My lips like sugar, this candy got your sprung.

Sorry about my absence I’ve come down with a bit of THE CRUD. It’s especially juicy in the nose department and chopping my head off at the neck (sore throat included) has actually started to sound like a good option.

Do you know why I am sick? BECAUSE OF GERMS! I torment myself thinking about WHERE/WHEN this little germ entered my body and began reeking havoc on my system. I’m pretty sure I picked it up on a plane (EW! recycled air!) or on the Boston Subway this weekend. Did I mention I rode public transportation and then licked chicken wing sauce off my fingers WITHOUT WASHING MY HANDS FIRST!? I swear on hot dogs I did this, and now I am paying for it.

But I need to stop sniffing and snarting long enough to tell you this story. Husband and I were in a mall in Boston this weekend and I saw a line of candy machines. CANDY MACHINES! Like the kind you put 25 cents in and then put your hand under to catch the pile of candy. AN ENTIRE ROW OF THEM!! As I fiddled through my purse for quarters this guy comes along and asks us to step aside. TOTALLY NORMAL LOOKING GUY. Older, brown hair, tall and lanky – probably in his 40’s. We step aside as he puts on a VERY serious face and starts searching the rows of candy machines. Hubs and I stand there for a second wondering if he lost something, when the guy starts digging behind the machines.

THEN, VERY RAPIDLY, HE STARTS PULLING OUT STRAY, FALLEN PIECES OF CANDY AND SHOVES THEM IN HIS MOUTH!!

He is frantically searching every machine looking for dropped candy to eat, finding it and WITHOUT EVEN WIPING THE DUST OFF - HE SHOVES IT IN HIS MOUTH!!

At first I just stand there looking shocked, wondering where the HELL this guy came from. He was apparently threatened by us and thought we might get in on his secret. Then after watching what he was actually doing I started laughing LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY and had to turn away. Like the kind of laughing where you think you might be able to contain yourself and then you start crying and losing it. Yeah. That kind of laughing.

So after he does he sweep of the machines – HE VANISHES!

I gather my quarters and tell husband to put out his hand to catch my candy – his hands are way bigger than mine. I chose chewy sprees AND Reeses Pieces (not PEE-CEES!!)

Me: Hey! You dropped some of my candies! (on the floor no less)

Husband: Yeah, I know, those are for him.

As we walk away trying to eat the candies before my husband’s hand became a rainbow of fruit flavors and melted peanut butter, he looks at me and says, “Please tell me you will blog about that.”

So my friends, I believe this creepy, candy stalking man was brought into my life to prove to me that licking chicken wings off my public transportation fingers wasn’t the MOST unsanitary thing to happen all weekend.

Well that and to give me something to blog about.

Crazy A-SIAN man

So after our really really ridiculously long drive, husband and I arrived at the hotel in Boston. We stood at the front desk waiting for the clerkman to get off the phone. Not TWO SECONDS LATER, an Asian man and his wife fly through the doors. The man pushes us aside and SLAMS his hands on the counter yelling “SHAHM-POOOOOO!” The clerk looks up from his phone call and the man bangs on the counter again, “SHAHM-POO! SHAHM-POO! I need SHAHM-POO!” The clerk looks up and says, “Yes, in a second sir.” And crazy Asian man and wife STORM OFF.

Husband looks at me, “Um, that was weird.”

So the clerk checks us in, gives us our room key and directs us down the hall to room 130. Husband tries the key. Nothing happens. Tries again. Still nothing.

We go back up to the counter (the counter that now has a bottle of SHAHM-POO sitting on it) and tell him our key doesn’t work. He apologizes and reprograms our key.

Back at room 130, husband slides the key and successfully enters the room. I am about to follow, until I hear from inside,

“NOT YOUR ROOM! NO! ROOM TAKEN! SECOND TIME THIS HAPPEN! FILE COMPLAINT! I FILE COMPLAINT”

My husband quicky exits the room and we rush to the desk – not so fast as to beat crazy Asian man from pushing us out of the way to SCREAM at the clerk, “I FILE COMPLAINT! SECOND TIME, IN MY ROOM!”

