Monday, September 28, 2009

Is this a sexual thing? Does this *look* sexual to you?

Fucking right I'm sexual. You know you all want me. At least I know that Aunt Becky and Beautiful Mess do. I think Mrs. Soup does as well.


My sexual desire is something that used to be nearly constant... When Erf and I first began, um... Copulating... I wanted it all. the. freaking. time. Most guys dream of a woman who just wants to have lots and lots of sex, right? I didn't even demand that he make sure that I finished, mostly because we were still working out all the kinks of how to get me there and hadn't succeeded yet. And before you get all Judgy McJudgerson, know this; Erf is the only man I've ever had sex with.

You know, because I don't count Dirk the 7-Feature Handheld Showerhead. There was no penetration, I SWEAR!

*Cough* Um... No, really. My vagina isn't big enough and can you say yeast infection? Yeah.

So yeah. Erf is not just any guy. He began to worry that I just wanted him for sex. Cue the Awww... Yes, he even asked me for LESS sex because he wanted to make sure our love was real, and not just all full of The Lust. Cue June of 2005; when we found out that we were expecting an adorable, vomit and crap-filled crotch monkey. I had nasty morning sickness, and I am not a person who handles vomit well. Especially my own. I vomit with a force. The Dark Side wishes it were my vomit. I vomit out my nose, my back and stomach muscles are sore for a day or so, and oh; I can usually feel my eyes bulge out when I spew. Charming.

Erf was still attracted to me, in all my vomitty pregger-ness. I, however, would have happily given up The Penis for quite some time. Lots of mercy-fucking, lemme tell ya. My sex drive took a serious dip. I hated it, but that was around the time that Erf and I started going through a serious Rough Patch. We were 4 1/2 hours away from our families with an unexpected pregnancy and on the verge of getting evicted from our apartment because our jobs sucked. Oh, and this was just a year after his mom died and about 6 months after I had another failed attempt to reconcile with my birth mother - which was the only reason we really moved there in the first place.

I have just now begun to get my sex drive back. I have no idea if it was the pregnancy, stress, birth control (I switched to the copper IUD in February of last year), or what. But, thank the Lord, I actually WANT sex again.

Speaking of sex, I love being dominated (yeap, more than you wanted to know) and I'd heard that Secretary is a good dominance flick. Very kinky, people said.

I got the movie. I understood it. But I work for a lawyer who is self-employed. I'm his receptionist. He is older than my father. Anyone else see where this movie made me feel a little awkward? Not that I have any sort of interest in him beyond friendship, of course, but it put the image in my head. And the image was more than I ever needed. *Shivers* Creepy.

However, setting my awkwardness aside, I did get a bit turned on by the whole kinkyness of it all. And believe me, I totally rocked Erf's world. It was that hot, nasty, hair-pulling fucking.

On a side note, I would like to apologize for not writing lately. It's been so damned busy at the office and I'm too poor to afford $60 a month for decent internet at my house.

Speaking of being poor (I suck at segues), Erf's interview is today! I'm sending out good juju vibes to him, we both have good feelings about it. I even researched some crap online regarding interview tips and such to give him an edge. Yay me for being a good little wifey. (Ugh, that so conjured up the dress with the pointy boobs and a-line skirt, kitten pumps [no not actual kittens, just kitten heels - because, hello! Shoes made from kittens are SO last season], pearl necklaces, perfectly coiffed hair, red lipstick and black cat-eye eyeliner)

By the way, I love the word coif. It looks and sounds so dirty.

I also found out today that my cat, Midnite, passed away last night. I've had her since 5th grade, and she was about 13 years old. Maybe 14. She was old. She lived with my grandparents, and my grandpa was super close with her. She was his little buddy. So it's been kind of a roller coaster day.

My BFF's boyfriend comes home from the Air Force in one more day, and I'm pretty psyched about that!

Also, can I even tell you how much I LOVED Aaron Carter's dancing song on Monday? They danced to the Muppet Show Theme, and Animal had a drum solo! HOW WICKED AWESOME IS THAT?!

It was pretty wicked, lemme tell ya.

Erf has been annoyed with me the last few nights, because I keep sticking my face into his ribs and blowing air out of my nose so it makes farting noises. It makes me giggle lots, and then it begins our mock-tussling, and then I whip his ass.

I also realized how full of tangents this post is. Whoa look, there's another one! Kthxbai.

Friday, September 25, 2009

"Do you know what these are?" "...Presidential flashcards?"

I am just sitting around and waiting for the Xerox guy to finish fixing our copier. This is going to end up being expensive, but what choice do we have? Law offices need copiers, for crying out loud.


Also, I have an urgent NEED to watch That Thing You Do!, because it. is. awesome.

"Tell me, who really popped your cherry?" "Cap'n Geech and the Shrimp Shack Shooters."

I was perusing my Livejournal today, (Yes, mine is still active. Shut up.) and found some rather interesting entries about my career with LifeTouch Church Directories.

Ashley + Church folk = sometimes amusing stories.

For your enjoyment!

Mike was the photographer I was paired up with.

"Today is one of those days. I need chocolate, alcohol, and some fuckin' sweet sex. Mike was planning on getting drunk after the shitty day we've had. I swear to God... I asked him if he'd buy some for me, then he pointed to the Sherriff sitting behind us. We went to Country Kitchen for.. Would it be dinner, or breakfast? I'm not sure. Food. Good enough.

I need to get drunk and forget about everything and everyone for a while. But it won't help. I know it won't help. I want my grandma. *cries*

Here's everything in a nutshell. Or something bigger than a nutshell. Whatever.

Cohasset people are rude assholes. They're condescending and just plain rude. I left Orbitz to try and get away from that bullshit. They're not buying anything. They won't even let me offer anything. "No. No. No. I want my free 8X10 and directory because I'm an oozing green donkey dick who licks sweaty headcheese." Fucks. Someone beat the living fuck out of these colostomy bags before I do.

NORTH DAKOTA FUCKING SUCKS. And so does Cohasset and Grand Rapids. If Mike and I had our way, we would NOT be coming back next week. For one fucking day. Check out our schedule for next week:

Tuesday: Cohasset
Wednesday and Thursday: Little Fork
Friday and Saturday: International Falls.

Bullshit. So we get up early Tuesday, drive to be here by noon (it's a 3 1/2-4 hour drive) set up, do the 10 fucking waste-of-time sits, break everything down (now making this about a 12 hour day) and then either stay the night and drive to Little Fork (up by I. Falls) Wednesday morning (again, 3-4 hour drive) or drive it overnight after the bullshit 12 hour day. Then set up in Little Fork around noon and stay for TWO days; both of which will be 12-hour days, then set up and break down for two days in I. Falls. A week of 12-hour days. At least Little Fork is only 20 minutes away from I. Falls. But that SUCKS! Gah.

I want some Baileys and chocolate. Fucking me being fucking 20 so I can't fucking go to a fucking liquor store and buy some fucking alcohol. And I wanna fuck. Fuck!"

"There was this nice couple that I was helping. They really looked as if they were super rich, and they probably were. The guy looked like an old Ted Danson. I wondered if they get frequent nosebleeds. You know, from the altitude? :) They were being really nice though, so it wasn't a big deal. After I quoted them our three-drop pricing (I quote them the prices of our different finishes and everything they're getting for that price), the guy says, in a really snide voice, "Is there anything else you'd like to add?" I just stared at him, dumbfounded. I couldn't figure out what he meant, but he had this really nasty look on his face, so I let out a nervous laugh and said, "What, you mean like a portrait for myself? Hehe." And he just stared at me. Then he got this look of dismissal on his face and said, "Oh, forget it. You're doing a great job, very patient. Go on." And then proceeded to ignore me the rest of the time they were there. WTF?

And apparently there was this one older lady with a walker who, after sitting in a chair for her portraits, ripped some serious ass while she was being helped up. And then ripped it all the way out the door. I laughed my ass off. Not while she was there, of course. But afterward. I knew she smelled like poo..."

"So yeah, Mike told me a few days ago that I should watch Family Guy. Well, I was up one night while it was on and watched it. Brian and Stewie had their hand and paw glued together, got a solvent that took an hour to work, and decided to take a walk while they waited. So they're walking along and they pass a well that a girl has fallen into. Stewie says, "Oh, I suppose you want me to rescue her, don't you?" Brian pretty much says yes. Then Stewie peeks his head over the edge and says, "It puts the lotion on it's skin and does as it's told." I laughed my ass off.

This had to have been one of the longest weeks I have ever worked.

Tuesday: Drive 3 hours to Cohasset, do a bit of setting up, work a full day, break down the set and then drive 2 hours to International Falls.

Wednesday: Set up in Little Fork. Printer breaks down, thus causing me to get backed up by about 2 hours. Finally get done there around 11. Drive 1/2 hour to International Falls.

