Nothing says welcome home like a pile of dog puke on the floor

I'm just going to throw this out there. I can handle many things with ease. However, puke, regardless of WHO it's coming out of, is not one of them.

So I was having a moment with my daughter in the kitchen. I think our "moment" pertained to her school camping trip that she's about to take for 3 days coming up in Dec. I just found out that she's not going to be able to take her cell phone, nor will she be able to make phone calls home unless she's broken a bone or she's about to die. I let her know that I thought that was complete bullshit, but with different use of vocabulary of course. Then she informed me that I could call Mrs. X who would then let me know that it's "too bad. Those are the rules."

Yo Mrs. X?

So as I was sitting there wondering why in the hell we actually paid to send our kid off to juvenile hall for three days, the dog decided to walk up next to me and hack and then hurl up some of the most vile and disgusting abnormal gastric contents that I've ever seen.

Have you ever had one of those moments where time stands still? Well that's what happened when Bailey walked up. He looked up at me like "Yo bitch, I'm about to hurl. Might wanna move. I'm just sayin'." Then he began to hack, and I knew at that moment was was about to go down. I yelled at the dog, because you know, it was the logical thing to do. I figured if I scared the shit out of him, he wouldn't puke. Plus, I can totally handle picking up dog shit Vs. Puke.

Turns out the yelling didn't work, and he proceeded to hurl anyway. I tried to get Aidan to cover it with a paper towel before I had a chance to catch a glimpse of the puddle on the floor, but no such luck. That kid can be totally useless sometimes... ;)

Unfortunately my bright idea to actually look at the dog puke created a total Stand By Me moment, and I had to go running to the bathroom. It wasn't pretty, folks.

So after all was said and done, there was no way I was going to be able to clean the puke up without making a bigger mess. I tried my next best option since Brent has been out of town and he couldn't clean it up, and that was trying to bribe the kids. Ice cream for Taylor and Lego's for Aidan. Surely that would work, right? Yeah, not so much. They both gave me a look that told me without a shadow of a doubt that I could go and screw myself.

Needless to say, there is currently a pile of puke in the floor by the back staircase covered with about 1,203,048 paper towels that has Brent's name all over it. I guess it's a good thing the dog didn't decide to puke on Monday. That shit would be petrified by now.

Welcome Home!!

Humor-Blogs.com

Indecent proposal. ER style.

An intoxicated individual involved in a motorcycle crash comes into the ER by EMS. Drunk man in question wasn't wearing a helmet when he went over his handle bars and hit the side of his face, leaving him looking like a cross between Quasimodo's older cousin and Fabio. What? He had a pony tail.

Drunk man had this strong aversion to wearing his c-collar, so I attempted to explain numerous times why he had to keep on. The thing about drunk people is that they tend to not grasp simple concepts of the English language when they've had a few too many to drink. They also have the short term memory of a damn gold fish. I tend to be a little less tolerable of drunk fucktards when I, myself, have had nothing to drink. It's a bad combo, really.

Then drunk man switched his focus from wanting to rip his c-collar off, to wanting to get out of bed so that he could go and take a piss.

Me- "Look, you can't get out of bed yet. Your CT hasn't been read at this time, and you aren't cleared to get up."

Drunk man- "Well dammit, I gotta piss!"

Me- "You know that call bell I tried to give you earlier? Remember that red button I told you to press if you need me? I can take care of your bladder control issue. Let's put this catheter in so that you don't have to worry about it."

Drunk man- "HELL NO! You ain't puttin' no tube up my dick, lady!"

Me- "And you aren't getting out of bed either."

Drunk Man- "We're going to have some problems, you and me. Especially if you try to stick that thing up my dick."

Me- "Sorry. I'll be gentle. I've actually had many compliments on my insertion technique."

Drunk Man- "I'm telling you right now that I will piss this bed before you even attempt to put that in my cock".

words a nurse never wants to hear. Piss the bed. Not cock. So I RUSHED to the cabinet to get a urinal.

Me-" Alright fine, but you have to remain lying in that position, so I'm going to have to assist you."

Drunk Man- "Well grab on darlin'. This ol' boy ain't shy." *wink wink*

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank drunk man for manscaping his junk. There's nothing worse than searching frantically for a penis in a jungle of matted down pubic hair, when someone is threatening to piss themselves.

