Dear geese and other things with wings that can get sucked into a jet engine

Uh yeah, just wanted to let you know that I'll be leaving DFW around 9ish tomorrow for a girls weekend in Virginia. I thought it would be cool to let you know, that way you can change your flight pattern if need be. I saw what you aholes can do to an aircraft. Hello Hudson River incident?? See, the thing is, if your ass gets sucked into the engine of my plane, I'm basically fucked. We don't have big rivers and what not to land in here in Dallas, so that's sort of a concern for me. It would also REALLY start my trip off on the wrong foot if my plane were to crash. So lets see what we can do to just stay out of the way, okay? Especially steer clear of the aircraft with a big AA on the side of it. If you want to play chicken (get it geese? I said chicken..) with a Southwest plane or a United plane, knock yourselves out. Alrighty then. That's about all I have to say about that. Spread the word.

Now then, I have to get up at the ass crack of dawn, and I'm screwing off on the Internet at midnight (almost 1:00 now.. shit!) That's brilliant. While I'm looking for reasons to stay up too late, can I just say that I hate to freaking pack? I'm only going to be gone until Monday, yet I'm trying my best not to pack my whole closet. Here is my thought process.

Friday-(traveling outfit) dark blue boot cut trouser jeans, black heels, fitted white shirt with a black camisole to go underneath. I try the above outfit on 10 times. I ask Brent if he approves.

"Do you think this is cute? I mean, disregard the boobs if you can. They totally won't be sticking out like this. Is it appropriate for travel?"

"Why is it that big of a deal, and why are you asking my opinion since you always talk shit about what I wear? All of the sudden I'm the voice of reason of the fashion world?"

I walk away. "I'm seeing people I haven't seen in forever (not to mention several hot pilots, I'm sure) I have to look decent. Nevermind, you have a damn good point. I'd be better off asking the dog"

Saturday outfit- Okay, we're going out on the town baby, what shall I wear? Alright, this outfit screams I'm fun, you can totally buy me a drink, but you're getting NO ass. Perfect. I'll bring it! But what if I spill something on the shirt? Fine, I'll take this blouse as well. Hmm, what if I'm having a fat day and these jeans don't fit right? Oookay, I'll bring the black slacks and the stretch trousers as well... and the push up bra. And maybe this blouse because it will look better with the girls elevated under my chin. Oh, and I'll need 2 different pair of high heels in case I wear the black pants OR the trousers. Done!

Sunday- Super bowl shindig. Yes, I hate football. However, I fully plan on getting drunk to the point of passing out so that I don't have to watch it. This means I need to wear something super comfortable. Easy.

Monday- Going home outfit. Another pair of dressy jeans. Bet you didn't know jeans could be dressy did you? Well they can. Anyway, I'll wear an outfit similar to the one that I wore to Va, but different colors of course. Then again, I may be pretty hung over from the night before, so I should also consider something more comfortable. I'll probably be packaged in between someone 345 lbs and someone 900 lbs on the plane, so comfort is probably the way to go.

Then there are the "during the day" outfits, and the what I will (Pass out in) sleep in outfits. Work out outfits (ha!! what a fucking joke) Specific under garments for specific outfits. Gotta bring 900 pair of underwear in case I turn back into an infant and begin shitting myself. Hey, it could happen, and a bitch has to be prepared.

Then the dreaded bathroom bag. Oh Jesus, this is all overwhelming at this point. 9 different hair styling tools, hair clips just in case I want to go for the sexy Palin look. Hair products which = SHIT LOAD. Ginormous bag full of makeup, skin cleansing line, toothbrush and toothpaste of course. Gotta bring the medicinals as well. Ibuprofen, TUMS (this is a must have!!) and Zofran for the hangover nausea that I'm sure to have. I'll even bring some of my ass phenergan just for the hell of it, because I most certainly would have shoved 4 of those bad boys up my ass during the San Antonio trip that we took one year, and would have had NO qualms about it. God. Almighty. I haven't had that much to drink since, but it was fun, and I found out that the bartenders at the Irish Pub really DON'T wear anything under their kilts! Chill Brent, I didn't pose the question (thank you Nakia!!) I merely saw the response.. And what a fine response it was!