Clerk, “Sir, I cannot deal with you right now.”

Man, “I FILE COMPLAINT!! I FILE COMPLAINT!”

Clerk, “Sir, I told you flat out I don’t have time for this. Here’s our card, go the website and file whatever complaint you want.”

Man, “I FILE COMPLAINT!! I FILE COMPLAINT!”

Clerk, “GO TO THE WEB-SITE, I’M NOT DEALING WITH YOU!”

As the man storms off (without his SHAHM-POO) and shaking his finger at US ("YOU FILE COMPLAINT!") the clerk looks at us (trying to keep from hysterics)

Clerk, “Yeah, that guy’s a DICK.”

Moral of the story: Bring your own damn shampoo and always pad lock your door.

Oh and if you’re going to Boston, the customer service is awesome!

I just can't deal with it

The Duggars announced this morning that their NINETEENTH child is on the way - going to be born in March.

The pregnancy came as a shock? What? You don't know how people get pregnant BY NOW?!

That lady's uterus is a rubber band (on it's way to jello!) STOP THE MADNESS!!

Quote: "Children are a blessing, a gift, if you train them and raise them right - they will be. With our children, we will train them and raise them to love God."

TRAIN THEM?

My blueberries taste like Lysol again

Remember as part of my new year’s resolutions I started using organic cleaners? So not kill my own brain cells? Right, well I did. Then yesterday some scruby guy started CLEANING our office. I say CLEANING IN CAPS because I never IN MY WHOLE LIFES have seen an office space scrubbed in this manner. Normally, I am a fervent advocate of such cleanliness and sanitation, however NOT in a confined space with six offices, ten cubicles AND NO VENTILATION! Yesterday he was here for FIVE HOURS! SPRAYING, SPRAYING, SPRAYING. He was wiping down the filing cabinets for shit sakes!! THEN I almost lost it on him, psycho style, when he started spraying some hideous smelling chemical cleaner INTO THE AIR! He said this would “cover up” the smell of the other god awful things he was spraying.

The whole thing made me want to VOM all afternoon. Thankfully he took his cleaning kart and left.

UNTIL TODAY WHEN HE WAS BACK!! SPRAYING, SPRAYING, SPRAYING!! I don’t know what he’s trying to procrastinate from doing, but wildly spraying cleaner in our work space is not a good use of his time, IMO. I actually hate him now. I HAVE CHOSEN not to subject myself to cleaners at home and now I am being forced to breath cleaning products for TWO DAYS STRAIGHT.

Yes. This is a rant. Yes, I’m losing my mind. Did I mention that we have to put in a special request for our office to be vacuumed? There is a crusty piece of lunch that has been sitting on the carpet under my desk for six months and then this guy shows up WITHOUT A VACUUM but armed with seventy spray bottles?? It’s like he used to work at the mall spraying perfume on people, but now has this job instead.

My friend S (who has her own office and is mostly away from the fumes) says I should do one of three things:

1) Ask him if he has some organic cleaners or at least something less offensive
2) Ask him to be done because there is no ventilation in our offices
3) Call his boss and ask her if he can be done

All of these options SOUP-ER SUCK if you ask me. How can I ask him to stop subjecting ME to toxins when it’s HIS JOB to subject HIMSELF to toxins? It’s not like I’m better, I’m just bitchier and winy-ier and cleaner dislike-ier. Those are all words, so shut up.

I just want to SCREAM and run around like that whacked out chick with the frizzy hair who just took a shower and spiders came out of the spout and started laying eggs IN HER FACE. I’m that girl right now! Where’s my mind? Because I’m pretty sure I just lost it.

Give my body to science. But don’t let those skeezy medical students grab my dead boobs.

Sandy, chickens and all that Jazz

I've been telling you about our list serve at work, right? Well this Monday morning Sandy has more entertaining news from down on the farm!