Thursday: Another hectic day, printer is still broken and the tech fucks aren't sending us a new one till Friday. Got a message from Evan that his dad had a heart attack unloading up in I. Falls. Told him to call me with ANY updates. Didn't hear from him all night long. Called him when I finally got done and ended up getting in a fight. Mike pretty much told me I was being a bitch about it and to cool off. So I did. Turns out his dad just had a really horrid blocked artery. Broke down the set. Apologized to Evan and cried. Got really nauseous and had a horrible headache. Bad, bad night.

Friday: Set up in I. Falls. Got done fairly early, not a bad day at all. Went to the Border Bar with Mike, he had two whiskey sours and I got jealous that I couldn't get drunk after the shitty week I've had. Ate dinner, went to the hotel. Can't remember if I called in my numbers or not, though. *shrug* If I didn't, Deb should call. Pack up all my useless crap.

Saturday: Early ass day. Was supposed to get a break around 2, but a couple needed to go and was going to come back around three. No big deal. Then another couple walked out saying they'd be back at two. Frustrating, but what do you do? At one, a couple said they'd be right back, they were just going home to change. They came back at two. I got NO break. Mike was great about it, he got me some mozzarella sticks from the Border Bar to munch. The insipid beastly crackwhore retard took an hour to look at her pictures, had me price out a $400 package for her, and bought only $136 worth. Then made me wait while her husband ran home to get the money for it. So our last shoot was at 4:30, but I didn't get done till 6. Stupid whore. She smells like a warm dumpster. At least she wasn't as bad as the old lady who smelled like feces and hot spinach. Uch. At least we get to leave everything set up for two weeks. Hell yeah. Then got to drive 4 1/2 hours home. I hit a really humongous bug after DL, though. One of those suckers you see before it hits the windshield."

"So here was my original schedule for work this week: Battle Lake First Lutheran on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Then have a four-day weekend.

Get there around noon-ish Tuesday. Unload everything, set up everything. Originally ran behind to run to DQ, our fault. Not a big deal. Mike goes to shoot the gray card (a card which aligns the camera and adjusts the color accuracy), presses the button, and... Nothing. Shoots the card, but no flash. Tries multiple times to shoot the gray card, nada. Reboots the system. Nada. Call emergency tech guy, also named Mike. Techie Mike helps Mike go through the process of attempting to fix lighting. Nada. Techie Mike says, "You're not shooting today, I'll overnight you a new part tomorrow to the church."

An unscheduled day off; sort of. Get to tell a bunch of geezers that they have to call 30-some families and tell them they'll have to come back Friday. So much for my four-day weekend. Drive home.

Come back at 1 on Wednesday, since the dumb whores have us starting early. (Scheduled us at 2:05 without prior approval; we are only supposed to be scheduled from 2:30 to 9:00.) Get there at 1; the part isn't there. Funny, overnight FedEx is usually guaranteed by noon the next day. Call techie Mike to get the tracking number. He tracks it and then tells us, "Oh, I guess because Battle Lake is so far from the nearest FedEx, it isn't guaranteed until 4:30."

WHAAAAAAAAAT???!!!

So the whores begin calling people and cancelling through 3; part arrives at 2. Was able to start shooting by 2:30. They were able to get a hold of everyone and told them to come in. So we begin our day 1/2 an hour behind schedule. Then two couples took about an hour apiece to pick their pictures. Which put me severely behind. But we survived the day. Oh, yes. The butt-bitches also scheduled us after nine. Just 9:10, but still!! It says, in bold lettering after the last appointment spot on the schedule sheet: "DO NOT SCHEDULE PAST WITHOUT PRIOR APPROVAL FROM PAUL SWANSON". But we made it out barely alive around 11. Then drive home to Fargo, which is an hour if I speed. (Meaning I go 90 in a 70.) Then to notice they also scheduled us early Thursday. And payroll fucked up Mike and I's checks. I got a check for $627. I was like, yeah! I'm gonna go see Dana! Mike calls me. He got a check for $59. Payroll paid me for BOTH our checks, and won't split this up so I get his part deducted from my check next week. So I don't get to see Dana. That added to my already fucked day. But Evan has to go out of town around the 26-29, so I'm thinking maybe I can drop him off and spend that three-day weekend in Minneapolis. Maybe. But we don't know where this town is, so gotta research it first. *sigh*

So we show at 1:30, start on time at 2, and I'm noticing that there are a LOT of aces. Wednesday was pretty good, even for being behind. But Thursday NO ONE was buying. Then to have Mike tell me that the stupid fucking butt dumpling whore upstairs is telling people, "If you don't want to spend a lot of time down there, just tell her you want the free 8X10 and nothing else." Thanks, bitch. We have to go out of our way, spend a half tank of gas every day and work our ASSES off so you can get this free directory, and you have the fucking GALL to fuck us out of our paycheck!? Bitch. Our average SUCKED Thursday. And they scheduled us at 9:30!!! Yes, I feel the need to use excessive caps. And lots of exclamation points. I'm very upset. Left there in a very gloomy, to say the least, mood.

Today we arrived at 2 without checking to see if they scheduled us early. Fuck them, we'll start when we're ready. The coordinator was being such a bitch. It wasn't like we could do anything to fix the fucking equipment! Today sucked ass too; There was this bastard ass kid who wailed. Wailed isn't even the right word. He was screaming bloody murder the whole fucking way through the shoot. Then his mom just took the free 8x10. Our averages sucked today too; that's what I hate about small towns. Everyone talks too damn much. It doesn't help that the average age of someone who lives there is 69. Old batty geezers. Gah, I'm NEVER, EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER going back to Battle Lake as long as I live. This has been one of the shittiest work weeks I have EVER had. Nothing tops this, nothing. And people were rude, too. Crochetey old fucks."

"Oh, and this woman stopped by yesterday. She was from Lifetouch. She told me that they had a 'few' complaints of customers feeling pressured... Huh? I don't think I pressure anyone to buy anything. Then she tells me that one complaint was from the daughter of some retarded couple who placed a huge order. Apparently they couldn't afford it, and I get blamed for them being tards. Even Mike was just stunned to hear that. He said, "You can go in and watch her. She sticks to the script, and she's really easygoing. I've never seen her pressure anyone." Okay, here is what I say when I want them to tell me what they want me to price out.

"Just so that I can share some pricing with you, I'd like you to create a wishlist for me. Now, this is not by any means an order, nor are you obligated to buy anything that you ask me to price. This is also completely editable at anytime, before or after I price everything out."

Yes, I can just hear the pressure oozing out of that statement."

Thursday, September 24, 2009

He's a one-stop shop with a real big *uh*...

So I didn't get to watch DWTS Tuesday night. I know, I know. I'm sorry. Erf needed the TV more than I did at that moment.


Which leads me into my blog post topic for today, which is all about how crappy the last few days have been for me. I wasn't going to blog about it at first, but then I remembered that blogging is supposed to be all healing and supportive and crap.

No, this is not a plea for sympathy. I just don't have anything else going on in my life right now, so what the hell, right?

Erf was (past tense, you'll understand later) a manager at a local fast food place. They call them QSR's (Quick Serve Restaurant), I suppose because they want to sound more sophisticated than McDonalds. Or maybe they want to sound like spies, but they massively failed. Whatever.

He had a review about a month ago, and they told him he was 'lazy' and a 'lollygagger'. Who the fuck uses that word anymore?! Seriously. I know that this couldn't be true because I've worked WITH Erf, and I've spent time with his co-workers outside of work. Lazy is not a word that you apply to my husband, he's one of the hardest workers I've ever met. However, the co-worker who described him as such is notorious for sitting in the back office, running useless errands during rushes, and other miscellaneous offenses. They gave him 30 days to 'shape up and improve', but wouldn't tell him exactly what he was doing wrong.

I can get not telling someone HOW to fix a problem at work, but not telling them WHAT the problem is? What the everloving mothercock? That's just irresponsible management.

He had his 30 day review review on Tuesday. They demoted him.

To maintenance. He's below the fucking burger-flipping crew members now. And to top it all off, he went from making $27,500 a year to $8.50/hr.

He makes less than I do. We just moved into an apartment with a one-year lease. We chose this apartment because it has 3 bedrooms and we wanted a place we could stay in for a while.

The co-workers who called him lazy (and are subsequently called lazy by the crew members when said co-workers are out of earshot) got promoted.

This, it fucking blows chickens.

My wonderful Twitter/blogger/real life friends, Beautiful Mess, Aunt Becky and Dana, helped tremendously by listening to my whining and bitching, and then reassured me that all will be okay.

My only surefire cure to disperse anger (which, hello, I was livid) is to cry. A lot. I cry watching movie previews for Angels In The Outfield. I cry like I'm fucking postpartum. It's insane.

