February 22, 2013
I started this last week, so you should all know the drill. This is a lame-ass post about some lame-ass crap that you may have missed if you are a lame-ass who isn’t on FB or are a lame-ass who IS on FB but doesn’t pay attention to my lame-ass.
The following is just some crap that happened in my mega-exciting life this week:
-There was an estate sale in my cul-de-sac last week, and I had a VERY difficult time fighting the urge to dress up like an old lady and go rub my butt all over everything, possibly even toot on some of it, and just see what happened with that, AKA how long will it take me to get kicked out. But if there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that I’m lazy, so instead of doing it I just looked out the window and daydreamed about doing it. Most people (including the one that I am married to) probably think I made the right choice. Those of you who think I made the wrong choice, are enablers. And enablers are the kinda people that my parol officer says I should stay away from.
-I had some pain in the muscle of my inner hip/thigh area, so I got the bright idea to put some Biofreeze on it (which is like an amped up version of Icy Hot) and then go sit on the couch, wearing big honkin’ loose pajama pants, legs all akimbo, and the Biofreeze ended up getting all up in my in-between and pretty much mentally scaring me for life. Now every time I pass an old person in the market and get a whiff of their Ben-Gay I’ll probably clutch my nethers and run. Kinda like a Nam flashback but with less guns and rice paddies and more vagina fire.
-I was home alone and thought that someone was trying to murder me. Again. But it was only a cop looking for someone who was probably trying to murder me. Or maybe he was checking on the neighbor’s house alarm going off. Or maybe I didn’t ask him what he was actually doing, since once I realized it wasn’t someone trying to murder me, I didn’t really care anymore. Unless I am directly involved, I don’t want to be in any way involved. That’s just my way.
-I had cramps from hell this week and realized that the combination of Trader Joe’s Chocolate covered orange slices, a heating pad, Midol, and a Brady Bunch marathon, can work WONDERS! At least until you get super excited that part one of the Hawaiian Tiki Trilogy has begun, and then after that episode is over, the muthaflippin’ Hallmark Channel decides to go straight into re-runs of Frasier.
Dear Hallmark Bastards, Every Bradyphile knows that the first installment in the Tiki Trilogy is just a necessary set up for the 2nd and 3rd installments which are THE INSTALLMENTS OF AWESOMENESS and involve the Peter/Tarantula incident as well as the Vincent Price is Gonna Kick Your Ass in the Cave, incident. To deprive a viewer who is holding a heating pad on her shedding uterus, the closure of seeing the final two episodes, is to dance with the devil. You are dead to me.
-I re-posted this ecard I made a long time ago, because it has become an interwebbian sensation. It has gone totally viral. It’s like a mega-whore carousing Vegas with a bad case of The Herp in full herp-bloom. But in this case the mega-whore got her head chopped off and nobody could identity her, because the quote from this card has been sluttin’ all over the net, but without my face. Or link. Or credit to me in any way, shape, or form. Why? Sometimes the only creativity people have is to steal the creativity of others. We call those people, assholes.
A few Facebook Statuses You May Have Missed:
I had my first lady boner for a car. I know dudes get hardies for automobiles all the time, but until now, I have never cared. I saw a new Aston Martin Sedan that had leather seats so buttery I wanted to talk with a Paula Deen accent and lick them. And at $207,895 it was amazingly affordable*
* If I go on a bank robbing spree or start selling the Magical Rainman/Gambling Unicorns that I’m breeding on my Ranchicorn.
Ya know how dudes yell trash talk at the tv when they’re watching sports?That’s what I do when I watch House Hunters and some bitchy woman looking at million dollar houses is complaining about the size of a tub or the color of the floor tiles. And if I’m watching an episode in a tropical location, I’m a bazillion times worse. The kitchen is a bit small? The. Back. Yard. Is. A. Private. Beach. Where. Magical. Mermaids. Frolic. And. Dolphins. Do. Air. Flips. Nothing makes me wanna spork a ho in the ovary like house hunters
My alarm didn’t go off this morning. Possibly due to the fact that I didn’t set it last night. But I’m still not quite ready to accept responsibility for this total and complete eff up, so for now I’m going with this: One of our house ghosts turned off my alarm so that i would oversleep cuz that particular ghost is a perv and he likes to touch my junk when I’m out like a light. One of the other ghosts told me about it once with brain wave, ESP communications, but I believed it because that particular ghost that told me that is a nun. Well, she WAS a nun. I mean, she’s dead as a doornail now. So I doubt she’s doing much nunning. And one time my brain waves said to her “If you’re a nun, how come the big man hasn’t beamed you up yet? You stayed a virgin your whole life for him and you don’t even get to frolic on the gold streets with a fancy unicorn?” and she said it’s because he left her in my house to protect me from the boob-touching ghost. I mean, Booooooooooooob touching ghost. That sounds more ghosty. Anyways, I told her it ain’t no big thang, cuz guess what? You can’t feel ghost hands rub your booooooooooobs, so it’s no skin off my nips. Then she brain-waved the big guy and he beamed her up, so now it’s just me, the booooooooob toucher, the naked albino, and the bad breath bearded dude.