"I have an American Bulldog for sale. Jazz is a good dog. She is house broken, kennel trained, no problem with children. Jazz is a little over a year. We do not have papers on her - but she is 100% American Bulldog.

The only problem we have with Jazz is she likes FRESH CHICKEN and she chases our other livestock - so therefore we must find a home for her.

Jazz has been fixed. I am asking the $165 it cost to get her fixed or replacement of the 8 chickens she ate."

and if you're wondering... YES. She's completely serious.

Read more about Sandy

HERE

HERE

and HERE

The big problem is to find suitable hats. I don't care for them all that much, but you have to wear them in politics

Just in case you are wondering...

I was not up all night at the cinema with Harry's Potter.

I DO, I DO, I DO hope Nick and Jessica get back together.

My trip to MEXICO is in ONE MONTH!

I look like a Puffalump in my new [married] passport picture.

I get so much satisfaction out of "mark all as read" each morning, YouHaveNoIdea.

my kitty gets her hair did this weekend.

I'm. pasty. Like Elmer's glue pasty with a carrot colored top.

and last night at 10pm I decided I needed a newsboy hat like the blond girl on Big Brother.

So I used my shopping finger to order this from Wet Seal


"Once I read a story about a butterfly in the subway, and today, I saw one. It got on at 42nd, and off at 59th, where, I assume it was going to Bloomingdales to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake - as almost all hats are." - You've Got Mail

Fo dey werk week

Remember those awesome pants that I ripped the crotch out of last week? Don't tell me you don't remember. Because you do. It’s not every day that I flash you my stuff covered by a thin layer of pink cotton. Anyways, in attempting to "fix" said pants my mom used her fancy sew machine to stitch up the koosh and then, for good measure, proceeded to sew the legs together STRAIGHT UP TO MY BELLYBUTTON. She meant well, I swear, but I spent a good half hour cutting them apart. I wore my newly mended ‘trousers’ (as my ol’ gma would say) to work yesterday, AND THE HEM FELL OUT. SUH-NUV-AH GUNS! It’s not even like I bought the pants at Odd Lots or Dollar General (do they even SELL pants?) – they were from The LIMITED already! Limited is right! Limited support in my crotch and ankles.

Remember those green FUBU pants you had from Junior High that you would squeeze into in undergad to make yourself feel good? Now thems were some quality pants. Am I right ladies?

[Que quote that old people say] “They just don’t make pants like they used to”

So because some underage worker in a third world country is a total slack-off, and my girl parts are apparently bustin' out all over, I will have to retire my gray work pants. That retirement leaves me with two pairs of work pants. I do laundry on SUNDAYS.

2 pairs of work pants + 5 work days + 1 laundry day DOES NOT EQUAL FRESHNESS!

I am forced to go shopping on my lunch break. FORCED I TELL YOU!

I am also forced to drive through Chick-fil-A because I have absolutely no desire to eat the lean cuisine sitting in my mini fridge. It’s just that kind of day people.

My Family Ties were Saved by the Bell

Last night, I dreamt (drempt? dreamed?) that I had dinner at a 50’s diner with Michael J. Fox and Mario Lopez was our waiter. When he finally approached the table for our drink order, I brazenly asked that he work shirtless. Being the subordinate employee that he was, he obliged.

Best part of my dream - I was too busy gushing over Michael J. Fox (current MJF, older, wiser, sexier!) to even notice Mario’s glistening biceps. We were sitting across the table from each other talking and this was the closest thing to a sex dream I’ve had in a long while. I was completely smitten with him, his laugh, his boyish eyes, and mostly the fact that I just might be taller than he is. Swoon indeed.

This lustful dream was better than a romp in the hay with a white Bengal tiger (it was good, I swear)– or the one where I shagged Donald Trump in a broke-down fraternity house.

Also, the prequel to my lovely date dream had me back in my high school where I re-joined the cheerleading squad (GOOOOO Tigers!) Somehow my skirt fit, and I still wanted to punch most of the other girls in the face.