Now I have to pack shit to take in my purse which is also about as big as a carry on. Small make-up bag for the on the go touching up. Ipod (this is important so that I can be nonsocial on the plane and not feel like an asshole about it), books, magazines, double and triple check that I have my wallet with my license in it. Phone charger and of course my phone. I also need to bring some snacks because the airline industry are cheap bastards and want to charge 5 bucks for some fucking pretzels. They can suck it while I enjoy my Kashi bar. I can take my own snacks, right? Oh, and last but not least, it's imperative to bring my CAMERA and extra batteries. The batteries are for the CAMERA, by the way! Thanks...

I'll be back in a few days and hopefully have some stories to share. I seriously hope they won't have anything to do with being incarcerated, or some equally fun shit like that.

Stay tuned!


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This tribute goes to you, Aretha.

Image provided by Google Earth..

R.E.S.P.E.C.T - find out what it means to me.

I'll tell you what it doesn't mean. It doesn't mean wearing this fucking ginormous hideous bow hat to the inauguration.

What kind of look was she going for, here? I mean really? I can only imagine the conversation that she had with her stylist.

Aretha- "Hey girl. I want to find something that will make me really stand out on the big day. It's a momentous occasion that will go down in the history books, so I need to be wearing something off the chain."

Stylist- "Absolutely. What did you have in mind?"

Aretha- " Oh you know, something slimming so lets stick with dark colors. I also want to wear a hat substantial enough in size that it can be seen from space. I'm also down with the possibility of being airborne if a stiff enough breeze blows up. However, it will have to be a significant breeze, because ya girl is BIG."

Stylist- " Oh girlfriend, do I have the hat for you!!! Feast your eyes on this bad boy"

Aretha- "Oh hell to the yes!! *gasp* Is that hat bedazzled?!?! I can pull this off, girl, and you know THIS! Michelle Obama can't even compete with some shit like this, yo."

Stylist- "Word."

So here's to you, Aretha. You go on wit yo bad ass. It takes on helluva woman to even wear such a shiteous hat, much less pull it off. Okay, so you totally didn't pull it off, but nobody would even attempt to tell you that out of fear that you would either eat them whole, or sit on them.

Check out more Tuesday tributes over here

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Ooooh.. Put it in water and it grows!

Aidan went to a birthday party yesterday and was the lucky recipient of these God awful things up above. They are little capsules that you stick in water, and POOF, like magic they grow and turn into some super cool shape that may or may not look like a dinosaur after it's been soaking in water for 9 1/2 hours.

In fact, it will most likely resemble a small chunk of O-cello sponge that just haphazardly fell off during the nightly cleaning of the dishes, because lets face it, O-cello sponges suck! This will typically lead to a pissed off child that will demand to know what happened during the last 9 1/2 hours, because the capsule was supposed to disintegrate, leaving a perfectly formed Triceratops. Yeah right.

Last night, Aidan decided to plop a red capsule into one of our drinking glasses, and he left it on the kitchen counter prior to going to bed. He was stoked about the exciting transformation that he would most certainly bear witness to when he woke up in the morning. Being the glass half full type of chick that I am, I tried to keep his expectations in check by saying.

"Don't get your hopes up too high, Aidan. Who knows if that's even going to work correctly. That kind of stuff is typically alot like junk."

He just looked up at me and gave me a grin. It was the kind of grin you give someone when you think they are completely full of shit. I just so happen to give this grin on a daily basis, so I know of what I speak.

Anyway, I went on about my night. I was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, etc. Brent was busy talking to me about something that probably wasn't important, and It was during this time when I picked up a glass and started chugging some water. I saw something out of the corner of my eye and a million different thoughts went racing through my mind.

Holy shit! I'm drinking the dinosaur!!

I wonder what kind of potentially fatal toxins I just ingested?

How long will I have to live?

I wonder how big this fucker will inflate inside my intestines?

Will the rate of peristalsis remain the same or will I end up with a dino bowel blockage?

I never thought I would end up shitting a triceratops! This is tragic!

How will I explain this to Aidan!?

