Fun with sissors Candice style

My husband is a wonderful man and is talented at many things. The ability to dress himself worth a shit is not one of them, however. I was reminded of this as I woke up this morning and took a gander at him while he was putting the finishing touches on himself before driving into the office. Here is a snippet of our exchange.

Me- "Good morning. What in the hell are you wearing!?"

Brent- "Clothes"

Me- "Are you planning on leaving the house looking like that?!" (I said while wondering if I just spontaneously morphed into my mother)

Brent- "Yep"

Me- "Brent, are you fucking kidding me?!??!?!"

Brent- "No. What's the problem exactly?"

Me- "Where do I start? First of all those jeans look like they're from the 80's. Secondly, I can see your ankles. You shouldn't look like you are going to work in acid washed ca-fucking-pris, and C. are you wearing loafers without socks!?!? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Brent- " What do you expect me to wear exactly?"

Me- "Go look in the closet for something else... ANYTHING else!" That's it, you are going shopping this week. This is getting fing ridiculous!"

Brent- "But I don't like to shop"

Me- "That's certainly obvious."

Brent- "You tend to make up for my lack of interest in shopping anyway."


Me-

That is true.. Brent hates to shop and I hate to look like a douchebag so I tend to shop more than once every 15 years. You know, styles come and go and all of that sort of nonsense. Sue me! I'm fairly certain that if I hadn't married Brent and made it my first priority to get rid of all of this clothing in the many yard sales that we've had, he would still be rockin' the same clothes that he was wearing when we met. Only the finest of duds from Grandpa's R US the 1980's collection.

We've gone shopping together many times, but the last few trips I've taken it upon myself to purchase clothes (jeans specifically) for him on my own. He's 6'3" so it's not easy finding somewhat trendy jeans that fit him properly. As a matter of fact I was told that the last 3 pair that I purchased for him cut the circulation off to his nuts. I thought they looked great! Whatever.. I guess low rise jeans aren't his thing. So basically if you aren't 5' 10" or shorter and roughly the size of a VW beetle then finding jeans is going to require some effort on the part of the purchaser. This is part of my problem in getting Brent on board with the whole shopping experience.

He also has this annoying habit of wearing clothes and shoes until they fall apart. Like he's some type of homeless, jobless, street wanderer that has no other option. Then operation Candice has to go into effect. My stance on this is that if it isn't ruined then he will continue to wear it. So jeans with tiny holes in them will spontaneously grow larger over night and the majority of one leg will show. Shoes with floppy soles will all of the sudden become non-functional unless he wants to walk around like Fred Flinstone. Sure I have pissed him off from time to time by doing this but it doesn't bother me one bit. It's really his best interest that I have at heart. He won't have to be seen looking like that in public, and myself and the kids can save ourselves some embarrassment as well.

So I know what you are thinking... What did you do to the jeans, Candice? And now I give you my answer show and tell style..

I hung these back up in the closet. I wonder if he will wear these ass less jeans again? Operation Candice is a success once again bitches!

Now if I go missing or end up dead you know who to blame!

Peace out!
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Some people have to learn the HARD way!

I worked last night and was told about a patient that I unfortunately didn't have the pleasure of taking care of the night before. You see, I typically will fight for the foreign object patients, but alas I was at home sitting on my butt (there was no vibrator involved) so I missed out.

Speaking of BUTT'S, you may have noticed the x-rays above. No, that's not the patient in question. That's just further proof that you can find anything in google images. The picture on the right does look pretty much like the one that I saw at work, except the dildo lodged in his rectum (yes, I said HIS) wasn't nearly as long.

Now let me tell you a little bit of the back (hehe) story. A middle aged couple walked into the ER looking like the Unabomer and the Unabomer's bitch. Apparel complete with hoodie and dark glasses as not to be recognized. Husband was walking like he had something stuck up his ass. Probably because he did. Turns out hubby wanted to have some anal fun with his wife. Wife said only if I can perform anal sex on you with my vibrating friend first. Hubby evidently gave her the okay. Wife apparently got a little too over exuberant with the lube/toy because it got sucked into the black hole of doom, which is why they ended up in the ER to begin with.

I must say that I like her way of thinking. "Hey, you want to stick something up MY ass, then you are going to get something stuck up YOURS first." Although I'm guessing that her husbands penis wouldn't have gotten lodged up her ass so far that she needed to have surgery to get it out, but I digress. . .

Remember when you were a kid and you said stupid kid things like "stick it up your nose with a rubber hose?" Well amuse me. What stupid kid saying could we use in this situation?

"stick it up your ass with a blade of grass?" Hmm, no.

"stick it up your butt with an African hut?" that doesn't work either

"stick it in your hooty hoo with a big plastic dil-doo"? not so much..

How about..

"Stick it up your ass with a giant rubber dildo that is ANUS APPROVED that has some type of base on it so that it doesn't get sucked into your ass and you end up needing surgery because of it!"

Better..


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Thank you GAWD and PETA!

So I was watching the news and I was happy to see that PETA is urging the makers of Ben and Jerry's to begin using human booby milk in their product. I must agree that it is pretty inhumane to use cow milk that was intended for the poor baby calf. Instead we can just hook up mass amounts of breast feeding mothers to those (torture devices) medela breast pumps and suck them for everything they've got! Screw the babies.. they've got Enfamil, right? I think it's brilliant!

I'm pretty excited because this could be just the thing I need to break me of my PHISH FOOD habit! Now I, myself was a breastfeeding mom and I think it's a wonderful thing yadda yadda yadda, but I can assure you that if Ben and Jerry's began using boob milk in their ice cream, I will NEVER touch the stuff again. Actually, I think PETA needs to encourage all ice cream makers to use human boob milk to ensure that I never eat the stuff again.

Actually, why should they stop there? I think they need to encourage all of the pizza makers to use cheese made from human boob milk. That will almost guarantee a net weight loss of about 50lbs right off the bat for me.

So Job well done PETA. Keep up the great work. I'm almost positive that your novel approach to "breast is best" is going to be a successful endeavor and subsequently my ass will shrink because of it.

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Daily AM drama + picture day!

Here are my morning challenges on any given day of the week as far as getting my kids ready for school in the morning are concerned. They are in no particular order.

1. Getting Taylor to actually wake up in the morning. I used to just bust up in the room like a drill Sgt and try to get her moving that way, but I soon realized that she took after her mama when it comes to being rudely awakened. It sucks! We don't like it and it really pisses us off! It makes us move slower just in spite of the person doing the arousing. So now it takes about 10 minutes to ever so gently wake her up so that she doesn't have to go to school being a giant cranky butt.

2. Next I usually have all kinds of fun getting Taylor to actually wear the outfit that I picked out for her. She would rather wear clothes that scream RAGAMUFFIN to school, but we tend to compromise from time to time.

3. Oh well look at this, the shoes that she's worn several times before now suddenly hurt her feet and if she wears them ONE MORE TIME she will surely end up being a double amputee.

T "But I can't possibly wear these shoes!"

Me "Why not? You've worn them before with no issues."

T " Because they hurt my feet, plus I can't chase Logan at recess in these shoes and today he's going DOWN!"

Me "Well as long as you have a valid excuse.."

4. Hairstyle.. Taylor would prefer to wear it straight as nails complete with a butt crack part straight down the middle of her head. That's not the part I blessed her with people, and frankly I'm a little pissed that she's jacked with MY part! She's slowly evolved the part down the middle somewhere along the way and now her hair wants to stay put down the middle. I've bought clips, hair bands, pony tail holders etc. She may walk out of the house with those in her hair if I'm lucky enough to get them there in the first place, but she NEVER comes home with them.. Who knows what kind of Bermuda Triangle her hair accessories find themselves in at school, but it's safe to say that they are gone for good.

I know you are wondering what my son does in the morning that adds to the drama? Nothing. Not a damn thing. That kid pops out of bed like toast and gets dressed with no issues. Well, that's not true. This morning he wanted to button his shirt all the way up to his chin. When I informed him that it's not "the style" he kept going on and on about how he didn't want to go to school naked. It was ONE button down from the collar, but eventually I convinced him that he would not be breaking any rules if a square inch of flesh was visible. Drama over.

This morning I was particularly worried because it was a big day.. PICTURE DAY!! Ah yes, the day when I pay about 100 bucks for school pictures that will surely blow ass because my children are at the age when they can't smile normally to save their lives. They either look like they're constipated, being poked with a cattle prod, or they are smiling yet you can tell with their facial expression that they could give two shits less about the camera in front of their faces.

Let me give you some examples..



This is the "please get that camera out of my ****ing face" expression. She doesn't curse (yet) but I'd imagine that's what she would say if she could.