I need to stop whatever I’m doing before bed. I can’t risk being stuck in this Donald Trump-80’s TV-tiger sex triangle wearing nothing but a purple cheerleading skirt.

Or can I?

bow-chicka-bow-wow!

For the record, this doesn't make me a bad driver

It hurts my feelings when people say I am a bad driver. My husband says I’m a bad driver. My dad says I am a bad driver too. To them I say, don’t judge me until you have sustained some sort of trauma due to my driving. AND My car is spotless inside, which makes me a good driver.

I am not a bad driver, I just have problems paying attention. Hello? Who wants to “concentrate on driving” – you just sit there and bop your foot a little and spin your hands on the circle. AND how boring is THE ROAD when you can be thinking about Chinese food and vacations and work and money and friends and weekends and cupcakes and dresses and smooching on your husband and all of the things you would say to your boss if the world were free of consequence and puppies and dragons and movies and rainbows and everything else in the world that is funner than THE ROAD...oh and looking at your eye.

About three weeks ago I was leaving my subdivision on my way to work. Same drive – every day. I was slowing my car at a stop sign and decided to look at my eye. I had done some fancy drawing with the eyeliner that morning and wanted to admire my handwork in the rear view. I swear on hot dogs I looked at my eye in the effing mirror for ONE SECOND and then BOOM BOOM POW. There I was two right tires up on the curb sliding into the stop sign. BREAAAAAK. CRAP.

First I backed that car up off the curb and then looked around to see if anyone was questioning my sobriety. Nope, clear.

THEN, I got out and looked at my car.

Hmm. Looks fine to me. I don’t even have to tell hubs about this one. Bonus!

Fast forward another week.

Husband: Your car is pulling like crazy what’s wrong with it?

Me:...well…I ramped it a little last week. But it was fine.

Husband: How do you ramp it...a little?

Me: Ooopsy. My tire looks flat.

Husband: It looks like you shredded the inside of the tire wall –what the hell were you doing?

Me: My car was on the curb… like…a lot.

Husband: How many of your tires were on the curb?

Me: Two. But they were both on the same side.

Husband: You managed to get only the right side of your car up on a curb? How fast were you going?

Me: Not sure, slow. I think.

Saving Grace: ROAD HAZARD TIRE WARRANTY.

Cost me $12 to replace a $150 tire. Well, and $50 + tax for alignment.

Sears Auto employee: What did you do with this car? The alignment was JACKED.

Husband: My wife drives this car.

Sears Auto employee: I take it you want the Road Hazard warranty on the new tire too?

Husband: Yes. Like I said, my WIFE drives this car.

If a chick ramps half her car up on a curb at 9 o'clock in the morning and no one is watching - she's still a good driver.

Dave Thomas rolled over in his grave this weekend

I'm a little crazy and have lot's of food rules - I love cheese but never on salads, I hate yolks but love deviled eggs. I have rules about food sanitation, consistency and smell that preclude me from eating any given thing on any given day. You thought I liked veggie burgers? Whoa! Not today I don't! Check back tomorrow. My poor (smart) husband doesn't even bother to question me anymore when I look at a food item with complete disdain, poke its lifeless body with my fork and declare, "I'm just NOT feelin' this today." God only knows the array of senseless reasons he'd be given if he did.

But let me tell you how much I love that McDonald's MC-NuhGITS are shaped like a foot. My eyes LIGHT UP when I lift open the lid to find that ALL FOUR *delishish* allwhitemeatchicken lumps are indeed, foot shaped! My husband smiles, marveling at the sheer excitement that a pedi-nugget can provoke.

Remember how Wendy's nuggets used to be ROUND? ALWAYS. ROUND. This was mostly the reason I didn't like them. That and the gritty crumbs and flecks of black pepper on the outside of the nuggets.

On Saturday, E and I went to the outlets (oh the sales were orgasmic) and stopped at Wendy's for a post-shopping snack to tide us over for the trip home.

ALL FIVE of my Crispy Chicken Nuggets(R) WERE SHAPED LIKE A FOOT!?

