Monday, August 29, 2011

I'm Getting Pretty Fucking Old.....

Well shit and fuck. I got old and it ain't pretty.

I remember a time when I could drink like it was the fucking prohibition all over again, and wake up with a smile, sans hangover, and go about my day....

Those days are gone. And I miss them.

I'm not really sure why I decided I should drink margaritas last night.  Maybe it's because everyone else was doing it.  Maybe it's because my closet alcoholic cousin came over, and she always bring booze. It's totally rude if we don't open it and try some. I mean Martha would beat the impolite out of me, right? Right.  Maybe it's because the phubster walks around shaking his head by the time I get to the fourth drink.... I'm not really sure of the why... but snarksters can I just say.... I AM FUCKING OLD.

I remember doing a lot of laughing and animated talking last night. I think I also helped my other cousin's daughter write a speech on the importance of history. She read it back to me and it sounded like shit. I tried to read it, but it looked like shit. So I think I'm banned from offering my unsolicited advice.  SIGH. I'm usually so helpful.  I was in Speech and Debate in High School, so that totally qualifies me. I think I also walked into a wall.  I mean generally speaking it's typically the door jams and knobs that like to jump out in front of me for no reason other than to scoff behind my back; but I guess the walls want in on it too now, bastards.  After a lot of talking, and me referring to my sister in law as "that cow," and telling a couple of cousins to "shut [their] whore mouths," and my mother in law cutting me off (embarrassing, YES, necessary, PROBABLY) I decided it was time for beddy bye.  I was convinced that I would be fine this morning.

I was EPICALLY (a new word) wrong.

This morning I had a headache, and my eyes would literally  My back also hurt for no explainable reason, and I had three bruises on my arm that I have no idea where they or from or how they got there. My entire mouth tasted like tequila, and my legs were stiff, and my joints creaky. As I hobbled out of bed, and stumbled to the bathroom I realized that I am old. I also found a gray hair, which was immediately removed. Add this to the list of I am getting old and it sucks ass.....


I remember when I could go on two hours of sleep too.... insomnia how I miss thee.

Things that have gone with age:

1. My memory
2. My body
3. My ability to hold my liquor
4. My tolerance for stupid people
5. My ability to just have one drink.....
6. My tolerance for people who just have one drink....

oh the list goes on................. but why bore you. It's Monday, and I'm hung over, like a Bob Damned teenager who's been sneaking the devil's water out of daddy's liquor cabinet. I think my eyes are blood shot too.

That's it. I gotta keep my boozing to Friday and Saturday....

Lessons Learned:

1. When your cousin shows up with a gallon of Jose Cuervo, that does not mean you should help her drink the gallon.
2. When your MIL cuts you off--> you should cut her back, with a spork.
3. Telling someone to shut their whore mouth is most likely going to end in a fist fight
4. You should never look up quotes about history, and read them when impaired
5. Calling your sister in law a cow might get you booted out of the family.....
6. Learning to hold your liquor and your tongue would be fanfuckingtastic

Soooo... call anyone a cow lately? Find some gray hairs, got creaky joints?  Share, because I don't want to be old and alone.................

Friday, August 26, 2011

The Funny is on Its Way Back, and Peeing Yourself is NEVER Funny

There are some tell tale signs that my funny is on its way back to me. Case in point:

Yesterday, my boss tripped over nothing in his office and fell on his face in front of everyone (I should also mention he has glass walls (seriously) and a glass door, everyone sees everything, all the time. He fell so hard that one of my co-workers came running out of the break room screaming "earthquake!" which caused everyone to erupt into endless bouts of mirth and merriment. Actually, no joke--> it was pretty funny. Fucking shifting air currents, again!

That afternoon a new vendor sent me a video with a tutorial in it about how to use their new service. Not only did the video have some terribly God awful snazzy background music, the entire screen was BLACK, for all three minutes and 34 seconds of pure tutorial gloriousness. I emailed him to tell him about this black problem and he sent me another link, to another completely blank tutorial. I giggled and left it alone.

This morning on my way to work a jogger tried to drink out of his water bottle. He uncapped the bottle, brought it to his mouth and completely missed. He drenched the front of his shirt. He was so surprised by this that he dropped the bottle cap. When he stopped to pick it up he spilled more water all over himself with the open water bottle. By the time the whole ordeal was over with he was practically soaked from the neck down. I also may have giggled and pointed. But you know whatevs....

All these little inconsequential things give me hope that my funny is on its way back. It's been a rough week my darling Snarksters, what can I say. The Little Monster started school, which she loves--> she also barfed all over me last night. I'm pretty sure that school lunch fucked up her delicate stomach. Stupid lunchroom fucktards.

The Crybaby has been practicing his backhand. On my face. Or rather on any one who will get close enough. He thinks it's really funny to slap you, kiss where he hit you, and then slap you again. I've been abused so much this week I can't remember when it all started, and I'm hoping it ends soon. I'm also considering leaving in the middle of the night and changing my name. Forever. I don't know how well this will go over with a 13 month old.

But Snarksters I saved the best and most funny story for last. And if this ain't a sign that my funny is coming back then Thank You Sweet Baby Jesus for sending this moron along. My contact in my right eye was stabbing my eyeball with an invisible shiv over and over again. I pulled over in the nearest parking lot in front of this really nice Doubletree Hotel, used the restroom lobby and got the contact issue situated. As I am walking out to my car, I witness this:

A female and a male laughing as they get out of a Jeep. I think to myself, self what the fuck is so funny over there? Two seconds later a blob of a woman flashes by (I say blob in the most polite way, she was practically running, and I didn't get a good look) holding a GINORMOUS soda cup in her hand.

Female Friend: "Not so fast Tracy, you'll fall!" We can probably assume Tracy is the blob
Male Friend: "Hey, do you have to go the bathroom or something?"
Tracy: "Shut up, you know I do. This is not funny."
Chortles, snickers and snorts of laughter from other friends
Female Friend: "I told you not to drink all of that."
Male Friend: "I told you to pee in the cup."
Tracy: "I'm not going to pee in a ---- ahhhhhhhhhh. Shit."
Friends (and myself) laughing with utter abandonment

Tracy had fallen over the edge of the curb and was in a tangled heap steps away from the hotel door.

Tracy: "Stop laughing, hahahahha, seriously. I'm going to peee!!!!"
Friends: Still laughing and pointing
Female Friend: in between giggles "Are you ok?"
Tracy: "Oh my God. Shut up. Ummm..."
Male Friend: "Can you get up?"
Tracy: "Um no."
Female Friend: geniuniely concerned now "are you hurt?"
Tracy: "No. Uhhh I need to borrow your sweater."
Female friend: "Why?"
Tracy: "Just because, I need it. I told you I was going to peeeee!"
Female Friend: "Wait you just pissed yourself...." breaks into another gale of laughter
Tracy: "This is not funny."
Male Friend: "Shit, I told you to use the cup."
Tracy: "Shut up."
Female Friend: "It's really sort of funny."
Tracy: "You guys suck."
Female friend: "Here's my sweater."

I left at this point, not wanting to seem like a total rude stranger, but I did have a GINORMOUS smile on my face. That whole incident just made my day. Really. In fact it made my week. Like the Irony/Funny/Fuck My Life Gods let me have a little taste of their manna from heaven. I liked it, I sooooooooo liked it.

So lessons learned:
1. Maybe letting your kid eat lunch at school ain't the best of ideas
2. Being in an abusive relationship with a 13 month old is scary, please help me
3. Watching someone pee themselves is ALWAYS funny; peeing yourself is NEVER funny
4. If you have to pee that bad, and you have a cup, use the damn cup

So what funny things did you see this week... please share, or I will break your knee caps with pencils. :)

It's the freakin' weekend baby, I'm gonna have me some fun......

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

I May Have Lost My Funny Bone, But I Still Got "It."

Dear Snarksters:

It’s true. I have done gone and lost my funny. I don’t where it is, but I’m sure it will return to me shortly. (Please dear God, give it back, NOW.) So for the time being, you’re stuck with just me. Double SIGH. It’s ok though because even though I lost my funny bone, I still got “it.” (Apparently).