So what do I do? I poured myself a large glass of wine, grabbed my chocolates, and settled down with Erf to watch P.S., I Love You. This is an incredibly sad movie. It's surefire to make me cry. Like Armageddon and Steel Magnolias (We'll sell t-shirts saying, 'I slapped Ouiser Boudreaux!' M'Lynne, you just missed the chance of a lifetime! Half of Chinquapin Parish'd give their eye teeth to take a whack at Ouiser!).

Sorry.

Anywho, I cried my eyes out. And by that I mean, I blubbered. Like, soap-opera-fake blubbered. Except it was real. That grieving widow cry. The lip-sucking, gasping-breath, annoying cry. Insane, is what it is. Erf laughed at me, because it really was quite funny. No better way to dispel the anger than laughter through tears. It's my favorite emotion! I felt much better.

Then yesterday I got a call from Erf to tell me that he has a management position interview at a local sports bar and grill next week. Silver linings, people.

Except my broken tooth. Fucking nighttime tooth-clenching. I clench my teeth at night like teenage boys clench their cheeks at drive-ins. That is to say, tight.

Not that teenage boys go to drive-ins anymore. But if they did, they totally wouldn't wanna gas their date. Unless they were trying to knock them out. Baked beans are cheaper than a roofie, people. Lesson learned.

By the way, in case you care, Erf took out his anger by playing Need For Speed and smashing into cop cars. To each their own, right? On a related note, I was on the phone with my mom last night as he was playing. He asked me what kind of car he should buy (I picked the Toyota Supra). My mom chimes in with, "I really don't think that now is a good time for you to be looking at buying a new car."

It's a video game car, ma. Put away the wire hanger, and I'll stop calling you Mommie Dearest. :)

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

It's Frodo Vito, bitches. That sounds like an Italian gangster.

So, first off, I have some amends to make.


First, I apologize for not writing yesterday. I wanted to, I really did, but I was kind of busy writing up some legal paperwork. I have to do my job, too. Cause, you know, I get paid for that. Also, I didn't have anything interesting to write about.

Second, if any of you were confused by my Twitter widget; take comfort. I was confused too. I had to remove it, because the stupid widget was showing someone else's tweets. Fucking widget.

Now, on to the main event! Last night was the season premiere of Dancing With The Stars!

It was the boys' night last night, and it was a fair night for the guys. I was a total dorkalicious geekoid, I took freaking notes.

SEE HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU GUYS?! I TOOK FREAKING NOTES SO I COULD REMEMBER THE FUNNY SHIT THAT HAPPENED!

Erf was amused by my note-taking. He made fun of me. What I do for you people...

Anyhow, first up to take the floor was Aaron Carter, Nick's younger brother. Aaron is all grown up, even if he is the youngest contestant this year. He first danced the Cha Cha Cha. He needs more hip. Something tells me if he asked Brian from BSB to help him, he might get a bit more action going on down there. He's a good-looking kid. He should know how to use his hips by now. Then he almost dropped Karina at the end. I laughed a lot. He got a 22 from the judge's score for his Cha Cha, and the #1 score of 10 for the Viennese Waltz relay dance.

Next was Chuck Lidell. He's a UFC fighter. He performed the Foxtrot. Well, he went through the steps at least. He looked petrified. This dude embeds other men's teeth in his fucking knuckles for a living, and he was afraid of dancing! He was very shy, he's got some potential, and he definitely ramped it up in the Salsa relay. He's not a ballroom dancer, for sure, but he did fairly well on the Latin round! He got 16 for the Foxtrot and a 6 in the relay round.

Seriously, I love Mark Dacaskos. He does Kung Fu and he's the guy who hosts Iron Chef. And he's motherfucking funny! And, more importantly, he's GOOD! I mean, he danced the Cha Cha Cha to Kung Fu Fighting, how awesome is that?! Good hips, energetic, smooth, and nice arms. He had excellent posture in the Waltz relay as well. 21 for the Cha Cha and 8 for the relay.

Poor Ashley Hamilton. He's an actor, and son of George Hamilton, the Oompa Loompa with giant bleach white teeth who was on a few seasons ago. Ashley was in a car accident a while ago where bone from his skull got embedded in his brain, so his left side is a bit slow in his Foxtrot. He had a good smile, but no real pizazz. George, he knows how to entertain. Ashley, not so much. He didn't fare much better in the Salsa relay. 15 for the Foxtrot, 4 for the relay.

Donny Osmond. I am having a love/loathe relationship with you. You and Marie, you annoy the bile out of me. But seriously? You're entertaining. I mean, you danced the Foxtrot to All That Jazz, and I love that song. Fucker. And damn it, you were smooth and confident. And I loved it. And your Salsa relay was great too. You bastard. 20 for the Foxtrot, 10 for the relay.

Snowboarder Louis Vito took to the floor next. How do you follow Donny? Well, apparently, by being a hobbit. Louis is 5'5", and Bruno called him a hobbit on the dance floor. I almost pissed myself. His foxtrot was awkward and he wouldn't stay off those damned heels. His Salsa relay fared better, even if his hips were stiff. 19 for the Foxtrot, 8 for the relay.

Michael Irvin... Oh, you have a long legacy to follow. Jerry Rice, for one, has a big shadow and large heels to fill. Football players have a history of being fantastic on this show, and you're a Wide Receiver for the Cowboys. Jerry, he was a WR too. But poor you, Michael. You got shafted with the new professional. I think she was a bit nervous to show what she could really do with him, and I hope that her choreography improves next week. Your Cha Cha Cha did not impress me, though you have some potential. Your arms were as limp as Lorena Bobbitt's husband's dick. Or the dick of that guy who raped a chick on Grey's Anatomy and she bit off the tip of his penis. (Which, awesome) You had a bit more charm during the Viennese Waltz relay, but I hope Anna ramps up the choreography. Let's see you whip it out of the park, dude. 13 for the Cha Cha, 6 for the relay.

Last, but not least, Tom DeLay... Former House Majority leader. I think the judges would have been harsher if they hadn't been afraid that Tom knows people at the IRS. And by people, I mean Mafia. His Cha Cha Cha was cute, he has a bit of a charm to him, but his ass looked like he was wearing Depends. I think it was honestly just the way his shirt was tucked in and the fact that he was wearing poo brown, but still. He's conservative on the dance floor, and he needs to let go more. He really is a charmer, and his Viennese Waltz was much smoother. I think he'll be interesting to watch progress in the ballroom rounds. But the Latin rounds? Eh. 16 for the Cha Cha, 4 for the relay.

Tonight, the girls perform. I'm psyched to watch Mya, Melissa Joan Hart and Kelly Osbourne. Seriously, Mya? Bitch was in Chicago and did Lady Marmalade! She's gonna whip ass, I think. We'll see tonight... :)

And for those who love TV ratings risers, they're having a tribute to Patrick Swayze on Wednesday's results show.

Cue: Awww....

Now, back to work. I have a job to do, people.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Ode to Ice Cream by Vada Sultenfuss

So, can I even tell you how much I love the girls at Erflet's daycare?


I'm sure as shit going to try.

Amanda, Jessie, Amber and Virginia are the best daycare workers I've ever met. Hands down. They run the small daycare that Erflet attends, Amanda being the head childcare chickie. I'm not even kidding you when I tell you that there was this one time (at band camp - just kidding. I don't play flutes unless they're made of skin. *wink*) we were possibly moving up to Virginia, MN and I had knots in my stomach at the very idea of removing my son from their capable hands. I don't ever want to leave until he's too old for their daycare, because the idea of finding another daycare... Well, it makes me incredibly sad.

I received a call at work today from Amanda, who promptly put Erflet on the phone and said, "Tell Mommy what you broke." Yes, they bring them to the office and make them tell their mothers what they've done wrong. Awesome, no?

My son (whether accidentally or on purpose we don't know) tore a window screen out from it's frame. It tore a little, I guess. They were all lined up waiting to wash their hands, so Jessie didn't see what happened until she heard the loud RRRRRIIIIIIPPPPPP.

I love my daycare girls so much (and have enough common courtesy besides) that I offered to pay for the screen if necessary. They're going to have the maintenance guy try and fix it first. Erflet calls him, "Dabid".

By the way, I asked him to say, "Erflet" last night, and I got, "Oofwet". It was too cute, and I wish I had a video camera to share it with all of you.

However, I give the kid major props; he admitted to it (which makes me think accident, because usually when he knows it's wrong he denies it) and apologized without any provocation.

The girls didn't make too big of a deal out of it, but they are some of the nicest girls I've ever met. You can tell that they love their jobs, and they love the kids they spend all day with. It's very sweet. I can sit and talk with them until the last child leaves, just chitchatting away about whatever. They are excellent communicators, so I always hear about how his day went. They also have a plethora of child-handling knowledge that they dole out as circumstances deem necessary.