Wendy's has succumbed to the societal preference for foot-shaped chicken! Woot! Woot!

MMMM I'm LOVIN'IT

Now, if they could just do something about the fries...

My milkshakes bring all the boys to my yard

Remember how I told you about Sandy from the list serve and the demise of every animal in her yard? She struck again last week with this lovely mental image, "A buyer backed out on me and I have an extra pig/hog. The way I do hogs is you pay up front for the cost of the hog plus the cost of feed. You are responsible for paying the butcher." Yay, thanks. I'll sit at my desk with a kosher ham sandwich and chew on the idea of a Charlotte's Web remake for a bit.

But wait, yesterday something EVEN BETTER came down the pipe...

WOMEN EMPOWERMENT FITNESS CLASS
Sign ups are now available for the upcoming Woman Empowerment Fatale Fitness class. Ladies, are looking for a new way to work out? Come check out the hottest new craze in women's fitness: poll fitness! University Activities Board and Campus Rec bring you the instructors of poll fitness and yoga from Fatale Fitness for a special one time 2 hour session on March 30th. There are only 20 spots available, so tell a friend a sign up today!

Um. WHERE.TO.START. Definitely not the notion that an official announcement could be laden with THIS many errors. Perhaps poll/pole was intentional? Like if you spell that one word differently people won't think you are training young college students to be strippers under the auspice of "women's empowerment"? Why wasn't I given this training opportunity in college? I couldn't quite make out the small print but I'm pretty sure it said "brief coke snorting tutorial and free eye drops to the first three registrants - panties optional"

WEB-LOG CONFESSION... I actually considered going.

After all, it is a real studio and was endorsed by our local paper complete with tutorial video footage (that pervert from Thailand is going be all over this one!) so why not take up a hobby? I knew my bedroom was missing something. Fung Sha-way this baby- let's put the cat box right next to my greasy stripper pole.

I mean the possibilities are endless - tone the upper body, build cardiovascular endurance AND FEEL EMPOWERED. If "poll" dancing is the newest craze and it really does burn calories while building self image - who's to judge? (Carmen Electra was never a very credible source)

Over the past 24 hours since receiving this email, I've actually pictured myself upside down on a metal rod wearing a mint floss bikini and four inch stilettos. I even threw in a belly button ring and a star tattoo on my wrist for good measure. So if the session wasn't IN MARCH? so expensive and REALLY far from my house - I would sign up. Physical talent should not be underestimated, and I actually think stair climbers and treadmills preclude women from expressing their femininity. And in a few months when I'm all 'Cirque du Soleil' on you people don't say you didn't hear it here first.

Let's take a POLE!

Frick My Life - say it with me!

I'm SOUP-ER busy at work, but I guess that’s what happens when you leave for a week. Today I went home for lunch and ate a cabbage roll (I like them, don’t judge) and I must admit the smell is a bit fartsy. I also noticed a speck of chocolate on the passenger seat of my car (Ack!) so I scrubbed the seat for twenty minutes like the OCD freak that I am. Driving back to work, I noticed the man in the rickety old truck in front of me was smoking a pipe. While stopped at a red light, all I could think about was getting out of my car, walking over to his driver’s window and sniffing inside his window. I imagined the smoke had a rich hickory smell with a hint of cherry. I love pipe smell, and besides I needed something to clear my nasal passages of upholstery cleaner and cabbage.

I imagine the conversation would have gone like this:

Alarmed man: What's you doing missy!?
Me: Just smelling.
Alarmed man: Giiiirl, you nuts! Get back in yo’r cahr
Me: Just one more sniff sir, I had cabbage for lunch.

Tonight we are going to Buffalo Wild Wings for some March Madness action (Go Duke! yay mini corn dogs!) Did I mention I bought into a sportsy basketball raffle for charity? (make your own sunshine march, remember?) AND the team they drew for me was...Louisville! If I were picking for myself I would have chosen based on which team wears the best costume uniform or the team that has the best hottest players – I almost always beat my husband’s bracket with this methodology. I like to win, so I hope winning is in my future.

