Figuring out what I wanna be when I grow up.
Oop..I AM grown up...


Sunday, August 26, 2012

Table For One

Sometimes I get to be alone.  Blissfully alone.  The Man and the kids go out, and leave me at home for a much needed mental break.  Gone are the days when I would hit McYuk's drive through, and race home with a brown bag filled with hot, joyous, terrible food.  After all, I'm pretty good friends with my HEART now.

 There's one meal I make more than any other when I'm all by my happy lonesome.  I concocted it myself even, and it involves TOMATOES, which everyone else here but me complains about bitterly:
 Oh waaa, tomatoes are yucky!  Ew, I don't like the seeds.

 Honestly--if you can't like a gorgeous, glossy, red, sweet, summer tomato, plucked sunshiny-warm from my sister's garden, then truly, you are dead to me.  Oh! Did I say "DEAD TO ME?"  Well, that's a tad harsh, isn't it! 

I stand behind what I said.

 Anyhoo, we all love junk food.  We'd all prefer to just boil up a hot dog when we're alone.  We all lurv hot dogs.  Wieners are the shiznit.  We know this.  But, sometimes you have to treat yourself like the amazing person that you are, so why not make something that's EASY, but nice, because you frigging deserve it!

 Remember:  you can make it any way you like.  Or hell, you don't have to make it at all.  You can have more, or less tomato, more or less balsamic vinegar, more or less (or none) parsley.  You get the picture.


 karen's Pasta For One

- Whole wheat spaghetti.  How much is a serving size?  Who is the magical wizard who always knows how much freaking spaghetti makes a serving?  Not I.  I wing it, so I end up with less than a cup of cooked pasta.  ANd don't freak that it's WHOLE WHEAT.  It still tastes yummy, and it's better for you.

 - One fresh, ripe, gorgeous tomato, cored, diced, and tossed with:

- One teaspoon of Balsamic vinegar

- Half teaspoon of salt and pinch of brown sugar (adjust vinegar, salt and sugar to taste).  Stir occasionally as you prepare the other ingredients.

-. 1/4 cup (or more, or less as desired, or omit) flat leaf parsley chopped

-  1/2 cup feta cheese chopped into small dice


* Make tomato "salad" as indicated above.  Stir occasionally.
* Boil salted water - Add pasta and cook for approx 9-10 minutes, or less if you like very al dente pasta.
* Coarsely chop feta cheese
* Chop parsley
*Drain pasta and toss all ingredients together in your serving dish.
*Pour yourself a friendly glass of wine in the good crystal that you got for your wedding (after you rinse the dust off)
*Chow down













The sweet, tangy "sauce" created by the tomatoes mixed with the vinegar, paired with the salty feta and the hardy pasta makes me freak out.

And see?  Nobody's here to see you CHOW DOWN.  Nobody's here to tell you you have parsley in your teeth, or that you shouldn't eat all that delicious feta cheese.

Now tell me:  what's your favourite meal to make for yourself when you're all alone?



Monday, August 20, 2012

ECCCCHHHH - I CAN'T TAKE IT!!!

I can't believe I'm talking about this again.

People.  It's weird.

I had vowed to not read anymore of this 50 Shades of KILL-ME-NOW.  I struggled.  I endured.  I made it through the first book of the trilogy somehow.  I wrote my pseudo review, and then I breathed the fresh air of INTELLIGENCE once again, and moved on with my life.

And then The Man came home, and dropped the f*cking next book in my lap.  Someone lent it to us so's I could read it.  I couldn't believe it.  It's like I'm MEANT to be tortured.

So, I'm struggling my way through the second book.  I have to say, it is a bit better than the first book.  And by "a bit better" I mean, I can read it for a solid ten minutes at a time before I need to come up for air.

Do you know what these books are like?  They're like this:

shudder

Candy corn.  Frigging candy corn.  You think you like it.  So, you grab a handful and eat it, and it seems kinda good.  Then you eat like, two more and it's

SICKENING.  UTTERLY SICKENING.  IT'S SO SYRUPY REVOLTING THAT YOU VOW NOT TO EAT ANY MORE OF IT.  AGAIN.