This is what I got when I asked her to show me the smile that she will be displaying for the camera today at school. Oh shit.. Not the Cattle Prod!! "Beautiful smile baby, how bout with a little less feeling next time?" ie.. less eye bulging.



Hmm, not exactly what I was wanting. This is a prime example of the "turtle approaching cotton" smile. Or the "I need more Metamucil in my diet" smile.

I didn't even bother asking Aidan what kind of smile he was going to display for the camera. I did, however, get his rendition of a rooster with the help of a blown up latex glove...



So there you have it Mr. Olan Mills man. I hope you enjoy your 100 bones for the crap pictures I know I will surely get in return. How about you just forget "posing" my kids and just try to snap them acting like goofballs in their natural habitat. It's easy and I can avoid having 359 various sizes of the *fake smile* the *I'm about to crap myself smile* and the *I've just been stuck with an anal probe smile* that I will promptly stick in a box never to be seen again.

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Quick honey, zoom in on my private parts!!

I was slightly bored today so I decided to do something completely unproductive with my time, like flip through channels on the television. I happened to land on TLC and became completely engrossed in .... okay, wait for it..... A Baby Story. Ah, yes good times indeed.. Now for those who are unfamiliar, A Baby Story typically follows some random couple and speaks of the trials and tribulations of pregnancy and if that weren't enough, you even get to see the actual birth and how the lovely couple ends up dealing with their lovely spawn after it's all said and done. It's all really very sweet and emotional.

I used to be totally hooked on that show when I was pregnant with my first child. I would even record it so that Brent could have the pleasure of watching it with me when he came home from work. I wish I could get him excited like I could back in those days. All he needed was a little TLC to get his blood flowing.. Okay, so I totally made that up, but the pun was pretty damn fly, no? Anyway, what I'm getting at is that I can't believe I ever watched that crap! The show is okay right up until they get to the part of the show where the woman is in labor.

It's usually at this time where they show her in bed with an O2 mask on her face, legs spread wide open, hollering, panting, sweating and generally appearing miserable, but wait!! That's not all! She's got approximately 1,398 people in the delivery room with her. She's got her hubz at the bedside, along with her 2 sisters rubbing each of her inflated fat pregnant feet. Her Mom, MIL, and 30 of their closest friends are chatting away placing bets on if Jr is going to look like Mama or Daddy. But the most disgusting portion of the program is when her father in law is center stage with his camcorder panning in on her cho-cha making sure that not one pube is out of place for the big finale. This wack job is focused in on her vagina as though he's waiting for Pamela Anderson to pop out of her junk. It's really all very odd to me and it made me think of my own birth experience.

We were in Vagina, I mean VIRGINIA at the time and we had no family in the state with us so that wasn't much of an issue. Brent's sister was actually in for a visit and I just so happened to go into labor while she was staying with us thanks to some of my own doing, but I'm not going to go into all of that because my mother reads this blog. At any rate we had discussed prior to my going into labor how the whole birthing experience was going to go down. We both agreed that it was only the two of us that made the baby, therefore it was only going to be the two of us to welcome her cute little butt into the world. Well us and the medical professionals of course. There would be no family gathering, no witnesses to anything I may say or do once the painkillers kicked in and for the love of GAWD no vagina filming or vagina picture taking!!

Brent was even put on notice that I would chop his nuts off if he went South of my shoulders the entire time of the birthing process. There are just some things that should be left unseen, know what I mean? My nurse had to learn that lesson the hard way when I was starting the pushing part of my laboring experience. I was actually rudely interrupted during Judge Judy when I was informed that I needed to start pushing. Fine, I wanted to wait until after the ruling was handed down, but lets do dis. My nurse disappeared and came back rolling this mirror on wheels monstrosity.

"Um yeah, what is that?" I asked with an attitude

"It's a mirror so that you can see your baby as you push. Just let me know when the angle is right and I'll leave it so you can watch."

"WHAT?!?!?!?! JESUS GOD NO!!!! You can roll that right back where it came from!"

Was she fucking kidding me?!?! Like I wanted to SEE a bloody, messy Stretch Amstrong version of my own vagina? WAY beyond its normal capacity even? HA! I think not! Now I know giving birth is a miracle and all of that, but lets not get hasty. I also would rather not have vivid nightmares about my own girl parts for the rest of my life thank you very much. Oh, and God forbid I have a bowel movement during delivery. Like I really want to watch myself shit myself? Again, no thanks. Not to mention I'd prefer to see the baby AFTER she's out.. and all wiped off.

In all of the excitement I do think Brent broke the no going past my shoulders rule because he does specifically remember certain things that he would have never known had he not been looking "into the war zone", but luckily I let him keep his nuts.

For my second delivery I was a little more laid back. It was still only the two of us and there were no cameras, camcorders or mirrors on wheels involved. I will say that my paranoia about shitting myself in front of complete strangers had not subsided. I was chillaxin in bed and all of the sudden I felt "something"

Me "Oh fuck!"

Brent "WHAT is it?"

Me "I need you to do something for me?"

Brent "Okay, what?"

Me- "Oh my Gawd say it ain't so!"

Brent- "WHAT!?"

Me- "I need you to lift this sheet and take a look down there"

Brent- "Oooookay.. Why?"

Me- "DAMMIT BRENT JUST DO IT! I think I may have just shit myself! OH MY GOD. Hurry up before the nurse comes back in here!!"

Brent- "It's a natural part of labor baby, chill out."

Me- Brent, let me break it down for you one time. I'm a grown woman who possibly just shit herself! Now look under that fucking sheet right now because if I did then WE need to fix it before anyone can come back in here and witness this!"

I'm happy to report that I didn't shit myself. In fact it was Aidan's head that was about to pop out causing me to feel like I was shitting on myself. Actually shitting on myself would have probably been much easier to deal with because If I were guessing I wouldn't have floated an almost 10 lb turd.

To make a long story longer, I guess what I'm really gettin at is that I probably wouldn't have made a good candidate for TLC's A Baby Story for a number of different reasons. ;)

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I said wash THE DOG Aidan...

So the children were complaining about how they had nothing to do yesterday so I decided to do what any mother would do and I gave them a task to fill their time. The dog stunk and the kids were bored. Nothing rocket science about this little combo. I gave Taylor and Aidan the go ahead to give the dog a bath. "SWEET" they yelled all full of excitement.

Now I typically bathe the dog myself because I naturally do it the best. I'm not a control freak, I just like the dog to be clean when it's all said and done. I actually use the correct amount of dog soap, which would = SHIT LOAD. Brent used to wash the dog on a dime sized amount of soap and that can't even get his ass clean much less a big hairy dog. So I knew I would have no problem with the kids not using enough soap. As a matter of fact I was hoping one bottle of doggie shampoo would be a sufficient amount. I decided to leave them to their own devices and just stay in the house so that I wouldn't feel the need to "bark" orders at them. Several minutes pass by and I hear my daughter cackling like a hyena. I go outside to this lovely visual



Now I'm no genius, but I'm fairly certain that there is NO dog in this picture. Unsure about what you are seeing? Scroll down for an even better visual.



Yes, this would be my sweet boy with the water hose shoved down his pants. Please remember that he is SUPPOSED to be washing the dog, but instead he had the bright idea to apparently power wash his penis off.

I believe that the lesson learned is that the next time he decides to not use his brain and shove the water hose down his pants, he will make sure the nozzle isn't on full blast and set to "jet spray".



Aidan - "Owww, my wee wee"

Me- "Duh! Now finish washing the dog!"

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Observations from the bus stop

Typically bus stop drop off and pick up is left for my dear husband, Brent. Reason being is that I'm usually sleeping in the morning after being up all night, and I when do leave for work in the afternoon it's about 15 minutes before the kids are due home.

This actually works out well for me because I don't like hanging around at the bus stop anyway. It's awkward. There are only so many things you can talk about with complete strangers at a bus stop. So when I do go I usually bring my phone with me and pretend that I'm checking my email. Sometimes I even make calls to avoid speaking with the people at the bus stop. Some of the moms are very nice and I would imagine would be pretty cool with a few drinks in them. Some others? Not so much.

There is one lady in particular that I like to refer to as "Ros" (Ray of sunshine). Ray of sunshine she ain't. I'm fairly certain that I've never seen her smile and she's constantly bitching about something, someone, her kids, etc. This lady was "blessed" with twins as well. She seems to thoroughly enjoy motherhood (not) and at any given moment at the bus stop you can hear Ros yelling incessantly at her two kids. I believe Ros loves to hear herself speak because her kids really don't seem to be doing anything any of the other kids aren't doing, but she's yelling at them anyway.

"BETSEY!! You're breathing too loud!"

"Caroline!! quit waiting for the bus already!!"

