Subway-- Would you like flies with that?

Let's just cut to the chase shall we? I had a dr's appointment this morning that required me to fast for some lab work. Fasting sucks. Not being able to eat past midnight sucks too. Especially since I'm a night owl and I don't eat much during daylight hours. Not getting to eat breakfast blows as well, but I did what I had to do for the sake of following dr's orders because that's how I roll.

So on my drive home from my appointment I contemplate what I want to eat. "Hmm, Subway sounds good" I think to myself, so I pull in and prepare myself for the enjoyment of the 6 incher I was about to receive. There was a line of people who were also looking forward to enjoying their 6 inchers. The lady in front of me was lucky enough to be getting the footlong. Biatch! Anyway, so it's finally my turn and I order a 6 inch black forrest ham on wheat with no cheese. Maria who had a really thick Mexican accent was unable to determine if I wanted WHEAT or WHITE. So after the 4th time of verbalizing what I wanted I then phonetically spelled it out for her... WhEEEEEEE-TTTTTTTTTTT-UHHHHH. Now we were both on the same page as to what kind of bread I wanted. Moving on. She slapped my meat on my bread and slid it down the assembly line for some other employee to take over. The other employee was busy assembling other sandwiches so I had to wait which was no big deal.

Well, it's wasn't a big deal until I saw a damn fly on my sandwich! It wasn't sitting still like most sedentary/obese flies that you see either. This was a well trained athletic fly in his prime, folks. That sum bitch made the laps on my sandwich and covered every freaking square inch.He touched my meat too! I could basically hear eye of the tiger playing through his tiny little fly ipod earbuds. I sufficiently became grossed out and things began going through my head. I started to ask myself WWJD (What would Jared do?) among other things....

"Do I reach over the wall of plexiglass and shoo it away?"

"Do I tell Maria that I want another sandwich?"

"Do I say F it, buy it and then take it home and give it to the dog?"

Then I decided to poll the customers around me. I tapped on the shoulder of the nice lady that was in front of me.

Pointing to my sandwich with sparky the wonder fly on it "Um, if you noticed THAT on your sandwich, would you ask for another one?"

"Oh my GOD! Absolutely" she said as her eyes widened in disgust.

Okay fine, no need to ask the gentleman behind me what he thinks after getting that kind of reaction. It was at this point Maria grabs my sandwich and gives me the look to let me know that she's ready for me to tell her what toppings I want on my 6 incher. This is how the whole exchange went down.

Me: I'm sorry, but do you think I could get another sandwich? There was a fly practically tap dancing all over that one and I don't think I will be able to eat it after that.

Maria: confused look... she begins to pick off tiny pieces of bread off my sandwich. "Jew want sheese"?

Me: "Uh, no cheese. I just want a new sandwich. There was a FLY on that one."

Maria: Takes cheese off sandwich that I didn't want in the first place. Then proceeds to take one piece of my black forrest ham off.

Gentleman that was behind me: "Ma'am, she wants a WHOLE NEW SANDWICH. There was an INSECT on her food.

Me: turning around at this point because I'm laughing my ass off.

Maria: Picks more bread off my sandwich as though she's about to feed it to a gaggle of geese.

Gentleman that was behind me: NO! TRASH THE SANDWICH. EL TRASH! To de trash!

Me: wiping the tears off my face from laughing so hard.

Lady that was in front of me: "Oh God. I'm SO staying out of this one!"

Maria: "Jew want it toasted?"

Me: "Sweet Jesus..." Gentleman behind me: getting aggravated at this point "Ma'am... there was a FLY on that. You know, bzzzzzzzzzzzzz!" as he said that he was doing little flapping wing motions with his hands. I think I shat myself at that point.

Maria: "Ah, to de trash?" She said as she pointed to my contaminated fly sandwich

Me and the gentleman behind me: YES!

DING DING DING!! We have a winner! I still think Maria has no idea as to why I wanted my sandwich trashed, but that's okay. I will also say that I do feel somewhat guilty for trashing food that some kid in china would have gladly eaten, but I guess that's the way it goes. I'm all for getting in extra protein when I can, and although I don't know the full nutritional breakdown of the fly, I'm guessing that it probably has got some protein in it. However, I've decided that I will continue to get my protein in the more traditional way and it doesn't have jack nor shit to do with sparky the wonder fly!

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Q and A with my 5 year old

I was having a conversation with Aidan and the words testicle and tentacle came into play. I decided to delve in a tad bit deeper to see if he knew the meaning of each. I did this primarily because Taylor embarrassed the living hell out of me as a young child when she practically yelled in public loudly that she detested octopi because of all of their gross testicles. She was scared of them because she didn't want them to wrap their testicles around her. It was a tragic story let me tell you. I wanted to thwart such an event with Aidan, thus the questioning.

Me: Hey, so do you know the meaning of testicle and tentacle?

Aidan: Yeah, I think so. (He said as he walked his fake spider across the kitchen table)

Me: Good. Tell me what a testicle is.

Aidan: It's the little eggs that are in my wiener.





Let me just interrupt this little Q and A session by pointing out that I pride myself on using correct anatomical terminology around this household. Where he got "eggs" and "wiener" at I'm unsure. Rest assured he didn't get that from me. I go around using "nads" and "peen" and "family jewels". (kidding) Therefore the eggs and wiener thing must be Brent's gig.

Me: Eggs and wiener huh?

Aidan: Am I right?

Me: Pretty much. Now, what's a TENTACLE?

Aidan: Those stickers on the octopusses legs and butt?

Me: Close enough. Okay then, thanks for playing.

Aidan: Where's my prize?

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So it's THAT time of the month again

You know, the time of the month where I start freaking out about needing to get my hair highlighted again. You may remember that I was slightly pissed off after my last dye job and I vowed to never return to Cathe again.

http://candiceandco.blogspot.com/2008/09/open-letter-to-my-hairstylist.html

Well, I'm still pissed and I'm still not going back. The only problem is that I haven't found a replacement for Cathe and my plan on flying back to Richmond every 6 weeks to have my hair done has fallen through the cracks. You know, rough economy and all of that bullshit. So now I'm faced with the horror of picking someone out at random and hoping beyond all hope that they don't eff up my fro.

I suppose I could peruse the mall and just walk up to unsuspecting blonde women with good hair and ask them where they get their hair done, but that's sort of stalkerish. Not to mention it's not cost effective as I will find myself in the mall, and there are lots of things I can buy at the mall. So I turned to a local community message board to see who people recommend in my area. Pretty smart huh? Well not so much. Then I remembered that I went that route when I first moved here. I took the advice of several women on this particular message board and found myself walking into what I thought was a salon, but it was really a store that sold a little bit of everything that also had a little beauty shop in the back.

"Oh shit!" was my first thought upon entering the store/salon

and "Please help me God!" was my second thought as I realized that the blonde with 3 inches of dark black roots that was walking towards me was MY hairstylist. She was also about 7 months pregnant and reeked of cig smoke, but I'm not going to dwell on that. Just know that I was mortified. Luckily my hair didn't turn out too badly, but I decided that I wouldn't go back because it wasn't the spa like experience that I was looking for.

Needless to say, I decided that getting advice from women on a message board that I've never seen before probably wasn't a wise idea. I mean, their idea of a good dye job most certainly could differ from mine. For example, they could look like this...

or this...

Or this...

And they could all be getting their hair done at this establishment..

What to do.... what to do...

HELP!!!