Also a friend of my husbands turned me on to this website last night, it cracks me up so hard. I can't wait until I have a witty story to write in to FML

I especially like this one, only because my husband and I have this conversation on a regular basis:

Today, I went to the doctor to find out why I've been feeling so sick the past several weeks. Turns out, I'm severely allergic to the cat of my girlfriend of two years. I told her "It's me or the cat." She chose the cat. FML

Lastly, my birthday is in 23 days. I still have no idea what my gift is except for you can sometimes play with it and sometimes eat it and my husband isn't 100% sure that I will like it. 100 days of suspense for a gift I don't like? Is he nuts?

I'm back, to let you know, I can really shake 'em down!

Santa Fe was awesome, except for the part where I got sick on the second day with a fever/head cold/sore throat CRUD that probably hitched a ride on my laptop bag and waited until after my presentation to strike me dead. And by dead, I mean really cranky. I have some cool pictures to show you (but NOT the ones my mom took of me DURING my presentation, WITH THE FLASH ON), but for today I wanted to say welcome back to myself and leave you with this conversation that I had with my husband on the way to the airport last week. Because more than anything, I really missed my husband.

Him: I really like that new Kristy Yamaguchi song.
Me: What?
Him: You know, the ice skater. I like that song about her on the radio.
Me: I have no idea what you are talking about.
Him: Yeah, you know, it goes "Kri-sty Yam-ah-guchi...O-KAAAY!"
Me: [laughing] Babe, I don't think that's what the song says.
Him: Yep. I'm sure of it.

[in the car]
Him: Here! THIS IS THE SONG! [turns radio up]
Him: [singing] Kri-sty Yam-ah-guchi...O-KAAAY!
Me: No. It says, Kri-sty are you do-ing okay.
Him: No it doesn't. It says Yamaguchi.
Me: What you're singing makes no sense, why would the song say that?
Him: I don't know, wait... LISTEN!
[turns up the radio during the chorus]
Him: Okay, that wasn't the right verse, just wait. It will say it.
Me: ....
Him: I swear the time I listened to it, it said Kristy Yamaguchi...

Him singing his version so cute, I almost like it better. Offspring doesn't have shit on my husband!

I'm the only one in this relationship who is allowed to wear eyeliner

*I would like to preface this post by saying I love my husband, could never see myself with anyone else, and marrying him was the best thing I've ever done in my entire life. Ever. I hope one day I'll harbor his babies.

THAT BEING SAID (Whew!), I'm feeling spicy today. Edgy. And the later in no way, shape or form describes my actual personality. Today when I arrived at work I immediately decided to visit the barista over in the student union to indulge in a grande Chai latte (god I'm a rebel). As I walked there, I noticed a couple holding hands in front of me. I'd venture to guess neither of them had showered in weeks, yet they were holding hands in a casual, 'JBF' kind of way (apparently, I'm the only one with a no-sex-until-I'm-fresh rule?) I think the guy must have weighed 100lbs soaking wet from the neck down. I say from the neck down because I swear the loaf of dreads on his head weighed another 100lbs. As I watched his grimy locks bounce up and down, I thought to myself... why wasn't I ever edgy? Why didn't I covet the bad boy who needs a (silver) chain on his belt loop to keep from losing his wallet, should it ever fall out of his pocket?

Have you ever done a super grungy guy? Or alternative, how do they say, EMO, guy? I started out swooning after the has-muscles-lacks-brains type of fellow, which I guess proved fun in the sac for the time in your life when a positive pregnancy test would result in you scratching out your insides with a wire hanger. But eventually - when I decided I was done shagging the future Sprint store managers of the world, I went for nerdy-hot (please don't mistake this for pocket-protector-comic-book-geek, they are NOT the same). My first experimentation with nerdy-hot was a bible banging tenor from my college choir. He looked exactly like Sheldon, from the Big Bang Theory, and turned me on to contemporary Christian music and hand jobs - both hobbies were short lived. I fumbled around with randoms from the bar or internet for a while (man, I sound like a slut), still searching for just the right amount of hot-nerd. I practically stumbled upon my husband, his broad chest and blue eyes almost sike you out that he's a jock until you realize he's forgotten more in the last week than you could know in a lifetime (Want proof? try doing disease flashcards with him). I guess the thing that turns me on the most is having someone I can learn something from, become a better person with (and is mega good in bed).