I've never really understood the parents who feel the need to constantly bitch at their children in public in a very LOUD fashion. I've never had to do that. Not because my children are perfect angels. Oh no no no. It's because all I have to do is flash them "the look" and say one little phrase that lets them know without a shadow of a doubt that it will be on and poppin' when we get home if they don't stop whatever behavior it was that led me to give them "the look" in the first place. I'm thinking about giving Ros some lessons on how to flash "the look" to save the rest of us from having to hear her speak/yell.

At any rate, what I've thought to myself when I observe this fountain of good cheer is how in the shit did she manage to bag a husband? I'm guessing she's an NRA member. I bet she held some poor unsuspecting dude at gunpoint. Yes! That's it. My next question would be how she managed to get this poor guy to procreate with her? I'm willing to bet that lots of Viagra, date rape drugs, and some quality time with a turkey baster were involved at this point. I'm also reminded of this movie...



We actually have a little history with Ros. She was eager to point out to Brent at the bus stop one day that our well behaved son ****Edited out due to the fact that my paranoid husband thinks that posting specifics about what our son did will lead inspector gadget (ros) to find out about this blog and she will commence to kick his ass**** Freedom of speech my arse! Once again..



I'm sure I'll have more tales to tell about Ros and her children as the school year presses on. Just today I was informed that the school bus was stuck on the side of the road for 15 minutes because one of her girls refused to sit down. Nice. Taylor is going to be pissed that she was late for safety patrol. She single-handedly keeps the children safe and out of harms way, you understand. I hope that no one was injured as she sat on the bus waiting for little ROS to take her seat.

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Week 1 results!

Alright, now for the week one weigh in results. I know you are all waiting on pins and needles for this so here you go...

Brent apparently took a crap before our weigh in and lost a whopping 1/2 pound!! Way to completely show me up there Brent! Alrighty then! let's here it for ya... A WHOLE half POUND. I'm pretty sure someone could fart and lose more than that, but anyway *round of applause* I guess I should just be glad he was able to post a number after our ERR incident the other day. ;)

Now I actually lost 3 1/2 pounds and I would like to take this time to say that whomever said that crack kills is a damn fool! It's also a great weight loss aid. (kidding) Anyway, whoopty doo.. I won week one but it's far from over. Brent was motivated to not only go to the gym today, but he *GASP* walked there and lived to tell me about it!

Until next week! Stay tuned when I will once again whip his ass :)

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All I want is your URINE!

I had a rather quirky patient the other night. And when I say quirky what I'm really getting at is that the woman was..

FUCKING INSANE ... As if that weren't enough, her husband was as well.

They were nice enough people, but unfortunately had a bad case of verbal diarrhea as they would not stop talking for one solitary second. I learned all types of interesting tid bits about their lives. Things that I didn't care to know. Where they met (science fiction convention.. ha that explains everything!) how long they've been married, complete medical history on both the actual patient and the non-patient. The hubby even lifted his shirt to show me his impressive scars from a previous surgery. I was aroused... big time. *please note the sarcasm*

Now from the get go I let my patient in on a little secret. I told her that she needed to piss in a cup. Okay, so I worded it slightly different but the case in point is that she knew that I needed her pee. She whined and moaned about how she urinated earlier in the day and that she didn't think she needed to go again. I thought that was odd seeing how I can piss on command at any time of the day, but whatever. Not everyone can have impeccable kidney function like I do. So anyway, I kindly let her know that by not giving me urine she was extending her stay in our lovely ER. She finally decided that she would try sitting on a bedpan. Why she couldn't walk to the bathroom 10 ft from her room I don't know. The only reason I can come up with is that she was weird. Or maybe she wanted me to see her vagina because that's what she did next. She put that bad boy on display like it was vagina's on parade. I tried to cover her up with a sheet and she tossed it off so that her hooty-hoo would be back in full view. It was staring straight at me and had this scary sideways smile. . . I think it mumbled RED RUM but I can't be sure. It was very disturbing.

Then she stated that she couldn't wipe herself because she "couldn't reach". What the fuck? It's not like the woman was paralyzed or had T-rex arms. She was physically capable for crying out loud! After she said that I looked at her husband and he looked back at me. He must have seen the horror on my face because he took the supplies and offered to wipe his fully qualified wife's hoo-ha assuming she would even piss in the bed pan to begin with. Fine. No questions asked and certainly no need to hang around. I ran out of there as fast as I could and while I was running I told them to hit the call bell once she's produced urine and I would be back to collect the specimen.

So several minutes pass by and I go back to see if she was finished. "Sorry, but I didn't have to go." She said. Fine she's got some fluid infusing through her IV, she will certainly have to go eventually.. Turns out not so much. So finally I threaten her with a catheter since that was the last test result we needed before she got the boot out of the ER. Now this normally miraculously makes patients need to pee immediately in order to avoid having me go in and manually get the goods myself. However, this was a welcome event for this particular patient. "Oh sure, yes go right ahead!"

Unfingbelievable....

So I left the room to gather my supplies and when I walked back into the room I was greeted by her vagina yet again. She apparently thought that it needed to be on display upon my arrival back into the room. AWESOME! It missed me or something. Where is the battery acid to induce blindness when you need it? "I guess you just check your dignity at the door when you come into places like this." her husband said. "The fuck you do" I thought to myself.

During my little straight cath procedure I had to listen to her running commentary the whole time. . .

"Now I'm really tight, so please be careful. As a matter of fact me and my husband don't have traditional sex because of it."

Please... Oh voices in my head where are you?!?! Speak louder before my poor ears begin to bleed!!!!

Now let me share my thoughts with you on her above statement.

1. Wow, you let your husband bang you in your urethra? Impressive

2. Your hubby must be hung like a light switch, or a tic tac, or a ... urinary catheter!

and lastly

3. T... M... mother fing I !!!!

All I want is urine. I don't need to know about your sexual escapades and how "tight" your various orifices are. As a matter of fact I'm pretty sure I could have lived the rest of my natural born life without that particular mental image.

You see what I do for a little urine? It's all really beneath my dignity, but I do it anyway because that's how I roll y'all!

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Fatty Fatty 2X4

So tonight's events have made me realize one thing. We apparently we need to invest in a titanium reinforced scale. After dinner I had a grand idea. I stated that we should have a pre-weigh in before our actual one week weigh in tomorrow. Brent obliged.

He confidently walked into the bathroom, stepped on the scale and waited for the digital read out to pop up on screen. I was standing by his side anxiously awaiting his results as well.. we kept waiting...... keeeept waiting and then all of the sudden ERR is what we see. ERR means error just in case you were wondering. I'm assuming that the screen is too small to say *TILT* or *FAT ASS* or *Please GOD get the F off of me already*.

Brent-What the hell??

Me- bwaa haa haaa haaaa

He stepped off the scale to let it reset and then stepped back up. ERR reads out again. He stepped off yet again and I could sense a little frustration. Could have been because I was making fat jokes and laughing so hard that I almost pissed my pants, or it could have been due to "the malfunctioning equipment" that we owned.

So he got back on with his pride fully intact and said.. "What the fuck did you do to the scale?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked. "Well, you were the last one to weigh in so YOU evidently broke it!" He added.

I figured no further explanation was necessary so I hopped on the scale and it promptly read ###.# lbs

"HA! Now what?!?!" I asked

"Uh, weren't you like a pound and a half less last time you weighed?" he pointed out. Fully glossing over the fact that my fat ass can still register a legit number on the scale.

Once again, let me just say...

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Fun while it lasted

As of a few days ago I'm technically no longer gainfully employed of my own volition. That's right, my stint working as a full time nurse lasted all of one year and 3 months. Which oddly enough is the amount of time that I've been working as a nurse period. It really took about 2 months for me to realize that working full time, was in fact highly overrated. I don't consider myself a lazy individual by any means, but I do prefer to have choices about what I do and when I do it. So now I'm a part time employee instead, even though Brent thinks that calling myself "part time" is now kind of a stretch. Allow me to now mime this gesture in his general direction. .

I'm really not sure what gives him that idea. Perhaps it's my new October schedule. . .

It's a pretty rigorous schedule if you ask me. I mean, I actually have to get dressed and drive into work and perform a whole 4 times in the entire month of October. I typically work 3 twelve hour shifts a week if that gives you any idea. Now my new and improved schedule will allow me enough free time to get into all kinds of tomfoolery. I understand that by cutting my hours back I will no doubt change the numbers that I see on my paycheck, but that's okay because I fully intend on being much more frugal in the future. . . By frugal, I totally mean that I will go from using my debit card for frivolous spending to using Brent's. That's not fuzzy math, that freaking ingenuity people!

I will say that I've got my eye on other employment opportunities in addition to my part time gig as a nurse. I figure I clean the house better than our housecleaning service ever THOUGHT about doing, so I will now start charging for my services. I'll even wear the correct attire if need be.

Anything to bring in more revenue!