"It," you say... what the hell is "it." Duh. You know, that factor that makes you turn heads, get honked at by cars, and be wolf whistled at... that "it," it's still mine. I'm still rocking it. Case in point my bank run in.

I went to the bank yesterday, you know the kind in the grocery store (don’t judge me) with my two kiddos. I was in a hurry, and they were climbing all over me. The teller must have been about 12, cute for his age, but still very young, and giving off a slight creeper vibe. This is the conversation that went down…

Bank Teller(BA): Why hey... hello there. Can I help you? (big broad smile-->why grandma what big teeth you have!)

Me: (Kids climbing all over me like a jungle gym) Uhh yes. I need to—Little Monster put that back—Deposit something. (kids running up my shirt, knocking over candy, dancing in pure evil glee)

BA: (leaning over the counter behind the glass slightly) Oh I can most definitely help you with that. (Actually touches my hand when he takes deposit slip and check)

Me: (recoiling in disgust) Great.

BA: So, how is your day going? (Again with the scary smile and horse teeth)

Me: (Crybaby pulling my hair, Little Monster doing pirouettes in the isle) Uh ok I guess.

BA: Do you come to this branch often? (OMG, YES he did say that I swear)

Me: No, not really. (This is the longest deposit transaction ever)

BA: Oh, well you should, I haven’t seen you here before. (Wow, super cheesy)

Me: Well, I don’t really come here. I just needed a few things at the store. (talking really fast because that should end the pain pretty fast)

BA: Well (dramatic pause) you should come here more often, I’ll be more than happy to help you. *wink* (holy shit, did that guy just wink at me)

Me: Uhh… are you done with my transaction yet?

BA: (completely ignoring me) So are you babysitting those kids?

Me: Nope these are mine and MY HUSBAND’S. (Extra EMPHASIS and the husband part)

BA: (apparently not phased) You have kids? You are way too young to have two kids. (This shmuck is actually undressing me with his 12 year old eyes!)

Me: (super sarcastic) Oh that’s right because these children right here don’t actually exist.

BA: Hahaha, you are just so funny. So, Rebecca (said somewhat intimately) (holy shit he used my first name, WTF), when’s the next time you’ll think you’ll come to this branch? I work just about every day.

Me: (said pretty much in a fuck you voice) I’m pretty sure this is the last time.

BA: (genuine disappointment) Well that’s too bad. I’ll be disappointed not to see you again. (hands me my transaction receipt)

Me: (smugly) Then let the disappointment abound. I gotta go now.

BA: (panicked and insistent) Well wait, take my card. My number’s on there.

Me: No, I don’t think so. (scooping up the kids, surveying the damage left in their wake)

BA: (practically yelling through the glass) Come back again, ok. Your kids are really cute. (What the fuck man, what the fuck)

Me: (turns around, points finger at glass) Umm that’s a really weird thing to say, but thanks. Good bye! (stomps out of store with kids, who are now both in tears.)

This weird conglomeration of emotion flooded me as I left the store with the little ones… the first one was total gratification followed by an uncomfortable awkwardness and total creep out that the teller told me my children were cute, followed by a wave of flattery. In fact today I’m still not exactly sure how I feel about the whole incident. I should add it’s been about ohh 7 years since I’ve been hit on. Mostly because the phubster can emit a certain air of…. What’s the phrase, oh yeah “don’t look at me, my woman or my family because I’ll fuck you up,” when he’s around, and therefore most men, women, small children and dogs walk on the other side of the street. (Once you get to know him, he’s really a softie, way down deep, I SWEAR). So in a way it was nice, and then again it was super uncomfortable at the same time.

This was followed up by a preschool orientation meeting where the class bully from the Little Monster’s 3 year old class was described by her parents as a natural born leader with slight headstrong tendencies. She is also apparently a master orator who through the simple inflection of her little voice can bewitch all the other children to do her bidding.


This little girl is a TYRANT. She has a nasty temper, has been known to hit her fellow students, lay down in the middle of the floor and cry, say nasty things to any adult who dares to get in her way, and have a full blown meltdown at the mere mention of having to cut something with scissors. Natural born leader she is not. AND to top it all off her father went on this LOOONNNNGGGG rant followed by 20 questions (not even kidding here) about how closely the kids are monitored and if they ever share snacks, food, drinks, crayons, scissors, paper, toys, tissues, etc, because his daughter was sick, a lot, last year. PUH-LEASE. HELLO there, FOUR YEAR OLDS. They share EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. And don’t think your precious bundle of natural leadership isn’t the one that doesn’t instigate the sharing of water, snacks, etc. Some parents really have blinders on when it comes to their kids.

It was so annoying and irritating that I spent a large part of the time compulsively coughing every time they spoke. This may or may not have caused some other parents to break into muffled giggles, and to also effectively have me moved away from the Tyrant’s family. Just like High School, all over again…

You know what they say, once a rabble-rouser, always a rabble-rouser.

A couple lessons learned:

1. I must find a purse sized tazer for zapping weirdos at the bank and snobby parents

2. I should try to make a better impression on my child’s teacher

3. Scratch 2, being the class clown has and will always be more fun

So, been hit on in a creepy yet erriely satisfying way? Had it up to your eyeballs in self induldent parents. Let me hear all about it…….. besides I’ve got nothing better to do until my funny comes back.

Monday, August 22, 2011

My Funny Bone is Gone, and Might Never Come Back

So Snarksters,

I don't know if I've found my funny bone yet. I kept waiting for it to show-up and like a missed period, I got that fluttery sinking feeling that it might just be gone, for good (or at least nine months). It could be the sinus infection that sent it running off, or it could be that I actually had to do work last week at my job (this is shocking, I know. I mean how the hell am I supposed to post, when I have to work, tsk tsk). At any rate, it's missing, and I miss it.

Without my funny bone I've become a regular old stick in the mud. Everything seems washed in sepia tones of BLAH. I was even (most likely), a very terrible patient this weekend because instead of laughing off my brush with death via my sinus cavity, I stayed miserable, and curled up on the couch, much like a hermit crab without it's shell. All my squishy parts everywhere... it was NOT pretty. I'm also 100% confident that the phubster was not a big fan of said missing funny bone either. It could also be that I had him jumping around to please my every whim and desire while I continued to languish away.

Did I fail to mention that The CryBaby also has a sinus infection too. He was not a very happy camper either. In fact the two of us pretty much gave the finger to the rest of the world, and stayed miserable in ours. He also does not like saline spray. He may have back handed me several times for this abuse.

Tonight I will go to a "Back to School" orientation meeting for the Little Monster. It will be for her Four Year Old Preschool Class. I will sit there with all the pretentious mothers that act like their child is a genius, that their family is too good for this school, and that they have better things to do (like getting a manicure, or more botox) than to sit there and listen to what their child will be learning this year. As I back my Pontiac Vibe out of the parking lot, I'm sure to be cut off by various Mercedes SUV's, Escalades, BMW's and the like. I highly doubt I will find my poor little funny bone there either.

Oh and did I mention that this is State Funded Preschool Ya'll....

I sometimes think that God/Fate/Devil/Destiny/Karma/Whatever the hell is out there is laughing at me. I'm pretty sure not only did they try to impale me with lemons, they also told me to shove them up my ass. I keep asking my Magic 8 ball for a better reading on the future, and all I keep getting is "outlook not good."

That's just fucking great isn't it.

So, that's it. I am now on the desperate hunt for my funny bone. I need it back. I need it back now. It may be the only way to survive the rest of this week/my life in general. Because we're such good friends and all, should you find my funny bone I'm willing to do some type of menial labor for you in return. No-->I said menial, not demoralizing.... you people.... jeesh.

In the meantime, an open letter to my funny bone:

Dear Funny Bone,

Where are you? Please come back. I am losing my shit without you.


Ever lost something intangible and spent weeks trying to get it back? No, I don't want to hear abut your grove..............but share. Sharing is caring.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

I've Been Slacking Like A Tired Trick

Well Snarksters,

What can I say. Only two measly, last kid to be picked for teams, scrawny posts this weeks. For SHAME, for utter and complete despair and total gloom and dourness.