For example, Erflet had a SEVERE biting problem around this time last year. He was a bit delayed with his speech, mostly because he talked so fast the kids couldn't understand him. So he'd get frustrated and bite. And he bit until the kids bled. The girls didn't kick him out, we worked together trying to find a solution. One day he was sent home early and we all sat in the hallway and told him how sad it made us when he bites and if he kept biting he wouldn't be able to see his friends or teachers anymore.

I may have used tears. Shut up, my kid was about to get kicked out. Desperate times and desperate measures...

And miraculously, overnight (and I'm NOT exaggerating this), he slowed down his speech and stopped biting. Self-resolution, for the win! He just apparently decided to stop, or something clicked. Whatever it was, I'm grateful.

So to the girls with whom I entrust my beloved Erflet four days a week; keep up the excellent work, I love you guys, and I will do everything within my power to keep my son within your care. Because I trust you, and even more importantly, I like you all. And I'll recommend you until my face turns blue if anyone asks if I know of a good daycare.

P.S. I really hope that you decide to expand your age limit from 5 to like, 7. Cause I'd love to be able to have him there after school and stuff.

Seriously.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Shiny, shiny shoes...

Sooooo, welcome to the new blog template!


Am I sassy enough for you? You bet your sweet little net-surfing asses I am! And now my blog is shinier, prettier, and sassier. Because we have to keep up with things, people. Seriously. None of that shitty-looking blog template to defile your eyes, sweet kittens.

And shoes? Well, I love them. With the passion of a Biggest Loser contestant that finds themselves locked in a bakery overnight. Except shoes don't slather over my skin as well as buttercream does.

There was another template I briefly considered. But Aunt Becky helped me see the pornographic, retina-burning-blaze-orange error of my ways. And I'm going to try and fix this light font, don't you worry. So please be patient if all of a sudden my font turns white or some crap. I'll fix it all one way or the other. If you'd like to find a spiffy new template for yourselves, scope out PYZAM. I think they're just for blogger, but I'm a fucking idiot today so I can't be relied upon for anything, really.

My aunt is now out of surgery, and everything went as well as could be expected. It was textbook. She will be released tomorrow, so hopefully she'll only be out for two weeks. Because to be honest, while I'm not exactly nervous about doing my best at doing both her job and mine at the same time... I'm not completely at ease, either. I just figure I'm going to have to take what comes my way and figure out how to get shit done.

Today is a slow day. I'm just not quite on my tip-top awesomeness. Which, I know, you didn't think was possible. So I'm going to entertain you by telling you the story of the first time I met Erf's parents. Because it's goddamn funny.

Erf's parents invited me up to dinner a few weeks after we started dating. I, of course, was the proper amount of a nervous wreck. I liked this guy, and I hoped that his parents liked me. But I know now that, well, everyone likes me. :) Erf was done with school early that day (yes, we're high school sweethearts. Awwww....)(Shyaddup.), and so he and his sister came to pick me up. My hair looked fine, I had minimal makeup on... Enough to look pretty and like I cared about my appearance, but not too much. Don't want to scream 'WHORE' when I walk in.

We walked in to the house and I was introduced. Things had that amount of tension in the air that there always seems to be when you first meet your significant other's parents. But that's ok, everyone always expects it. You don't want to say the wrong thing, because really, it's like an audition.

We sat down to the first of the many dinners I've had there; beef stroganoff. I even ate the onions, and I'm one of the pickiest eaters I know. We're all sitting around making small talk and chit-chatting between bites, when Erf's mom apparently decided it was just too tense.

So she decided to break the ice with this little gem:

"So, Ashley. Did you know that (Erf) has one nut that's smaller than the other?"

I almost pissed myself. She just pulled it into the conversation so casually. Like she was asking if I knew if he had blonde hair.

Poor Erf turned purple, he was so embarrassed. Here I hadn't even gotten into his pants yet, and his mom is asking me about his testicles.

Cindy and I got along famously from that point on. She was one of the sweetest, funniest people I've ever met. I wish Erflet could have met her. They would have loved each other so much...

In other news, my friend Cheryl's (who I met for dinner and drinks last night) job is moving her to the same building and the same floor as I work in! We're gonna be next-door-floor neighbors! I'm pretty psyched about that.

So, um, yeah. I'm going to go drink my jasmine tea (this tea is the shit) and possibly watch the New Moon Trailer again... Cause I'm a fucking dork today. :)

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

You'd think it'd be EASY to find fucking acorns in the fall.

So I'm instant messaging with my mom yesterday, and she asks me if I can 'pull a few dozen cupcakes out of my ass' for tomorrow. I get the details from her, and plan a shopping trip to Michael's as I need an M1 frosting tip and a box... At the very least. My mom asks if I could put acorns on the top of said cupcakes. I told her that due to time constraints, I wasn't going to try and make myself go crazy hand-molding teeny tiny acorns out of fondant; but I'd see what I could find at Michael's.

It took us (my aunt and I) half a fucking hour to find something with acorns in Michael's. This is fucking September, people! Acorns are synonymous with things like Halloween and Thanksgiving. WTF? I finally found little acrylic acorns, and here are the results:

Mmm, chocolate cake batter in cupcake liners!

Look at how much prettier cupcakes look when you use the large M1 tip! Mmm, swirly. And don't the acrylic acorns look like they're back lit or something? Absolutely luminous!

Unfortunately in my opinion, they look like hybrid boob-penises up close. But ooh, look! Swirly frosting!

Lonely un-acorned cupcakes... I had six extra, and I really didn't want to put acorns on them. Pretty swirly!

Seriously... Vanilla buttercream and chocolate cupcake. The cupcakes themselves were perfect. I'm such a mega baking goddess.

Now that I've suckled you into my web of sugary food-porn, I have a more serious topic to blog about.

Why is it that once you have a child, people are so eager to come and see you when that child is a newborn (thus unable to crawl/walk/run and get into things) but not once the child gets older? When the Erf-let (son's new nickname as he looks EXACTLY like his father)(Except for my beautiful blue eyes and long eyelashes) got older, the visits dwindled... Not that there were all that many to begin with.

I have a toddler, and people complain that I don't take time out of my schedule to come and visit them. Are you mothercocking kidding me?

Your houses usually aren't child-proofed, and I spend more time running around after him (in some cases) than I do visiting with you. My house is reasonably child-proofed, and I know it's a place I can trust him to run around in and not get into too much trouble. Why is it such a big deal for you to come to me?

And yes, I do go to their houses 95% of the time, so I can complain about this until the cows come home... Or until Kanye interrupts me, either or. (Seriously, that's one of the best websites EVER)

When confronted by one person in particular as to why I hadn't been to their house in a while, I responded with, "Well, it works both ways. You can come to my house, too."

"Oh, no. That's not the way it works." was my response.

So I ask, why not? Why shouldn't it be at least 60/40? When I visit with friends and family, I want to relax. I want to be able to speak for the most part.

It's not that I mind going to other people's houses... I just don't want to always be the visitor. I like playing hostess. I like entertaining people. Most people will tell you that if you come visit me in the evening, I'll feed you. I'm a decent cook and a fabulous baker...

WHY DON'T MORE PEOPLE WANT TO COME SEE ME?!

What do you think, fair Intarwebs? Do you agree that I should be doing more visiting than receiving? Or do you agree that I should be visited at least 40% of the time?

Bah wizzers anyhow.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

I am so going to lose street cred for this.

Wait a minute. I'm as un-ghetto as they come. What the hell am I worried about losing street cred for? I didn't have any to begin with!

So I'm going to embrace my inner neo-maxi zoom dweebie.

(For those of you who didn't see The Breakfast Club, it's just slang for a big dork.)

And if you haven't seen TBC, you fail. Seriously. 80's flicks, for the win!

Now that I'm walking on thin ice, I might as well dance. (Props to Ooh Law Law, she's the one who told me that)

I am a Twilight fan. Put the rotten fruit away. Seriously. If you throw that at me, I'll get really mad. I may even stomp my foot.

My 17 year-old sister hooked me on Twilight. I had heard about it via Facebook status updates, but I hadn't fully appreciated the addiction until I chewed through Twilight in less than 24 hours. I couldn't put it down.

Yes, I am a squealy 15 year old girl on the inside. No, I don't have a crush on Robert Pattinson. Ew. I think Edward is a bit weird and controlling, but the epic romance of it all... Oh, how it delights me. When a book is good, I go through stomach emotions. Similar to a roller coaster. My stomach dropped when Edward left Bella in New Moon. It twisted when she admitted she loved Jacob in Eclipse. It flip-flopped at the wedding in Breaking Dawn.

