January 10, 2011

A Very Special Episode (Menses and Milkshakes)

Because I’m super menstrual and trying to deal with Comcast has totally fried my brain, I’m going to post today, but I’m going to post completely random stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with anything because I have cable company and menses-induced ADHD. And I just used the word “menses” for maybe the first time in my whole life and now I totally feel like Doc Baker on The Little House On The Prairie, because that sounds like something he’d tell Mary in a very special episode in which she thinks she’s dying but really she’s just turning into a woman. Although I bet the townspeople, led by that bitch Mrs Olson, woulda had him hanged for saying that word back then. And now it sounds so dorky. Remind me that when I build my time machine, one of the things I’m gonna do is go back to the Little House times and run around town screaming “I’m having my menses!” And I might even deliver some Midol and Tampax to the womenfolk. Because after cooking from scratch, washing clothes in the river, sweeping dirt floors, and having to have birth control-less sex with sweaty guys who bathe once a month and never brush their teeth, the least these women deserve is cramp relief and good absorbency.

Random Thing #1: I saw a story on TV about a woman who murdered her husband by giving him a milkshake full of pills and then, when he passed out, she bludgeoned him to death and rolled his body up in a carpet and put him in her storage room. First off let me say that this woman’s milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard so she can poison them and bludgeon them which is really nowhere near as good as why Kelis’ milkshakes bring them. Second, it seems that possibly this all happened because she was in love with their electrician. And third, this woman obviously doesn’t have the Lifetime channel or Showtime or HBO, because she is really really not good at murder. I mean, she obviously is good at making someone be dead, but she is neither efficient nor a good body hider. I would like my husband to know that if he ever falls in love with our electrician and wants to get me outta the picture, at least put enough pills in the milkshake so that you don’t have to bludgeon me to death after I drink it. Actually, as long as you’re making me secretly drink murdery pills, can you please put them in a margarita instead of a milkshake? You often offer me margarita’s, but if you offer me a milkshake I’m gonna know something’s up because I’m pretty sure the reason you offer me margarita’s is to get me frisky and if you offered me milkshakes all I’d get is into a lactose-intolerant situation. And please look on-line or ask someone else who’s murdery, how many pills you should put in so we can really avoid the bludgeoning, because you know how I feel about looking gross when I’m dead. And don’t let me rot in a storage unit until I’m even uglier, okay? Preserve me in some formaldehyde or something like a good murderer. I want an open casket and I don’t want a chocolate milkshake mustache or a bludgeoned up face or rotted skin when everyone’s supposed to be looking at me and feeling sad about all my cuteness going to waste.

Random Thing #2: In the 1 1/2 years that I have had this blog, I have had many subscribers and only 3 unsubscribers. But the un-subscribers bug me because I have no idea why they unsubscribed. When people subscribe I assume it’s because they like me, but that would mean that when they un-subscribe it’s because they don’t like me. Or else they got milkshake murdered. Or margarita murdered. Or went to jail. Or got amnesia and forgot that they liked me. Those last 4 are probably more likely than the not liking me thing. But I suppose anything is possible. Anyway, I now require that if you decide to unsubscribe, you must write me a 200 word essay on why you are unsubscribing. You must also include a photo of yourself which I can draw things on like pimples, hairy moles, and those x’s over the eyes and post on my blog. If you fail to do this I will call comcast and tell them you want to switch your cable service over to them. Don’t even think of trying me.

Random Thing #3: I have decided to become a prison guard. On our drive home from MO there were an awful lot of billboards about how you can train to become one. So many billboards that I got the feeling that they were maybe a bit desperate. Or that this was some kind of sign.  And although I think that I would make an amazing prison guard, I think that they might think I look too whimpy to handle the job, so if they’re desperate I’m much more likely to get hired. What they don’t know is that I have my mad street fighting as well as Zombie fighting skillz, therefore Prison Guarding a bunch of dudes at Huntsville should pose no problem at all. Just last week my Pilates instructor, Phillip, even said that if he ever goes to jail he’d want it to be with me because I’d run that place. He’s right. And if I could run it as a prisoner I sure as hell can run it as a guard.  I don’t even think I’d have to be tough on the prisoners. I think that I could get them to do what I want just by asking. Sure, I might have to flash a boob now and then, or taser a couple of them, possibly shiv one to show the others I mean business. But mostly I think I’d just have to ask nicely.

Random Thing #4: Yesterday we went to eat at Texas Road House and my husband, in one of those moments that makes me totally dig him, found a peanut that looks like a Toucan and gave it to me to bring home. I know that most of you chicks want your man to give you jewelry and crap like that, but I’m not into jewelry unless it’s really weird and unique jewelry (like my new mustache necklace whose name is Mr. Winterbottom). But I’m definitely into stuff like peanuts that look like Toucan’s. So since today I’m stuck at home waiting for the cable guy AND the carpet guy, I drew Nutbird a tree to sit in, and will soon move on to building him a tiny bird cage.

Random Thing #5: Over the Christmas break when we were at my in-laws house, we were talking about how people always tell me their personal information and how I often find myself in line at Target helping someone solve their mommy issues or whatever. Anyway, Steve’s mom said that I should become some kind of therapist or something (part-time, when I’m not prison guarding).  And I think she was serious. Although I’m also 99% sure she was drinking her fancy wine at the time (read her lid). But regardless, I have now decided that I am officially a counselor and I hereby anoint myself as such. I’m even gonna print out a certificate and hang it in my office. So I would now like to announce that I am open for business, and if any of you have any issues you would like my amazing and invaluable help with, please feel free to email me. If your problem is awesome and/or humiliating enough I will post it on my site. Along with my brilliant idea for solving it, of course. And since I am nothing if not private, I will leave your name off if you wish. The Dr. is in!!

Random Thing #6: Since the cable guy and the carpet guy were supposed to come over around the same time today, I had big plans to entertain myself by getting them to have a fight. I was going to tell the cable guy that the carpet guy said something disparaging about his mother, and then I was gonna tell the carpet guy that the cable guy doesn’t like berber, and then I was gonna watch the fists fly! But since when I’m having my menses (I’m bringing the word back) the universe often likes to crap on my head, the carpet guy came and went and the cable guy has yet to show. So now I’m left to think of other things I can do to torture my cable guy. I might just tape Nutbird to my shoulder so he looks like a parrot and have him “talk” to the cable guy in a weird little Polly want a cracker voice. Maybe I’ll make him sing “Milkshakes.” Or maybe I’ll start a fight with him myself. I’ll keep you posted.

Oh…and I just realized that the entire time the carpet guy was here my fly was open. And he was acting weird. So I’m pretty sure that he thought I was hitting on him. He seemed in quite a hurry to leave, so now I am totally hurt feelinged that he obviously didn’t want a piece of this action and I need a margarita. A poison-free one please. Thank you.

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