Luckily I was able to (gag up) spit the capsule back into the water just in the nick of time. I saved the triceratops a fate that would have made the asteroid theory of extinction look like a trip to fucking Disney Land in comparison with a trip down my gastrointestinal lane.

After giving Mr. Triceratops plenty of time to "evolve" after the near miss ingestion, I noticed that not jack nor shit was changing. "See! I told him they were junk", I thought to myself. Since this stuff is evidently crap, I'll just toss the package in the trash because if I don't, I'll end up finding bits of scrap sponge all over the floor in a million tiny pieces. Aidan is basically a human walking shredder, after all.

Fast forward to bed time tonight when he suddenly wants to know where his fing capsules are. Well shit! I figured he would have lost interest after he saw that I was right about them being junk. Turns out not so much. There was much depression and tears due to my lack of respect for his personal property. Even Brent got in on the action telling me how I was in the wrong... blah blah blah.

So now I get to go dig through the trash for some crappy party favor that didn't even work right in the first place. Know why? Because I said I would in order to stop the water works. I'm really only doing this because I don't feel like adding more money into his therapy account. Because I know that this would end up being the defining moment when his life changed and completely went to shit. It would be all MY fault, and well, I just can't have that.

I'm off to hunt for dinosaurs.


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Home girl was nuttier than a squirrel turd!

I made my way down the cold, poorly lit fluorescent hallways that are typical of most hospitals, and walked slowly toward the time clock. With one quick swipe of my badge, I was officially on the clock. Never fear, Nurse Florence fucking Nightingale was here, bitches!

It was going to be a good shift. At least that's what I told myself. The power of positive thinking can work wonders, change lives, improve my karma, increase my Chi and all of that crap. At least that's what the optimists say.

I took one deep breath before activating the sliding door that lead into the ER. Then I walked in and briefly exchanged pleasantries with my co-workers that I haven't seen in a while because I'm all about the work sabbatical from time to time. I walked over to the charge nurse and obtained my room assignment. Oh good. Zone two- rooms 15, 21, 22, 24, and 27. Right about this time a patient being brought in by EMS came rolling up to rm 22, so I gathered up the appropriate paperwork in order to get report and begin my nursing duties.

I'm not sure what it was that clued me in that this patient was crazier than a shithouse rat. Perhaps it was the full length mink coat, paired with her knee highs (pulled up to her knees) and LOW ankle hooker boots. Or maybe it was all the bling bling that she had doubled up on each finger. This was the type of shit that would have made Mr. T jealous, I'm here to tell ya. Then again, maybe it was the fact that she couldn't recall her name, but was with it enough to let me know that she was a prophet sent from JEEEZUS himself.

Weeeeelll fuckin A.. here we go!

What about the positive attitude? The karma improvement? The good chi and what not? Uh yeah, screw that. It was gone! You know, typically I like to start my shift out with minimally crazy people and work my way up to the bat-shit crazy types. Unfortunately, that is not the way the ER works. So as I'm taking report from the paramedics, I briefly reminisce back to my nursing school days. It was back then when I actually considered going into psych nursing. All I can say now is thank GAWD that I didn't. I quickly snapped back into my reality as it was at the time, and I finished getting report on my patient with no name who just so happened to be a close friend of Jesus.

Me- "Hello. My name is Candice, and I'm going to be your nurse today. What seems to be the problem ma'am?"

Jesus friend- "Why do you people keep asking the same fucking questions?" Hostile much?

Me- smiling.. "All I want to do is to find out what's going on with you so that I can help you. Can you tell me your name?"

Jesus friend- "Nope. Call my doctor and explain what I look like. He will be able to tell you my name. I've been going to him for over 20 years and he has been helping me with my complex health issues... Depression and hypoglycemia." yeah, that's some complex shit there. Let me alert Dr. House

Me- "Oookay, do you know where you are now?"

Jesus friend- She's yelling now "If you don't put an IV in right now in THIS arm, I will go into a diabetic coma!"

Me- "Ma'am, the paramedics checked your blood sugar on the way here and it was within normal limits. You are fine as far as that goes."

Jesus friend- "I'm here because my body is giving out on me. Jesus gave me too much energy and I didn't know what to do with it." Thanks alot Jesus!