Then, a couple of hours later, you think "oo!  Candy corn!  Yum!"  So, you eat, like, three, and then it's


SICKENING.  UTTERLY SICKENING.  IT'S SO SYRUPY REVOLTING THAT YOU VOW NOT TO EAT ANY MORE OF IT.  AGAIN.  IN FACT, IT'S THE MOST DISGUSTING THING EVER.  WHY DO PEOPLE EVEN LIKE THIS?!?

I was talking about the book in that last bit.

Okay, I was nice the first time around. I was willing to give everyone who liked the book the benefit of the doubt.  After all, blah, blah, blah, it's super popular, so how can I argue with that, and yadda yadda I like the TWILIGHT BOOKS, so I haven't got a leg to stand on, right?

WRONG.

I'm going to say it right here:  those books are terrible, and the sex is NOT exciting.

I feel a bit better getting that off my chest.

See, I just came across this article on MSN about "stars" who lurv the book. The more I read, the more I wanted to freak out.  I want to grab a megaphone and screech:

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?

Why does everyone think it's so hot?!? WHY DON'T I?!?!?  I LOVE SMUT, GODDAMMIT!   I FRIGGING LOVE IT.  And I hate the sex in this book.

So, I've been trying to figure out why.  I figured it must be because I'm older.  Yeah, that's the ticket.  I'm frigging 40 now. I'm a grown ass woman, and I'm mature, and I have mature tastes.  Thus, some stupid book with some stupid teenage lust-mance between two stupid characters who are either scowling/glaring/frowning at each other, or mashing their lips together and clacking teeth in some frenzied horniness isn't doing it for me.

I mean, the book's all "who is THAT you were looking at?  I'M PISSED OFF THAT YOU WERE LOOKING AT ANOTHER WOMAN," and "did you just flirt with him?  I'M PISSED OFF THAT YOU FLIRTED WITH HIM,"

and I'm all "GROW THE F*CK UP ALREADY BECAUSE I CAN'T TAKE IT."

Seriously?  I should be written into the book.  Yes. I'm Aunt karen, and I have to CHAPERON them, and every time they start getting into an argument that will invariably end in an epic email battle with 'SHOUTY CAPITALS', I get to literally knock their stupid heads together, and tell them that if they don't grow the f*ck up, they're


GROUNDED.

Yeah, that's it--FIFTY SHADES OF GROUNDED.

So yeah, I wondered if the sex is so tedious in the book, because I'm not in my 20's anymore, and let's face it:  did we know what the hell we were doing then?  Pppft. Of course not.

...It was all



ew, I'm so urgly.  I'm fat.  Does he think I'm fat?  I think I look fat in these pants.  Oh my god, do these lace panties make me look fat?  This bustier bra probably makes me look fat.  I just hope he keeps the lights off because I'm so fat.  Ew.  I'm 20 and my self esteem is lame.  Waaa!  I think I'll go cry now because he smiled when he said "thankyou" to that cashier at Wal-mart.  He must be in love with her.  He's such a jerk. I hate him.  He probably likes her because she's not fat.  I hate her.  Oh no. He's probably going to leave me for her.  I want to diiiiiiieeee!  I can't wait to get home to write this in my diary and cry.  

And what's it like now, my homegirls?

didn't you read this post?!?

That's right bitchez:  I do the laundry, and I wear a BEIGE BRA that's FUNCTIONAL, and I wear GIANT UNDERPANTS, but I gets the job done, and I'm one sexy muthawhateva, and I don't give a shit about the fancy underwear drawer anymore because I have

MAD SKILLZ.  

See?  See what I'm saying?  That twit, Anastasia Steele, who is supposed to be so irresistible to Christian Grey?  I'm not buying it.  And that dude, who's all "Anastasia, if you piss me off, I'm going to spank you" is supposed to be HAWT?  If some dude said that to me, I'd say;

"SUCK IT, DUDE," and I'd be out the door.