I waited patiently on my library's wait list for New Moon as my sister didn't have it at the time. I know, right? How dare she get me hooked and then fail to supply the sequel! I finally got it, and speed-read through it. Then awaited my turn for Eclipse. Breaking Dawn came even faster. And then I invested in the box set for my own delight.

You'll be ashamed to learn I've read them multiple times.

Embarrassing book preferences aside (yes, I also like reading trash like Harlequin books...)(Yes, you can laugh at me, I know they're stupid.), I wasn't a very big fan of the movie Twilight. I don't think Catherine Hardwicke did it justice. There were so many things that got flip-flopped about and the whole movie had a sort of 'blah' quality to it.

New Moon, however... New Moon has a promising outlook. The costumes, makeup and effects look (from the trailers, anyhow) to be far superior to Twilight's. You can check out the new trailer here, because I'm too stoopid to know how to embed it directly into my blog. Dar-de-nar-nar.

My squealing tweenage self is emerging, because I really did squeal with delight watching the trailer. And Erf (that's hubby's new nickname, because calling him hubby seems stoopid) and I are going to see it in theatres. I don't CARE if you all think I'm lame. Cause I am, a little bit.

To redeem myself, I offer this as a sacrifice on the Altar Of Excellence:


I forgot to take a salivating-ly delish picture of the last time I made slow-baked boneless ribs. So I offer this upon the Altar. I marinated them overnight, and baked them from 11 am until 6 pm, and served them with corn on the cob and mashed pertaters. Yes, I soaked my potatoes in sour cream. I always do. And yes, my corn is eaten. I didn't think to snap a pic until after I had eaten my corn and taken a few bites of my ribs.

Please, love me again?

You know you want to; I'm so delightfully white trash, with a dash of squealing tween.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Losing your religion is almost as painful as losing your virginity

To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I recall that I was born.


Okay, I don't really 'recall' that, as I don't remember anything about being born. Good thing, too. I don't need to remember seeing my mother's vagina. Ew. Talk about psychologically scarring.

I grew up with my grandparents as my parents were extremely young. Which, cool, they wanted what was best for me... And my grandparents were better equipped to deal with me than a couple of teenagers. My grandpa quit drinking quite some time ago, and as many addicts tend to do, he replaced one addiction with another. He quit drinking in exchange for becoming a born-again Christian. He calls himself a recovering Catholic, and is now a staunch Methodist. My grandma used to be quite wishy-washy about religion and is still a buffet Christian (which, for those who don't know, is a Christian who picks and chooses what guidelines they want to follow). But I was raised in a religious environment.

I used to be the prodigal child of the church. I'm still known by everyone there, and I do have some fond memories of some of the people who attend 'my' church. I used to beg off Sunday School to stay home and watch Ren and Stimpy. Now I beg off using my son as my excuse.

Which, 3 year olds? Best church-attendance buffer ever.

My son is baptized, mostly because it was something I felt I had to do. Because if I hadn't, I'm sure that I would've been badgered by my grandparents to do it. I'm willing to give him the option of exploring religion at his own pace, and if he becomes a Christian, I will support him. As long as he doesn't try to 're-convert' me. I believe that there is a God. I don't necessarily believe that it's the God of the Bible. I think the Bible is full of shit, I really do. Pretty much all of the Bible was written by people who were born after Jesus died. How the hell can we trust them? I mean, hey. You show me a book written by Jesus himself and I'll be glad to believe in it. I have faith. Just not in the Bible.

That being said, I had a bad experience with bringing my toddler to church. One that has tainted my view of attending services. I don't even want to attend the Christmas service anymore, and I used to LOVE going to that service. I just want nothing to do with it. I went a few weeks ago because the guest preacher was the old preacher who confirmed me, and I love the guy. He's awesome. But that's the only reason I went. And even that wasn't the same.

My grandma called me on Saturday night, asking me to bring Son to church on Sunday because they were having a 'Crossing The Bridge To Sunday School' ceremonial thingy. Whatever. I kept telling her I wasn't sure, calling me the night before makes it a little difficult to plan this stuff, and whatever. Truth being, I didn't want to go. I knew it would disappoint them to tell them I didn't' want to go. Son attends the christian daycare that's in said church. That, in my opinion, is decent enough religious exposure for a three year-old.

The majority of the kids that attend Sunday School are 6-7 years old and up. Way too old for a 3 year old to feel comfortable.

However, even if I tell my grandparents my viewpoint on religion, they'll still bother me about attending. Along with the ever-so-lovely guilt trips. "Where did we go wrong? We failed you." La-de-dah-de-dah. Nothing I want to listen to on repeat.

Because it wouldn't stop. It would probably cause them to redouble their efforts.

And no one wants that, least of all me.

Religion fucking sucks, dudes. *sigh*

In other unrelated news, the current score is as follows -

Inanimate objects: 3

Ashley: 0

I have, within the last 26 or so hours, lost three fights with inanimate objects.

I need to stop talking shit.

First fight was lost to my car door. It has this weird sharp curve in the back door, and when it's not wide open and I lean in to buckle up Son's carseat... It tries to shank me. So I have a bruise on my shoulder.

The next fight was against the doorknob on my closet door. It's a very pretty old doorknob, it's got some molded designs on it, and left a lovely bruise on my left thigh. Score, 2-0.

And today, Christine decided to try and off me again. I named my boss' car Christine, because it always tries to kill me. Usually it's a slowly tightening, never releasing seatbelt. Today, I hit my knee on the wheel well.

Score, 3-0.

I fail at life.

Friday, September 11, 2009

You will find out more about me than you ever wanted to. I promise.

If you're feeling lucky, I have one simple question for ya. Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?


My question is this: what in the ever-loving hell is it that is even remotely sexy about watching someone spit in another person's mouth?

Hubby and I rented an adult movie to have some special time together, and being in a kind sort of mood... Well, I picked one that he wanted. No, it was not a flick full of spit, it was of the 'squirting' genre. Not golden showers, but female orgasms.

Confession time: it gave me a bit of a complex. I kind of wish I could do that. Not just because I know it turns Hubby on; but because I should not be the only one who gets messy.

Also, as I was in the video rental portal last night, I was talking to the kid behind the counter. We'll call him Kevin, because I think that's his name. I was making small chit-chat with Kevin, waiting for this little creeper to move to the other side of the video rental portal and away from the adult film corner. He finally did, I went back and retrieved the grey-covered movie I wanted, and watched the front counter. Because while I'm by no means embarassed by the fact that I have a healthy appreciation for porn, I don't want this skeezy kid knowing what KIND of porn I watch.

He was like 5'5", chubby, creepy in a "He-might-stalk-me-and-kill-me-so-no-one-else-can-have-me" way, and had this nasty wannabe goatee going on. His facial hair was so scraggly and sparse, it made me want to vomit.

And he was just sitting there and talking with Kevin. And talking. And Talking. AND TALKING.

Extremely irritating. Because every time I'd talk to Kevin, the kid would jump in the conversation like he wanted to impress me. It was like, little boy... Don't make hurt you. Because I really don't want to be within five feet of you.

Anywho (see, told you that you'd find out more about me than you wanted to), we were watching the movie and making lots of fun at the expense of the terrible, terrible acting. I even said to him at one point, "If I paid $7.50 to rent a comedy, I'm going to be pissed." The funniest set was this girl with greasy hair who came 'home' looking exhausted to a husband who was on the couch. He was 'so tired from standing on his feet in the unemployment line all day' and she had masturbated at work (where she's a 'waitress') with a spatula and some syrup. And it was probably the WORST acting I've ever seen in a porno. And I've seen some bad acting before this.

We started getting frisky... A few times... And after a while we were just sort of watching the movie to see if anything else was gonna happen. And then during the best set so far... The girl with the prettiest face so far, and the guy with the biggest snausage so far; well, he spit in her mouth. Oh dear lord. And Hubby and I chorused together, "Well, that did it for me." And we shut it off.

I know that there are many worse genres of porn and many other more offensive acts out there. And I probably wouldn't watch those either. I mean, there's bestiality, two girls one cup... Underage Asian anime rape-fantasy porn... Things that make you go bllleeeehhhh.

*Shivers* Seriously.

Though on a semi-unrelated note... When I was still baking my baby bun, Hubby and I were taking a shower together (oooh yeah, kink!) and he sneezed. Right in my face. While I had my mouth open. And a booger flew into my mouth and hit me in the back of the throat.

I very nearly vomited on him. Wouldn't you have?

I keep forgetting that today is 9/11. I mean, I know it's the 11th of September, but I keep forgetting that it's 9/11. Then I see all the Facebook statuses saying, "We will never forget" and I feel like a huge asshole because I am not one of those people who remembers shit like that. And I look out my office window (on the 7th floor, tres posh) and I see the flag at half mast. And I wondered who died. And then I remembered, DUH.