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Wal-Mart.. Where the idiots convene

I got the above picture in an email from a friend of mine and I thought it was not only funny but quite accurate as well. I know I've blogged about the joys of shopping in Wal-Mart before. Feel free to check it out if you haven't. http://candiceandco.blogspot.com/2008/08/november-15-2006-i-walked-away.html

So I realize that I said that Wal-Mart is where the idiots convene, and I suppose you think that since I shop there from time to time that I'm also lumped in that group? Well, that's where you are wrong my friend. I am the exception to the rule of course. I'm merely the idiot observer who goes there out of pure convenience since Wally World is less than a mile from my house. Trust me, I would much rather go to Target since it's so upscale and all, but it's about 5 miles from my house. You can see my dilemma. To be honest, I'd rather gnaw off my own foot than go to Wal-Mart. It's not Wal-Mart itself that bugs the shit out of me, it's the onslaught of retards that shop there. They really do hinder my shopping experience. You see, I'm not your typical shopper. I've got my shopping list on an excel spread sheet laid out by the order of the aisles of store that I'm shopping in. Don't worry, I'm not OCD. I just like to get in, get out, and get on with my freaking life. I promise you my being overly organized cuts my shopping time in half if not more. However, this is not the way my trips to Wal-Mart typically go.

Back to the retards. They've completely taken over and it's evident even before I walk into the establishment. Why do I say that? You know the big print above the doors that say ENTER and EXIT? Well, it's apparent that people in these parts have issues with reading and following instructions. So the retards in question jack up the flow of the incoming and outgoing traffic of oversized lard asses with 3 teeth that frequent Wal-Mart (with the exception of myself of course ;). You have no idea how many people I have wanted to totally take out and flatten with my squeaky ass wheel wobbling ghetto shopping cart when I'm trying to flee the store. But noooo I'm face to face with 50 jack asses trying to enter the store through the EXIT door. Yes, I get my panties in a bunch over stupid stuff sometimes. So what? I'm just all for law and order. Read and then follow through. Period! If you don't, you run the risk of me kicking you in the nuts and then beating you to death with my purse. Trust me, I can do mucho damage with that bad boy.

So typically I'm already grumpy at this point because it took 4 1/2 minutes to enter this damn hell hole. Now I have to bob and weave through the aisles assuming I can get around the lazy asses that are plugging up the aisles on their scooters. I'm not talking about the legit handicapped folks either. I'm talking about the 900 lb people that are cruising the snack aisle in a very slow fashion.. but WAIT.. They've spotted the fat laden snack they were looking for and all of the sudden they pop off that scooter like toast and sprint to the box of Ding Dongs as though they were the last box on the planet. At that point I think I'm going crazy because I hear the scooter tires reinflate again and I could have sworn they moaned "thank you GAWD!" However, I can't be sure...

So finally I'm able to maneuver my cart around and get the various things I need plus the cart full of stuff that I didn't need. I flip a coin and try and decide which check out person is going to be the fastest. Of course I suck at this because I always pick the person with one functioning arm, or the person that talks faster than they scan my items, or the person that just took their lunch break and had a sandwich and a joint. Needless to say Grease Lightening they ain't maaaaan. I also love the cashier that feels the need to break the awkward silence by commenting on all of my purchases.

"Are those chips good?" I'm buying them aren't I?

"I love that laundry detergent." Use more. You smell.

"That mouthwash burns my gums." That's because it's trying to kill off the plethora of bacteria hanging out on your 5 1/2 remaining teeth.

"Are those sports bras comfortable?" JESUS!! BAG MY SHIT ALREADY!!

Anyway, I decided to play Wal-Mart Bingo after my lovely experience there today. Here are my results.

Child without shoes - check. How gross is that?

Obese person using scooter- Oh you bet your ass! I saw at least 5. As a matter of fact I think I would pass out and simultaneously shit myself if I went to Wal-Mart and didn't experience obese people on scooters.

Frozen food item left to thaw in random aisle - Yep. Pork near the kitty litter. I hope the lazy ahole that did that is now experiencing a good ol case of genital warts.

Someone oblivious to the fact that they are in my way - Most definitely. She almost had to go to the ER to get the front of my shopping cart dislodged from her ass. Luckily she moved.

Bearded woman - Yeah but she was old so I will cut her some slack.

Unattended crying children - My ears are still ringing from their shrill cries. Of course if I had their parents for guardians then I would be crying as well. These were the same kids that didn't have on shoes if that tells you anything.

Someone with unbearable body odor - My cashier

Until next time.....

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Buying other peoples shit... I'm not above it

As I was driving into my neighborhood on Friday I noticed some community yard sale signs at the entrance of the neighborhood that adjoins ours. Hmm, perhaps I should try and drag my butt out of bed early enough to go and check that out, I thought.

Now the truly amazing thing about that is the fact that I will even consider buying someone elses used crap. You see when I was growing up my mom would go to yard sales and I was absolutely mortified by that. Sometimes she would even drag me along with her and at that point I would imagine that I was absolutely no fun to be around. I have this way of making other peoples lives hell when I'm not happy about something.... Or at least that was how I used to operate back in the day.

Anyway, back to the story. It's not that my mother couldn't afford to buy things new because she did that quite frequently as well. I think that she really enjoyed the thrill of getting something for next to nothing. So we would drive up to some random strangers house in the Cadillac Seville. My mom would then make small talk with the owner of the yard full of crap and then she would do it... She would try and get her collected pile of crap for even cheaper than the sticker price.

"OH MY GOD!" I was screaming to myself. "Just pay the fucking 5 dollars already so we can end this humiliation and go to the Mall! While you're at it, give me the keys so I can go sit and rot in the car while you wander around aimlessly through this gigantic pile of shit."

The very idea of a yard sale was totally beneath me at that time and I made sure everyone around me knew it. My mom might have made me go along with her, but I sure in the shit wasn't going to enjoy it. Then several years passed by and I was pregnant with Taylor and I found myself at GASP... a yard sale. This particular lady had a metric assload of respectable name brand newborn clothing that was brand new. Many things still had tags on them. I remember basically shutting her down at that point. I told her that I would buy just about everything she had assuming she would let me have it all. Yes people, I had hit the motherload. It was at that very moment that I realized what my mother saw in yard saling. You see, I wasn't buying someone elses "crap". I was the smart consumer for not breaking the bank buying overpriced clothing that my baby would puke on, shit on, piss on and grow out of in two weeks.

So let's fast forward to my yard saling experience in my hood. I woke up around 9:30 and thought that I might as well go and check things out. It's been a couple of years since I hit a yard sale. It would be a shame to miss out on one so close.

It didn't take long for me to realize that people that have more money than sense don't know how to properly run a yard sale. Then I thought about the lessons that I would like to give those idiots

#1. Let's think about the majority of customers that you will be attracting to such events. Your main source of revenue at your fing yard sale isn't going to be from people like your neighbors you imbecile! You know, the ones who buy their teenager a brand new powder pink Range Rover and reside in house that costs over a million bucks. We live in Texas you asshole! Think about it. You most likely won't even be able to speak to your customers unless you know Spanish as a second language. Comprende? Price things accordingly. This point leads me to #2.

#2. Do you want to really get rid of your shit or do you want to try and get rich (er) off of this measley yard sale? Price things right and you won't have to pack up all of your crap and put it back in your attic until the next year when you will most likely try and price gouge poor unsuspecting Mexican women AND the pissed off white gal from a few blocks over. Those Limited Too shirts aren't going anywhere for $3 bucks a shot. Trust me. Especially the ones that look all wrinkly and stained. Do you wipe your ass with those shirts or what? I can tell you what you can do with your $3 dollar fugly shirts, and trust me your ass and my foot is involved in the scenario.

#3. Some people should not even bother having a yard sale period. You should be able to step back and realize when all of your crap could just benefit from being doused with lighter fluid and set ablaze. You know when Goodwill tells you "No thanks" that you've got a real steaming pile of shit on your hands and you should be kicked in the nuts for even trying to get a nickel out of someone else for it.