In a reality check moment-- my life is actually not that funny all the time, and while my internal voice has been yacking non-fucking-stop about things we think are funny, it hasn't been translating well. To be fair there were a couple of post attempts...

Failed Titles Include:

Harvesting Organs is a Great Way to Make Money for Shoes
I May be Addicted to Violence
My Kid Needs a Prozac
I'm Most Likely Going to Suffocate My Husband With A Pillow
DHL Ruined My Bob Damn Life
Mother-in-Laws Make Life Cringe Worthy
When I Grow Up I'm Going to Try to Be Nice

So you see, I really was thinking about, and half starting to write some great posts. But they just weren't coming together. They would start funny and end really tragically. In the midst of rolling around in pure mirth and enjoyment there would be a total downer of a moment. Like the time I turned in an essay in Zoology about nothing in particular and wrote "and then the dog got hit by a bus, his innards were smeared across the road and bits and pieces of him scattered everywhere and stuck to everything causing most bystanders to be traumatized for life," and still got an "A" on it (experiment to see if my teacher was actually reading the papers we turned in--> apparently not). Just sort of "oh, you're so not funny, and that was awkward and inappropriate" moments instead of my casual wit and frothy banter. Not that this is really any better, but at least it's not sooo painful to read, right....... RIGHT.

So in lieu of a life altering post on why "The CryBaby has a Better Backhand Than I Do," perhaps just a quick catch up is in order. You know, in case you were actually wondering what I do all week, in between not posting....

DHL ruined my BOB DAMN Life all last week and it carried into this week. Sensitive work materials had to be shipped from the US to Europe. Not only did they re-route the package to the WRONG DESTINATION, when it got there instead of holding it for pick-up (as confirmed by numerous calls and emails), they simply sent it BACK to US office. FUCK YOU DHL, and your mind games. Our relationship is SOOOOO OVER. Anyway, after much wailing, weeping, shouting and threats, said package did get to the right person in the right country, eventually....

I had a fight with the phubster. It was over something inconsequential like why I can't get on a full on tummy tuck, boob lift, and skin rejuvenation treatment package right now (<-- that's not what our fight was about actually, it was just up there in the "what the fuck are we fighting about this shit for" category), but it was a total MOOD RUINER (oh fancy that, another word to add to the lexicon). Mostly because we like to fight over the phone. We get pretty hot and heavy with severe finger jabbing at the screen and exaggerated taps to "the end button" to hang up. It's ok though because once the red mist receded from my eyes and the brain thing started thinking logically again I realized that FUCKING SHIT, that BASTARD is RIGHT AGAIN. GAH. So, the fight passed.

Little Monster--> It's a hit or miss with the sleep walking. Nights she doesn't walk she talks A LOT, a WHOLE LOT in her sleep about random/disturbing things. I've been collecting said items for show and tell...

"I don't want to share. Go play with the fire."
"Stop it. Stop it! You're making me breathe, and I don't like it."
"I told you, no more dinosaur soup. It tastes bad."
"My mommy says you're not supposed to say bad words like shit, or damn."
"Santa sees you all the time, even when you're being bad or going to the bathroom."

I know right, WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT. THE. FUCK. None of it makes sense really. She seems perfectly fine and adjusted during the day... but these night time ramblings have me locking up the matches, not cooking soup, making sure all dinosaurs are safe, watching my mouth, explaining how we need to breathe and instilling the fact that Santa doesn't see you when you're in the bathroom....

I also hit a pretty good sale at Ralph's. No coupons. I am over coupons. But the sale didn't require any so I was in the clear.

So you see, my week has been pretty eventful... really.

I also may be dying from walking pneumonia, but that's a whole other can of worms. I might even have to go to the doctor and take medicine. But only if someone is going to buy me an ice cream after....

So that's it Snarksters, the wrap up. Not the pee yourself funny you were expecting, but hey! Sometimes I'm just regular old me, Becca. (See that, see that VampireS, GAH).

How was your week, sum it up, wrap it up, and let it go......and if you happen to find my funny bone while you're out and about, can you send it back to me--> just don't use DHL. They will fuck you up.

Monday, August 15, 2011

You Shouldn't Reference that Someone May be A Freak In the Sheets

Some of my favorite bloggers are having tough times today. Some of them got their posts stolen, FOR SHAME fuck heads. For SHAME. Some of them are missing people they lost. Loss is a universal thread that binds us together to remind us that we are all the same:human. So before I go into my rant about getting wasted at a family bbq, I just wanted to say, times is tough, and bad shit happens to good people. That's just the way it is. And the way it is fucking sucks balls. There, off my soap box.

On Saturday I went to a cousin's BBQ. Ok let me back that up by saying it was the phubster's cousin's bbq for his other cousin, the first cousin's brother, who had come to visit from Canada. (Are you with me so far?) So technically my cousin-in-laws. Or whatever the fuck they're called. They live in (literally) Sun City. It's hot as the flames that jump up when you pour too much lighter fluid on the grill and your eyebrows get singed off over there. I was somewhat dreading it, especially because they have a pool and my kids have gills. There was no way you could bribe me, coerce me, threaten me to show off my lumpy white body and climb in there. Not a one. I was an impasse of solid granite, nothing would temper my resolve, no one could--

oh wait-- is that Moscato?
Have a Dixie Party Red Cup full of it?
Ok sure, but just one.

I nursed my cup like it was the last one on the face of the Earth. We ate carne asada and grilled chicken, my son decided to choke on a blueberry, but not to fear he swallowed it at the last minute. Buzz meter: 0 (on a scale of 1 to totally shit faced)

Hmmm.... what.... is that Disaronno? What's that, one shot?
Ok, I suppose. Buzz meter: almost a 1

The kids stood in line and took turns swinging at a pinata, and then raced after candy. Wouldn't you know it but the little monster sucks at this whole pinata game. She doesn't like hitting multi-colored animals with sticks, nor does she understand that when the candy falls you run and get it. Also doesn't help that she has baby hands, is smaller than the other kids and is a perfectionist who has to take off the dirt on each piece of candy before it goes in the bag. (I'm pretty sure now that she was switched at birth). Needless to say her bag was quite empty and her eyes were full of tears. It's ok though because me and The CryBaby Cleaned UP. He loves to grab stuff and NO ONE, I tell you NO ONE is going to knock over a baby who's just learning to walk to get candy he can't technically eat. We made a stock pile. We shared with sister. I may be hoarding it. Hmm.. what' that, back the fuck up and off my collection. (WHAT, have you ever HAD Mexican Candy. The Lead makes it taste EXTRA good. I kid, I kid. There's no lead, and it's delish! I've seen grown women fight over the last Mexican candy in the dirt, in the bushes. Yeah it's that good)

What's that you say, my cup does look a little empty. Some more Moscato? Sure, thank you. Buzz meter: 3

I lost the phubster at this point. For about an hour, which when you're starting to buzz is like three hours. I don't know where he went or what he was doing. I found myself talking too loudly in the kitchen and laughing too hysterically over nothing. I ate some chips and beans. Gotta soak up the alcohol right. Of course the kiddos wanted in the pool. Was I buzzed enough to bare my lily white ass yet? HELL NO. But thankfully their aunt and uncle took them instead. I headed back to the kitchen under the pretenses of finding the phubster. My conversation started something like this....

"So how have you been," (nodded my head in general direction of cousin's wife, "C")
(eye balling me up, the nerve of that HO) "I've been good, you?"
"Yeah I've been good too. It's hot huh." (Me)
"Yeah it is hot." (Her)
"Must be nice to have a pool." (Me)
"The kids like it." (Her)
"Oh. Hey have you seen the phubster?" (Me)
"Um no, I've been in here the whole time." (Her)
"Oh." (Me, slightly defeated)
(At this point we're interrupted by another cousin, "L")
"Hey, you want some more moscato? We just opened another bottle." (L)
"Hell yeah." (Me, enthusiastically)

Idle conversation now envelops the entire kitchen like a thick smoke that leaves me in my semi-buzzed gasping for air and fanning myself with a napkin in an attempt clear the air. At this point "C" starts goofing around dancing, and I make the ill advised joke of saying, "hey teach me, teach me how to dougie."

