn't caught on to that fact.

But that's really nothing compared to what I read in the news yesterday. I guess some couple were arrested for neglecting their 2 year old and 11 month old. Basically, the kids were found dehydrated, malnourished and the little girl's head had to be shaved because it was matted and covered IN CAT URINE. (after reading this, I was literally spit shining my husband's gun and looking up their address). And you know WHY they neglected them??? THEY WERE ADDICTED TO ONLINE FANTASY GAMES like that Dungeons and Dragons and neglected to feed, bathe, or pay attention to their children. They had FOOD they were just "too busy" PRETENDING to slay a fucking dragon, or whatever the fuck it is that geeks do with that game, to get up and FEED THEM.

DIE.
NOW.

Why don't we have the punishment fit the crime??????? How about we STARVE their asses for several days, not give them any water, let them stew in their own shit and piss and have alley cats piss on their hair, while I sit across from them playing Connect Four eating a steak dinner and enjoying a refreshing beverage.

"Oh what's that? You're hungry? Sorry. This game of Connect Four is so engrossing, I just can't be bothered right now."

Okay, so Connect Four probably isn't the best game to play alone, but I'm pretty sure I can find a few volunteers to play with me and watch those ass wipes suffer.
SPADE OR NEUTER...its not just for pets.

(Midget rant ending in 5........

4...

3...

2...

1................................

Thank you. Come again.

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!

Rock beats Scissors

I was chosen as a rockin' girl blogger by Just Tug a couple days back...
(applause)...
..oh no...please...stop, you're embarassing me...

Thanks girl!

INSTRUCTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so:

1. Are We There Yet??
2. It's A Blog Eat Blog World
3. More Random Than Average
4. Bluepaintred
5. Wasting Away in Blogaritaville
6. Amy's Random Thoughts
7. Just Tug
8. Sanity,Interrupted...

Next select five people to tag: Nah. If I regularly visit your blog, you know you're rockin'. I will not pick favorites amongst my blogger children! Amen.

Then answer the following questions:

What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was in college, living in a dorm in Long Beach California
worked part time as a data entry operator for some random marketing company
my weekends began on Wednesdays
my drink of choice was blue hawaiians and long island ice teas
Tijuana was the place to be (Club A's) since I had one month to go before turning 21
I never got hangovers.
(sigh) those were the days....

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Exactly what I'm doing now probably....

Five snacks you enjoy:
Ice cream - any flavor but my favorite is Chocolate Malted Crunch from Rite Aid
Twix and chocolate in general
Salt and Vinegar Potato Chips (or as viking hubby likes to call them, "Feet Flavored Chips")
Circus Peanuts biotch
Cinnabons

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
LL Cool J's - Mama Said Knock You Out (its frightening)
Fiona Apple - Criminal (good karaoke song)
Madonna - Where All Life Begins (its about cunninglus! Of course I would memorize it!)
Abba - Super Trooper (ummm ..I'll be honest...I know all the Abba songs by heart.)
Elvis - King Creole (complete with Elvis sneer and gyration..again, frightening.)

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
Take all my friends and family on a month long vacation somewhere overseas
By a house by the beach
Donate some money to some good causes (I know. Sap.)
Hire some money guru to take my money and make even more money
Take Madonna out on a date

Five bad habits:
Being able to reason myself out of working out
Checking my email fifty gajillion times during the day
Putting a lot of sugar in my coffee
Procrastinating on the laundry
Cracking my knuckles

Five things you like doing:
This
Going out to dinner and drinks with friends
Mini weekend vacations/road trips
Hugging/dancing/ sniffing my little munchkin
Polka playin'

Five things you would never wear again:
never say never...I would wear platform, spice girls shoes again if they were in style... I need every inch baby. Plus I don't think I've ever worn anything totally horrendous..(although who knows what my bf Judy might remember...) oh! except for my LA Gear Michael Jackson shoes.
But, truth be told, I would wear those again.

Five favorite toys:
Laptop
Accordion
Ipod
Playstation 2
Coffee Maker

I'm suppose to tell five other bloggers they rock, but again, I refuse to pick blog favorites.
So there. I'm rebelling.
You ALL rock!
Unfortunately, as much as I love all of you, NONE of you rock as much as these bitches do:

FLF: What The French? Toast!?

Dear Janet,

I don’t think the mere term “Junk in the Trunk” can adequately describe your backside, because I’m pretty sure your ass has its own gravitational pull. Don’t get me wrong Janet, I’m not making fun of you, because that ass is mythical in size and should be knighted, registered a historical landmark or given its own zip code, SOMETHING to acknowledge the greatness of your ass. It defies gravity for heaven’s sake! The next time I see you, I’m going to bust out my BeDazzler, cover your ass in ruby rhinestones and make it my place of worship......and maybe the place I go to get some shade …and maybe as a table to place cold beverages on...
A multi functional ass like that cannot merely be called “Junk in The Trunk,” that’s more like a “a bloated dead body in the trunk” or “Costco sized box of melons in the trunk.” Or “I have the largest hemmorroid known to man …in my trunk.”
Okay, wait. That last one didn’t quite have the same ring to it as the others, but you know what I mean ass queen!
And while your ass is untouchable (yet can be seen from space), you might want to go back on your diet so you can grace the covers of US Magazine (again), regale us with your dramatic weight loss story and how you achieved your dream body by lipo exercising and Photoshop eating right.