And besides, my sweet husband does have a bass guitar in our basement...maybe one night I can plaster on the black eye make-up and wear some gloves with the fingers cut out while we play edgy-emo-couple GETS. IT. ON.

Who needs stinky dreads and chain wallets when you have a vivid imagination and a husband who doesn't judge.

Sincerely,

Spicy.

What do Wendy's and butt wipes have in common?

Answer: Zack Braff!

Why do I look over from the kitchen when I hear JD's voice yet see nothing but a puppy bouncing around in a butt wipe commercial? Why do I think of 'guy love' when I am watching someone eat a juicy Wendy's hamburger? Apparently, the new season of Scrubs isn't doing as well as we thought.

AND AND Mr. Braff has taken his career to new heights as the VOICE OF WATER in the new PUR campaign ads. The voice of water. (voice? water? Wha? huh?)

Hello, my name is Zack Braff. I have incredibly bouncy hair and appear overly Jewy on film. I'm probably awkward in bed but definitely have excellent taste in music. Oh and did I mention I am the voice of water? Yes. Water. Spokesperson for the H2O - 80% of your body, 100% me. Not to mention those butt wipes would be nothin' without it! Also, Garden State. Watch for it soon on HD DVD and Blu-Ray. And for the record, Mandy Moore and I were never engaged. She dumped me because of my OCD at the same exact moment that I realized she was way out of my league anyway. True. Story.

I heart you Zack but you gotta stop the voice overs. You're screwing with my head!

What did you expect from an out of work Plumber?

OMG I actually agree with 'Joe the Plumber' on something!

He's the next Matt Lauer if you haven't heard...

And THIS
And THIS

Cats can do lots of things in 2009

Remember when I (er, uh Joe) told you about Spaghetti Cat? I was flipping through another blog today and found this tribute to him (the cat, not Joe). CLASSIC.

Are you afraid of the dark?

Husband is in his surgery rotation so there are nights that I sleep alone. I lived alone in college and much of grad school with no problems what so ever. I actually enjoyed the quiet and the fact that no one could tell me not to watch trashy movies on Lifetime because they are fake and the actors are terrible. But not now. Somehow sleeping snuggled with my husband for so many years has left me with empty bed syndrom. Futhermore, I’m convinced someone is going to break in and brutally kill me. The thought of sleeping alone makes my heart pound. I’ve told you before that I’m nuts but with this, my neurosis has escalated. A few weeks ago, Heidi told me about a rapist on the loose in Columbus (thanks Heidi!) and then I watched a show about killers one night. Last week I had terrible panic attack one night waking up every hour gasping and sitting straight up in bed. When husband finally did get home around 1am he said I sat straight up in bed and looked at him scared out of my mind.

Husband: I thought you were going to scream your head off.
Me: Did I?
Husband: No, you just asked me why I was naked.
Me: That’s weird, why would I say that?
Husband: Probably because I was.

Now when I know I have to sleep alone, I am going to try to bribe my friends with pizza and wine with hopes of a pajama party. This week, I have to make my house sound more fun than Christmas lights at the zoo. Zoo, smelly. My house, fragrant. Zoo, cold. My house, warm. See? After all, I need someone to call 9-1-1 when the assailant tries to attack me. (but let’s not mention any dates, the killers might read my blog too!)