Snarksters, do you know that "C" actually obliges. And these brilliant words come out of my mouth.

"Shit. Now I know why your husband loves you so much, you're a lady in the streets huh."
"What?" (C, eye brows arched)
"You know, [punctuate with a giggle] a lady in the streets..."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." (C, eyebrows dangerously arched now)
"Fo real?"
"Um YES." (C, starting to get pissed)
(insert commentary from cousin L)
"Duh, a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets." (L starts chuckling)

I may have started hysterically laughing. I may have splashed some of my drink on the nearest victim, I mean bystander. The rest of the night is kind of blurry. I did manage to find my kids, and get them dry and changed without bathing them in moscato. They even got cake and ice cream. Buzz Meter: 8

Also, the phbuster materialized out of thin air. I think I remember telling him we should eat pho. MMM... the deliciousness of pho. I think it will help sober me up slightly. I'm starting to slur/leer. The phubster suggests I should stop drinking. I don't take suggestions.

Que paso chica, que es.... Reisling?
Si! Andale! Me likey. Fill 'er uP!
Buzz Meter: Shit faced.

Now comes the blur of activity where we round up the kids, say our good byes and I proceed to text a lot of people that I'm totally shit faced. I only know this because the next morning when I look at my phone there's a lot of misspelled communique from me that means nothing, that all ends in, "B, maybe you should lay off the booze" type thing. Except the one from Ms. VampireS which ended, "No Babies." Touche. Tou fucking che.

Not to worry. Although there was some initial excitement about the state of my buzz, this was all undone by my whispering in my regular talking voice about how "lucky" the phubster was going to get in graphic detail while slurping down pho.

I then got back in the car and fell asleep. For the rest of the night. Because I am that bob damn awesome. Oh phubster, how did you get to be such a lucky, lucky man.

Here's the lesson:
1. Stay away from the Moscato. Moscato is a gateway drink. Not enough alcohol to actually get you super buzzed, but just enough to make you want to keep drinking. Curse you moscato. Curse you (Please come back to me.)
2. Don't infer that your cousin's wife is a nasty freak. You may be banned from all other family functions.
3. Don't talk graphically in your regular voice about the nasty freak things you're going to do to your husband at dinner. Turns out that is NOT a turn on.
4. Don't fall asleep in the car and not put out, because if you're going to embarrass the poor guy that much the least you can do is put out.

So, imbibed too much at a family function, office party, etc? Said some inappropriate things, drunk dialed, drunk texts? I know you did. It's ok to share. This is a safe place, where everyone gets their own colored square, cookies and milk. Please feel free to let it all go....

Thursday, August 11, 2011

But Mom, All the Cool Kids are Twating.....

I love my friends. They are funny. They give me hilarious stuff to post about, they (sometimes) keep me in line, and they (usually) don't take any of my shit seriously. Did I mention I have like three friends. I know it's tragic! Something about being abrasive and too forthwith.... but I think those are my star qualities!

Anyway I was emailing my friend about my blog, and because I've decided I'm a super serious blogger now (with my following of 4, thank you), that I should also get a twitter. I kid you not, this is her response. I may have edited it, slightly.

(no subject)
7 messages
SB Wed, Aug 10, 2011 at 5:37 PM

So this is what I was going to write you earlier but couldn't over work e mail. [because that's how we roll]

It recently came to my attention that [you] is [I could have changed this to are, but the idea of her possibly saying this how it was written is just to funny] on Twitter. And by came to my attention I mean [you] e mailed me to say

"I'm thinking about joining Twitter."

and when I wrote back "NOOO!!!"

[your] response was

"Too late."

(Rude? YES!) [umm hello, do you not know me]

It's so trendy, it's so mindless, it's so not us. [hey I can be hip and trendy when I want to, I swear I don't live under a rock] This has literally kept me up at night. [What, little old me] OK more like I was up worrying about other BS and then I suddenly remember, OH Shit B's on fucking Twitter. [That's right bitches, run and hide. Snark you --> another phrase added to the lexicon. It's like a less intense fuck you. And yes, I am going to make this happen]

So last night, when tossing and turning it suddenly came to me, it's OK that B is on Twitter,because it gives me freedom to say twat all I want. [I live to serve]


"hey check out B on Twitter, last night she twatted the funniest thing."
"B's on Twitter twatting away as we speak."
"Did you catch that twat B had yesterday?"

So as long as you don't twat about your twat, I've decided to be ok with it [gee thanks, but it's not that kind of twitter account, or blog... but it could be....or not *shudder*]
I may have laughed on and off for 20 minutes about how many times she used the word twat (which she stole from me, RUDE) in her email. I may secretly love this shit. (Shhh... don't tell). I also really like Twitter. It may not give me the forum to get on my soap box, but I can be a little mouthy anyway. 140 characters to express a mood, a statement, a whatever, well that's like brilliant bob damn Hemingway shit. And I love me some Hemingway.

So I say if you're all jumping off the bridge I'm going too! What have you done that was so trendy and hip you're embarrassed to talk about it. C'mon, I promise not to point and laugh, just the laughing... only. We're all friends here, share.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

FuCk YoU Nun Nazi, FUCK YOU.

I swear to BOB, people should mind their own fucking business, especially when it comes to my damn children.

An open letter to the Nun like Nazi woman in the woman's bathroom at Albertson's.

Dear Nun Nazi. Fuck you. Fuck you and your disparaging glances and disapproving clucking noises. I will gouge your eyes out with hot spoons. Damn you. My gang will you jump you multiple times. Granted, the little monster was having a meltdown that will surely live in infamy, however you should have kept your whore mouth shut.

Yours Truly,

Mrs. Suck IT


Oh Snarksters, I swear I was about to cut a bitch, but due to a mislaid gang shiv I settled for utter shock and sputtering noises instead..... Here's what happened:

I took the little monster to Albertson's to pick up a few things. Of course we ended up in the toy/paper goods/office supply isle, and of course she wants a $20 Barbie. At first I said, "not today babe," and continued down the aisle. She immediately put super glue on the bottom of her feet and stay planted in front of said Barbie. "But I really want it mommy." I stopped and turned around and said, "no, I don't think so, you already have a lot of toys at home (which she does, in fact anyone want some toys or a new daughter?)." Now she's jumping up and down and begging, and yes, people are staring. I then try to to explain that Barbie is a terrible role model and that you'd see more "real women" working the corner than in Barbie's dream house [ok fine I didn't really say that to a four year old, but I may have implied it]. Of course she is now screaming and crying and mumbling incoherently, "You're a mean mommy and you never get me anything!" Oh HELL no.

Calmly I take her by the hand and practically drag her and her tantrum to the bathroom. I run the cold water, and then I splash some in her face. (I know this is GENIUS right.)

At first little monster sputters and is totally about to go off the deep end when, presto--> just like that she starts laughing (it's a game now) and I have just avoided a nuclear meltdown that would rival Chernobyl, (I'm pretty sure that I'm going to get the Mother of the Year Award just for that little maneuver there, I promise to pass it around for show and tell) until....

NN(Nazi Nun): cough, cough, tap on the shoulder, "Excuse me, maybe I shouldn't say anything [yeah, the fuck you shouldn't] but I just don't think you should be doing that to her."

Me: Why the fuck did that woman just tap me..."Umm what?!"

NN: Backing up slightly-->she must have felt the animosity rolling off in waves..."You know, wetting her in the face. She should choke. [Choke my ass, it's sprinkles of water CUNT] And it's not healthy. [AGAIN, SPRINKLES OF WATER HO BAG] I saw you in the store, [what the hell, you're fucking stalking me, crazy bitch] she's just crying over a toy. It's not worth traumatizing her. [What.... She is going to be traumatized when I cut your neck and you spurt blood all over the place right now]"

Me: Where in the FUCK did I leave the gang shiv....."Umm what?!"I think I may have got that crazy glazed over look at this point. Look, never back an animal, or mom into a corner. You'll get your face torn off.