So to summarize…my alarm didn’t go off. It wasn’t my fault. A ghost did it. Good morning!
I’m watching the episode of The Brady Bunch where Alice goes on a vacation and her cousin Emma comes to take over. First off, I’m pretty sure that was the first and only vacation that Alice got, like, ever. Second, I bet she went to one of those Hedonism resorts. Third, can’t Carol freaking take care of her own house and kids for one damn week? I mean, the kids are all big. What the hell would she have to do? Lazy bitch. Fourth, Emma is a drill sergeant and she makes them do calisthenics every day. Fifth, who the hell even says “calisthenics?” Sixth, the person who played Alice also played her cousin, which makes it look like they are super inbred cousin/sisters or something creepola like that. Seventh, She wears some kind of bow tie and jumper situation and it was totally Marsha’s duty, as the hot and fashionable one, to give her a makeover. But my guess is that would gone horribly awry. Remember when marsha gave Molly that makeover and she ended up hotter than Marsha? Emma probably woulda ended up hotter than Alice and stolen Sam the Butcher and then it woulda been a girl fight all up in there. Except I’m pretty sure that Emma was a lesbian. Maybe her and Carol woulda made out? Eighth, The pants that Cindy is wearing at the end of this episode are bullshit and they are giving me seizures. I thought I’d have 10 of these, but my uterus hurts and my sister’s dog is growling at me cuz I told you guys about the butt stamp situation, and I need chocolate, so I’m out.
I actually woke up on time this morning, but I am still cramping like a mofo and The Boy had no clean jeans, so I had to do Laundry even before I had any coffee. So I’m sorta thinking that this day isn’t off to the greatest of starts. I texted Chocolate Thunder to inform him that I wasn’t gonna work out today due to the fact that “my mofo uterus is shedding like a pissed off snake” and he said that might be too much information. Personally, I don’t think it’s even close to being ENOUGH information, so I will probably write him a poem about it later, cuz sometimes when I am menstrual and feeling blah I also feel really poetic. Kinda like a Bukowski/Shel Silverstein sorta combo, which may sound strange, but hey, it’s also kinda strange when one of your organs peels off and falls outta your lady tunnel once a month. It’s kinda like your body is re-enacting that elevator/hallway scene in The Shining. Don’t push my buttons, yo. You don’t want this elevator landing on your floor.
P.S. Send chocolate and muscle relaxers.
So in car pool I had a conversation with The Boy and his friend about which one of us was the most ghetto. Believe me when I tell you that it was a fascinating conversation. After The Friend and I argued about it for awhile, and I did some rapping about why I was the most ghetto, I was feeling good about my win. Then when The Boy said “I’m not really sure what it means to be ghetto” he pretty much fell outta the running. And then there were two. Then when The Friend told The Boy “It’s kinda like Goth but with more rapping” I was sure I had this thing won, and I said so. Then The Friend said, “I may not know the exact definition of ghetto, but I do know it’s not you.” To which I replied “Whatchu talkin’ ’bout?” To which he replied “You need to realize that you’re all nice and pink and happy and fun and unicorny. THAT’S YOU. You are unicorn. And unicorns are not ghetto.
There. Is. Something. In. The. Wall. Behind. My. Bathroom. Mirror. It is morse coding me. I don’t know much about morse code, but using what I can remember from Hogan’s Heroes, it’s saying “I WILL MURDER YOU IN YOUR SLEEP AND EAT YOUR EYEBALLS THEN MY WHOLE FAMILY WILL LIVE IN YOUR FACE HOLES!
This is a blog by my friend Rachael over at Rachriot. It’s called “Eye Carumba” and it’s full of awesome and topped off with a sprinkling of Ice Castles and a few or Robbie Benson’s hairs.
Read the hell out of it HERE.
This is a blog by my friend Jen over at People I Want to Punch in the Throat. It’s called “For My Secret Valentine” and it’s about her non-lesbian love for Tina Fey. It makes me totally not feel so bad about my blogs/love letters to Norman Reedus and Mike Wolfe.
Read the hell out if it HERE.
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