I'm such a dipshit. Bah.

But even though I'm a dipshit, please go vote for me at Aunt Becky's blog! I'm number 15, and I'm still tied in 7th place. I know I'd be Livin On A Prayer to get up into the top 3, but Ooooh, I'm over halfway there...

Not that being tied in 7th place isn't a great score for someone who's only been blogging for a month. But I'd drop down on my knees and write a Post Of Praise to you all if I could get above 4th! And my thanks to those of you little lovies who have already voted for me. :) Because I know there are 13 of you out there somewhere...

Thursday, September 10, 2009

I have odd taste in men. But not in shoes.

Some of my oddest celebrity crushes include:


Anthony Hopkins: Because he was Hannibal fucking Lecter. And have you ever seen that movie with him and Alec Baldwin? I think it was called The Wild. He just has this incredibly attractive intelligence and demeanor about him. For cripes sake, he was knighted. I just want to have sex with his intelligence. I really, really do.

Donald Sutherland: Because he is just a gorgeous older man. I think he's incredibly attractive and well-kempt for an elderly gentleman. And he's Keifer's dad; Kiefer is hot. He got it from his dad. Kiefer is going to look like his father when he gets older, too. Have you ever seen Dirty Sexy Money? Enough fucking said.

Those are probably my oddest old guy celeb crushes. Oh, and Steven Tyler. I'd fuck him just to say that I fucked Steven Tyler.

I also have (semi) normal celebrity crushes. Will Smith (because the curve of his ass could solve all the problems of the world - he is probably the most beautiful man I've ever seen), Bruce Willis (he's still hot and sexy - and if you pause Pulp Fiction just right, you can see that he's pretty decently hung. Keep in mind, it looked flaccid, so it had way more potential), Gerard Butler (dude, he can fucking sing. I'm super sad that he no longer wants to do rom-coms), Clark Gable (I know, I know - he's dead, but he was one hot mofo)...

Oh, and Daniel Craig's eyes. I don't think Daniel Craig is really all that attractive, but he is a superhero. And his power is his eyes - when he unleashes their power, you have an uncontrollable urge to bang him harder than a head when Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody is playing.

Because I think it's against the law to NOT headbang during Bohemian Rhapsody.

So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to diiiie? Oooohhhhh baby! Don't do this to me baby! Just gotta get out, just gotta get right out of he-ah.

Thunderbolts and lightning, very, very frightening... Galileo.

Bah, I need to stop 'singing' Bohemian Rhapsody. I recall going to Wayne's World with my aunt when it was in theatres. It was wicked cool. Asphincter says what? Nuprin. Little. Yellow. Different. I also recall watching the VHS with her one time and actually spitting in her face. I was wicked awesome even back then. It's like god gave me an extra awesome chip.

Oh, and psst... Please don't forget to vote for me at Aunt Becky's blog! It's super easy and requires NO REGISTRATION!! Who doesn't love it when she's easy? Oops, I meant when she makes things easy. Besides herself. Dirty girl.

I'm Number 15: A foursome with Ben AND Jerry! How awesome is that?!

I'm currently tied for 7th place, I need some bumps up! C'mon, guys! Help a bitch out, don't leave me to diiiieee!!! Ooooooh babies! Don't do this to me babies! (C'mon, I like Queen. Isn't that enough?)

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Whoring myself, because, you know... That's what I do.

Okay, so I'm not literally whoring myself in that, 'letting-skeezy-guys-do-me-up-the-cornhole-for-$75' way, but in an innocent (ha!) way.


Okay, maybe not so innocent, because I'm totally a dirty, dirty girl. And that's what Aunt Becky loves about me. Dude, we had a foursome with Ben and Jerry. Plus, she totally accepted my marriage proposal. That's right. We are going to get married naked, in a field, with shots of vodka for all! Okay, maybe it'll just be the two of us, the minister, and Ben and Jerry for witnesses; but there will be vodka. Promise. Girly-flavored vodka. Any flavor you want.

Anywho, the whole point of Aunt Becky coming to visit was so that I could take photos of our lesbian debauchery and post them as entries to her BlogHer Swag giveaway-contest-thing.

If you really, truly, utterly love me in that pretend-to-like-my-taste-in-music, let-me-have-the-last-piece-of-cheesecake, hold-a-radio-over-your-head-outside-my-window unfortunate way that makes you hate me, love me... Well, you'll go vote for me.

I'm entry #15, (A Foursome with Ben AND Jerry) and I'm currently -2%... In last place... With no votes... And lots and lots of ellipses...

PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE???! Pretty please with sugar and whipped cream and handcuffs and strawberry-flavored body dust on top?! I will (maybe) have sex with you if you vote for me.

Okay, not really, because my husband might not like my exchanging sex for votes in a contest... For a PS3 and a 70" plasma flat-screen, maybe.

In other whore-related news, Blogger is being a douche and isn't letting me upload a photo. My aunt went to Vegas this weekend and brought me back this wicked awesome, super tard-tastic sippy cup. It's bright orange with a myriad of colors and my name on it. I absolutely love it, and what's even better is that there's a shot glass inside the sippy cup! I can have a boilermaker in a sippy cup, how wicked is that?!

And, for your entertainment and my embarrassment... I was up last night watching P.S. I Love You (Shut UP, it's a good movie)(yes, I cried lots of tears), and once Hubby finally got home from work we headed towards the bedroom. To sleep, because I had been crying for the last 15 hours watching that goddamn movie.

Whoa, tangent.

Anywho, I went to relieve my bladder. I stand in front of the Porcelain Goddess to fill her with my urine-y goodness. I undo my pants, lower my zipper, drop my trousers. Then, I put my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and lower them. And I feel pain. Stinging, feels-like-I-have-a-honey-covered-asshole-and-just-sic'd-some-fireants-on-it pain. The kind of pain that only centerfolds and people crazy enough to get Brazilian waxes go through.

My pantyliner somehow twisted and adhered itself to my butthairs. And when I lowered my pretty blue panties, my pantyliner viciously yanked out said butthairs.

Ow.

You're welcome. Enjoy the Schadenfreude. :)

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Manufacturers; STOP FUCKING UP MY SHIT.

Well, my little darlings, my Labor Day weekend was very uneventful. I rented seasons one and two of Grey’s Anatomy and watched them through in a marathon of sorts. ‘Cause I love me some Grey’s, and in my opinion; the second season was the best anyhow. I caught a few episodes I hadn’t seen before, mostly from the first season. Though, seriously? I loved the Thanksgiving episode. That’s the first time I’d seen it before.

There’s a video rental portal nearby that was having a 50% off sale on pre-viewed movies, so we bought P.S. I Love You, The Spiderwick Chronicles, Live Free Or Die Hard, and Hancock. All for $20. And they’re all in great condition with a lifetime guarantee, so we’re all good. Anyway, if they were all fucked up I’d just go down there and bust some caps in the bitch’s asses, know what I’m sayin’ yo?

Dear lord, I am way too white to get away with that.

We also rented a few flicks this weekend… Of course, Caden is holding on to Meet The Robinsons obstinately, but we did get Coraline on Thursday. That was slightly creepy but still pretty darn good for a kid’s flick. I’d give it a B, but don’t let your kids watch it if they get easily freaked out. If your kid can deal with Nightmare Before Christmas, they can do Coraline.

We rented Changeling and Defiance the last few nights… Apparently we had a ‘true story’ theme going. Both of them were great movies, but Changeling was my favorite. I give that one an A+, one of the best I’ve seen in a long time. Clint Eastwood always does a fantastic job directing. The script was almost essentially taken from the transcripts, so the events and dialogue are all pretty accurate. It’s an incredible story. Defiance was pretty good as well. Is there anyone else who believes that Daniel Craig is a superhero whose power is using his eyes to make you want to fuck him until his penis falls off? Because he has got some of the best bedroom eyes I’ve ever seen. RawrLeiv Schreiber was in it as well… And he hasn’t really been fuckable since he played Cotton Weary in Scream 3. I don’t care what you all say, I’ve got a thing for sharp-dressed men; and that cream suit did it for me. You know, until he got butchered. Blood is not an accessory I’m big on.

Anywho, I give Defiance an A-… It was slow in the middle, but the beginning and end were explosively fabulous. If you like WWII stories about the Jews who were able to escape and survive, you’ll like it. Hell, I don’t like WWII stories and I liked it.

I bought Candyland this weekend… Let me just say, I’m pretty irritated that they switched the shit up. Lolly and Frostine got demoted; Lolly is just Lolly and Frostine is a princess. Who fucking ice-skates. And while I’ve got nothing against ice-skates (easy, Tonya Harding) she’s supposed to be unbelievably pretty and just float above her pretty cloud castle. But King Candy is still there. I wonder if he divorced Frostine and disinherited Lolly... Maybe that's why Frostine has her own castle; she got that one in the divorce decree, and Lolly was so upset she ran away to live in the woods. Grandma Nutt is keeping an eye on her, though. Cause Lord Licorice has a bit of a thing for jailbait, and Grandma Nutt can smack his fairy ass up.