Anyway, after we compromised on the whole catheter issue, we became fast friends. He liked me even more after the ETOH wore off and I gave him some Dilaudid. It was at this time that he asked me the big question.

Drunk Man- "How about me and my wife hire you to be our "home nurse"? Your duties would be giving me medication like that "dilauntin" shit you just gave me.... among other things. *wink wink*"

My response?

"Uh, no."


Humor-Blogs.com

I was all about making this a sunshine beaming out of my ass kind of post. I promise.

However, shit ain't going down like that today ladies and gents.

After my last post where I frightened away half of my readers, I decided to turn my frown upside down by going to get a most relaxing facial/chemical peel. Doesn't sound so fun to you who are unaware of such services, I'm sure. However, it's actually quite nice... Usually.

By the way, if you are a female and you are in your mid to late 20's and you HAVEN'T started getting facials and chemical peels or microdermabrasions on a regular basis, you might want to think about it very seriously. Otherwise you are going to have 892,304,382 layers of dead skin cells on your face, in addition to having abundant wrinkles. Have fun with that.

Anyway, how about some back story? I typically go once a month for a facial and a peel, and I enjoy the hell out of it because while I'm hanging out with a papaya mask on my face, I also get to experience a most wonderful upper body massage AND a foot massage. (No happy ending though) This appointment is almost always uneventful. Meaning I go there, and an hour later I'm leaving all soft, fresh and rejuvenated, somewhat like a newborn baby's ass. Because if a baby's ass isn't soft and rejuvenated, then really, what is?

So as I lie in the bed, being enveloped by the soft candle light and overall calming ambiance of the spa, my esthetician began the chemical peel portion of my facial experience. Now for those who are unaware, this typically involves spreading a thin layer of glycolic acid liquid crap on my face (the shit I do for beauty) where it stays for one minute before the next layer is applied and the process is repeated before it is washed off.

So back to what I was saying earlier.. I was relaxing in the bed, watching the candles flicker, and wondering who in hell would actually pay money for Enya's music, when I was very suddenly aroused from my vegetative state due to the "glycolic" peel application.

It went a little something like this. *Enya music playing in the background, as well as water trickling down from the soothing waterfall that really made me want to piss my pants more than anything...*

Me- OHMYGOOOOOOOOD WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU PUT ON MY FACE!!!!!!!! IT BURNS! IT BURNS! Give me the goddamn hand held fan before I shit on your bed. It BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNS! AHHHHHHHHH!

Her- Hmm, your face does look a little red.

Me- What the hell is different this time? I've been coming to you for 2 yrs now and it's never that bad.

Her- Well, it's the lactic acid peel, and it's a little stronger.

Me- Oh, you mean the one that left me looking like a burn victim the first time you put that shit on my face several months ago? I thought we had discussed that we would just stick to the glycolic peels, and NEVER EVER do that lactic stuff anymore? Because let's face it, my skin sloughing off for 2 weeks wasn't really what I would consider cute or attractive in ANY way.

Her- Hmm. I don't remember that chat about the lactic acid peel.

Well NEWSFLASH!! That's fucking obvious! So I'll be damned if I'm not sitting here looking like this.

and to be honest, I'm pretty fucking pissed about it.

I have to go out in public tomorrow. Seriously!?! I've been known to skip college classes due to a zit before if that tells you anything. What the fuck am I going to do with my current situation?

Would I really stick out that much with a brown paper bag over my head? Is it totally unacceptable for me to sport a burka for the next 2 weeks until my shit is back to normal?

Sonofabitch!

And to think, I paid for this service.

Unfuckingbelievable!

Assuming someone around me doesn't fuck anything else up, I'll be back to my normal sunshine beaming out my ass, and ready to spread my love to one and all real soon.

I wouldn't hold your breath though.

Humor-Blogs.com

I'm baaaaaack, and I should come equipped with one of those warning labels

Disclaimer: This particular post is going to be filled with angst, rage, and a whole lot of fury. It will most likely contain some obscene language as well. I realize that this is abnormal for me. (ahem) If you are the kind of person who walks around 24 hours a day with rainbows shooting from your ass, I'm going to lay odds that you'll find this post offensive. You may even judge me for being so malicious with my words, which in any case is your right. It's also my right not to give 2 shits about your opinion AND the proverbial stick in your ass.