#4. Wow. Please don't sell your "private" reading material at yard sales. I can't believe that's not a damn given. Now everyone knows that you don't know how to please your man. Or maybe he doesn't know how to please you. At any rate it's evident that watching a dog take a dook would be more exciting than being a fly on the wall during your sexual escapades. Here, let me give you your $2.50 and you can keep the damn book. That's just some sympathy change from me to you. . . Maybe that will be enough for some Energizers. I have a feeling you will need them.

So what shall we take from my little lesson? If you were guessing that I didn't have much luck at my community yard sale you would be right. I did not hit the motherload this time. However, I did find a Jodi Picoult book that I wanted to read for a buck and I bought the kids some board games that were brand new for $3 bucks. Oh and I also purchased some fake puke for 25 cents and I took it to work with me last night.

The lady that sold me the fake puke also had a pull my finger gag toy. At first glance it looked like a tiny vibrator and I was shocked that someone would sell that at a yard sale. Then another random woman picked it up and loudly asked " What is this!?" That's how I learned it was a pull my finger toy. Had the lady not asked then I would have left thinking that those particular people were a bunch of fucking freaks. I briefly thought about purchasing the pull my finger toy but I figured the fake puke would get a better reception at work than the pink finger sex toy look alike. As it would work out, I think the pull my finger toy would have been the better choice as nobody even flinched at my fake puke.
























Go figure....

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How about a hypothetical scenario?

A nurse is hard at work one night in the ER. Let's call her nurse Leigh. She's actually having a decent shift that night. There isn't any shit hitting the fan literally or figuratively. Things are moving along nicely. Patients are happy and life is good. Then it happens. . . . Nurse Leigh gets a new patient that changes everything! After all it only takes one to sufficiently ruin the whole shift. This particular patient had "chronic pain" and a variety of other ailments that require her to have a pain management Dr.

"Well fuuuccck me in the ass" nurse Leigh thinks quietly to herself as she glances at the chart. Actually ANY nurse that has had certain experience with "chronic pain" patients would have the same exact reaction. Yes, they would ALL think "Well fuck me in the ass!" It's true!

Now at this point you are probably wondering why nurse Leigh wants to get fucked in the ass while at work, but that's not the way nurse Leigh meant that particular private thought. She was being sarcastic to herself because she knew that she was fucked! Not literally but in the worst possible sense of the term fucked. How do I know that? Because she told me. That's how.

Now I'm positive that nurse Leigh has compassion and truly feels sorry for those who are afflicted with chronic pain. That must suck. Nurse Leigh enjoys helping patients feel better when they are really ill. Now then, what nurse Leigh loathes are the chronic pain patients that are NEVER FUCKING SATISFIED WITH ANY PAIN MEDICATION THAT YOU GIVE THEM! You are stuck in their room as though they are the only patient that you have. All of your time is monopolized to that one patient in order to get them some relief. Then you snow them with large amounts of narcs. . . enough to kill a God damned rhinoceros and yet they still want or "need" more. AHHHHHH!

Anyway, back to the chronic pain patient that nurse Leigh referred to as "Pita". Pita had some bilateral foot neuropathy and was hypothetically being seen for some toe pain. On a scale of 0-10 her pain was at a 9! Nurse Leigh leaves to check the orders on the chart to see what pain meds she's going to give Pita. Ah, 2 mg of Dilaudid IM and 4 mg of Zofran po. That should do it. It's fucking toe pain after all... Nurse Leigh goes in to administer the pain medication and pita decides to quiz the nurse on the medication that she's about to receive. Then she goes on to say that her pain management Dr said that Dilaudid was a derivative of morphine and since she's "allergic" to morphine she shouldn't ever take Dilaudid. Bullshit Not to mention Demerol works much better on her pain. she added. Nurse Leigh smiles and says that she will tell the doctor that she would prefer Demerol and she will be right back to get that pain under control.

Nurse Leigh goes to the Drug Lord (doctor) for the right shit. Finds another nurse to witness her wasting the Dilaudid, pulls the new medication and goes back to the room with the biggest needle she could find. Not because she was being mean, but because pita is a big gal.

"Okay, you're going to get 50 mg of Demerol intramuscularly." the nurse says

"Oh, well it usually doesn't work very well that way." pita says

Breathe... relax... inhale... exhale.....

"What do you suggest?" Nurse Leigh asks with a smile

"Well, typically an IV works well."

"You want me to start an IV to give you these meds when the doctor doesn't even have any lab work ordered? In fact he's writing up a prescription for you to go home with right now. Your x-ray was normal so you will be able to go home really soon." she was informed.

Pita whines and moans and goes back and forth on what she wants to do.

"Okay, the shot will work."

You damn right it will

50 mg of Demerol in and 4 mg of Zofran given

"Is there anything else I can get for you before I go and check on my other patients?" nurse Leigh asks nicely.

"Some Phenergan?" she blurts out nonchalantly

COCK SUCKING MOTHER FUCKER! WHY DID YOU ASK?!?! YOU IDIOT! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?! nurse Leigh thought to herself...

"Well, you had zofran for nausea. Does that not work for you?" the nurse asked getting slightly agitated

"Not usually" she said

So BACK to the drug Lord the nurse went to see if he wanted to give her some Phenergan. BTW, Phenergan is for nausea but it also potentiates the effects of narcotics so that's why people tend to prefer it over zofran for their "nausea". Go figure, right?

25 mg of Phenergan ordered. Back to the accudose she goes to pull out the meds and down the long hall to pita's room.

"Okay, here is your Phenergan and some bottled water as well. I'll be back in to check on you in a little while. If you need me for anything just press your call light okay?

Phew.. Now the nice nurse can actually go and check on her other 4 patients to see if they need anything. What a concept! After about 30 minutes the nurse goes back in to the room to check Pita's pain level. Nurse Leigh was sorry to report to the doctor that her pain level was still at a 9.

50 mg MORE of Demerol given. At this time Pita tells Nurse Leigh that she's hoping that the drug lord.. er, doctor will be writing a prescription for her to go home with. Oh, and by the way Norco 10/ 325 works the best for her. "I'll let him know." the nurse said and so she did... She also told the doctor that he needed to write the damn prescription NOW. Her chart needs to be finished out NOW so she can go home NOW.

Nurse Leigh rounded back on Pita to see if she was still breathing after her 100 Mg of Demerol. Turns out she was, and the good news is that her pain was down to an *8* now! WOW! That's awesome! The truly beautiful thing is that when nurse Leigh was out of eyesight, Pita and her daughter were having a high ol time in the room laughing and conversing about really important issues like Nascar, WWE and the downward spiral of their trailer park community. You would assume by listening to her that she wasn't in a bit of pain, however when nurse Leigh went back into the room the mood changed immediately. All of a sudden Pita had this poor, pitiful facial grimace and could barely muster up the energy to speak. The difference in her overall demeanor was incredible!!!

Bullshit!!

Nurse Leigh was pissed. Don't FUCK with nurse Leigh people! Don't assume she's a jack ass just because you think that she believes you are in pain when you aren't. You aren't pulling anything over on her or the rest of the staff. Trust it!

So now the doc goes into the room for the customary conversation prior to sending her home. Nurse Leigh grabs the chart to get her paperwork ready to go home and notices that she's got some antibiotics ordered PLUS 2 Vicodin. At this point the nurse isn't surprised and she pulls the meds to give Pita so she can go home and pass out the holy hell out. So that's what she does. Paperwork in one hand and the dope in the other.. to the room she goes with a smile on her face knowing that the torture is almost over with.

"What's the strength of this Vicodin? It looks different than what I take at home." Pita points out.

"5 mg" the nurse says while knowing if she says one FREAKING thing about the strength of the medicaiton that it will not be a good situation. Luckily the pain management gods were on the nurses side at that point becuase she took it like a good little patient.