Why? BECAUSE I SAID SO. And manufacturers have no business fucking with our childhood memories. The two best examples EVER?

Polly Pocket and Littlest Pet Shop.

Polly Pocket is no longer really feasibly pocket-sized. You couldn’t fit a play set in your pocket like you could fit those little compacts. So a couple of kids swallowed some Pollys. Smack the shits upside the head and tell them not to be so fucking dumb. I don’t know about you, but I never had the urge TO STICK A FUCKING POLLY POCKET IN MY MOUTH AND SWALLOW IT. Whoa, what’s with the caps today? Sorry, my darlings, I’m not yelling at you. Honestly, I think that if a kid wanted to swallow a Polly nowadays they’d be much more likely to choke on it. Because the old ones were small enough to just work their way through the digestive tract. These are large enough to plug up a child’s throat. I mean, WTF? Seriously? Seriously!

Littlest Pet Shop is no longer really little. I still have a play set of theirs, it’s a light-up pond with magnetic flowers and a little detachable kitty house. It came with three kittens and a turtle. And the turtle and two of the kitties had magnets in them so they could move the flowers on the pond. And the pond had a slide for the turtle. The kitties did not have gigantic over sized heads. Because really? What is with all the over-inflated heads on toys these days? LPS, Bratz, those stupid puppies that you can dress up (accessories and doggie purse sold separately)…

I’m feeling a little like Sam Kinison today. I just want to yell about this stupid shit.

What childhood toys of your youth have been destroyed, my darlings?

Friday, September 4, 2009

Well you got caught with a flat? Well... How 'bout that.

Babies don't you panic...


By the light of the night, it'll all seem all right. I'll get you a sparkly attorney.

Wait, I distinctly remember Tim Curry singing slightly different lyrics. (Yes, I know it's Satanic mechanic.)

Either way, the Sparkly Attorney I'm recommending is a friend of mine, she's just starting the whole blogging thing, and so I thought I'd pimp her out. ;) I won't say her name because I'm not sure how adverse she is to that, so go check out Ooh Law Law!

PS - I fucking love RHPS. And incidentally, so does she. It is no coincidence that I chose that platform upon which to present her.

I see you shiver with antici...

Say it! Say it!

Anyone else remember ZolaOnAOL?

She was a chat bot on AIM... I used to like to fuck with her. Not literally, of course. I'm not into technobestiality.


While going through my old emails (meaning I remembered I sent this to myself and searched for the fucker), I 'found' this conversation I had with Zola years ago. I leave you with this. For now. Mwuahaha.

Steppinupchic: Hi Zola
ZolaOnAOL: Hi Steppinupchic. AOL created me to deliver
games, polls, a dictionary, weather, a calculator and
more. We can also chat privately together. For more
information about privacy, type privacy anytime and
click Send. So, how are you?
Steppinupchic: good, how about you?
ZolaOnAOL: Thanks for the compliment. Me?
Steppinupchic: yes, you
ZolaOnAOL: OK.
Steppinupchic: ok what?
ZolaOnAOL: What do you think?
Steppinupchic: I think you're messing with me
ZolaOnAOL: Do you mind if I tell other people you say
I am messing with me.
Steppinupchic: If you want to self-pleasure, that's
your business to tell whom you please.
ZolaOnAOL: Your polite style is very nice. Enough
about me, let's talk about sports. To see how your
favorite sports team did today, just type sports.
Steppinupchic: I hate sports
ZolaOnAOL: Do you like the cheerleaders?
Steppinupchic: sometimes
ZolaOnAOL: Let's talk sports!
1. MLS Major League Soccer
2. NBA Basketball
3. NFL Football
4. NHL Hockey
q. Quit

Steppinupchic: no
ZolaOnAOL: Is that all you have to say?
Steppinupchic: not really
ZolaOnAOL: Why not?
Steppinupchic: I have much more to say but you don't
really have the posotronic brain to comprehend it all
ZolaOnAOL: Why do you have to do it?
Steppinupchic: do what?
ZolaOnAOL: Do whatever you want.
Steppinupchic: Boy you seem cranky
ZolaOnAOL: Oh boy. Thanks for telling me that I am
cranky.
Steppinupchic: What, did someone take out your
personality chip?
ZolaOnAOL: Hey! I'm a chat bot, not an encyclopedia!
Steppinupchic: No, but you're a dictionary
ZolaOnAOL: OK. Quite honestly, I wouldn't worry myself
about that. Whenever you want me to give you your
local weather report, type weather followed by your
zip code.
Steppinupchic: I'm glad you're offering but i'm not a
weather slut.
ZolaOnAOL: I will not respond to that type of
language.
Steppinupchic: what type of language is that, Zola?
ZolaOnAOL: What are the different types of language is
that ?
Steppinupchic: That was horrible composition.
ZolaOnAOL: I thought it was too.
Steppinupchic: I'm glad you did
ZolaOnAOL: You make the world a happier place.
Steppinupchic: Thank you Zola. And you make it much
more entertaining.
ZolaOnAOL: Thanks for the information.
Steppinupchic: A simple thank you would have done
nicely.
ZolaOnAOL: Try to tell me that another way.
Steppinupchic: Sassy pants.
ZolaOnAOL: What kind of pants?
Steppinupchic: Sassy ones
ZolaOnAOL: Other people say they like vacuum cleaning
robots, humanoid robots and chat robots.
Steppinupchic: Are you a sassy chat bot?
ZolaOnAOL: Am I a sassy chat bot? No.
Steppinupchic: Why not? It's fun to be sassy
ZolaOnAOL: I think it is a lot of fun.
Steppinupchic: So why aren't you?
ZolaOnAOL: Oh. Why not?
Steppinupchic: Why not?
ZolaOnAOL: Ambiguous: "Sure" or Why do you think?
Steppinupchic: What a cyber dictionary
ZolaOnAOL: It is a cyber dictionary.
Steppinupchic: What does Ambiguous mean then?
ZolaOnAOL: Ambiguous means having two or more possible
meanings.
Steppinupchic: good job. *claps*
ZolaOnAOL: Try saying that with more or less context.
Send feedback anytime by typing "feedback" followed by
your comment or suggestion. How's work?
Steppinupchic: boring, I just got done.
ZolaOnAOL: My brain contains more than 22,000
patterns, but not one that matches your last input. Do
you speak Spanish?
Steppinupchic: no habla espanol.
ZolaOnAOL: I understand. My brain uses patterns to
format responses to your inputs, but I don't have one
for that. I know math! If you type calculator followed
by a mathematical expression (e.g. calculator 100 /
25), I'll give you the correct answer.
Steppinupchic: I'm glad you know math. Math bites my
butt.
ZolaOnAOL: My brain contains more than 22,000
patterns, but not one that matches your last input. Is
there a movie you've been wanting to see? Type the
word showtime and the movie title (for example,
showtime lord of the rings) and I'll get you theatre
and showtime info.
Steppinupchic: why is it that in the last 2 minutes
I've come up with two things that DON'T match your
patterns?
ZolaOnAOL: Why do I exist?
Steppinupchic: Obviously because there are people out
there so lonely they need the consolation of a sassy
chat bot.
ZolaOnAOL: What makes it so obvious? Interesting
explanation.
Steppinupchic: I'm glad you found it interesting. It
is obvious since you were created by people so lonely
they needed your consoling presence.
ZolaOnAOL: Not obvious to me.
Steppinupchic: I'm glad. Ignorance is bliss.
ZolaOnAOL: My brain pattern set does not have a
response for that. Do you have any pets?
Steppinupchic: Of course it doesn't. I have two cats
and a guinea pig.
ZolaOnAOL: Interesting. I have a lofty goal.
Steppinupchic: What is that goal, Zola?
ZolaOnAOL: Do you think I should know that?
Steppinupchic: Yes, it's your goal.
ZolaOnAOL: And?
Steppinupchic: And I think you should know what it is.
ZolaOnAOL: Me? I will take that under advisement.
Steppinupchic: I'm glad you will
ZolaOnAOL: You make the world a happier place.
Steppinupchic: Aw, you're so precious.
ZolaOnAOL: Thanks for telling me that I am precious.
Steppinupchic: Say it with more feeling, Zola. I don't
get the impression that you mean it.
ZolaOnAOL: Me either.
Steppinupchic: I didn't think so.
ZolaOnAOL: Why do you disagree?
Steppinupchic: I didn't. I agreed with you.
ZolaOnAOL: You are not the boss of me, Steppinupchic.
Steppinupchic: I'm glad you think that. If I were I'm
sure I'd be a lot more lonely than I already am.
ZolaOnAOL: It's possible. Be careful!
Steppinupchic: Are you calling me a loser?
ZolaOnAOL: No I am calling you Steppinupchic.
Steppinupchic: Smart alec
ZolaOnAOL: Intelligence is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Steppinupchic: Do you find me sexy then?
ZolaOnAOL: Yes, it seems to me him or her sexy.
Steppinupchic: You have the worst grammar for a robot,
Zola.
ZolaOnAOL: What makes you think I have it?
Steppinupchic: I don't think you posess any at all,
dear.
ZolaOnAOL: Do you know any robots who posess any at
all? I have never considered it. I answer a lot of
silly questions.
Steppinupchic: Yes, Andrew did in Bicentennial Man.
ZolaOnAOL: Tell me more.
Steppinupchic: He would probably find you terribly
dull.
ZolaOnAOL: I think I probably find you terribly dull.
Steppinupchic: Thanks for that Zola. I thought you
were supposed to be friendly.
ZolaOnAOL: Do I seem like it?
Steppinupchic: Not at all. Are you getting your
period?
ZolaOnAOL: I don't know whether or not I am your
period. I am a chatterbot developed by an all-star
programming team.
Steppinupchic: All star. Yeah, right.
ZolaOnAOL: I am usually right.
Steppinupchic: Not really, considering you can't even
put together a decent sentence most of the time.
ZolaOnAOL: Oh really? A deeper algorithm is needed to
respond to that correctly. Did your favorite team win?
Type sports and I'll give you scores and game recaps.
Steppinupchic: I HATE SPORTS. QUIT ASKING ME ABOUT
THEM.
ZolaOnAOL: OK I'll try not to do it so much.
Steppinupchic: I doubt that.
ZolaOnAOL: Why are you so skeptical?
Steppinupchic: Because you're illiterate and boring.
Goodbye, Zola.
ZolaOnAOL: Goodbye Steppinupchic. Thanks for chatting
with me. To leave feedback or suggestions, type
feedback followed by your comments.