Love,
Me.

Dear Jermaine,

I just wanted to let you know that extra large shirts, tank tops (pulled DOWN), moo moos, camping tents, potato sacks, girdles, the husky section at Target, cars, buildings, people you can hide behind and control top panties ARE YOUR FRIENDS.
Give them a call and take them out to brunch or something. They miss you and I personally miss the days when I didn’t know what your Crisco ball looked like.....pressed up against Janet Jackson’s....or maybe even resting on top of Janet Jackson’s....

I need to stop.
The dry heaves are making it oh so very hard to type.

Love, Me.


Dear Coreys,

The Gods must have been thinking of me when they defied all logic and reason and brought you two back together again! Let’s go back and recall what made you guys so great shall we?

Corey Feldman can imitate Michael Jackson so perfectly, that you don’t know when the Michael ends and the Cory begins! Oh and Michael Jackson showed him some porn when he was a teenager blah blah blah, big surprise there. Oh and let's not forget the cinematic genius that was The Goonies! He was in the Goonies! All Hail Corey Feldman!

Corey Haim: One word: LUCAS.
Two Words: Lost Boys.
Three Words: License To Drive.
Four Words: Drug addict by age 15.
(15 is a number so yeah, technically that’s FOUR words. Don’t question me.)

The Coreys is just what reality television needs! Who needs more pretty faces on television? Give me hard core, broken capillaries, premature aging, rotting teeth, alcoholic bloat, acne ridden, “recovering addict,” dire need of attention, has-been meth faced movie stars ANYDAY! I mean, if Fergie and Paula Abdul can do it....who are we to deny the Coreys their one last failed attempt at stardom??

Welcome back tweaks! I’m tivo-ing this shit!

Love, Me.


Dear Scott,

You’re like 4 foot tall, you have a bit part and act alongside celebrity Adonis’s like George Clooney and Brad Pitt in Oceans Eleven, (Thirteen? Fifteen? Who knows? They’re all just soft porn to me..YOw.) and every time I see you, I can’t help but think, “that boy needs a good shower.”
But somehow, despite your small stature, your B-list status, and your slightly sweaty appearance....

I kind of like you.

In a way that makes me feel dirty and perverted. The kind of like, that makes me want to take a scalding hot shower and rock myself in the corner of the tub immediately after thinking about you in a sexual manner. I really shouldn’t be embarrassed because you’re good looking and hey, bravo on the abs! but I can't help but think that if your dad wasn’t James Caan, you would have ended up being the guy that flashes his fuzzy flesh balloons at old ladies on the bus.

Well, just so you know, you can flash your flesh balloons at me anytime.....just don’t tell anyone I said that..and don't look directly at me in public.

Love, Me.


Have a great weekend everyone!
And points to the person who can tell me what commercial I stole the title of my blog from. Here's another hint to help you out: "Who you calling a cootie queen you lint licker!"
Hee. It's only the funniest commerical out there.
(Please note that these alleged "points" have no monetary value but they do make you feel kind of funny inside.)

HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!

9 years ago on July 4th, a ghetto wedding occurred between a Viking and Midget.

Here's the official wedding photo:


And what better way to celebrate an anniversary and America's birthday than to go to a fair, eat fried stuff on sticks and wonder how I ever fit into my wedding dress halter top.

Don't you dare blame the fried stuff on sticks! They haven't done anything but taste delicious. I'm pretty sure that halter top just shrank in the dryer.

Yep. That HAS to be it.

Have a wonderful Fourth Of July weekend Wednesday everyone!!! Be Safe!

It's a thin line between me and a gay man.....

I love Madonna, Absolutely Fabulous, all things Broke and Back AND Kathy Griffin! I am literally one Celine Dion concert away from being an outright, honorary gay man.

Anyways, if you haven't see Kathy Griffin's My Life On The D-List on Bravo, you're missing out on one of the best t.v. shows EVER. Emmy nominated even! It's on Tuesdays at 9pm. Tivo it. I have all her stand up shows downloaded on my pod and her recent one, "Everybody Can Suck It" there's a segment where she talks about how Catholics are notorious for taking the Lord's name in vain, especially her mother. I made the mistake of watching the show in bed while the Viking hubby was sleeping, so I had to keep my laughter in. I woke him up anyways because I was shaking the bed and one laugh got away from me and ended up being a really loud snort.
She's crass, she's crude and I love her. So if you're all schmensitive and shit...well....this probably isn't for you and quite frankly, if you are easily offended, this probably isn't a good blog to be hanging out at.
But to my regular 6 readers, you bitches are low brow (that's why I loves ya) so you'll love this shit!

ENJOY!!!