I also spent . . . Okay, I didn't spend anything but I do have books, dvd's and I even had a National Academy of Sports Medicine personal training class that I was supposed to attend in August with the hopes to better prepare me for a career in personal training. Unfortunately I missed out on the class (oversight on my part... whoops) and I now have 1 month to educate myself AND pass the test to get my certificate. I guess it's a damn good thing I'm not working much in October.

If anyone else has any bright ideas on how I can spend my free time and possibly bring in some income while doing it, I'm all ears. Oh, and someone at work has already told me I should be a sex toy party hostess (I have no idea why!), so that one has already been thrown out there. Just fyi...

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Nightcrawler or nonsocial.. You decide

Over this past year I have become quite the nocturnal creature. I'm basically useless during daylight hours. Brent told me the other day that I'm turning back into a toddler. I wake up in the morning or afternoon or whatever and eventually grab a snack. 30 minutes to 2 hours later it's nap time again. What, digestion takes energy! Wake up again a couple of hours later and perhaps do a load of laundry or two. Maybe clean the house a bit. Uh, oh.. I feel some sleepiness coming on again. Perhaps I'm due for another nap. By the time 10:00pm comes along I'm usually just gearing up for my "day". The problem with that, is everyone else is ending theirs. This has led me to become fairly nonsocial all things considered.

For example, I wait and go for my long walks with the dog typically past midnight. I do this for a few different reasons. #1. It's not hot enough to bake my internal organs at midnight. #2. I don't typically run into anyone else at that time. That reduces the number of forced pleasantries that I have to dish out. It also means that Bailey won't be yanking my arm off in order to play with some other random dog on a leash which consequently reduces the number of times that I have to kick his ass. #3. I'm all alone. The neighborhood is mine and I can walk and clear my mind without any worries. I typically walk in the middle of the road just because I can. #4. When I trip over the thin air and bust my ass nobody will see me since I'm under the cover of darkness. *yes it has happened on a couple of different occasions* #5. This is the main reason I walk at night.. I don't feel obligated to pick up my dogs turds at night. Yes, I'm one of THOSE people. Picking up dog shit has got to be one of the most degrading things I've ever done in public. You see, when I take the dog for daytime walks I pick up the crap because I have this paranoia that everyone in their house is staring out of their windows to see what I'm going to do. So I reluctantly take the dog shit bags that are attached to the leash out, but first I slip my latex glove on. What, you expect me to pick up dog crap with no glove on? I don't wipe patients' asses without gloves on so you better recognize that I will not be picking up canine turds without a little latex involved. If I can be thankful for anything it's that dog crap is at least formed stool instead of the watery, explosive make you want to never .. breathe.. again crap I encounter at work.



Anyway for a brief moment I'm sporting the Michael Jackson one white glove look as I pick up the dogs poo. (Sometimes I get this insatiable urge to grab my crotch and yell Heeee Heee at this point) Then I put the bag over said poo and without actually touching anything I slip it into the bag like magic. I forgot to mention that I'm gagging while doing this. Then I tie the bag of crap to the leash.. near the dogs face in hopes that he will get the point that he shouldn't shit during our little jaunts.. Yeah, he hasn't picked up on that point just yet.

I can skip all of the above by just simply walking at night. Okay, It is guaranteed that the dog will dook within the first 15 minutes of our walk. Period. He will also typically wait until we are underneath a street light OR in front of a house that is lit up like Ft. Knox to assume his position. Whatever.. It's technically dark. Shit your brains out for all I care because where it lands it will remain. I'm do feel badly for a brief moment, but the moment passes pretty quickly and then I'm over it.

So basically if you live in my hood and you have Bailey's doggie dook in your yard or on your sidewalk or on the street in front of your house, I do apologize.. Sincerely :)

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Completely gratuitous on my part

Okay, so the warning up there is probably somewhat misleading, but it's attention getting and that's all that really matters. Want to know what else gets MY attention?


This guy.. Nothing like a gun toting fine piece of ass to catch my eye. Ooooh la la. (okay, now the warning applies) His name is Jeffery Donovan and he plays Michael Weston in Burn Notice. I started watching this with Brent last season. I typically don't get into the whole spy thing as a weekly television event, but after catching a glimpse of this dude I knew I could probably force myself into taking an hour out of my busy schedule in order to (fantasize) watch this exciting program.

Unfortunately this particular show falls under "family viewing only" which means that I can't watch this unless Brent is watching with me. You know, quality time together and all that kind of crap. . . One rule is that he can't speak during the program. He's got a bad habit about doing that, so in order to not interrupt (my fantasy) the show, he must remain silent like a good boy.

Oh my God... Sorry, I had to add more visuals..

Anyway we were watching Burn Notice this evening and during one part of the show I asked "So, do you think at the end of our 2 month weight loss bet that you may possibly look like him?" He gave me a smirk and proceeded to ignore me. About 15 minutes passed buy and then there was a plethora of tits and ass that crossed the screen (the show is set in Miami by the way...) and he turned to me and asked "Hey, do you think at the end of our 2 month bet....."

"Oh no you didn't!"I said

I really think that Brent believes that he already looks like this..

WHOOOO... CARDIAC ARREST HERE PEOPLE...

You see, he can be a little delusional from time to time. I think it started when we were dating and my grandmother who is not blind or senile proceeded to tell Brent that he looked like Ricky effing Martin. "What the hell?!?! Like the SHE BANGS SHE BANGS dude?" I asked before I promptly shat myself from laughing so hard. Now Brent looking like Ricky Martin would be about as accurate as someone saying that he looks like Al Sharpton. In another words.. Not so much. But I digress. Brent thought my Grandmother was wise beyond her years after her "compliment". So I guess I've been married to Ricky Martin's white middle aged twin for almost 10 years. SWEET! Now it's time for him to progress into something a little more like . . .



This :) How do I make that happen???

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My Virginity To The Highest Bidder!

So you may have heard that the above hobag.. er, self respecting 22 year old Natalie Dylan is auctioning off her intact vagina to the highest bidder at the Bunny Ranch(although I would say she's been banged like a screen door on a windy day judging by the picture above..) in order to pay for her college degree.

Now some folks would probably condemn her and go on and on about what a horrible person she is for essentially selling her body. Not me. My first thought when I heard what she was doing was "Damn, why didn't I think of that?" Although I doubt many men would want to have sex with an 11 year old. I'M KIDDING!!! ha!!

I'm actually quite impressed with her entrepreneurial prowess to be honest. I mean, how many 22 year olds just give up the booty for free? At least she's trying to pay for her college degree. That's got to count for something.

Actually I've been thinking about this alot and I think I'm ready to jump on this bandwagon. True, I'm not a virgin anymore but that's no big deal. I can pretend like I am. (Ouch! OMG, that hurts!! Stop!) See that sounds legit right? If that's not enough I will allow my suitor to pay for vaginal reconstruction if he so desires. I'll even go one step further and risk my life by going under the knife for a breast lift, abdominoplasty and possibly even some lipo assuming he wants to pay for it. Hell, I'm looking out for his best interest of course.

To be honest I think I'm the better deal if you really want to know the truth. After the vaginal reconstruction I will have good as new anatomy PLUS all of the years of experience under my belt... so to speak. Natalie will just lie there like a dead fish. If you are going to pay six figures you better know without a shadow of a doubt that having sex with this gal will be more fun than having sex with a corpse. I, my friends, can give you that guarantee!

Anyway, I probably should run my idea by my baby daddy. I think he will be cool with it. He may want to have some input on the deal so I might put him in charge of the screening process. He always says I deserve the best, so I'm confident he will make the right choice for me. Of course that "right choice" might end up with a vagina, so maybe I'll have to rethink that whole screening process after all. At the very least this deal will lift some of the financial burden that I bestow upon him, so that's a definite plus. See how I tend to look out for the best interest of others? That's how I roll.

There will be one stipulation to this deal, however. I don't DO The Bunny Ranch, so we will have to carry this deal out in a tropical location. Preferably in our own 5,000+ sq ft bungalow with a 24 hour butler to cater to our every need. You also need to bring an ipod loaded with really classy romantic music like F**K you like an animal, Do Me, Drop it like it's hot, smack that, Lollipop etc. That will ensure that you get your money's worth fo real.

Okay, with all that said do I have any takers?????

*crickets* *crickets* *crickets*

Anyone? Hello?

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The Eagles ROCK!!

I went to The Eagles concert last night and it was pretty fun. Here are some things that I learned during this experience.



1. Look, I'm no dummy. This whole elongation effect you've got going on isn't tricking me to thinking that I'm getting a shit load of margarita at this concert event. I'm buying it because I'm desperate for a drink and I'm willing to pay $13 bucks for this because it's GOOD!