But,

I can't conclude that I don't like the book because I'm a grownup woman.  No.  There are scores of women of ALL AGES who love this book.  They love it.  They think it's so hot.  They get horned up from reading it.  They jump their men. In fact, it's nearly an epidemic of women jumping their men simply because this book fired up their imaginations better than Mr Skidmarks lying beside them.

And once again, I want so scream WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?

Because you know what?  There's SPANKING and then there's spanking.  There's the cheesy spanking in the Grey books, with a couple of revolting 'children,' and then there's that spanking part in OUTLANDER with Jamie FREAKING Frasier.  And THAT PART my friends, is HAWT.

H * A * W * T

And Jamie Fraser?  He never mutters, and he never murmurs.  He TAKES what he wants, WHEN HE WANTS IT, and damn it, you want it too because he's a MAN, BY GOD, AND YOU DON'T WANT A BOY ALL SNIFFING AND WHINING BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T ANSWER YOUR PHONE RIGHT AWAY WHEN HE CALLED.

Anyway.  You haven't read Outlander.  That's why you don't know.

So, there's all kinds of retarded "celebrities" who love the book.  Do you know who the worst one of all is?

Ugh.
Ryan Seacrest.  Ryan Seacrest loves the book.  I lose my ladyboner EVERY TIME I SEE A PICTURE OF him.  I'm sorry if that is harsh.  Life is harsh.  The truth is harsh.  Sometimes I must tell the truth, my dearests, even if it hurts.

Basically, what I want is this:  I want some hollaback from my homies who feel me on this one.

I know you're out there.

Hello?




Friday, August 17, 2012

How To Get A Dog

We had a lot of pets when we were kids.  Seriously?  I don't know how my mother put up with it.  We've had geese, ducks, rabbits, guppies, budgies, a hamster, two cats and two dogs.  No, we didn't live on a farm.

Like I said:  I don't know how my mother could stand it.

One one side of the shed in our back yard, there was a little house and fenced off "run" for the ducks and the geese.  They even had their own in-ground swimming pool.  My brother had dug a small hole, and sunk in a plastic kiddie pool.

Do you know anything about ducks and geese?  Yes, then you know that they crap CONSTANTLY.  That pool reeked, and was slime green within a day.  Teenage brother didn't haul that thing up out of the ground and give it a scrub as often as he should have.

On the other side of the shed we had a rabbit hutch, with a little indoor "apartment" for them to sleep.  The outdoor hutch was built on to the side of the shed, and suspended above the ground, with the idea being the rabbits would poop and it would fall through the grate of the outdoor part.  They were dum-dums though, and they pooped in their indoor sleeping area.  Shoveling that out sucked large.

Our dog Spookie, was a mixed breed, but supposedly he was predominately Terrier-Poodle. We had him when my brother and I were young.  My sister, who is six years younger than I am, and 11 years younger than our brother, only knew that dog when she was a really little kid.  She freaking loved that dog.

She wouldn't leave poor Spook alone.  She was constantly hauling him up onto the couch and wrapping him in a blankie.  I can still remember that long-suffering look he'd get on his face as he was trapped there on the chair beside her, wrapped in her abundant, clumsy, preschooler love.  The look said; "Please.  SAVE ME."

Then, certain events transpired, and time passed, and we had NO pets.  My sister WANTED a dog.  She loved dogs.  She watched those Humane Society programs all the time about abused and abandoned dogs.  She'd cry and cry, but she wouldn't stop watching them.

She read THIS BOOK all the time:




She wanted a dog.  BAD.

Me?  I was always more of a CAT PERSON.  Dogs yapped too much, and they stuffed their snouts in your crotch or butt.  Most of my friends had a dog that was obnoxious:  you couldn't pet them because they were "grumpy," and might bite you.

My cat,  named "Kitty" (yes, very original) came to us a stray when I was about 13.  She was my girl!