Discharge info was given and the nurse pulled up a wheelchair so Pita didn't bust her doped up ass and end up needing more tests and thus more medication. Pita paused and at that point the nurse realized that the pain management Gods weren't on her side at all.....

"Uh, do you think I can get some more Phenergan before I go?"

Have you ever had one of those moments were you are so pissed you string various curse words together that make not one bit of sense? Well, Nurse Leigh had one of those moments.

I'LL BE A SON OF A BITCHING MOTHER FUCKING, BIRD SHITTING ASSHOLE AXE MURDERER! I'LL GET THAT FUCKING PHENERGAN! YEAHHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHHHH FUCK YEAH! GOD DAMNED PIECE OF ANNOYING SHIT PISSER. DICK ASS RAT BASTARD! EAT IT! SHOVE IT UP YOUR........

Okay, I think that's enough. The magical part is that all of these thoughts were going through the nurses mind while she was actually saying "Sure, I'll go and see if I can get you some phenergan before you go." Oh, and she was smiling to boot. How do I know this? Because she told me that's how!

So the nurse walks all the way down the long hall. Asks the drug lord for MORE medication and at this point eyes were rolling, and comments were made. The end result? 25 mg more of Phenergan was given to Pita and she was a happy girl.

So lets tally this shit, shall we?

What TOE PAIN will get you ...

100 mg Demerol

4 mg Zofran

50 mg of Phenergan

2 vicodin

some random antibiotic

a prescription for Norco to take home

and a nice nurse that needs to be committed to the nearest psych ward

See you again real soon Pita!!!


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Learned something new today

I always love learning new things. Especially when I get the wealth of new knowledge from my mother. During an earlier phone call from dear ol' mom, I was told about her exciting new purchase that should be arriving any day now.

After inquiring about what it was she had ordered she tells me that it's a wig..... (oookay) and some fake eyebrows (What the fuck!?) I didn't even know you could buy fake eyebrows! I said after I could catch my breath from the incessant laughter.

"You are just going to glue them to your head? You know you are going to look like you've got a couple of fucking caterpillars above your eyes, right?!"

"Uh, Candice they are made from synthetic hair!" she said matter of factly "They are going to look so real that you are probably going to want to order some for yourself. You'll see.. Once you get older hair is going to start falling out of various places"

Yeah..... any day now. I thought. Hopefully the hair will begin falling out of my legs first, because shaving is really a pain in my ass.

Anyway, she promised to take some pictures and send them to me once they do arrive. I will be holding my breath in anticipation, trust me. Oh, and after I got off the phone I had to do a little research and that entailed typing "fake eyebrows" into the google search engine. Sure enough, they do make fake eyebrows that you glue to your face. See them here http://www.headcovers.com/11186/realistic-eyebrows-12/

I'm not sure how natural they will look, but I guess it's better than drawing on your face with a sharpie pen.



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The world is coming to and end!

Imagine my surprise when I woke up this am to clothes folded on the couch that I did not fold. I thought I was in some dreamworld where someone other than me in this house did laundry. I loved it. Then I was interrupted by a phone call. Yes, I finally decided to answer it. . . It was one of those calls where you learn that you are supposed to work tonight when you thought that you didn't work again until Sunday. You become enraged because you realize that you are going to miss Survivor and Grey's Anatomy and be forced to watch them on Friday. You spend the first hour of your day being pissed and saying things that you probably shouldn't say at least until after 2:00pm, but that's okay you say them anyway and then you feel a little better about the mother bleeping situ-bleeping-ation.

So after you stomp around pouting like a 9 year old you walk by the couch once more and out of the corner of your eye you see those folded clothes again. "HOLY SHIT" you think for the second time, because after all you've been cursing like a sailor this morning and you might as well continue the trend. After closer inspection you realize that you in fact did NOT fold those clothes because they are folded in some odd way. Then you lose focus doing something else. You probably think of having to go to work tonight and get pissed off ALL OVER AGAIN if I were guessing. Then the hubs walks into the room to try and calm you down because everyone other than YOU knows it's not the end of the world to have to go into work for a 6 hour shift. After all, God forbid you make more money. The last pay check you brought in for working 4 hours in the 2 wk pay period wouldn't even cover a hair cut and a highlight, but then you would dismiss that funny little notion now wouldn't you? Then the hubs would say this in order to get you to feel better.

"Hey, did you notice that I did a load of laundry?

"Yes, yes I did. What exactly prompted you do that?" You would ask

"Because the only clean pair of jeans that I own have the nuts chopped out of them." He would state with a straight face.

Hmm, that's a pretty good reason. You would think quietly to yourself while knowing that you just hit the jackpot...

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EXTRA EXTRA.. read all about it!

Hey ladies. Want smaller ta-ta's? Apparently you need to drink more coffee! It's true! The study that all the men don't want you to know about says that drinking 3 or more cups of coffee a day can shrink the girls. Read all about it here http://news.aol.com/health/article/coffee-can-shrink-breasts-study-finds/218657?icid=100214839x1211806181x1200746497

Unfortunately I'm not a coffee drinker. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty much a caffeine lightweight since I rarely ever drink the stuff. The only time I ever have had soda of any sort was if alcohol was mixed in with it. So probably around 7th or 8th grade. ;) Oh yes, one time while at work I thought it would be a good idea to drink part of a Rock Star. I didn't realize that drinking half of one was equivalent to drinking 6 pots of coffee. That went over real well let me tell you. It wasn't long before I was shaking, sweating and feeling like total crap in general. Try sticking a needle into someones vein while shaking like a drug addict in withdrawal and you'll see where I'm going here. I'm pretty sure I was awake for 3 days straight as well.

Now all of that being said, I'm fairly certain that if a study came out and stated that drinking coffee is shown to shrink the size of your ass and give you abs of steel then I would totally be on board. I think drinking 3 cups a day would be worth the heart palpitations, nausea, jittery-ness (is that even a word) and lack of sleep that would surely ensue after the consumption of all the caffeine.

Now my one regret is that this study didn't include men. I'm pretty sure the guy below could benefit from some boob shrinkage. . . among other things.

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My fun with sissors continues

Some of you may know that my husband has a tendency from time to time to dress like a tool. Then I'm forced having to do drastic things to his clothing in order to make absolutely sure that he never wears them again. I've posted about this before and you can check it out here if you haven't already http://candiceandco.blogspot.com/2008/09/fun-with-sissors-candice-style.html


I figured after my last hurrah with Brent's jeans it would be a while before I would be forced to do it again. I should have known better. Last week I woke up to him wearing some 80's acid washed TAPERED (OH GOD NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) jeans. My first thought?


George Michael called and he wants his jeans back.


What I said?

"Are you fucking kidding me? Tapered Brent? Tapered?? Do you go out of your way to look like a douche or is this all for my benefit?" I'm unsure as to where he found those jeans. Aidan's closet perhaps? I really don't know. . .


I warned him what would happen. He knew. Now it HAS happened and he must face the facts and recognize that he's down to the "nut huggers" that I purchased for him or else it's time to go and buy new stuff. Sure, his family jewels (or jewel family as Aidan says) may be constricted, but at least the nut huggers LOOK nice. That's all that really matters, right?


Okay, so I guess you want to know what I did to his jeans this time. Scroll bitches....

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Date night plus all the meat I could handle

Baby daddy and I decided to go out for a night on the town and simultaneously pretend that we didn't have children. So dinner and a movie was on the agenda. I wanted to step outside the box and eat some place that didn't sell fajitas or hibachi steak so I opted for Master Grill which is a Brazilian steakhouse. I wasn't impressed with the outside of the building but Brent assured me that I would love the inside. We walked in and I was certainly impressed. The place was lovely and romantically lit to the point where I thought I was going to bust my ass on the way to be seated, but very nice nonetheless. I will say I was a bit disappointed that the waiters weren't hot and dressed in skirts like the Texas De Brazil guys, but I got over it fairly quickly.