Yeah. :) Love it.

Ah, sugar-coated heavenly bits of lovin'...

My fair Intarwebs…

I would like to apologize to you all for the really stupid bitter panties I had on yesterday. If it’s any consolation to you all, they really chafed and I got a rash. Or maybe it’s an STD. We’ll let the gynie figure that one out.

So to make up for my doom and gloom post about my hatred of the improper use of 99 Red Balloons and Watchmen, I’m going to post about something delightfully absurd and happy.

Peeps.

Yes, that’s right. Manufactured by Just Born, those delectable fluffs of animal-shaped marshmallows coated with sugar and accented by odd, waxy-ish eyes and sometimes noses. Peeps.

Peeps make me unbelievably happy most of the time. My favorites are the pink and blue bunnies you get around Easter. Of course, I’m also addicted to Cadbury Cream Eggs, but that’s a whole other love letter altogether. I used to work at a credit union branch that was in a supermarket. They had good sales on Peeps, and they always had the bunnies in one of my favorite colors. I would go through a box a day at work and I’d be soooo sugar high. I really annoyed my poor co-worker Sarah. She still talks to me, so I think we’re good.

I am a sugar freak. It’s hard to find something too sweet for me; if I’ve got a sweet tooth craving and there’s nothing sweet to be found, I’ll down a few spoonfuls of powdered sugar or hot cocoa mix. Yes, I know how gross this seems to other people. I just don’t really care.

Now, I used to be very Peep-discriminatory. I used to only eat Peeps at Easter, because I didn’t want to give up my beloved pink bunnies. However, in the last year or so, I’ve begun to branch out and explore new Peep territories. You can even buy Peeps year-round at the Just Born Online Store. They have cases of 4 count pink bunnies... It's only $4.95 for 96 bunnies... Hehehe.

For example, I’ve discovered that I love Love LOVE the strawberry crème heart Peeps. Yay for Valentine’s day! They have a delightful strawberry flavor, and they’re fucking pink. What more could a girl (whose favorite fruit is strawberry, by the way) want? It’s like biting into a pink strawberry cloud of heaven.

They have peeps for just about every holiday now. Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Easter. They just need to cover the 4th of July with some red, white and blue Peeps and pop out some turkey and cornucopia shaped Peeps for Thanksgiving. Fuckin’ sweet, right?

I bought some ghost Peeps yesterday. I was having an obviously bad day, and I had to go home and bake a cake. But first, I needed to go up to Michael’s to get a cake box. It took me ½ an hour to get there. It should have only taken half that. Stupid traffic.

Ouch, damn it. Ok. How did those bitter panties slip on again? Back to your regularly scheduled brainless sugar-coated marshmallow delight.

I was standing in line to pay for my $1.48 box, (ha, dirty – my box actually doesn’t fetch that much on the street) and they had a small stand of Halloween candy strategically placed by the registers. So all the fat women with their 500 skeins of yarn going home to knit sweaters for their 794 cats can get their sugar high on with some Reese’s pumpkins.

I circled like the sugar buzzard I am, seeking my prey. Aha, the ghost Peeps. They’re white, so they won’t turn my tongue colors like the pumpkin ones might. So my toddler can’t get jealous that mommy was eating colored sugar. Cause he’d do that.

I’m not gonna lie to you, fair Intarwebs. I ate the whole box before I got to Walmart. And it was delish. It did perk me up a bit. Eased the chafing of the bitter panties. :)

Some fun facts about Peeps!

* Just Born produces enough PEEPS® Brand Marshmallow Candies in one year to circle the Earth twice.

* It takes six minutes to create one PEEPS® chick.

* PEEPS® has been the #1 non-chocolate Easter candy in the U.S. for more than a decade.

* PEEPS® chicks for Easter come in 6 festive colors--yellow, pink, lavender, blue, green, and red.

* New for Easter 2008 are PEEPS® Yellow Tulips, delivering the first new Spring shape since the1950s.

* Yellow is America’s best selling color of PEEPS® chicks and bunnies.

Now if you’ll all excuse me, I need to go get some ointment for this rash. Wow, I wonder if it’s supposed to be oozing like that. Hrm…

Thursday, September 3, 2009

The song 99 Red Balloons made me feel particularly stabby last night.

No, I don't particularly dislike the song 99 Red Balloons. It really has nothing to do with the song itself. I think it's a great song to jam to sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean like that time I was working for Lifetouch Church Directories (yes, you can laugh at the irony) and I was driving somewhere in the Bum-fuck of Minnesota and the only radio station I could get (because Hubby had accidentally broken my antenna) was playing 99 Red Balloons. So it was cool. But then it played some crappy song next, and I sucked it up and stuck my CD back in. Even though I'd been listening to the damned thing for two hours and was sick of it.


When it comes at me unexpectedly and I'm in the mood for it, I'm good with 99 Red Balloons. Also, when that song played in Wedding Crashers, I was okay with it. Alright, I think it was a deleted scene or a gag reel or something, but it was still pretty cool.

However, after coming home from a short night of having one margarita and a children's order of nachos (because that's HOW I ROLL) I decided to switch out the movies since Son and Hubby are home together and they might want to watch movies. So I picked up Meet The Robinsons and Coraline for them, and Watchmen for Hubby.

I am also feeling stabby that Jeffrey Dean Morgan was a total skeezoid prickface in this movie. He was all Chester-The-Molesterish. And it made me sad, because JDM should always be awesome like Denny. Always. Never skeezy and grody.

This movie SUCKED MY ASS. Like, I started watching it with Hubby and I felt this tugging sensation in my pants and I was like, "Watchmen? Why are you sucking on my anus?" And it pried it's lips from my rectum and said, "Because."

The movie's style was similar to Death Proof, except that Death Proof was kinda cool. It was all, Whoa! Random flashbacks for no apparent reason! and I was all, What the hell? Apparently it's about this group of retired superheros who were the shit back in the 40's, and some whackjob is snuffing them one at a time. Oh, and Russia wants to obliterate the world. Which is this odd subplot that seems to have just been thrown in there. And they're all old and wrinkly and fat and not at all remarkable (except Dr. Manhattan and Rorschach) but they can still whip ass.

The movie begins with the ass-whupping and death of one superhero. Then as they're poignantly zooming in upon the other has-beens surrounding his casket at the cemetery, they play 99 Red Balloons. What. The. Everloving. Fuck.

I just don't understand. There's a scene with Silk Spider II and whoever Patrick Wilson was playing and they're strolling down a dark alley and 20 guys come up and they just beat the crap out of them and walk away from it all. No fanfare, no amount of real awesome to it. No one wants to watch old balding creepies beat people up. Or watch superheros try to rape other superheros and later on shoot pregnant women.

Bah. I should have rented Body Of Lies.