(THAT'S RIGHT, DAMN IT--YOU'RE GONNA LOOK AT SOME PHOTIES OF MY CAT, AND YOU'RE GONNA LIKE IT)














look at the priceless look of horror on my Mom's face.
She was a little leery of cats ever since she was a kid and
psycho neighbourhood cat from hell leapt out of a bush
and latched onto her arm.  With its teeth.



RIP Kitty!  SNIFF!

My sister was an animal lover, so she loved Kitty too, but she loved dogs best of all.  And when my sister wants something, she will have it.  Oh yes, she will. But, my Mom didn't want any more pets.  We'd had some bad things happen to our pets, and Mom didn't want to go through any more heartache.  But Aim still frigging wanted that dog.

So, she wrote a letter to my Mom and Dad.  She wrote THE  MOST MELODRAMATIC, RIDICULOUS, OVER THE TOP PLEA FOR A DOG that you have ever read.

Here--see for yourself:


Dear Mom + Dad...

In this note or letter I am speaking my mind.  If only you knew what I am going through.  You probably don't even know the pain I am in for the fact I probably will never get a dog.

If only you could imagin [sic] how HAPPY I would be if I did get a dog!

You probably are getting sick of all this dog bussiness [sic] but you see its just one of those things.

Everyone remembers Spooky but I can't remember much.  I want a dog to remember.  O won't you please give me a chance! I know this letter may seem sad, but that's how I'm feeling.

Shouldn't every child have a true companion.  It would make me soooo happy.  

Please, just imagin me happily running along with a dog.

If they say dreams can come true.

Shouldn't mine?

Please just say you will SERIOUSLY think about it.

A dog is a child's best friend.

P.S. I could not have said these things in person because it would only make me more upset.  Trust me.  You won't regret it. 



Classic.

Well, she got her dog!  Woody was a purebred Shetland Sheepdog from a real frou-frou dog breeder and everything.    And yeah, he was yappy and never stopped barking when someone would visit.  And yeah, he was obnoxious and would stuff his snout in your butt.  He also liked to suck on sucks, and my dad wasn't too pleased one morning when he stuck his foot into his sopping work sock.

He'd snack on the occasional cat turd from the litter box, and the evidence would be on his breath.  He'd wolf down the cat's food when we turned our backs.  He'd dance around Kitty with delight, pestering her and trying to play with her as she sat replete with annoyance and hissing like mad.  But he'd scratch at the door to tell us when she wanted to come inside, and even though she was mostly disapproving, that Cat actually liked him, and though she'd give him the odd swat, she never had her claws out when she did it.

He was Woody.  He was "hooney."  He was "dogga."  He let us grab and smooch that snout.  He slept on my sister's bed with her.  He followed Dad out into the yard every day and hung out with him.  He sniffed every twig, tree and fire hydrant to death when he went for a walk.  He'd get burrs stuck in the fluffy fur of his back legs.




new puppy comes home!













they're on MY bed, with his leg thrown over MY teddy bear.








He was a good, good boy, and he lived to be nearly 16.  I'm still not a dog person, but I definitely was a Woody person. 



Saturday, August 11, 2012

Underpants. Freaking Underpants. The Vacation Ends With Underpants

Hello everyone!  Tis I:  Karen The WRINKLED RAG!
USED UP AND DEPLETED!

I have returned from my FAMILY VACATION!

I have a lot to chat about, and I know how you guys get all annoyed when I can't keep it brief, so once again, I will divide my family vacay post up into short "bathroom reading" segments, like all the best bathroom reading books and magazines do.  I do this because I lurv you.  But, you know that.


First of All: A Welcome!

Everyone, before I went on vacation, my super fun friend Mark let me stink up his joint.  That sounds crude. He let me do a guest post on his blog.  It's funny too, because while Mark is hilarious, he's also far more mature than I am, and it's kind of like my blog is the Value Village to his Pottery Barn.