Then our waiter came to our table to ask if we had been to a Brazilian establishment before.

"Well he has but I haven't" I said immediately

"blah blah blah blah blah....... yadda yadda yadda yadda...... whooooo whoooo whoooo haaaa haaa haaaa Then jew turn da card ober to jes when you want meat... blah blah blah ... turn da card to no when jew had enuf meat. Jew have questions?"

"Uh, no I think that about does it." I said while giving Brent the you are SO going to need to translate that shit for me look.

Before our heavily accented waiter walked off I was able to talk him into bringing me a Caipirinha. It's apparently a very popular Brazilian alcoholic beverage that looked somewhat like a mojito, so I was all over that. Brent ordered one as well because he apparently wasn't into the Knob tonight.. Knob Creek that is.

Waiter man came back quickly with our drinks but they looked much smaller in person than they did in picture on the menu. I felt slightly ripped off. . .

"We just paid 14 bucks for this shit?" I said while thinking that I could have almost paid for a whole bottle of rum.

Then I took a drink and began to convulse for about 39 seconds before I grabbed my water to chase down my small sip.

"HOLY SHEE-IT that's stout!" I said while trying not to puke. Then I started thinking about the cost of the weekly electrolysis sessions that I'm going to endure to get the damn hair off my chest from this freaking drink. Even Brent was impressed.

"Guess we got our money's worth after all." he said

This drink was supposed to have cachaca rum, lime, sugar, ice and sprite. Near as I can tell I had gasoline with a few ice chips in it. That totally burned like FI-YA going down. The ice melted in about 3 minutes after our waiter brought it to us if that tells you anything. I was able to drink it easier after that happened but I still needed a chaser. Brent flagged down our waiter and had him add more sprite to it so that I wouldn't have to suffer through each drink, although I'm positive that there was no sprite in it to begin with. At least now I know what the Brazilian girls drink prior to getting the Brazilian wax. 2 or 3 of those and you'd be blitzed out of your mind enough to let someone rip all of the short hairs out of your nether region too!



So we got up to get the side dishes we wanted before flipping our little cards over to green. After that we were bombarded with men and their meat slabs. I'm not a huge red meat carnivore but I decided to try some. I took a small bite of my first selection of cow and quickly lobbed it on to Brent's plate because I certainly don't eat shit pink, juicy, and still mooing. Lamb also didn't go over too well. I chewed on a piece of that for roughly 14 minutes prior to deciding that I was going to have to rid of my food bolus gently into a napkin. Look, I was very lady like about it so no worries there. Then I had a piece of chicken and pork and some other piece of meat that was cooked just perfectly because it was almost burnt.. just how I like it. I asked Brent where the damn poultry and fish was. I figured they would have more chicken to pick from. Not just the one piece with bacon wrapped around it and the damn chicken leg which I don't eat anyway being that I'm more of a breast girl. Then he went on to describe in detail about how the true Brazilian cowboys back in the day killed mainly cows and didn't typically fish all that much. Chicken also must've been in short supply on their hunting excursions. All in all I don't think I'll be going back any time real soon. I basically got full off of mashed potatoes, rice and beans and triple chocolate pie. I'm the Adkins diet nightmare. Oh well, I tried.

Then we went to see Body of Lies. It was a pretty good movie. A little too convoluted of a plot to see half drunk off my 5oz beverage, but I followed along okay to get the point. As we left the theater I saw a guy almost bust his ass coming off the escalator and I laughed hysterically on the inside and on the outside as well after he passed by us. Then I proceeded to almost bust my ass going down it. Fun times people... fun times.

Karma loves me :)

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Conversation in my head...

Here is a brief synopsis of a conversation that I have indeed had with myself. Of course I understand that a conversation typically includes two or more people, but luckily I've got those basis covered with 2 aspects of my personality that I'd like to refer to as Logical Candice or (LC) and Irrational Candice or (IC). Enjoy.

(IC) What in the hell are you looking at? I know what you're thinking and you're wrong!

(LC) I'm wrong? You mean to tell me that you don't feel the least bit guilty for eating all of the candy for the "trick or treaters" that you've been buying on a weekly basis in order to "stock up" for Halloween?

(IC) But I silently said "trick or treat" to myself before I ate each one... Doesn't that count for something?

(LC) This economy is in a downward spiral and you've been stocking up on Jr. Mints since July and now you haven't got a G-damned one to show for it. How do you explain that?

(IC) I like Jr. Mints. Oh, and the economy will bounce back. You'll see. . .

(LC) Well Brent has been trying to gently tell you that you need to stop buying the candy. He's on to your shenanigans lady, so give it up. He also knows that when you say that you purchased that candy for the "trick or treaters" that what you are REALLY saying is ... "stay the hell away from MY candy or I'll bite your fucking arms off and beat you with them."

(IC) Jesus, you make me out to be some violent candy crazed bitch. I thought you were the logical one!?

(LC) Well, I'm seriously worried primarily about the size of your ass and secondly about your mental health. I think you are in need of an intervention. First it was several economy sized bags of Jr. Mints. Then you decided to go with the ginormous bag of the assorted Jolly Ranger candy. Now you've just polished off the Skittles and Starburst. When is it going to stop?

(IC) I'm guessing after Oct 31st. Then again, maybe a week or two after that because I will likely be raiding the kids pumpkins while they are at school and...... Um, is it safe to say that's not the answer you were looking for?

(LC) I suggest you give your debit card to baby daddy. Perhaps you should give your car keys to him as well. No transportation and no funds = a lower possibility that you will escape from your house and buy yet more sweets that will likely NOT see the dark of night come Oct 31st.

(LC) I also recommend putting the above flyers up where ever candy is sold.

(IC) Has anyone ever told you that you are a real bitch?

(LC) Hey, I'm just trying to keep you from ballooning into this... But go on and do what you want to do..

(IC) MY EYES..... DEAR GOD MY EYES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Okay fine I get your point. I think you are a no good whore, but I get your point.

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Perfect of example of why psych meds are a good thing

I saw this video on someone else's blog a few weeks ago and laughed so much I almost wet the bed. I watched it over and over and laughed so hard Brent had to come in the room and see if I was okay. He didn't think it was nearly as funny as I did. Go figure.

I know that it's technically probably pretty rude to laugh at someone that is clearly mentally off their freaking rocker, but that's okay. At least I think it is. The subtitles are also classic and add to the hilarity of it all. Crazy lady's rendition of Crank Dat Solja Boy is a fine one indeed. It would have never occurred to me to use that as a verbal assault against an elderly lady, but that goes to show you that I'm not as crazy as many of you may think I am.

The video below is of the same batshit crazy woman, but in remix form which I also find to be pretty amusing.





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Bird drops a deuce and I piss myself

I clearly have nothing of importance to write about today, so I will share this old video of some random reporter tool getting bird turds dropped into his pie hole. It's wholesome family fun.

Not only that, but I can actually have a post where I don't type the word fuck for a change. Well, scratch that after all.


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Skeletor Vs Bailey

So I'm in the kitchen doing what I do. You know, catching shit on fire and stuff.... All of the sudden I hear growling. I turn the corner to see Billy Bob Badass (aka Bailey the dog) with the hair on his back standing upright and he was growling and half assed barking at something in the living room. I did what all of the stupid chics in the horror movies do. I went to check out the reason the dog was getting his collar in a bunch because that's pretty much how I roll, y'all. So what did I discover you ask?