NN: Backs up some more, and puts one hand on the door...."You know sometimes positive attention gets more results than negative." Smiles smugly and leaves.

Me: What the fuck just happened here.

Little Monster: "What did that lady tell you?"

Me: "Not to buy you a Barbie." Cue the tears and the wailing from Little Monster.

We actually ended up hanging out in the bathroom for another 5 minutes while I got the Little Monster to chill out. And while I contemplated different ways I could fuck a bitch up.

Hello RUDE! Did I ask for your opinion on how to discipline my child? Was I throwing my child around the bathroom and punching her in the face, NO. Was I spanking her repeatedly with wire hangers, NO. Was I even yelling at her while she covered her ears and cowered in fear, HELL FUCKING NO.


Here's the deal, DO NOT give unsolicited advice. Unless someone is being physically harmed, or obviously emotionally abused, keep your whore trap SHUT. Roll your eyes, make wild gestures, gossip with your Bob damn friends about the unfit mother you saw at the store, but DO NOT let one syllable out of your ball sucking mouth. Unless you want to lose a finger, an eye, or your entire fucking face. Bob DAMN YOU.

After nearly losing my daughter to Child Protective Services in the Bathroom, I opted for a shopping trip in Nirvana, which is also spelled Target. There my 1 year old son The CryBaby spilled an entire bottle of All Purpose Cleaner down the back of my shorts (a post for another day), some crazy cart woman ran me over to get to the kitchen items, and I stubbed my toe. I even forgot to use some of my carpal tunnel coupons. GAH.

Here's the lessons of the day:

1. If you're going to critique someone, put that shit right back in your dirty pie hole. Or be prepared to die.

2. If you're going to sputter and not say anything the least you can do is shank a ho.

3. After a run in at one store, do not foolishly believe that you can make it better at another.

4. Do not loudly ask your neighbor across the street if she's pregnant, congratulate her and make wild gestures. She's not. Sorry, my bad! (I swear the woman looked 5 months pregnant, at least). [I know, what does this have to do with that, well nothing, but I fucked up, and when I fuck up I retract that shit yo. Also, another example of when to keep your whore mouth shut]

And there you go. A daily dose of snark, from me to you. Has anyone ever said anything to you inappropriately, offered unsolicited advice, critiqued your mad skills, made you see red, and think about all those pre-planned out spots where you could dump a body.....

Don't be shy. Share.

Monday, August 8, 2011

It's Monday, and I Suck Balls( figuratively, ok shit maybe literally too)


I swear I had pink eye this morning. I mean the left one was totally inflamed and itchy, like an embarrassing burning itch. It was also a little pink. But me, being the amazing worker that I am, I went to the office anyway to spread around any possible contaminants with tender loving care, because that's who I am, a tender, loving, caring person.

As it turns out I don't have pink eye. (Sigh). Instead I have Idiotitis. It was really simple to get rid of too. I took out my contact and rinsed it, and when I put it back in, no more burning, itchy eye. What can I say, I should have gone to fucking medical school. I'm pretty sure the idiotitis is a chronic condition that comes and goes. It's also really fucking infectious.

Case in point, not after more than an hour of being at work, my co-worker walked into a glass door. This was remedied by keep said door open. It's the little things that make a big difference people.

In other news, little monster still sleep walking.

My home as become an Olympic track course. Gates as tall as hurdles littered everywhere, door knob covers that require a PhD to open, and no, no cat bells yet. Although I was informed by the phubster that I could "sew those shits into the hem of her shirt." UM mother fucking no.

Ok I know this is bordering on painful to read. Before you commit harakiri (or as us morons pronounce it harry karry) or go play with razors, I'll leave you alone.

I'll try to be funnier tomorrow. I swear.

GAH MONDAYS, Fuck 'em.

I'm Going to Have to Minimize My Guest Posting Rights... Fuck... Just Kidding....

So Snarksters,

Here it is... the aforementioned and highly anticipated post by Ms. VampireS herself. Can I just say that the fact that she DID NOT post about vampires and brownies has pretty much ruined my fucking week. GAH. Anyway.... she does have a point somewhere in all this rambling about life lessons like forgiveness, friendships, blah blah fucking Hallmark blah blah. Ugh. Not to worry though, I've livened up the place with a few strategically placed editor's notes. The editor would be me. Oh SHIZ NITZ, please add that onto the ever growing list of talents I have and that you suck at. I know, I know, you're thinking to yourself, "oh no she din't." And HELL YES, I did.

P.S. I'm one of the biggest fans of Ms. VampireS, and she knows it. She also knows that I'm joking around with her in my most Snarky way. If you take upon yourself to leave her a nasty comment, I will sharpen my fucking pencils, and I will Bob Damn Find You. Did I mention I'm in a gang........

My mom would just die if she knew I was blogging. It’s ok because it’s not my blog and really this is an act of chivalry. (Can girls be chivalrous? Or is that an act saved for the male species?) You see I feel the need to save my BFF from herself [editor's note: I like going down in flames, not saving necessary]. I read these blogs of hers and while I chuckle (ok laugh my ass of in an actual LMAO moment) I can’t help but say oh B darling, why the foul language?? [editor's note: because I fucking love to Bob Damn mother fucking curse. Shit.]

So when given the much coveted offer of a “guest post” I couldn’t help but say “YES! YES… oh god..” So after much ado (and hopefully not about nothing) here it is folks.

Now I know you were all promised brownies and vampires [editor's note: I'm sorely disappointed, I still want my vampire brownies] but I have a new idea. I apologize for anyone who was waiting on baited breathe for that post. Actually no I don't. Get over it. [editor's note: well screw you too]

Moving on...

A few years ago, after a couple days or maybe even weeks of dodging my best friend’s phone calls (no not B) I got quite the nasty gram from him. My response? “Sorry I’ve been really busy.” … if this is the part where you think it went over well, you’re wrong. “Don’t ever say that to me, I always make time for you. I’m busier than anyone I know.” At the time I thought OMG how dramatic! Cry me a river, we’re not dating or anything. But as time passed, and as I got older (and ironically enough, busier) I started to encounter more and more people that just didn’t have time for me. Some of this was just natural growing apart as we matured and to avoid the awkward painful conversation of “I just don’t like you anymore” we both pretended to be too busy to get together…. Letting our relationship dissolve in the ephemeral [editor's note: sometimes Ms. VampireS uses big words. I know, it's ok I don't know what they mean either]. But I digress…

There were others, those hurt more.

Now that I’m older, and less dramatic (shut up! I am I swear [editor's note: um no you're not]) I get way less offended when people don’t have time for me… nope now I just get pissed.
So when today, I had 4 different people (yes all male) tell me “I’m sorry, I’ve just been SUPER busy lately.” (or some variation thereof) you can imagine how fucking pissed off I was. Like really? That’s all you got?

Case 1 – guy I know, that everyone I know can’t fucking stand, who has been giving a million chances and is on his 1 million and 1st chance… in the proverbial king sized dog house. Who, if he really wanted to make up to me big time as promised, would really find some time. And not a lot of time, I mean clearly any girl who forgives you so much, really wouldn’t require too much time. But I guess that’s the point isn’t it, he knows I forgive… (look at me digressing again.)

Case 2 – guy I know, who after finally convincing me to go out with him and acts, well let’s just say quite odd on our 1st date, complete with trying to kiss me and ending up in my ear and then texting me as I drove away to say, “um can we hang tonight?” … um we just hung out… did you mean to call someone else?? “nope you, I meant to call you silly.” Right…. [editor's note: please do not go out with the guy again because I don't want to have to ID you at the morgue. Thanks.]

Case 3 – my GD assistant who actually had the audacity to tell me “I’m too busy, you’re gonna have to do that yourself.” [editor's note: as a "professional assistant" this is unacceptable, and I would tell him to go Fuck himself six ways to Monday]

Case 4 – no, I don’t think B's readers are quite ready for case 4. [editor's note: I'm not ready either]

What the fuck is with telling people you are too busy? There are some people you get “un busy” for, and there are some people you lie to about being “busy” and there are some people (and yes this would be me) [editor's action: big time EYEROLL] that you’re just never too busy for.