Anyhoo, I gained several lovely new friends from visiting Mark's blog, and then I immediately went on vacation, and I didn't get to say hello, or welcome, or here, have a butter tart square.  So to my new friends, welcome.  I can be very funny. I can also be a major drag.  You've been warned.


Ask Lizbeth.  She Knows

Do you know my friend Lizbeth at Four Sea Stars?  We both have kids.  She has more. But...she has a son, as I have a son. My son is somewhere vaguely on the Autism Spectrum, and her son has Aspergers.   Maybe my son has Aspergers.  Whatever.  They are about the same age, and damn if Lizbeth and I haven't lived a LOT of the same frustrations and daily melt-downs and freak-outs.

This is not to say this is ALL our sons do (melt down and freak out), but this means that a family vacation is a TOTAL F*CKING CONTRADICTION IN TERMS.  Family vacation.  Pppft.  This means that even though our kids are excited for summer time family fun, there will be plenty of angst and strife and tears and screaming, and maybe some good old fashioned US getting pummeled by THEM because, say, Jack was away from his routine and away from his COMPUTER all week.

So, when I wrote my last glib little post about "oh, I'm all sugar plums an smiles I'm going on vacation!" Lizbeth said this:


Ok, I have to ask because this is important----is it a vacation with the whole family? Because in my book, that's not a vacation. That's a metric shit ton of work. Well, either way have fun and tell us all about it when you get back!!!
♥     ♥     ♥
I kiss you from afar, Lizbeth.  She understands, of course, why I had a total breakdown on Wednesday.  But I'll get to that.
I kiss you as well, my other Spectrum/Special Needs parents.  Oh yes I do, with the inside part of my lips.

Grownups Don't Like To Swim NEARLY As Much as Kids Do

Every year, I gotta whine about the same thing.  A vacation for me means sitting on the deck, in the full sun, with a ridiculously strong drink, and a ridiculously filthy book.  

It does NOT mean ENDLESS SWIMMING.  I mean, you've just been in the green, algae-choked lake ALL AFTERNOON.  Who then turns around after dinner and says; "let's go swim in the slightly chilly quarry!!"???  And yet, that is what I did each day.  And it doesn't matter if I've been in there for an hour, carefully trying to push the algae/water-plant gunge that has collected between the front material and liner of the hoot cups of my bathing suit, down to the bottom of the hoot cups, so it doesn't look like that chunk of trapped gunge is a giant NOPPLE, for an hour, the kids still want to keep swimming.  

They want to swim until I want to weep.  They think it's fun to splash water in your face.  You get a foot in the gut as they're SHOVING OFF.  When you try to splash them back and show them how obnoxious they are, they cry.  And YOU are the one who looks like a douche.  

You also look like a total creep, when your son grabs the pool noodle filled with quarry water and tries to blow it into your face, and you grab the other end, and you have MUCH better lung power, so you blow a lung-full of water right down the poor kid's yap, and for a second, just a second, you are FREAKING DELIGHTED BECAUSE YOU HAVE WON! BOO YAH! I'M THE KING OF THE CASTLE! NYAH NYAH NYAH NYAH NYAAAAAH! SUCK IT KID! THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR MAKING ME WANT TO PUT MY HEAD THROUGH A WALL ALL WEEK!   Shameful.  So very shameful.

which leads me to...

Guess What! We Can't Get Polio Anymore!

Yeah, I was so tired this week.  After I had the pool noodle showdown with Jack, and won (poor little guy. I am truly a monster) and he was coughing, and sputtering, I became HORRIFIED, and wondered what a good drink of quarry water could do to him.  

So, I abandoned logic and reason, and immediate jumped to POLIO.  I started to feel all sick and panicky, and I said to my sister, as she was floating by;

"oh my god. Could Jack get POLIO if he swallowed that much water???"
She of course looked at me like I was an idiot.  A crazy idiot.

"UH, NO, he's had his VACCINATION.  We're all vaccinated against polio."

Oh yeah!  OH THANK GOD.  OH MERCIFUL MOTHER OF SNACK CAKES, how could I have forgotten??