Then I realized that we failed to put Skeletor outside. You see, we just got him and some of the other Halloween decor out of the attic today so actually making the trek with him outside was evidently pretty tough to do. We had to stop 3 ft short of the front door even. Now the dog is scared shitless. I felt sorry for him for about 1.2 seconds before I decided to really F with his night. I picked Skeletor up and started chasing him around with it because I'm evil like that, and I'm always willing to laugh at the expense of others, even pets...

If you will please note the glowing green eye behind the dining room table. This would be the bad ass guard dog. So note to any potential home invaders that read this blog. If you bust up in this bitch you are totally risking life and limb. You know that right?

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I'm a firefighters wet dream

I went out of my way to cook dinner tonight. Kick ass quesadillas just in case you were wondering. I placed the griddle thingy on the stove, lit it and walked away like any normal person would do. A minute or so passes and I notice that it smells odd. I know we haven't used this griddle in a while, but since when does it smell like burnt ass when we use it? I don't recall it smelling so offensive in the past, I thought. I walked over to the stove for a closer inspection of the griddle.. Ah, so that's why it smells like burnt ass! "OH SHIT!" I yelled in front of the kids and the kids overnight guest, while throwing a flame broiled birthday invite into the sink. Yes, I'm ready for my mother of the year award. I should be getting it in the mail any day now... Luckily I have cat like reflexes and was able to douse the flaming birthday invitation before all of the vital information that we needed was charred beyond recognition.

After a few verbal jabs by Brent...

"You actually turned the burner on with a fairly substantial birthday invite on top of it?"

I didn't feel like I needed to go into the fact that a big ass griddle was on top of the burner, impeding my view of the actual burner in question... So smartass, I didn't notice!

This isn't my first time catching things on fire. I remember a few years back I was taking some cookies out of the oven. Yes, I'm basically Martha Stewart... Anyway, when I went to take the cookies out, the dish towel I was using as an oven mitt sort of fell on top of the coils. I didn't notice that my towel was on fire at first. It took my hand basically catching on fire as well for me to notice. Then my husband points out after I ask why my hand is so fucking hot "Oh, yeah your towel..... it's on fire" all cool calm and collected like it was no big deal that I had a body part about to burst into flames.

I also have had issues with the iron since I was a kid as I recall. I burned a 2 inch deep iron imprint into the carpet in our living room and my mom had to then strategically place furniture over it. She also had to buy a new iron. Happy about that she was not. I also burned MYSELF with an iron. Still have a scar on my foot from it. So after burning the carpet and then myself, I eventually began to think that using an ironing board would be a wise decision.

Even to this day I have a hard time remembering to turn the iron off when I'm done using it. We had an automatic shut off on our iron in Va. I think I overused it because it was white and turned a smoky brown color and then promptly died. So when we moved to Tx and bought another one I accidentally picked one out without an automatic shut off. Brent then became my automatic shut off. He said that I left it on every time I went to work and pretty much every other time I used it. He got tired of having to shut it off, and he also didn't want to come home from business trips to a foundation with burnt wood sticking out of it so he decided to gift me with a brand spanking new iron with ... you guessed it, an automatic shut off feature. He states, and I quote "You are the walking business requirement for the automatic shutoff."

You know what I think? At least I IRON MY CLOTHES! HA!! How's that for a comeback you wrinkled 80's clothes wearing fucka. I'm actually surprised Brent knows how to operate an iron to be honest. He certainly doesn't iron anything.

Whatever... when I do burn the house down I'll be going to a shelter in finely pressed clothing.


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Are you smarter than a 4th grader?

I knew this would happen some day. One of my kids would ask for assistance with their homework and I would have no idea how to help them. I just figured I still had plenty of time. That very scenario played out last night in Taylor's room. She needed help with her dreaded math homework. "Aww, crap" I thought silently to myself. I was hoping we could avoid this while Brent was away on business since I typically direct any and all questions dealing with math to him.

"Are you SURE you don't know how to do it? I mean, did you read the directions and everything?" I asked

"I did, and I don't get it. Can you help me?"

Now typically as a parent you always want to remain that positive and influential role model in your child's life. You want them to look up to you. You want them to think you know it all and you have your shit together. You are the ultimate "rock star" at parenthood in general. With all that being said, I knew that I was about to fall a few rungs in my daughter's eyes.

You see, I had a feeling I was screwed when I saw the instructions and it said something about partial products and regular algorithms. What I actually thought to myself was "What the hell is this horse shit? Did they come up with a whole new system for teaching math because I certainly wasn't taught this in school.. To me partial means having only half of my hair highlighted. How does that have anything to do with this math problem? And algorithms? Psshh, puleeze..." Now what I actually said was...

"Uh Taylor, I don't recall learning this stuff.... EVER. I think we should give your Dad a call."

That's when she glanced up at me with a look of pity, confusion, horror, and general disdain at my lack of mathematical knowledge. Then without skipping a beat she sighed and grabbed the phone to dial Brent's cell number. Several minutes of conversing ensued.. With great joy I report to you that it turns out Taylor has not one but TWO retarded parents because Brent was unable to assist her with her problem as well.

"HA!" I thought. Now I'm not the only stupid one. Talk about some vindication there people. I'm pretty sure Mr. Mensa should have been able to figure it out, but alas he couldn't assist her without being able to "LOOK" at the problem in person. Uh hu... My ass.

Luckily Taylor was able to call one of her fellow 4 grade buds and got her math issue squared away relatively quickly after that. Then she ended our math convo with this little golden nugget..

"See, I told you that math is stupid and that you don't really need to know it. You and Daddy don't even know how to do partial products and algorithms which is ONLY 4th grade math! This is a giant waste of my time!"

Can't argue with that. The kid has got a point!

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Haunting words from Mom

Remember when you were a young pain in the ass and you did things that made your Mom shout statements like this.. "I hope you have 5 kids just like YOU some day!" Well I do.

I also remember thinking at that time that my Mom was somewhat careless with her words because what her statement said to ME even as a youngster was "Hey Candice, I hope that you find someone that will not only have lots of sex with you, but while you're at it enjoy some of that hubba hubba without a rubba! Thereby leading you to have children that act just like YOU do so that you can see what it's like to be me." I also vividly remember thinking something along these lines...

(I'm getting lots of mileage out of this pic)

Well, those words are beginning to come back to haunt me. No, I don't have 5 children.. only 2 thus far, but I'm afraid to say that I have at least 1 that is indeed growing up to be just like me. I've tried to deny it for a while, but as she gets older it becomes apparent that I'm screwed. She's not even a teenager yet! Is there some kind of boarding school for pre-teens that I can send her to because I'm not sure that I will survive. I'm already growing weary of the eye rolling (yes, I'm a pro at that even still today) the crossed arms, the smart assed comments (whoops... I'm a pro at that as well) and the drama queen attitude in general.

She's also beginning to be persuaded by peer pressure. Today I was informed that she wasn't going to wear a specific pair of shoes anymore because her friends at school didn't like them. Bad mom in me thought "Who gives a shit what those little turds think!?" but the good mom in me spouted some Leave it to Beaver crap and we went on about our way.

"I'm still not going to wear them ever again." she nonchalantly stated

*sigh* "Whatever Taylor" I said

"I hope you have 5 kids just like yourself someday!" I thought to myself...

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To all of my single friends.. have hope!

Sometimes it really isn't all about looks and here is the story to prove my point!



This dude in the above picture is Manuel Uribe and he's the heaviest man alive. You are shocked by that bit of trivia I'm sure. He weighs in at 1, 230 POUNDS and is roughly the size of a ..