2. Don Henley is still somewhat hot even though he's 173 years old.

3. There are alot of old people that dig The Eagles... I like old people with the exception of the loud dipshit sitting behind me that was yelling WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOO HO HO HOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAH after every song. He could switch up his hootin and hollerin, but no. It's the same fing thing after every song.. It was quite annoying even after 3 margaritas.

4. I'm way too tall for arena seating. I'm not Jolly Green Giant or anything, but I was compacted into my seat like a freaking sardine. Not comfy.

5. The Eagles ROCKED out with their dentures out! Seriously they are great live. . .

6. My ass gets numb after sitting on it for 3 hours straight.

7. The Eagles will tease you to the point where you want to hurt them. Just when you think you are about to be able to stand up, leave and get circulation back into your ass, they will come back on stage for an encore.

8. They will leave again and you will get excited, text your hubby and have him begin to prepare pizza so that you can eat it when you get home... but wait!! FUUUUUUUCK! Here they come again.. for yet another encore. The stamina these men have is amazing ;)

9. Your husband will text you back saying "No shit, they have 700 years of material to sing. Of course you will be there forever"

10. You are lucky that your husband stayed up until almost 2:00 to make you a homemade pizza. Or was in sabotage on his part because of our bet???? Hmm

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Oh It's On Now...

Well, I can now see the light at the end of the tunnel with my $200 plant bet. They are still alive and kicking by the way and I can't foresee them killing over within the next 2 weeks so that must mean it's time to whip up a new bet.


I figure I could stand to lose a few pounds and even though I'm pretty sure Brent thinks he's perfect, he agreed to a weight loss bet. At first I said that whomever lost the most weight would win but then I had to rethink that a bit, and now it will be the person with the greatest percentage of weight loss overall in a 2 month period.

We are still working out the kinks to what the winner will be receiving. My first choice was that the winner would take the loser on a trip to Tahiti next summer, but I got this as a reply "Like I want to sit my ass on a plane for 15 hours."

Fine.. Sounded like a good deal to me, but whatever. "Okay, how about 100 bucks per pound lost?" I asked

(Brent looks blankly for a minute or two and then asks..) Wait a minute, do you have any clothes in your closet that are currently too small?

"Nope." I said

"So what this really means is that this little bet is also going to require a completely new wardrobe overhaul for you in addition to $100 per pound?" He asked without fully thinking of the health benefits that are involved in this process...

"Wow, didn't even think about that..." acting stupid..... ;)

So it's on. He's on board and is already talking smack like he's got it in the bag. He just came into the room and grabbed his tennis shoes and stated that he was going to the gym. But first he was very polite and asked me if I wanted any ice cream before he left.. That was an hour ago. Apparently he really needed his shoes to walk his butt to his office and sit in the chair that is ironically in front of his computer.

This is going to be like taking candy from a baby!! See below for our beginning stats on this fine day 9-14-08. We will have weekly weigh ins and I'll also update on what the winning prize will be once we decide on one.

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An Open Letter To My Hairstylist

Dear Cathe,

I wanted to write to you to tell you that after our little rendezvous at the salon today, I now hope you end up with a severe case of hemorrhoids. What part of "I would like you to put some low lights in to add some dimension" did you not understand?!?! Oh, so this is what you really heard? "wah wah, wah waaah waaa waaah waa waaah waaah."

I now look like I'm a brunette with a few blonde highlights! Frankly I'm a little fucking pissed off right now! I don't DO brunette! Furthermore, I brought in a rather LARGE picture of the haircut that I wanted my hair to resemble. It was nothing outlandish or something that you couldn't achieve with my hair. All I wanted was to have my bangs cut to look like this...

But you apparently didn't see the same picture that I brought in. What YOU saw was This!

Thanks a fucking lot you ahole! Now I'm going to be forced to walk around looking like a complete douche until it grows back out! I know I know.. You were under the impression that I was happy with both my highlights AND my cut by what I verbalized and due to the fact that I tipped you well. Very well, actually. I think I really felt sorry for you because I was secretly imagining all of the horrible things I wanted to do to you.

I was so distraught about my hair that I had to place a little call to my husband as I was driving home. I began to yell obscenities at him because in the end this was all HIS fault. You see, I had the perfect hair stylist back home in Virginia. I knew that finding another woman that could fulfill my needs like Casey did would be hard shoes to fill. I thought I had a good idea when I mentioned to Brent that I could fly back to Richmond every 6-8 weeks to have my hair done, but he thought that was sort of a ridiculous idea. This comes from a guy that goes to Hair Cuttery for Christ's sake. He doesn't really GET the seriousness of the issue at hand.

Then I had the bright idea to go to Target on the way home in the driving rain so that I could buy a case of Mike's hard lemonade to drown my sorrows in. Then I was overcome by this major magnetic pull to the frozen section and I was forced to stare down the very thing that I'm currently in "rehab" for. . .

PHISH FOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've been doing so well. I haven't had any ice cream since my rehab post but you, Cathe, made me fall off the damn wagon. I'm so distraught over my hair that I stood in the fucking ice cream aisle for 5 minutes and went back and forth in my mind on whether or not I was going to bring home my favorite ice cream...

Me- sweet Jesus, do I really want to do this... Very slippery slope you are treading here Candice....

CF (chocolate fish in the phish food ice cream) Oh My Gawd!! It's Candice!! Hey girl, where you been? Watchoo doin?

Me- contemplating bringing you home for some fun at my place. I know I shouldn't though. That's not going to solve anything.

CF- Oooh girl, we have missed swimming around in yo digestive tract. Dont you remember how much fun we had together? How good we tasted?

Me- How big you made my ass? Things are different. They have changed and I'm better now. I'm at a point in my recovery where I can resist your temptation.

CF- No doubt things have changed! What the hell happened to your hair?

Me- Alright, get your asses in the cart! And bring your friend Chunky Monkey, and Cookie Dough. Now move before I change my mind!!!!

So there you have it. How does that make you feel, Cathe? You've ruined my life you skank! At least for another few weeks until my bangs are a more appropriate length. You've seen the last of my ass woman! I'm moving on. I'm done with you. Now what?!?!

Now I'm going to go and deal with my depression the best way I know how. . . Booze and ice cream.

By the way, I still hope you get a serious case of hemorrhoids.

Love,

Candice

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My Unofficial Rant Of The Day..

I realize that my rant is pretty minor in the grand scheme of things, and many other people have much more serious issues to deal with...

BUT.....

I'm pissed off right now. Why is that, you ask ?

Imagine me awaking from my slumber after working last night. So far so good. I'm slightly hungry so I slowly walk my happy ass to the pantry to look for something that I might consider eating. Hmm, how about cereal? Sure, cereal is cool. Let's do that.. I pass over the Rice Krispies and Honey Combs and go for something my Grandfather would probably choose if he were still alive. Raisin Bran. Yummy! Pour a ginormous bowl and at this point I begin to salivate slightly. I get my spoon in preparation of stuffing my face with it. I do a little jig over to the fridge to get some milk and that's when my good mood turned to feces.

SON OF A BITCH!!

You guessed it.. No effing milk. There is nothing worse than wanting to eat something so badly and then realizing that you can't because a key ingredient is missing. Sure there are other things to eat, but I want my damn raisin bran!

I will now sit here and pout like a 4 year old until I get milk for my effing cereal! I will go on a damn hunger strike if I have to. (probably not a bad idea actually)

I will also blame the lack of milk in the house on Brent since he's the only one here. He knew the damn milk was gone..finito..non-existant!

Oh wait, what's this?

"Are you seriously having milk rage right now?" he asks

I think he enjoys having his testicles connected to his body because my answer yielded action on his part. I should have milk within the next 15 minutes.

Rant over...

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In The Halloween Spirit

For the past few days the cooler weather and overcast days have really put me in the mood for fall. More specifically, Halloween. It's one of my favorite times of the year because I can actually dress my daughter up. You know, fix the hair and apply a bit of make up while getting minimal amounts of grief. The down side is staying away from the loot that the kiddos bring home. I've actually perfected the art of buying shitty candy that I don't like in order to hand out to the trick or treaters to ensure minimal consumption on my part.

How about we take a trip down Halloween memory lane. . .




Here is Taylor as a 2 month old pumpkin. She looks happy about being a vegetable (or fruit botanically speaking...)




Here she is one year later as Pooh Bear. Yes, if you look closely you will notice that I in fact threw her in red sweats and put her winter hat and gloves on. Let's not forget the cute little eyeliner whiskers. Yes, I'm aware that Pooh Bear typically is somewhat lacking in whiskers. However, I thought it was cute!


The next year we had to go with the standard ladybug costume..






Brought back the eyeliner nose and whiskers in 2002 baby! Clearly one of the most beautiful spotted leopards that I've ever seen. ;)



Hey, look what we have here.. Enter kid number 2. I apparently have a thing for babies in pumpkin suits. Taylor was a "good witch".