At this point the conversation went on and she continued to verbally vomit some extremely weird and tangential shit. However, she seemed to be warming up to me so it was all good. Plus if she really was Jesus' friend, then I was golden and probably had a leg up on the other sinning bastards. After all, the end of times is neigh, or so she said, so if I had to kiss Jesus' friend's ass, then that's what I had to do.

Jesus friend was a VERY needy patient. We're talking, hitting the call bell every 2 minutes needy. The type of needy that you don't have time for when you've got 4 other patients to take care of, and really, even if she were my only patient it still would have been annoying as hell. She also needed to urinate, but was unable to move her body. Oddly enough she would move around just fine as she was speaking to me. Jesus friend opted for a foley catheter, and I was happy to oblige.

Once a security guard was placed outside of her room she had no use for me anymore. Jesus friend became all buddy buddy with security dude and I was then chopped liver. I went back into her room to make sure she hadn't pulled some Silence Of The Lambs shit on security dude and all of the sudden she began yelling at me.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM YOU STUPID WHITE BITCH! I'VE BEEN DEALING WITH YOU RACIST BITCHES FOR OVER 20 YEARS AND I'M TIRED OF IT! I KNOW YOU WERE OUT THERE TALKING ABOUT ME AND LAUGHING AT ME. I'M NOT FUCKING CRAZY! JESUS TOLD ME WHAT YOU DID, YOU BITCH!"

Really now? I wonder what exactly Jesus would think about that tirade? A little while later Jesus friend calmed down with the help of a little Geodon and police escort to the nearest psych ward. It was not a quick and easy departure, and it got quite loud there for a minute, but she was gone. Thank you Jesus!!

I try to learn something from every patient that I take care of.

Lesson of the day?

Don't stop taking your fucking psychiatric medications. EVER!

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It's called UPKEEP. It's not rocket science.

Brent and I have differing opinions on what it means to be high maintenance, and whether or not yours truly falls under that category. He happens to think that I do, in fact, fall under that category. I happen to think he's operating on turd overload (i.e. full of shit) I know many women that are WAY more high maintenance than I am. Okay, so I don't personally know them. They are actually The Real Housewives of Orange County and you can see them on Bravo. I tried to get him to watch the show with me, because I just knew that he would see the light and begin to realize that he really married white trash in comparison, but alas it did not work out that way.

Now we've been together long enough for him to realize how I operate. over 11 grueling years in all He should be used to it by now. I don't need to hear anymore lip about it. I carried out certain "rituals" BB (before Brent) and things weren't going to magically change just because I decided to get married. For instance, hair care has never been a cheap experience for me, and it happens to be very much like menstruating. Once a month. Fucking deal with it! I also enjoy hair products that accentuate my highlight and cut. Why would I spend over $200 bucks on a service and then go home and use Suave? That would be retarded. Every now and then my offspring will sabotage my haircare routine by PISSING in my overpriced conditioner, which then adds to the overall cost. Not my fault.

So during a conversation earlier today, I mentioned that I have a big week ahead of me. I'm going back to Virginia next weekend to hang with my girls, so this week will be akin to taking the car in for an tune up. Now I haven't seen my friends in over a year, so it's time to impress. ha! I laid out my schedule. Monday I have a facial and massage. Tuesday is haircut and highlight. Oh, and the lady that typically cuts my hair at Toni and Guy isn't there, so I have to go a level or two up. This will require and extra $679 dollars for haircut due to that whole level up thing. Deal. Wednesday and Thursday will probably consist of mall type activity because as is typical with any trip that I take, I will need a whole new wardrobe. Oh, and I also need to get my nails done at some point. The following conversation ensued.

Brent- "Shit woman, you are just going to have to stop traveling. It seems like every time you go somewhere it ends up costing us 3K by the time it's all said and done."

Me- "Bullshit. I would do all of the above regardless if I were going out of town or not."

Brent- "Jesus Christ.."

Me- "Do you see this? hand gesturing like Vanna White This, my friend, takes work, and it's alllllll yours. It's all a part of the package. Upkeep. You should know this by now."

Brent- hand gesturing like Vanna fucking White. "Do you see THIS??? ZEST... I get all of this with a bar of ZEST!"