Anyway, to say that I've got PMS is an understatement of the year. Now my PMS isn't what you're thinking. It has jack nor shit to do with whore moans, uterine lining shedding, etc. It just simply stands for PISSY MOOD SYNDROME.

Sometimes I just get this way from time to time, and there is no rhyme or reason. As a woman, it's my god given right to be a bitch when I want to be. I earned that right simply by being born with a vagina. (Fat Daddy, you keeping count?) I think it's totally fair, too. I mean, I can actually bleed from it monthly for a few days straight and actually not die, so that must mean I've got some pretty awesome magical powers, right? I thought so too.

I wish I could blame my foul mood on myself this time, but unfortunately it's just not going to happen. So instead, I think I'll blame it on the kid next door who apparently has dreams of being the next Larry fucking Bird. (I don't know any popular white boy basketball pros these days. I don't enjoy watching sports on TV, remember? Don't judge me!) Now I'm all about being active and all, but sonofabitch, can't that kid find something else to do with his time? Watch TV? Surf the internet? Play the fucking Wii? Jac....

Nevermind

Our master bedroom is unfortunately in an area of the house where I can hear every dribble, shitty shot, and brick that kid manages to throw up there. I probably wouldn't be nearly as annoyed if he didn't always decide to play right when I was taking a nap, or watching tv, or for christ's sake trying to BLOG! This leads me to want to do things. Very bad things. Things that require someone in particular getting a fucking Wilson basketball shaped suppository. Oh, and by the way, I'm all out of lube...

Then there are others that I find myself coming into contact with, whether intentionally or unintentionally, that make me realize that some people are just so fucking stupid, selfish, hypocritical, and just plain clueless, that it's actually shocking. Did I mention that I'm difficult to shock?

So what do I do?

The safest thing possible. I stay home in an effort not to end up on the evening news. Or I go workout while I listen to foul and raunchy music. I happen to think it makes me a better person. I also want to take this time to switch gears and blame all of the rappers of today for my motherfucking vocabulary issue. Why not, ya know? Sons a bitches keeping a white girl down, snuffing out my extensive vocab that I learned as a debutant, and now I talk like one of those bitches and ho's off the street. Fuckers! Don't make me pop a cap, fool!

Anyway, you may wonder what happens to my family when my reserve for putting up with stupid fuckers runs on empty.

They run and hide, mostly. That's why I love them.

Brent has also figured out these rules fairly quickly. He's smart. Very smart. And despite what I say about him here, he's a quick study. It's for this reason alone that he can still take a piss without the aid of a catheter. He learned back in our dating days, that when evil Candice comes out to play, that it's best not to try and find out the source of her rage. (So now I'm a total douche for speaking about myself in 3rd person. Something else to be annoyed with...)THAT is the main reason why he's still around. Well, that and he's hung like a moose. Oh, and he also knows that going shopping usually helps my mood, so he actually encourages it. But he does so nonverbally, and without actually looking at me because he knows I will turn his bitch ass to stone like Medusa.

So after my trip to the mall, and my much overdue visit to get my nails done and my eyebrows ripped out my head, I'm finally feeling much better. The thing that really sent me back into the light was when Brent was getting ready to go to the gym. I actually saw that asshat putting on fucking knee socks! That's right. Motherfucking knee socks! Then when I almost passed out from shock/laughing so hard, he had the audacity to scrunch them down in an effort to make it all better!

So after telling him that no man younger than 80 fucking 2 should be allowed to wear those kinds of socks, I went through his drawer and threw the remaining old man socks into the trash.

Then it sort of hit me all at once. He certainly isn't the most fashion forward man alive, but it could be MUCH worse. I could be stuck with someone who wears knee socks, who is also hung like a fucking light switch, AND is a total self-centered dickhead to boot.

I win, people!

By the way, when I edited this post, I removed 7 fucks out of this verbal work of fucking art just out of respect for my readers who don't like such language.

You're welcome.


Humor-Blogs.com