Aidan appears to be dressing up as a clinically depressed amphibian this year.





Nothing a little sucker laced with Xanax can't cure.



Oh yes.. I have fond memories of this Halloween. Aidan refused to wear his costume but still wanted to go and get candy. So we compromised. He wore regular clothes and I drew a moustache and goatee on his face with black eyeliner and he went as "a man".



Aidan still has lots of testosterone judging by the "facial hair" again this year. Why I thought a Thomas the Train conductor needed facial hair I will never know... (I'm really obsessed with drawing on my kids faces...)



Taylor decided on something a bit more masculine this particular year..



I definitely can't leave out a picture of the family pet. Bailey the dog was stoked to go as Yoda.. "Hmmm, schlong in the force I am"

And Last but not least is Aidan in 2007 as Spider man back before he knew how to use his web fingers. Looks as though he's just trying to flip me off. Unfortunately I was unable to get a picture of Taylor. she wasn't feeling too photogenic last Halloween if I remember correctly.





This year Aidan plans on going as Darth Vader and Taylor is looking forward to wrapping herself in massive amounts of gauze and a sheet and going as some type of mummy/ghost combo. Should be interesting..


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Moments I'd like To forget Part Trois

Oooooooh Daaaaaad.. Thought you were going to get away unscathed did you? Think again. Actually, I think you will enjoy reading about this since you were way too drunk to remember all of the details anyway. Pull up a chair and reminisce with me, shall you.

Remember that time we were in Church (in the very first pew in clear ear shot of the mean Priest Ivan Drago) and Kristie passed out probably due to excessive use of alcohol the night before? No? You don't recall that time? I do. It was like the 5th time we went to kneel down after standing for 20 minutes straight and apparently the Catholic aerobics proved to be too much for Kristie and she passed out and promptly fell on the landing gear. Landing gear is the what I like to call the thingamabob we were kneeling on because I have no idea what the hell it's really called other than a torture device. Anyway, poor Kristie was lying there all pale and flopping around like a little fish out of water. You then completely freak out and begin to say things that probably made mean priest very angry at you... And I quote "Hey KrisCandice (talking to me. I go by KrisCandice because my Dad can never remember my name.) GET OFF THE GOD DAMNED PEW!"

So imagine this. Sister is passed out and flopping around partly underneath the landing gear. *me holding back laughter because it was funny* Dad is freaking out trying to get sister up off the floor, but landing gear is stuck not because I am kneeling on it but because my DAD is. *I continue to laugh because it's still funny* Dad then proceeds to make a fool out of himself (really ME because at the time I was a teenager and everything was about ME wasn't it?) by saying God Damned pew in church in front of everyone including the mean priest that I KNOW was the devil himself. *Oh shit, that's not funny*Just an aside, if I go to hell it's totally going to be that mean priest's fault because there was no way I was going to get into a dark closet with a guy that looked like this to confess my sins...

Moving on..


The next truly embarrassing moment was during a drunken trip to Mexico. I'm fairly certain this was our first day there. Mere hours after we got to our resort. You decide to continue what you started on the plane, but you took it to the beach. Bahama mama after Bahama mama was consumed and you began to loudly sing Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon. Did I mention that you were LOUDLY singing? Complete with the obnoxious hoooooowl and all? Kristie and I tried to escape you by moving our things and relocating to a different part of the beach but you kept finding us. Once the howling got old you then decided to show off your exquisite Spanish speaking abilities. Unfortunately the only Spanish you know is "Thanks be to God" and "This is the word of the Lord" and other random scripture that you had tucked away in your pickled little brain from all of our church services that just so happened to be held in English and Spanish..

So that, my friends, is how you clear a beach in a hurry. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure the Mexican staff all ran in opposite directions of your presence for fear that the heavens were going to part and they would all be struck by lightning. Thank Goodness you eventually had one too many and passed out. Here you are in all of your drunken glory before...





And here you are after one too many all sprawled out in the lounge chair looking like the dead dude from Weekend at Bernies.




It's really unfortunate for you that you were passed out and missed scoping out that prime set of ass to your immediate left...


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How To Be Annoying 9 Yr Old Style

First just in case you have really bad eyesight or you just so happen to be a perv, I want to point out that what you are looking at is not a sex toy. It's a recorder! You know, the annoying little instrument that kids begin playing in the 4th grade. Every single time this thing is blown into it makes this shrill noise that makes me wish I were hearing impaired just briefly.. or at least until the noise stops.

Taylor of course thinks she's the next Kenny G



MAYBE even....



Damn, he's kind of sexy in the I look like a chick with a stache kind of way... Anyway, I really need to be a little more equal opportunity in my musical prodigy selections so here is a female to add to the mix.



Damnit! She played skin flute not recorder... My bad

At any rate, I think I will stop at the store today for some earplugs before I go insane!!

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One Week To Go

So as some of you may know I'm a relatively new nurse that has been working in the ER for a little over a year. I was a SAHM prior to that. Like some glutton for punishment, I decided that I would go back to school (yet again) to become a nurse. My children were growing up and I ASSumed it would be a good idea to become gainfully employed once they were both off at school. Not to mention, if Brent got hit by a bus I needed a way to have my needs met. A girl can continue to shop, get her facials, massages, naaaails did, and have her highlights touched up bi-monthly for only so long on a life insurance payout even if it is a hefty one. Not only that, I suppose there will be bills to pay, right?

So that's where this whole job thing came into play. It was fun while it lasted, but now I think it's time to reevaluate things a bit.

ER- Hey sexy, why the long face?

Me- Because I'm stuck here with you. In this bad fluorescent lighting, with all of these people.

ER- But you are changing lives.

Me- Bullshit! I'm a glorified ass wiping waitress with the ability to access veins and push drugs!

ER- But I love you.

Me- I think we need some time apart..

ER- Aww hell no! Please, what are you saying?!?!

Me- I want to go PRN. Being gainfully employed BLOWS ASS worse than Mr. XYZ (HIPPA people!!)in room 12. I need to spend more time at home so that I can be there for my children.. You know, how I used to be.

ER- But both kids are in school now.

Me- Bite me!

Going PRN will allow me to work much less and make my own damn schedule. So starting next week instead of working 36 hours a week, I will only be obligated to work 48 hours a month. SWEET! I will say that I didn't come right out and tell Mr. Brently that I wanted to up and quit. It took some finessing on my part.

Me- Hey you.. Watcha dooooin?

B- (On conference call with 4 different Indian men with HEAVY accents that go by the name Alex, Bob, Michael and Perdeep *one of these things is nooot like the other*.. mute button activated) Trying to work as usual. What's up?

Me- Aren't you tired of getting up with the kids foolishly early to make sure they are at the bus on time? I bet you're growing weary of me making comments about their outfits that I couldn't believe you let them be seen in public in. What about all of the slack you've had to pick up since I started working nights and consequently ended up sleeping all day like some type of nocturnal beast?

B- (figuring I was going somewhere with this conversation. He cleverly asks...) What's your point?

Me-Weeeeellll, I realize that you just paid off those pesky little student loans for my nursing degree that I have been putting to good use for less than a year, but I was thinking that maybe cutting my hours back to, Oh, NONE would be a good idea.

B- Jesus... Well, it's not like you're going to have anything to do. Won't you get bored with the kids gone? No babies to take care of, etc?

Me- We can work on that if you'd like.

B- How about we get a new dog instead?

You see what I did right? It was pretty subtle, so maybe you missed it. I went straight for the jugular. I stated that I wanted to quit knowing that I could be persuaded to work less hours while still appearing to have a shred of motivation to contribute to (my bank account) the greater good of the family.

Learn from it!

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RIP Tupac 9-06-08

Well, the unthinkable finally happened today. Taylor's last remaining sole surviving fish went belly up. The fish in question was actually named "Blackie". My kids are somewhat lacking in creativity as they can never really give their animals, stuffed or otherwise, decent names. For example, my son has a few frog stuffed animals that he named Froggy (nice), Froggy Big Eyes (he's a frog that oddly enough has big eyes), and Green Frog (guess what color this frog is). Taylor has the same gift for naming her animals. Blackie was indeed a black fish that I ended up nick naming Tupac because the damn thing wouldn't die.
Well, the real Tupac is indeed dead now, but he was shot on like 932 different occasions before one "took". Anyway, Taylor USED to have 2 gold fish in addition to Tupac but I killed them the last time I cleaned the fish tank. Too much bleach I guess. Whoops....

I thought for sure Blackie was a goner after the other fish killed over. In fact I was going to bid him adieu by flushing him down the toilet because he appeared to be floating on his back. However, when I came back into the room with my trusty fish net he appeared to be ALIVE!!! It was a freaking miracle!! Shocked, I put my net away and watched the little guy make a full recovery. He also got the nick name Tupac at that time. Taylor was so excited about her fish making a comeback that she could hardly contain her excitement.