This poor fella has been bedridden for years, however, he has still managed to land a piece of ass. As a matter of fact he's due to be married in October. How does this relate to my single friends you ask? I basically want to point out that when you are having a bad self-image day and continue to play those negative mantras in your heads just remember, you too could be 1,230 lbs and bedridden. Feeling better? Excellent! Just overlook the fact that he's getting ass and you're not. That's really not what I'm wanting you to focus on at this time anyway.

Actually, yes, let's focus on the sex thing for a brief moment. I haven't eaten dinner yet so I'm able to do this without throwing up in my mouth. Now then, from my understanding Mr. Uribe has lost 550 lbs with the help of his girlfriend. I'm sure that it's from all of the sex-cardio they've been doing. Oooh la la. I bet it was slow going in the beginning. Tons (pun intended) of foreplay due to the fact that it must have been kind of hard (pun intended again..) to find the penis amongst all of the waves of adipose tissue and whatnot. . . I bet they had to use some kind of honing device or perhaps even a penis transponder to locate the frank and beans. Or in this case, burrito and beans, or chimichanga and beans, or tamale and... Okay okay!

So at some point the family jewels were found and I can only imagine that they required some slight buffing off. *GAG* I'm sure it became common knowledge fairly quickly that unless Uribe was hung like an ...

That the whole sex thing wasn't going to work. I think THAT'S when Uribe's woman was like
"Oh hell no Papi. Chu gotta lose some weight right now if this chit is going to work out!"

So he did. 550 lbs. . . Makes me feel like a complete loser that I can't lose these measly 15 pounds that I've been hanging on to, but I'm not going to expound on all of that.

So I hope this puts things in perspective people. No matter how hideous you are, there is always someone out there that will love you!! Awww I feel all warm inside now. . . :)

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Some things I find slightly humorous

Will I go to hell for laughing at this??

I have totally done this.

This is how I felt after my hair stylist completely fucked up my bangs. Not that I'm still bitter or anything....

Ayi yi yi

Love it!

Bet it smells musty in there...

Nuff said

Good advice I think

This is my personal motto

Odd. I have underwear that have that exact phrase on them..

There is not a damn thing funny about this. . . Heart rate increasing... This picture leads me to the ones that follow. It's how I'd imagine our first real conversation would go. I would say..

JD would reply with...

Me- Holy shit, really? How about...


Whoa now, I said LUBE not fire arm but I can get down like that if that's what you are into big boy.

After all night of fun I get this as a reply to which I respond...

It's all good. I still love you JD!

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Darth Wedgie

Today was "the day". The day when I bravely took the kids to go and browse for Halloween outfits. You may have read a previous post of mine about shopping excursions with my children and how I love them so. I was hoping that this specific trip would be quick and easy since they both had some type of an idea as to what they wanted to be for Halloween. I also typically go shopping for costumes on October 30th, so I assumed that I would miss the cluster fuck that usually congregates down the costume aisle at that time by going in the beginning of the month.

WRONG!!!

I'm fairly certain that everyone in the DF Dub was in this particular store looking for costumes right along with us. Stores + large crowds + my 2 offspring = me turning into a ginormous biotch.

I took a long deep breath and said "Alright children.. Keep focused. We are here for a ghost costume and a Darth Vader costume then we are OUT. Got it?"

"Okay" they both chanted simultaneously

After I pointed them in the direction of the kids costumes we were in business. For some reason the kids were mesmerized by the hoish adult costumes in the beginning of the aisle. It took about 5 minutes for Aidan to find his Darth Vader costume. Taylor wasn't so lucky. She actually found a ghost costume with glowing red eyes that she liked, but alas they didn't have her size. After she got that bit of information her bottom lip began to swell and drag the floor as though she was having some type of bad anaphalactic reaction. Her crossed arms also became surgically attached to her chest at that time as well. I figured it was time for a little motherly chat about how shit happens at that point but then I became distracted when I got poked in the ass with a pitch fork by my little Darth Vader devil. When I looked back up to speak to Taylor she was gone. I ended up finding her about 5 aisles over in a sea of people. So we had "the look" and some verbage that let her know right then and there that she was in deep shit for walking off by herself.

Aidan was gloating on cloud nine since he found his costume so I began to feel somewhat sorry for Taylor since she left empty handed.

"Chill out. We will go to Target and find something there." I said

Sweet, the lip hanging is subsiding somewhat.. Target works miracles, right?! So we find the costume aisle and Taylor browses for about 1.4 minutes before she decides that it's a lost cause. Unfortunately her swollen lip and surgically attached crossed arms returned at this time. So we begin to walk out and Aidan freaks out and says "WAIT! We can't leave yet! We don't have anything in the cart to buy!"

It's at this point that I decide how pathetic it is that my 5 yr old is unaware that you can indeed leave Target without purchasing anything. I'm not sure if he thought that security guards would pop out and arrest us for not spending any money. Or maybe he thought the doors wouldn't open to let us out if I didn't swipe my debit card. Who knows. I'm just glad I could provide an educational experience for him today.

So after all was said and done, Taylor came home pissed and Aidan came home ecstatic to put on his Darth Vader costume. here he is in all his glory. Unfortunately he is not strong enough in the force because his costume "sends his underwear up his butt" but I'm sure that's something that can be tolerated as long as he's getting candy out of the deal.

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Murphy's Law

The definition of this law is as follows...

"Whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way".

I don't really know who this Murphy guy is exactly, but he must have been one unlucky SOB. At any rate I feel his pain and it's clear that his law is in effect around this household this morning.

First of all, let me inform you that Brent has been walking around with a permanent hard on for the past 2 days due to the fact that we now have AT&T UVERSE. This allows us to have HDTV on all TVs (sproing....), better channels (sproing sproing...), faster Internet connection (uh, oh... getting hot in here...), and some other shit that I totally tuned out all in one package. What this all means to ME is that it's now a pain in the ass to watch TV. I don't know how to work the damn remote and all of "my channels" are completely jacked up to the point that I have to look at a damn TV guide to figure out where E entertainment and CBS is. "Oh, and by the way, the channel you want is HERE, but if you want to view it in HDTV then you need to press this number instead." WTF???

Are you freaking kidding me? This is what he's been stiffing over? It's inconvenient and a pain in my ass. Wow, now I can see individual eyebrows on the newscasting knob instead of a blob of color. Please hold while I go and rub one out from all of the excitement. Give me a break! I'm sure I will be placing numerous calls to baby daddy while he's away asking him how to turn the TV on, how to get to my recordings and I'll probably curse him out while I'm at it. The kids will probably jump right on in with me because they had all of their channels memorized, knew how to set up timers to record, etc. Now they are as clueless as I am.

Thanks Daddy!!

So in addition to all of the TV fun Brent flies off into the sunrise and I'm left with a kitchen sink (disposal side) that doesn't work. The following conversation took place via text messaging between myself and "Bob Villa".

Me- (after bitching about the tv and inquiring as to where I could find the TV channel guide I add...) "By the way, the kitchen sink is stopped up. Thanks a fing lot!"

Bob- "like I did anything to it??"

Me- "Well how the fuck do you fix it?"

Bob- "Run the disposal if you haven't (gee thanks for that spectacular piece of advice) Run the hot water. Look down and see if anything is in it, or if it's in the pipes.

I can see now that this is going to be a giant waste of time...

Me- "I tried to run the disposal and it doesn't work."

Bob- "Completely dead or does it hum?"

I TOTALLY pass the opportunity by to joke about our disposal giving hummers because I'm annoyed...

Me- "It hums, just doesn't dispose. This has happened before. How do I fix it?"

Bob- "Check the utensil drawer for the wrench - little bar about as long as your hand with slightly bent ends."

I decide not to point out that I'm not a complete drooling retard. I do know how to distinguish a wrench from a cooking utensil.

Me- "Now what? Stick it up my ass?"

Bob- "Haven't you spent enough time in the ER this week?"