The girl who has giving you a million and one chances, the girl whose ear you kiss, the girl who could sink your career… you’re never too busy for that girl.

So my best friend was right. And I was an ass. … is this my penance? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure JC himself would agree I’ve paid my debt to society and deserve once again to be showered in the love and admiration of those around me. … oh well, B loves me [editor's note: sure I do, when I don't want to break your knee caps with pencils].

PS… wanna guess who is the only guy I forgave? Case 1,2 or 3 ?.... yup case 1. Convincing argument? Nope… I just need real mental health treatment [editor's note: agreed, I'll drive you just cuz we're tight like that].

Friday, August 5, 2011

The Kid Needs A Damn Cat Bell

Oh readers, friends, comrades, followers and those of you who have been forcibly made to read this blog upon pain of death. You my funny snarksters (add that to my ever growing lexicon of words that I invented) are going to be sorely disappointed today.

My bees knees snarkster friend = EPIC BLOG FAILURE. Due to conflicting schedules she did not write her post as promised and therefore I had to break off our friendship and break her mother fucking knees, with pencils. It was bloody, there was screaming, and she'll never walk again.

Ok, ok I kid. I would never break her knees with pencils, I'd have to use a couple of three ring binders and industrial staplers instead because it's totally more humane to do it that way. But can I just say for the record that I was LOOKING forward to a great POST about Desserts, Vampires and Brownies. Now I must subject my loyal snarksters to more inane ramblings.... I Blame you Ms.VampireS. And thus I have dubbed you forever more in my posts to be referred to as Ms.VampireS. Don't like, don't not do your damn homework for me. (Hmph!)

Actually I'm willing to cut Ms. VampireS a break. She was a bit busy last night, and she did mention she fell asleep while texting me, therefore let it be known that you have earned yourself a stay of execution. And before you feign outrage, did you really think I wouldn't blog about you not getting your post ready for my blog? Think again, just about anything is game for posts...

Along the same lines: how are you, dear snarkster lEfty (and you know who are) going to leave a comment that says "Don't blog about me" and then seriously expect me to not post about you. You walked right into it my dear. I promise to post a good one about the good old days pretty soon. It would probably start something like, "One day in eighth grade...." Please note you've be fore fucking warned.

On an unrelated note, my little monster is sleepwalking.

(Pause for dramatic effect)

Yup that's right snarksters, sleepwalking. The other night the phubster (after a frantic search) found her downstairs on the couch sleeping. No lights were on, and the door to our bedroom was closed (I should mention she sleeps in a toddler bed in our room). She has no recollection of how she got downstairs.


Then last night the little monster got up and paced in front of the bed with her eyes wide open, not blinking and incoherently mumbling. My first thought when I woke up to this sight was, "Oh my Fucking BOB, the Bob Damn RING come to life, and now my soul is going to go straight to hell while this she ghost demon infects me with her evil spawn and I shrivel up with lesions and convulse to death. FUCK ME."

And then after blinking a few times, protected from my see no evil blankets, I peeped my head out again and realized it was just the little monster sleep walking. I got out of bed and gently guided her back to her bed. She didn't get up again, and I did not have one finger or toe sticking out from beneath the sheets just in case there really were demon spawn out to steal my soul.

This morning I relayed the sleep walking story to the phubster.

His one comment, "the kid needs a damn cat bell."

Well played phubby, well fucking played.

Be that as it may, I don't know how appropriate a cat bell is to put on a small child. I think it'll be better to just put up the safety gates and sleep with one eye open. Oh sleep how I miss thee.

In other unrelated news my home girl (I'm in her gang yo) Elizabeth stopped on by and left me a comment to which I secretly (ok not so secretly) swooned to, and then giggled about like a damn school girl. Check out her awesomeness here:

I may have also had a post of mine re-posted (and edited, sigh) here

What can I say snarksters... I am one talented bitch. It's like I was telling Ms. VampireS, I should be writing for SNL or something. I'm pretty sure that my comedic talent is being totally fucking squandered and that my nuggets of wisdom will never get the warm the cockles of main stream America.


And on that note, I'm out yo.

After all it's the fucking weekend and I plan to be sippin on gin and juice, laid back.....

More Snark on Monday...........

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Extreme Couponing is for Losers

I HATE extreme couponing. Fuck you TLC and your fucking shitted up show.

YOU FUCKING LIED TO ME you cock sucking one armed whore.

(Deep inhale)

Now that I got that off my chest. I'm pretty sure extreme couponing is for losers. Imagine my utter and child like delight when the phubster and I watched 6 hours worth of Extreme Couponing on TLC. We both exclaimed with glee in complete and total amazement over the savings people were coming up with, and agreed that it is completely normal to have 177 boxes of couscous if they're free. Greedily I lusted after other women's stock piles that overflowed their pantries, spare rooms and garages. I want a fucking stock pile too.

One woman even proudly proclaimed that her stock pile was like family to her and she'd be devastated if something happened to it. Dear Lord please let me taste that devastation.

So I devised a plan. A plan for total coupon domination. I got a notebook, I got coupons and I got busy with the scissors. I did my homework too, looked up some sites about couponing (those ho's lied too), found some good deals, and decided it was time to get my coupon on.

Three stores, two sales, and six coupons later = EPIC COUPON FAIL.

First of all coupon policies are fucking ridiculous. You can't stack this, or double that, or you have to buy 12 of these to get two dollars off next time. F.U.C.K that shit.

Secondly, where the fuck do these bitches on TLC do their damn shopping. There are no great, amazing get shit for free sales out here. Nope, not a fucking one. Which leads me to believe that there are none and that TLC secretly foots the bill for these outrageous "coupon" trips.

Thirdly, it's a lot of fucking work. It's like a second job to keep up with all the coupons, clip them, the store sales, getting the store ads, taking inventory of your coupons doing the math on the savings, you either need to be a damn idiot savant or have a bob damn higher degree to figure all of this cocked up shite out.

Even the phubster said (and I quote), "fuck the coupons."

In the end I saved $6.00. Which I guess is better than nothing. But considering the fact that I probably need to have surgery for the carpal tunnel I got while cutting out the coupons I think I still come up short.

Hence- this is how I derived that extreme couponing is for losers.

Only losers need 170 boxes of bob damn couscous, and 79 cans of motherfucking cat food. Fuck that, "free." What they don't tell you is that to get to that "free" part you basically have to spend as much as you save. So in the end it isn't free. You just come up even. Free is best when it is absolutely free. Not when you break even. Fuck that shit. And only losers have enough time on their hands to cut out and track all these damn things. Don't be fooled by the shit on the show, "I work full time, and I coupon, and I'm sane." FUCK THAT. Fucking meth crack heads that don't go to fucking sleep. It's the only way you could keep track of this shit.

And by the way when you start stockpiling things, well there's another term for it, and it's call HOARDING.... your "collection" will fucking eat your house, ruin your family, start a rodent and insect infestation and DESTROY you.

I'm just saying.

Damn you TV for bursting my couponing bubble. And screw you, you coupon loving losers.

I'm going back to my charge cards, and scoffing at crazy coupon ladies in the store.

FUCK YOU TOO, and good day.

(Editor's Note: No couponers where harmed during the making of this post, and I suppose if you're willing to invest the time and energy you could really save a lot of money, but then you have to ask yourself how much is your time worth, bet you come up short, loser.)

I Have Three Amazing Talents; I Swear You'll be Jealous!

I had a ton of different things I wanted to write about today. I promise they were very funny. But every time I started a post I couldn't get more than two damn sentences in. I suppose I have the dreaded writer's block (kind of like the clap, but more itchy and annoying and definitely above the waistline). That or my brain is totally fried from the accounting reports I put together this morning, and it's not like I had all week to prepare these little assholes either or anything...

Ok, fine I did. But in case you didn't know, one of my very rare and finely honed talents is the art of procrasti-fucking-nation. Yup, I am an expert in this field. So while I knew these reports were due on Thursday I whiled away my time Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday doing absolutely NOTHING.