Me- "You're hopeless! This conversation is over."

Alright ladies, help a girl out. This is normal female behavior, right?

*crickets*

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My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

Correction. -------> My milkshake USED to bring all of the boys to the yard. There is one boy in particular (my husband) that doesn't give two fucks about my milkshake anymore. This was made quite evident today as I tried to rid myself of extreme boredom.

You see, I woke up this afternoon (yeah, I said afternoon. So what?)and realized that baby daddy was working from home today. So I did what any loving wife would do and I went in to chat with him a little bit. He was on the phone as usual, in some important conference call trying to figure out why thousands of people can't log into their banking account, credit card account, or some mundane shit like that. For some strange reason he didn't move at light speed to press the mute button when I walked in the room like he normally does, so I was slightly confused. He knows that I will randomly spew things out of my mouth like a person with Tourette's during his conference calls, but this time he just basically looked at me and then proceeded to ignore me. Oh hell no! I wasn't going to let him get away with that!

In my state of annoyed confusion I walked back into our room and turned on the Bose full throttle. Black Jesus by Everlast was playing. It's a great song. So great that I wanted to share it with Brent and all of his buddies that just so happened to be in the conference call. It's a shame it wasn't a teleconference call because I was putting on quite the show in my humble opinion. The judges on So You Think You Can Dance have never before witnessed moves like the ones I was throwin' down. Trust me! Those impressive moves kept Brent's attention for like 1.5 seconds. Then he stormed out of his office like a little bitch while repeatedly pointing to his ear with the phone surgically attached to it. I showed that I clearly gave a shit by continuing on with my fantastic dance moves. All that was missing was the pole, folks. Oh, and the dolla dolla bills yall!

So eventually Brent came back in his office to pay me a little visit. I thought he was going to compliment my superior dancing skills, but I was wrong. All I got was this.

Brent - "When you see this little thing attached to my ear, that means you DON'T talk."

Me- "So are you saying that you weren't a fan of my lap dance?"

Brent- "Don't you have something to do?"

Well, a girl knows how to take a hint so I finally took my dance moves elsewhere. I did listen to Black Jesus like 4 more times in a row just for good measure. I opened the door to his office periodically to see if he was ready for more dancing, but unfortunately he was not. I think it was all just too arousing and he couldn't take it, if you want my honest opinion.

I was actually kind of surprised that he was annoyed with me. It typically takes a lot to piss him off. It reminded me of the time I got on his computer while he was in the bathroom and I typed "I have a small dick" during one of his work chat sessions with another co-worker. No worries, I knew the co-worker. He was a nice guy. At least I think he was. I had only met him once or twice. If Brent didn't take a shit during his bathroom break, he most certainly did when he resumed his chat session and saw what "he" wrote.

I thought it was brilliant! Brent, on the other hand, did not. I took my verbal lashing like a real woman, and then Brent promptly set his screen saver to come one pretty much automatically after that. I'm now reminded of one of my favorite Bushisms..






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Since I'm being all inappropriate anyway...

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Grab your lube ladies, because tomorrow it's ON! ;)

Tomorrow is a SUPER exciting day for me because

will be coming back on.

For those living under a rock, this is the show in which my main man, Jeffrey Donovan plays the super sexy spy that has been fired or "burned". Thus the catchy title of the show. How about a visual reminder?

Bow chicka wow wowww..

Now it's possible that I may have a small crush on this man based on one or two or several posts that I've submitted where he was the main topic, but really, who gives a shit. A girl can dream.

Anyway, I've been absent the past few days in preparation for Thursday's big event. Well, mainly I've been dusting off "cranky". What is cranky?

Does that answer your question? Rabbit schmabbit. Who needs the latest in vibrator gadgetry when you can just use the old tried and true handed down from generation to generation steam powered dildo? He's a real beaut, isn't he?

I do have some last minute things that I must do before tomorrow's big show. I need to go stop by Home Depot for some WD40. I need to go by work and get a tetanus shot, and then I need to make sure I'm fully stocked on KY because cranky can chafe a little if you're not careful. At least that's what my great great great grandmother used to say.