"Great, so I guess I can't get a turtle now?" She asked "Nope" I answered back

Taylor was so grief stricken she wanted me to write up a little obituary for her beloved fish so here goes nothing.

Tupac (blackie) the black fish died of natural causes on 9-6-08 in Dallas Texas. Then again, we can not rule out intentional death by starvation due to the fact that the 8 yr old owner REALLY wanted a turtle.

Tupac was born in Richmond Virginia and survived the great road trip by being sloshed around in Brent's truck when we moved from Richmond and stopped off in NC, Louisiana, and finally settled here in Dallas Tx. Always a fighter, Tupac would bully the other gold fish in the tank and eat their food. Probably because he was half starved to death, then again, he was pretty gangsta.. He also managed to survive random items being tossed into the fish tank that were NOT fish tank approved.

Tupac was always one to show his strength and tenacity and sheer will to live. One prime example was when he survived the great tank cleaning bleach out that totally took out his other tank buddies Goldie 1 and Goldie 2.

Unfortunately Tupac grew weary and then succumbed to whatever the hell it was that finally took him out. Tupac is survived by no one unless you count the algae that currently resides in the fish tank.

Farewell Tupac (Blackie)... You will apparently (not) be missed as Taylor never really wanted you in the first place. She's moving on to reptiles, homie, or so she thinks. I, for one will be so excited to never have to clean your stagnant smelling fish tank again. Anyway, say hello to Big Poppa for us. Wave your fins in the airrrr if yous a true playa!

Peace out!

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Shit Work

I briefly mentioned in my last post how I loathe getting gas, and by saying that I'm not talking about the flatulent kind. Well, I guess the flatulent kind would apply, but I'm really talking about the kind that costs 50 bucks a gallon. I consider that shit work. You see, I have a running list of things that I will not do, or at the very least not do often. These items on my shit work list then get handed down to my husband who does them with a smile, or something like that. . .

Now, for those that care.

My shit work list

1. Putting gas in my vehicle (already went over that one.. dead horse beaten)

2. I don't particularly care to load the dishwasher so that was delegated to Brent a long time ago. Actually I used to do it, but I noticed that he would come after me and rearrange things. I began to get slightly annoyed with the fact that he could apparently fit 99% of the contents in our cabinets in one load and all I could manage to fit in there were 5 plates, 3 forks, 2 spoons and a bowl. Congratulations Brent. You are the winner of loading the dishwasher every day for the rest of your life.

3. I also don't pack suitcases for the same reason as above. I pick out all of my clothes, his clothes and our kids clothes and he packs everything in one mini duffel bag as though he's some kind of freaky magician. He's got this uncanny ability to fold things in such a way so that everything fits in about 4 less suitcases than it would have taken had I done the packing. It typically takes one large suitcase for my shoes alone if that gives you any idea of where I'm going here.

4. I don't mop the hardwood floors any longer. I used to, but it was pointed out to me that when you have hand scraped hardwood floors that you must mop WITH the grain of the wood. I then told him he could kiss my ass with "the grain" and POOF!!! That job forever became his as well.

5. Cleaning the litter box. Don't do that either. Shit work literally at that point. You see, back when we got our gatos I was pregnant. I couldn't possibly expose our precious unborn child to the threat of toxoplasmosis could I? "I can't help but notice that you haven't been pregnant for 5 plus years" he points out. "True dat" I replied. I actually read a study that the CDC put out recently that states if you even plan on getting pregnant at any point in the future you should stay at least 15 feet away from the litter box at all times. The protozoan toxoplasmo gondii can be inhaled and stored in your blood stream for years and be lethal to any future fetus. Actually that was a total ass yank on my part, but it sounds pretty scary. At any rate I keep my distance from the litter box so Brent gets to enjoy that lovely task as well. Sometimes he falls down on the job and my cats give me grief about it. It goes a little something like this.

Cat 1: What up girl? How you doin?

Me: Hangin. What's up with you?

Cat 2: Let me handle this cat 1. Yo, have you seen our shit box lately?

Me: I don't go within 15 ft of your shit box, so no.

Cat 2: Well that shit be wack, yo. That man over there be neglectin his duties. I jumped in my shit box earlier and 'bout broke my ankles, son. That jonk be like concrete! I ain't even gonna mention the turd land mines that I had to dodge!

Cat 1: Word, it is gettin pretty bad. What the hell is the dealio? This shit is some tomfoolery!

Me: Hey, you said tomfoolery. That's one of my favorite words! :)

Cat 1: No sheeit? Word up white sista!

Cat 2: Yo Yo, lets bring this shit back to the topic at paw/hand fo realz. You tell that man that he has 2 hours to clean our shit box or we will bust a cap in his ass!

Me: But you don't have opposable thumbs not to mention we don't have firearms or caps to bust in his ass.

Cat 1: 2 hours biotch! You got 2 hours. We will suffocate yo ass in yo sleep B. Know dat!

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Now to be fair there are plenty of things that I do that Brent does not. He's got his own shit work list. He doesn't do laundry (Thank God) He doesn't wash his own vehicle. In fact I tend to wash it because that's how I roll and I do a damn good job. He used to mow our lawn, now Jose and his 5 closest friends come once a week to knock that out for him. He states his allergies bother him when he does yard work. (Hmm, that would have been a good excuse for the litter box!) He used to cook quite a bit but that has fallen to the wayside. Maybe he's developing Rheumatoid Arthritis, or perhaps he's forgotton how to use his hands. He also doesn't clean bathrooms. That task is left to me. He basically doesn't do any kind of cleaning that Corky from Life Goes On couldn't do. He tends to not do as thorough of a job as I do so it's really better that way.

Where I'm going with all of this is that you shouldn't feel sorry for him because he does some of my shit work. I end up with plenty of his. So that's pretty much the moral of this story.

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Note To Self

1. When your low fuel light comes on that means you are in fact, low on fuel.

2. When the digital read out on the dashboard also says in caps LOW ON FUEL That tends to be a pretty good indicator that putting gas in the vehicle is a decent idea.

3. Driving for 3 days after the above happens... Not a good idea

4. Be more proactive about delegating your shit work to your husband. Getting gas in the car is definitely shit work.

5. Blame husband for unfortunate incident where you embarrassingly ran out of gas yesterday.

6. No really, really make him pay for the fact that YOU ran out of gas and were stranded on the side of the road with no makeup on (not even mascara! Oh the horror!!)because you were driving home from your nice and relaxing facial. It's HIS fault because he never went to put gas in your car when you asked him so nicely 2 days before.

7. Kick husband in the nuts 5 times for pointing out the obvious by stating "Um, customarily when the LOW FUEL light comes on that means you NEED GAS!"

8. Be a little less peeved that husbands rescue effort took 45 minutes. Wouldn't have been so bad if I weren't being gawked at by the construction workers in the random parking lot that I was able to coast into. Not one of those aholes asked if I needed help. I thought by having boobs that was automatically a given?? Must have been the no makeup thing..

9. Keep composure when your 5 and 8 year old make random comments about how if I would have just stopped to get gas when the light came on then this wouldn't have happened.

10. Rethink your stance on child abuse.

Moments I Would Like To Forget Part Deux (Mom Edition)

So I have done some navigating through the recesses of my mind (didn't take long) to try and remember the things my mother may have said or done to make me wish I didn't exist.



The good news is that I'm not even going to elaborate on my disdain for permed hair due to the fact that my mom made me sport the above look, oh, for roughly half of my childhood. Thank God I grew taller than my mother at a young age and was able to threaten a good ass whoopin if she ever thought it would be a good idea to send me on my way for a perm again. Just as an aside, the lovely woman in the picture who also appears to be pissed off that she has a bad hair do is not me. I simply got bored looking for a blonde kid with a fro so this is what you get.

I'm also not going to spend much time on the incident where my mother went totally ape shit when me and my boyfriend came back home from the grocery store with the wrong type of ground meat. We got ground chuck just in case you were wondering... I didn't think it would be wise to tell Mommy Dearest that ground round wasn't the type of meat on my mind at that point in time for fear that her head would make a 360 degree turn and she would begin to spew green shit all over the house.


However, I will elaborate on the time I wanted to choke the very life out of my mom. It was back when I was 20 or so and was stationed in Ft. Gordon. Yes, I was in the Army. That will be a post for another day... Anyway, you know those lovely class B uniforms that the Army folks like to wear for important events and pictures? I had to wear one of those and take pictures in them. Imagine my horror when I realized I had to not only wear this horrible outfit, but take pictures in them that would forever capture my douchebag moment in time. The outfit itself wouldn't have been THAT bad, but the cheesy green fry cap was a bit too much for me.