Hmm, he's got a point

Me- "I can't go a week without a functioning sink. Quit fing around and tell me what to do please. I asked nicely and everything."

Bob- "On the bottom of the disposal, exactly in the middle, you'll find a hole for the wrench. Stick it in and turn it one way or the other - it's stuck on something that fell down the drain."

Me- Being completely logical I say.."I hope I don't eff it up. Shit isn't going to pour out is it?"

I decide to take my chances, stick the wrench in the hole and turn it like I was instructed to do. Then I turned the disposal on to see if my roto-rootering had worked...

Me- Sweet Jesus! You didn't tell me that I had to remove the wrench prior to turning the damn disposal back on!! I'm lucky I still have all of my fingers!

Bob- "Uh, it spins. Sorry about that. Any luck on the drain problem?"

Me- "Fuck no. Next bright idea Bob Villa?"

Bob- "Can you see into the disposal or is it a sink full of water?"

Me- "Sink full of water, but I stuck my hand down in there (with my latex glove on of course) and there isn't shit stuck."

Finally Bob placed a call to me since going back and forth via text messaging was getting us no where fast. I know we've had this problem in the past, but unfortunately it looks as though I'm not going to be able to fix it. I draw the line at sticking wrenches in holes and damn near chopping my fingers off. So I guess I will have to place a call into a local plumber and (take it up the ass monetarily speaking) have them fix this simple issue that Mr. Bob Villa could have fixed prior to his departure. Had he cleaned the kitchen last night after dinner he would have discovered the stopped up sink on his own. Therefore it's really HIS fault.

In the meantime my kitchen will continue to look like crap since I can't run my dishwasher. Yes, I do the dishes when Brent isn't here. What the hell is wrong with you people! ;)

~~~~~~~~~~UPDATE ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This brilliant reader http://mycatatemybrain.blogspot.com/ gave me a tip on how to fix my sink and I'm pleased to say that it worked! WOO HOO! Now I'm back in business. So much for Bob Villa and his trusty advice. Thanks Chris!

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Week 3 weigh in results

Sorry I failed to post weigh in results last week. I know that lives have failed to go on since that bit of information wasn't posted. Never fear I have the results this week and I'm likin it baby, yeah!

Poor Brent forgot to take his pre-weigh in shit and actually gained a half a pound. I on the other hand, lost 5lbs. Now mom, before you try and commit me to this place again.. http://shadesofhope.com/ please know that this was over a 2 week period. Yes, I'm eating (5 grapes and 1 cracker a day ;)) and No I'm not taking this weight bet too far. I understand that you gave birth to me and you know what a competitive (nut job) person I can be, but I can assure you that I'm taking the proper steps and losing weight in a healthy way. So stop humming "we are the world... we are the children" and put your measly 75 cents a day away. I'm about 100 lbs away from being considered "the needy" as far as requiring food for nourishment goes.

I'm basically like a camel, except I don't have humps of fat on my back. Well, they are actually on my ass. I figure I can live off of the fat storage in my ass for a good 7-10 months before I even need to take in any food by mouth. So don't worry about me. I got this...

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I always feel like sombody's waaaatchin me...

And I have no privacy.. whoa -oh-oh..

Yes Rockwell, I now feel you pain. Thanks to my passing out issue the other day I was rewarded with the gift of wearing a cardiac monitor for the next 21 DAYS. Said cardiac monitor came in today and as of now I'm being watched 24/7 for the next 21 days. I did say 21 days, right? I hate to sound like a pain in the ass, but this is going to be very inconvenient for me. Not only that, but I get to walk around looking like the ultimate douchebag techno geek with my blackberry, a cardiac sensor that is disguised in a goofy looking cell phone holder, and a cardiac monitor that looks like a big (abacus)PDA. I don't even know that I have enough of a waist band to hang all of this shit on, and guess what?? It has to stay on me at all times. Well, I do get the luxury of taking a shower without it, but once I'm out I'm to place everything back on right away. God forbid I have a run of v-fib and drop dead without anyone knowing.

All I can think about is the dark and smoky room that the cardiac monitoring guys must be sitting in. I bet they have their giant mugs of coffee, king sized bags of Cheetos and a plethora of Penthouse magazines at the ready because surely they get bored staring at the monitors all day.

I would imagine they have alot of the following conversations.

Bob- Hey Henry, put down the lube and step away from the magazine for a second. I see Candice is having some sustained tachycardia.

Henry- Hmm, no shit? Why yes, yes she is. Her heart rate is normally in the 50-75 range but it's on up there at 187 bpm.

Bob- I wonder what she's doing?

Henry- You think she's getting laid?

Bob- Nah, she's been tachycardic for more than 4 minutes. Maybe she's exercising.

Henry- You've got a point there. Or maybe she's watching Jeffery Donovan Burn Notice re-runs again.

Bob- (takes a drag from his cigarette) Definitely a possibility. . .

It's going to be a looooooooong 21 days and I've already thought about ways to get out of having to wear this device. I've even given some thought about really fucking with the Cardionet people by attaching the leads to the dog. Maybe I'll take him for a nice long run in the neighborhood.. You know, that sort of thing.

PS. Sorry about the above picture. I didn't have time to put my bra on beforehand. Although my abs do look pretty ripped, no?

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Karma is apparently a biotch

I cut the ass out of Brent's jeans and all hell breaks loose.

Remember when I said if I end up hurt or dead you know who to blame? Well, I'm not certain but I think Brent tried to suffocate me with a pillow or something in my sleep.

I got home from work last night around 9ish pm. Enjoyed a strawberry daiquiri and some pizza. You know, real health food there. Sat on the couch to enjoy some quality TV programming like Entourage and South Park. Promptly fell asleep on the couch and I woke up slightly pissed off that Brent left me there asleep in the dark in the living room.

So I walk into the kitchen and my heart begins racing like it's going to pop out of my chest and I think to myself.. Self, you are about to pass the fuck out. You might want to.........

Next thing I knew I was on the kitchen floor face to face with the dog. I think he wanted to eat me. Or maybe he was curious as to why I was laying on my face with blood pouring out of it. At any rate I manage to get up and walk into Brent's office where he is doing whatever it is he does at 1am on the computer. Thankfully there was no KY or Kleenex involved. He momentarily freaks out and asks why I look like Carrie with blood dripping down my face, on my clothes, etc.

"What did you do?!?!" he asked

"random mumbling ..." I replied

So I stumble into my bathroom where I had to hit the deck again because I felt like I was going to pass out yet again if I didn't. Ha! This time I made it in time. Then I began to wonder where I was bleeding from. Oh shit, did I eff up my teeth? Nope. They are all good. Then he rushes in with a wash cloth full of ice and puts it above my left eyeball. Hmm, I guess that answers that question.

"Is it bad, will I need stitches, do I look like Quasimoto????" I asked

"Well, I'm no medical professional, but I think so" He said

"Bullshit" I answered back

Then I asked a question that most people would ask in my situation.

"Where did you get that washcloth that you put on my face. It's not the "ass cloth" is it? You know, the one you wash your ASS with while you're in the shower?"

I think it was at that point that he knew that I was going to be okay. . .

"Uh, I'm fully qualified to get a CLEAN washcloth to put against your wound. It's not sterile, but it's certainly not the ass cloth"

Well thank God for small miracles, I thought.

I ended up going back to the hospital at 2am for a full workup. IV, EKG, head CT, Chest Angio, echocardiogram.. the whole shebang. I also got stitches above my left eye and it looks like I've got a caterpillar chilling out on my face. Now I look all hardcore! Fun times!

Brent swears that he didn't slip anything into my drink or suffocate me with a pillow over the ass cutting incident, inducing my syncopal episode. The jury is still out on that one. ;)

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