Like I said, I was very tired.


Ew, I Smell So Gross

Vacation comes with a whole other set of rules.  They are different from what you live on a daily basis.  

1. It is imperative to wear the same underpants at least two days in a row.  Most of the time will be spent in your bathing suit anyway, because the second you come in the trailer from that TWO HOUR SWIM, you will be immediately required to a) rinse some sand-covered kid off in the shower, or (and this is more likely) b) MAKE SOMEBODY SOMETHING TO EAT.  

Children are always hungry.  You?  You can easily get through the whole afternoon on a couple of whisky and cokes.  

2. It's just plain stupid to wear a fresh shirt every day.  Who's going to wash that shirt when you get home, princess?  That's right.  YOU.

3. By the end of the week of swimming in a lake, your bathing suit will smell GREEN.  VERY GREEN.  WEIRDLY GREEN.  When you ask your husband to smell your hoots, it will not be sexy, because those hoots will smell like a swamp lady's hoots.  It's okay though to keep wearing that same bathing suit though: see rule #2.

Just Because You Go On Vacation Does NOT Mean Autism Does

Autism is a mean mother-f*cker.  It does NOT go on vacation.  This means that your kid may have been looking forward to this trip for months, but when you get there, he is still going to FREAK if there's a fly in the trailer.  

He's also going to LOSE HIS MIND because you had the nerve to take a few minutes to put on sunscreen.  

He's going to have a good fight with you every day at some point.  Maybe it's because you're a total jerk, and decided the whole family should hop on the golf cart and go see the little Saturday morning market.  This fight will last twenty minutes complete with begging, screaming, rage, some punching, insisting you are an IDIOT, begging to be allowed to just sit on the golf cart with a grownup, begging to stay at the trailer.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  

I was calm for days.  Days and days. I was reasonable.  I was patient. I was determined.  Then, many nights of total shit sleep, being woken up too early and, well, endless fights took their toll.  Things rolled right down the toilet on Tuesday night (we'd been there since Friday), when the golf cart battery ran out of power right before we were supposed to motor on over to the trailer my sister was staying in for a bonfire.  

We were jerks.  We were mean.  How could we let the golf cart battery run out of power?  Why did we have to charge it up again?  This was the worst day ever!  We're IDIOTS!!!  Picture volcanoes and hurricanes and stuff.  It went on and on until he broke me. This is usually a good sign.  Usually after my little guy breaks my spirit, things look up again.  He was really great the rest of the week.  I was like the trailer park after the tornado.  


Stupid Hair

I hate my hair quite often. It annoys me so much, I've considered time and time again doing a whole blog post about it.  When I'm at home, I work my sexy mop look, but as soon as I hit that lakeside humidity, I turn into THIS

cute if you're FIVE

and ESPECIALLY this:

looks about right

You get the idea.

The DIVA CUP IS AWESOME! BOO YAH!

I'll tell you what is not awesome:  getting your period on the EXACT DAY your vacation starts and having it until the EXACT DAY your vacation ends.

Bastard.

But,  I once again have to recommend the Diva Cup.  I lurv it.  It kicks tampon's ass.  It makes maxi pad look like a total loser.  You know how you're out there in the lake, and your tampon is sucking up all that bacteria water?  Yeah, well, Diva Cup tells that fecal coliform water to EFF OFF.

I'm going to go kiss my cup now.  I'll be right back.  


Dear Jillian Michaels

Dear Jillian Michaels,

Surely you know how much I love you now. I've been working out to your videos for five months now, because turning 40 sucked big rods, and I was afraid of hitting that milestone as Saggy Dough Karen.  That and I'm wicked scared of death, and will do whatever it takes to LIVE FOREVER.

Anyhow Jillian, I am very, very proud of myself.  I brought two of your workout videos with me, and I worked out ON MY VACATION, EVERY DAY except for one.  The only day I didn't work out was Wednesday, and that was because I was broken.