"Wait, we actually have to wear this hat?" I asked

I didn't recall signing up for that shit! It was at that moment I wished I had gone into the Navy. Then I remembered that I get motion sickness fairly easy and that the boys would be wearing bell bottoms and then I decided to put my fry cap on and smile for the camera.

Anyway, on to my humiliating story. So I take the stupid picture and they came out HORRIBLY!! I wanted to throw them all in the trash. I looked like a damn dude with no makeup on as I donned this stupid ass green fry cap. You could also clearly tell that my smile was not genuine. It was more like a yeah I'm sitting here looking like a complete tool... Take the damn picture already you ahole smile.

How in the hell my mom talked me into mailing her the pictures while I was away is still beyond me. I told her I would kill her if she showed anyone and she promised me she wouldn't. SHE PROMISED!!! What kind of stunt did she pull to make me want to do things that even the Menendez brothers would have been horrified about? Well, I'll tell you.. She published the damn picture in the friggin newspaper of our home town! Everyone saw it. All three thousand of them. ;) Not only did she do that but she also thought it would be a good idea to mail me the article.

"But I think it's a GREAT picture Candice. Everyone else does too!"

"What the beep are you talking abeepingbout?!?! I look like a beep damned fool in that motherbeeping hat. I also don't have any beeping makeup on my beeping face! I knew I shouldn't have sent you those damn pictures. Now everyone will know what a beeping fool I look like. Oh MY GOD! I can't believe you! I'm never speaking to you again! IN THE BEEPING NEWSPAPER!?!?! Are you beeping kidding me?!? Son of a beep! You beeping promised! I look like a beeping DUDE! I'm going to kill you! You will beeping regret this someday!! You should be beeping glad that I'm all the beeping way over here right now. I want to hop on a beep beeep beeeeeeeep beeping plane right now and kick your beeping ass!"

Suffice it to say it wasn't a pretty situation and I actually think that I single handedly made up new curse words that day. I probably should have gone into the Navy because I was totally cursing like a sailor. Then again, what's new?



Here I am in the offending outfit (surrounded by a bunch of high class individuals it seems) with a similar smile, but with more feeling. The hat isn't involved so it's all good in the hood.

So in the end I really am the winner as I recently posted a picture of my mother wearing a muumuu for the whole free world to see if they are so inclined. Suck on that!

Tip Of The Day

Here is the lesson that my son learned today. When your boxer briefs are LONGER than the shorts you are wearing, that is what we like to call fashion faux pas around these parts. Never mind that he actually is sporting the Teen Titans long sleeved shirt in the middle of summer with a completely different theme for his shorts. I've been working on that angle. Obviously that has fallen on deaf ears.

Speaking of the grape smuggling (biker) shorts, I'm uncertain as to what drawer her pulled those toddler sized "diego" PJ shorts from but needless to say they no longer fit so they found their way to the el trasho. Lo siento Senor Diego, but I couldn't take the chance that he would walk outside and be seen by a passerby. He would live in his PJ's if I let him so it's definitely a possibility. After all, I've got a mini Hugh Hefner here.

Moments We Would Rather Forget.. Or Would We?

It's funny the things you remember when you're gathered with family. Random memories that were buried deep deep down come to surface again by choice or because someone decided to point out how stupid you were. At either rate I think I will share a few of them with you.

I'm sure I did things growing up to completely embarrass my family weekly if not daily. That's just how I roll, yo. I really need to specifically ask my parents if any come to mind. It would be interesting to see what they have to say, however I know 3 off the top of my head for sure that would make their short list. Here they are in no particular order.

1) I couldn't even hold it together during my own wedding. I'm going to go ahead and blame this one on my sister. One glimpse over at her (My effing bridesmaid people!) and I noticed that she was about to lose it so of course I had to join in on the fun. I wish I could say that I was just laughing at nothing but the truth is the alcoholic minister that smelled like he just came to the church from a 10 day smokeathon was the real culprit. To put it nicely he was a real wack job. "Now Caaaaaandice" he said in his raspy preacher man tone... "YOUR RING is smaller than Brent's." Hmm, this guy's a real Sherlock Holmes, I thought... "BUT!!!!! Brent's ring doesn't HOOOOOOOOOOOOLD anymore Love." Yes, it was right around that time I began to laugh so hard that even a person with iron clad pelvic-floor muscles would have had a hard time keeping urine flow at bay. I was not just chuckling, but full out tears streaming down my face, can't breathe except to snort, about to piss myself type of laughter. I could hear my dad in the front row hissing at my sister "Psst.. Kristie! KRISTIE! HEY!! You better cut it out girl!" Oh the best part is that you can hear it in the wedding tape. Brilliant! Nobody but my sister and I were laughing. Not even my best friend Nakia.. She was actually looking at me in horror. I think Brent's family were horrified as well. Who gives a shit man, I had an awesome time. The true gift is that I've got it on video and I laugh just as hard now when I watch it than I did that day.

2) So yeah, you can't take me anywhere. In the above photo I seem to be groping an inanimate object in the middle of a beach in Mexico, that I kindly refer to as Scuba Steve. It would be alot funnier if my Dad hadn't screwed up the picture by getting in the way of Steve's "okay!" hand gesture. Now he just looks like he was involved in some type of accident that unfortunatley took off a couple of fingers. Probably a boating accident if I were guessing. . . the I thought Steve was Hawt by the way. . .

3) Last but not least it was always a gamble to take me to church on Ash Wednesday. I grew up in a Catholic household just in case you are wondering. We just so happened to sit in the very first pew every Sunday. I had a clear visual of the scary priest that reminded me alot of the big mean Russian guy that Rocky fought (Ivan Drago.. Thanks google!!) in Rocky 4. So along comes Ash Wednesday, the day that SHOULD begin a period of sober reflection, self-examination, and spiritual redirection. Instead for me, it was the day when my brother, sister and I would sit in the front pew and laugh our asses off at people with huge ash crosses on their foreheads. I know, it's not funny! But trust me, it was!! That priest was SO not stingy with the ashes. He especially liked to lay it on thick for all the folks with large chrome domes. Sure, I had some ash too, but I sported bangs so that they couldn't be seen! Hell yeah! Ain't nobody gonna laugh at me!! So again, lots of OMG I'm about to pee myself laughter while this mean priest was giving me a go to hell look. My parents were giving me the same look, but it was hard to take them serious when they looked like they just got finished finger painting one another with soot.

I was going to continue this post by telling you the things my parents did/still do to embarrass me, but that will have to wait for another day. Until then you can view the muumuu picture below for a quick visual!

Hurricane Party

As you may have heard there is a hurricane slamming into Louisiana as I type this. Thanks to Gustav, I've ended up with 8 of my favorite family of refugees to stay with us until the storm blows over.

Luckily I didn't grow up in a lame family with a bunch of kill joys, so I knew that we would have to take this opportunity to party down and eat until we want to puke, and that is what I did folks. I'm not sure exactly how much fried shrimp, french fries, strawberry daiquiris' and Smirnoff the human stomach can contain prior to blowing up, but I know that I came dangerously close to finding out. I also know that my 2 hour gym sweat session in preparation for my "event" last night did absolutely jack nor shit as my intake grossly outweighed any calories that I may have burned. Oh well, I tried. . .

As I continue to spend these precious moments with my family, I want to clue you in on some things that I have learned.

I will ALWAYS make fun of anyone who steps into my abode and happens to don a muumuu. Not cool. Another thing that I've learned is that my mother is going senile. She actually asked me if I wanted her to purchase one for me. She can get even get one in my size but WAIT there's more! They are also apparently very comfortable as well... "I'll pass." I said very quickly.

I've also become increasingly aware of where all of my maturity issues stem from. Thanks Batman, er, Dad.

You're never too old to toss back a drink or two as my almost 90 yr old Grandmother can attest to. She also looks like she may crap herself, but have no fear as I'm a nurse and I know exactly what to do.

I've also learned that Aidan will take any chance he can to photo bomb his sister and his cousins' photo opportunities. His sister will then whine and throw a fit about it, and then Aidan will beg me for a new sibling so that he too will have someone to be in photos with. "It's got to be a baby brother though!" he points out. I'll get right on that.

I've also come to the conclusion that I'm not as young as I used to be. One too many of these...

Plus WAYYYYYYY too much of this kind of fried goodness

EQUALS.... increased odds of acting a damn fool and ending up with a really early bedtime because of it.

Tonight's agenda is round two with lots of shrimp gumbo on the menu. We even have a new guest coming for dinner. Jack Daniels... Oh, and in case you are wondering we do partake in a drink or two in front of the kids, but don't worry about them. We've told them that if they ever drink an alcoholic beverage before the age of 25 it will kill them instantly.