Wait, I lied. I was pretending to work a little, and I did put up a few highly entertaining posts, and I did email my friend about 100,000 times. In fact I pretty much blame that snarky bitch for leading me down this path of nothingness. Maybe somewhere between our flurried email exchanges I could have started to do the reporting, but no. She sucked me in to her life of intrigue and international mystery and I just COULD.NOT.STAY.AWAY.

Sigh. Life is really, really fucking hard when your friends are so interesting. It's a wonder how I do anything with all the vicarious living I'm doing through them. I suppose if I was paying more attention to my own life I also wouldn't have ordered a blender with the office supplies.

Hmm... what's that...? I ordered a what...

That's right bitches, your read it right the first time. I ordered a blender with the office supplies. We spent enough money to get it free (it was that or a grill set), and so into the basket it went. Also a mini USB drive in the form of a pig was ordered because it was on sale, and because my site director is always running around looking for one these fucking things, and we never have any. So what if you have to pull the head of the pig body to plug it into the computer. No big fucking deal I say. Anyway, after having ordered said items (and there as the normal pens, kleenex, cups, etc) I also failed to get to work early enough to unpackage (fuck yes I just made up my own word hookers) and put them away.

Why does this matter you may be asking yourself.

Well it matters because my fucking supervisor opened it up, my site director saw it, and that left me royally in the shits.

Because she couldn't explain the blender or the decapitated pig, I now have to subject myself to filling out a Purchase Order Form for EVERY BOB* DAMN THING I order. FUCK THAT SHIT YO'.

Well ok, not really. I mean it was totally explainable, and I did not steal any of the office supplies, nor was I intending to (honest!), but I suppose.... I'm on ordering lock down. And pretty much suffered through "what the fuck are you fucking thinking about" looks from my supervisor and the site director all mother fucking day long. It sucked balls.

But I'm back to the dark side, I mean the right side, whatever the fuck side I'm supposed to be on, and back in their good graces. The blender incident of July 2011 is no more. Thank God. In fact being the brilliant bitch I am, I spun the whole "why the fuck would you order a bob damn blender" incident into, now we can make smoothies at the office, and ice coffee drink goodness.

"Zero to hero in no time flat!"

And that my friends is how you turn a total cock up into the best situation ever.

So make that three talents I have...

1. Procrastifuckingnator (like a negotiator but 1bizillion times better)
2. New word inventor (fuck yeah I always wanted to invent shit)
3. Total Cock-up situation fixer (don't hate the player, hate the game yo)

And just like that I realize I've had one of the most productive bob damn weeks ever. Hell to the yes.

Tomorrow's post brought to you by my fanfuckingtastic friend.... I heard that it may involve brownies and vampires....

I also may have laughed out loud and choked on my spit when she started telling me about said post. There's only one word for it: EPIC.

*Bob in place of God--> why should He get all the credit all the time. Shit.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

My Dogs are Fucking AWOL, and At Least Do Me the Courtesy of a Fucking California Roll Bitch

I'm pretty sure I still have two dogs, somewhere.*

See the thing is I haven't seen either one of those shits in about a week.

WHY, you may ask.

Is it because I don't care. Fuck you, I care. I love those little fuckers.
Is it because I starve them. Wrong again fuck face. My phubster feeds them every fucking day, and he gives them water too, and he makes them poo. At least I think so, like I said I haven't seen them in a week.
Is it because I sold them to the black market. As much as I would love to the phubster would never forgive me, so for the sake of our marriage, no.
Is it because I knowingly left the back yard gate open. See the answer above.

So pray tell where are said animals? I assume they are in their kennels. The kennels are in the laundry room where it's relatively nice and quiet and child free. My dogs think my children are the spawn of Satan. Actually let me rephrase that. They think my daughter is the spawn of Satan.

The little monster really does want to love them, but after the whole tail caught in the vacuum catastrophe of June 2011 they stay clear of her and away and out of trouble. Although on a technicality the dogs are both mine there is an agreement between the phubster and I about their care and maintenance.

It goes like this:

Me: You want the kids or the dogs?
Ph: The dogs.
Me: Son of a bitch!
Ph: They're your dogs.
Me: They're your kids.
Ph: They like you better.
Me: Fine you owe me.
Ph: No, you owe me.
Me: Screw you!
Ph: That's what she said!

This of course if followed by me giving the phubster the bird, and him mouthing the words "fuck you" while I roll my eyes. We are such a loving couple, it just warms my little heart in all the right places.

So pretty much I don't mess with them during the week. I mean I'll pet them and stuff, and I gave one of them a bath like a month ago, but otherwise it's all the phubster. And damn him to hell if he doesn't love those little assholes. He's always out walking them and feeding them and brushing their hair. I mean shit. It's like he actually cares about them. (Eye roll).

Ok, I'm kidding. I'm glad the phubster is responsible for something in our married lives and it does make my life a whole lot easier to not worry about our other two children, but I am a little worried that I haven't seen them in awhile. I suppose it warrants further investigation.... stay tuned...


It's called a fucking STOP SIGN you stupid WHORE.

I almost died (again!) today when some stupid whore decided that she couldn't even give me the courtesy of a California Roll at a stop sign. I mean I could have used the two seconds to give her the bird while she sped away. BUT NO. NO BLINKER, NO STOP, NOTHING but the ass of her ugly beater car almost swiping the front of my car. Stupid CUNT.


You can't possibly be this stupid. You did pass the driving test wherein you had to use your blinkers, put on your seat belt and STOP at red lights and mother fucking stop signs. Why you feel the need to suddenly stop remembering that SHIT and try to commit vehicular manslaughter is beyond me. Damn you.

For the record people if you can't do the simple courtesy of using your mother fucking blinkers, and stopping when appropriate don't DRIVE dumb shit.

Ugh. Fuck. That.

Lesson for today.....

1. Bitches can't drive for shit
2. Find my fucking dogs and make sure they're like alive and stuff*

(*disclaimer/update: before you animal loving, tree hugging, I only eat vegetable weirdos get on my case about my animals I'll have you know that they were not hurt during the making of this post, and they are in fact safe in their kennels at home, well fed, watered, and pooped. So stop judging me you hypocritical self loathing hippie commie bastards.)

Monday, August 1, 2011

You Should Probably Never Blog About Your Friends

Ok, so I'm pretty sure that you should never blog about your friends. At least not your sensitive friends. And as I type these words and my friend reads them she's going to light up my inbox and my facebook with hate mail.

Bring IT.

Actually I really like this friend. I think she's the bees mother fucking knees. She's funny, she's sassy, and she doesn't take shit from no one (well almost no one............ahem). She's the first to put you in place and the first to reach out and support you through whatever. She's a cool chick, and she hates that I put our text convo, which again for the RECORD I took way out of context, in my last post. She says she looks like a moron.

I beg to differ. Ahem, (counting in my head before I say something wildly in appropriate). Dear friend you're no moron at all. How you could construe ten seconds of reading time against the 2-3 minutes it takes to read an entire post about how I fell over nothing, and you think you come out looking like a moron is beyond me.

There that's all I have to say about that. This fucking topic is now CLOSED the fuck down. Thank you.

Moving on-->

Said friend also has a sister. A wonderfully witty and quirky individual who I love and miss dearly. Oh sister why did you leave me? Is it because I vomited brownie bits all over your toilet and then you got it on your hand when you went to the bathroom the next morning? Is it because I got so drunk that I knocked over a red jello shot with my boob and it landed on the carpet and you had to bust out your spot bot to clean that shit up? It it because your dog hates Asian people and tried to swallow my fingers and toes whole? If you've answered "yes" to any of the above I am really fucking sorry, especially for the vomit part.

You see dear sister I was doing fine until I realized that while standing still I was swaying out of control. This may have been the signal to stop drinking... sigh... but since I'm a moron (did you read that friend) I may have had another two drinks.