My mom says god punishes bad people and I believe her

My mother is the queen of colloquialisms and although she left Long Island over 30 years ago her accent still shines through to give them a little northeastern punch. My mom’s endearing ability to makes up words is weaved throughout the memories of my childhood. I still laugh thinking about how I had no clue they were made up until much (much) later in life. When I was little my mother referred to all “private parts” as wiggies; girls had a wiggy and boys had a wiggy. This ambiguous term made it an easy point of reference when talking to my brothers or me, “Stop poking at your wiggie!” (That phrase was directed at my brothers, of course.) You can imagine my (public) embarrassment when I found out neither were refered to as such.(editor's note: spell check is freaking out about wiggies)

My pronounciations of the words pool, pole, and pull are almost indistinguishable and always a point of (hilarious) contention between my husband and I. The way my mom says sauce (sauhw-s) and coffee (cauhw-fee) makes me smile and the fact that my little brother didn’t like “goils” (girls) until middle school was not an accident. Thanks to my mom, in high school I earned local acclaim for my rendition of the sniffly Adelaide in “Guys and Dolls,” because after all, a poiy-son could develop a cold. My mom loves the word “discombobulated” and calls "half-time," intermission. These quirks and phrases have contributed to my own colorful vocabulary in so many ways. Here are a few of the phrases my mother uses to explain people, things and life in general. I think it sums it up quite nicely.

Uglier than a mud fence
Don’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out
All dirty dogs get their day
Colder than a witch’s tit outside
Up shit’s creek without a paddle
Went over like a fart in church
A face only a mother could love
Doesn’t know his ass from his elbow
Bless her heart
A stick in the mud

I thought about this last week when husband and I were out to dinner with Heidi as she uttered the following:“That went over like a turd in a punch bowl!”

After years of my mother’s tutelage, I had yet to hear this one. I.love.it. AND the mental picture that follows! What types of endearing qualities has your mother instilled in you?

Pal-in my butt

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about things I heart and in doing so have decided to start a Friday blog segment dedicated to frivolous possessions and tangible goodies that make me smile each day.

To the opposite effect, I have also been thinking about things I don’t heart, covet or stand for. I’m pretty annoyable this week as the moons align and my endometrial shedding makes my last nerve even shorter and fiercer than otherwise allowable. Small things naturally annoy me like the minuscule paper cut on my pinky finger and the farting sound the water cooler makes when my coworkers hydrate themselves. But today, I am utterly annoyed by Sarah Palin. Over the last few days, every time I turn to CNN radio hoping to hear a depressing run down of the plunging Dow, closing car plants, socialist take-overs, and which 5 star hotel is hosting the AIG execs for a playboy party. Instead, all I hear is miss ‘I’m a Maverick’ chattering on verbatim from her stump speech. For someone who lost an election ten days ago and the nations respect long before that – how can she still be in the spotlight?

Maureen Dowd wrote a great column today about reigning in this wild moose and putting her to pasture. I don’t care if she’s sorting through panties to figure out which ones belong to John McCain and which ones belong to her. I don’t care if she doesn’t know if Asia is a continent or country. I don’t care that she thinks she encompasses the American Dream with her crazy religion and natural gas backyard. Someone send her a memo in large print, lower case, block letters, with monosyllabic phrases letting her know the.election.is.over. p.s. you.lost.

Press, you hated her before, and now you’re in bed with her? Well– if not in bed, in living room, eating her road kill chili. You brought her down, why raise her back up? Leave her on the ground to fend for herself. That’s what she’s prided herself in doing all along. Trig, Track, Fork, Willow and X-ray can live with her in a boot and if Americans decide the exorcist is coming – they’ll ring her on her hamburger phone. Please stop covering her. Please stop letting her piercing Golly-Gee, Aw-shucks, Gotcha, mavericky voice permeate the airwaves. She is out of touch with reality, republican or otherwise and lost an election because she was grossly over confidante and vastly under qualified. If this is what we have to look forward to for the next four years, I’m afraid Hope, Change, Liberty and Freedom are gonna have to contend with Wasilla Hillbilly in an ultimate fighting championship. My money is on Liberty, after all, Bush has really pissed her off in the last eight years.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s favorites segment. I heart it.