All day long I heard you saying in my head; "we are stronger in the places where we are broken," but I call bullshit on that. I think it's easier to chip into our core at the places we are broken, but whatevs.  

Fondly yours,

karen


The Humiliation of The Underpants

People, when I work out, I typically wear a tank top, sport bra, some sporty form-fitting black shorts, and underneath those shorts a GIANT PAIR OF UNDERPANTS.  

I like giant underpants. It's my secret thing.  I have kept the TRIPLE X beauties I wore when I was pregnant with my daughter.  I like them.  They are like giant cotton shorts.  They allow air to flow freely over my lady garden.  I wear them UNDER my workout pants so I don't get a wedge, and to wick the sweat away from my body, mm-kay?

So, after working out that last time, I hung all those clothes on the back of my bedroom door.  I sweat a lot now that I am fit.  Like, a shocking, disgusting amount.  I become shiny.  Glistening even.  Wait!  Don't go! I'm getting to my point!

When it was time to leave, I cleaned that damn trailer.  And then I walked around, and around and around looking for anything I forgot.  Something was nagging at me, but I had looked into every nook and cranny in that joint.  

Then, the lady who owns the trailer called a couple of hours after we'd been home. She lives in town too.  We'd forgotten some things: my little container of brown sugar, my workout clothes, and MY ENORMOUS UNDERPANTS.  

I was very, very tired when we returned people. I was stirring defrosted spaghetti sauce, in my apron, with major bags under my eyes. When The Man got off the phone and told me, I 

LOST IT.  



That was the last straw.  My freaking underpants.  That girl, who is slim, and clearly a GO GETTER if they are that young and own their own trailer in wonderful resort land, and who showed up with highlighted hair, and a really cute strapless summer sun dress--that girl had to pick up my enormous underpants.

And, there's no sign on that pair of giant gitch saying "no, really--they don't fit me anymore!"

And oh my god, it reminded me of that time in Driver's Ed, in the classroom, when this young hottie next to me said; "um, excuse me, there's something sticking out of your pants," and it was YESTERDAY'S FREAKING PAIR OF UNDERWEAR, and I said; "oh! Ha ha! It's  A SOCK!" and I tried to cram that thing into the smallest ball ever in my fist and...and....

Yeah, I totally started crying.  I ALSO hid in the bathroom upstairs when she came and dropped my gitch off.

My sister says that was NOT worth my tears, but I know Y'ALL feel me on this.

And THAT, my friends, is how my vacation ended.  Can I claim my reward now?



Sunday, August 5, 2012

Leave A Message After The Beep...

Hi there.

I'm on vacation right now.  I have a brick of sand in my crotch, and I've probably already shrieked "WE'RE NOT SWIMMING AGAIN UNTIL MUMMY HAS A WHISKY !!!!"

Or,

Maybe I've been shrieking and shrieking about all the spiders hiding in the trailer.

Or,

maybe I've been shrieking because my DIVA CUP has failed me at the BEACH.

OR!  MAYBE, JUST MAYBE I'M HAVING A COCKTAIL AND ENJOYING A FABULOUS SUNSET ON THE LAKE!  YEAH, RIGHT?  THAT COULD HAPPEN, RIGHT?  RIGHT?

At any rate, I'll miss you guys, so leave me a message after the BEEP, won't you?


BEEEEEP!!!

a chair for me and YOU and YOU! 

Thursday, August 2, 2012

I'm Not Here. No. I'm HERE !!!

Hey everyone!  Why are you here?  Because, I'm not here today...I'm actually over HERE at my good friend Mark's!

Do you know Mark?  Well you should because he is funny, snarky, sensitive, hilarious and lovable all at the same time, and once you get to know him, you'll wish that you were on that giant sectional with all the kids, instead of over at your own house where the couch smells like cat ass.  So please go see me over at Mark's and say hello to Mark as well, because I lurv him.



Quick!  Go HERE NOW!!!

see??? See how much fun is waiting for you?
You like fun, right?  Then hurry up and go there
for crap's sake! 

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