Thank you for getting me a glass of water while I was projectile vomiting, and while strangely enough you were brushing your teeth (I think, things are still hazy). Thank you again for not killing me when the girls knocked over a jello shot, and for not letting your dog eat me. I promise to not ever barf in your toilet again.

Actually I promise to never drink that much again because truth be told I had a hangover FOR DAYS........... and dear friend you're right I'm definitely not in my early 20's and able to binge drink any more... so sad, now how am I going to diet...... just kidding!

Shit and fuck man. That was a crazy fucking night. Where I wore khaki and stripes, talked way too much, gave away wayyyyyy tooo much personal information and ended it with my face in the toilet. I may have also crawled out of the bathroom on my hands and knees and barely made it said friend's bed.... but that's a story for a different time..........

Which is why you should never blog about your friends bitches, because it only brings up embarrassing stories about yourself, shit.

I'm Pretty Sure That

Wait I know, how narcissistic is it to title the post the same title as my blog. VERY. But that's ok because that's how I ROLL...

Yup a bit snarky, sarcastic, narcissitc, a definite potty mouth. You should have SEEN the last post on my other stream of consciousness-not so daring-more of my inner thoughts-private life-ramblings. I think it was just TOO much. I may have offended some people, I may have caused other innocents just to go straight to hell. Ehh...

Either way, I've decided that I need to have an outlet for my other self, the snarky one who keeps all the confidence and sass to herself (that bitch!).

So be forewarned, this is not for the faint of heart, or for those who don't like cussing like a mother fucking sailor.

And to get things started on the right foot, a post about how I practically died last week. I've moved it from my other blog, because that soft ass hooker decided that it was just too much for that space. Shit. She should grow a spine.

Until my next snarky break.............

Screw you, it's Monday.

Much respect and props yo'. (Did I mention that'd I also like to fully explore my hip hop slang and text language options as well.... ttyl.)

How I Ate Shit Due to Changing Air Currents

Picture this:

Ho hum walking along, grab my purse out my car, looking super cute, ready to start my day, when all of sudden wouldn't you know it but the fucking air currents shift and I'm falling pretty much on my face in the parking lot at work. Not only am I falling, but I'm falling so hard and turning slightly to the right that my left shoe comes flying the f.u.c.k. off and lands twenty feet away from me, my bag is behind me, my pants have one of those nasty parking lot grease stains on them, I've scraped my knee and elbow and I'm pretty sure the arm that is hopelessly pinned at an unnatural 45 degree angle behind me is broken.

Like the absolute pro that I am, I jump up and brush off my clothes, smooth my hair (because when you fall on your face your hair needs to be smoothed), grab my bag, ignore the stabbing pain in my right knee and arm, and hobble (mind you I still had one shoe on) over to my other forlorn and completely demolished shoe. I say a few comforting words over my fallen comrade, slide it back on, and try my best to not limp into the office.
The best part about this whole ordeal is that the office windows FACE the parking lot. Upon my entry into said office, I am treated to a standing ovation, complete with clapping and laughing. Thank you asshole shithead air currents for your fickle moods, damn you. Damn you to hell. That pretty much summed up my Wednesday.

Two days later I can confidently say that my arm is not broken, but I am still being very cautious when it comes to air current shifts. I'm pretty sure that many a life has been lost to its invisible push and pull, demanding human sacrifice to satisfy its evil whims. That and I think I'll be avoiding three inch heels for the indefinite future since those are fo' so' air current magnets. Those motherfuckers must have on a blinking red light that says "Trip me." It's probably safer for my physical well being and whatever is left of my dignity if I just stay away.

Later that same day I was retelling the story of my brush with death due to air current shifts to a friend via text. And there's the mistake, via text. It started with me telling her I pretty much demolished my shoe. (I've also taken the liberty of pretty much reconstruing and probably taking our entire conversation out of context, because it's funnier that way)

Friend: What kind of shoe was it?
Me: guess (after a pause and thinking I should clarify, I added)
Me: the brand
Friend: OMG B***a, I don't want to guess, what kind of brand.........
Friend: What is the Brand?!
Friend: Shit, forget this, what type of shoe is it
Me: The shoe is Guess
Friend: This is getting old and it's not funny[ok I actually think that there was some cussing in here, and maybe a reference to Abbott and Costello]
Me: The shoe is Guess, you know the brand
Friend: No I don't know the brand
Me: I'm telling you the brand
Friend: Forget it, was it a sneaker, a heel, a flat, a sandal....
Me: It was a pair of Guess Heels
Me: Yup.....I'll send you a pic
Friend: Those shoes are TORE up!
Me: I know.......

And the rest of the conversation had something to do with not wearing hooker shoes and pretending I'm in my 20's and going out binge drinking. I have the best friends yo'.

Now that I've tasted death, I've been doing a lot more goofing off at work trying to savor every moment of life. Which amounts to reading a lot of blogs. Blogs about blogs about nothing and just about everything. I like the blogs where I laugh out loud, and the ones where I have to run off to the bathroom and have a quick cry. Mostly I like the blogs that have a lot of swearing in them. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I have a filthy mind, or the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy. I think these are FUCKING HILARIOUS. So I think I'm going to start cussing more, straight up yo.

**** DISCLAIMER, the rest of this blog contains highly inappropriate language and name calling, do not continue if you don't want your eyes to fall out of your head, or if you don't want to go straight to Hell******
I mean my internal dialogue is filled with all sorts of colorful descriptors for various life situations.

1. "Isn't that baby cute..."
(Internal answer) The fuck it isn't. What the fuck happened to that poor kid, fucking scary little alien thing is going to eat my brains and shit.
(Actual Answer) Yes that is the cutest baby I've ever seen

2. "What do you think of my new boyfriend?"
(Internal answer) Where the fuck did this fuck face scrotum loving asshole come from. He better not be a total dickwad to my friend because then I will have to fuck him the fuck up. I'm going to have to shove shit up holes he didn't know existed and break multiple fucking bones. I'll probably be covered in blood and shit. And then my friend is going to call me a cock sucking whore. Shit. Why'd she get a boyfriend anyway. Our friendship is not totally going to be fucked.
(Actual Answer) I think he's great.

3. "Does this make me look fat?"
(Internal Answer) Only if you like looking like you exploded into fifteen different fucking directions. Maybe if you exercised a little self fucking control your FAT FUCKING ASS wouldn't be asking me this shit for brains question. God, get outside an exercise you fucktard. Shit, balls, fuck. Now I have to tell you a fucking lie so we can still be friends. mother fucker. Fuck you.
(Actual Answer) I think you look great just the way you are.

So you see, why censor myself here from your delicate sensibilities? My true friends know that the internal answers posted above is pretty much me straight up. And I am the shiz nitz.

Actually I am a toned down version of the shiz nitz.

Back in the day, before my near death experience, I had no filter. What was in my head came out my mouth, total and complete verbal diarrhea. Not so much because I didn't care, I just didn't care to filter myself, and after all, what good am I if I can't give my 100% honest opinion. Yes, you look and act like a whore. No, I didn't take the last wine cooler. Yes, I will sell your kidneys for a pack of cigarettes; all little gems of wisdom spouted by yours truly before the old filter on my responses thing truly mattered. There was also a shitload of cussing back then too. I mean assloads really. I had a truly filthy, disgusting mouth, and I so loved it.

But you know then I met my husband, and we had some kids and since my daughter has the special talent of repeating everything you say, after the 2nd week of her walking around the house saying "fucking retard" to everything and everyone, I decided I needed to put a smack down on the language, and a filter on my comments.

Sigh.... life has been slightly duller since.

But not to fear. I think one of things on my bucket list will be to get back to my pirate cursing ways if only on here. I'd like to expand the minds and vocabulary of all you my dear readers. And what better way than to use such wonderful and colorful nouns and verbs such as fuck, shit, cunt, bitch, cock, dick, balls, ass, ass + hole, etc....

See what almost crossing over into the white light can do for you. It can loosen a bitch up. So for now you cocksucking whores I'm off to enjoy the fucking weekend. Don't ask me any stupid fucking questions because contrary to the popular belief there really are just stupid people.

And watch out for those fucking air currents. Those mother fuckers almost killed me.