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In light of my recent spider encounter and subsequent freak out

A friend of mine sent this clip via email and I had to laugh. It almost reminded me of my very own spider spastic dance in the Walmart parking lot just the other day. Except I was a little, shall I say, less flamboyant??? I also had a bit more energy in my movements (think seizure here, folks) in an effort to rid myself of the spider that I thought for sure was in progress of injecting me with his lethal venom.

I went and ran some errands today and actually did a spider inspection before I sat my ass down in the drivers seat. How pathetic is that? I mean, you know what they say. Where there is one, there must be others. I mean, that is what "they" say right, or did I just make that shit up? Why in the hell would a spider choose to hang out in my car anyway? It's not like there is insect goodness aplenty in my vehicle. At least I hope not. Anyway, while I was at Target I briefly considered buying some Raid and just spraying the whole damn can in my car. Surely that would kill any stragglers that may be taking up residence in my ride. It's imperative that I fix this issue because I can just hear the news story now...

"Woman tragically dies in car accident and takes 50 other poor bastards out on Dallas North Tollway today. Witnesses say that woman was seen with her arms flailing about in the air and her eyes as big as saucers as though she was terrified, prior to crossing over 5 lanes of traffic and hitting the concrete barricade. The woman had to be extricated from her (sardine can) vehicle. The only thing found was an enormous amount of shit in her pants. More at four."





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How you know when you should just call it a damn day

Have you ever had one of those days where you said to yourself "Self, is it bedtime yet? Because if it doesn't come soon, you will surely fuck something up in a serious kind of way." It's one of THOSE days for me. I'm afraid if I'm not sound asleep in my bed soon I will either burn the house down, shit myself, have a heart attack, give someone else a heart attack, injure or maim one of the animals, scar my kids for life, break a bone, or throw up. Not exactly in that order. Let me explain.

It all started at Wal-Mart and went downhill after that. My trip to Wal-Mart was actually a pleasant one, so no bitching from me there. The issue happened in the parking lot as I was putting my groceries away. I opened the back of my SUV and reached in to put my things away when IT happened. I looked up and saw a gigantic freaking spider headed towards me at warp speed all Little Miss Muffet style. He had web shooting out of his ass like nobody's business. He was apparently on a mission. (please forgive me if spiders do not actually shoot webs out of their asses. You may remember that I'm terrified of them, so I do not have vast physiological knowledge about this particular insect)It was at this point when my screams broke the sound barrier and I began to do the "HOLY FUCKING SHIT I THINK A SPIDER IS IN MY HAIR" dance. I ripped the clip from my hair and did my best cheesy 80's hair band moshing impression. Oh, and by the way, I'm still screaming all while I'm doing this. A real sight to behold, I'm sure. At some point my spastic dance must have gotten a little out of control because I turned my ankle, and the pain from that quickly made me focus my attention to something else other than the tarantula that may or may not have been nesting in my hair. After all the hoopla I looked up I saw at least 5 other people all standing around their vehicles just staring at me like I was a freaking lunatic. The looks on their faces were priceless. You could also hear crickets in the background. There was no are you okay? Do you need help? Did you forget to take your medication? or anything! Long story short, I'm the asshole they will be blogging about tonight.

So after gaining my composure, I had to stop by Blockbuster to return some movies. I went to use the night drop box and noticed a little bit too late that I had tossed a personal DVD in the slot. Then I had to walk around inside the store for 15 minutes to find an employee to help me get my Schlong in the City DVD back. Okay, so it wasn't Schlong In The City, but still I had to get the damn thing back. Note to self.. Pay afreakingtention!

Anyway, I came home and began to cook a 5 star dinner for the kids. It was a Macaroni kind of night. Don't hate. It was Kraft and everything. Okay fine, it was the damn Wal-Mart knock off version. Personally, I think it's much better than the Kraft stuff. Anyway, I put the noodles on to boil. Didn't manage to screw that part up or anything being that it's not exactly and arduous task. I DID, however, manage to fall asleep on the couch and was eventually rudely awakened to popping noises coming from the kitchen. I then realized that the noodles were a little past al dente. Never fear, they were salvageable and the kids ate it just fine. I rock! Then about 45 minutes later I realized that I, in fact, did NOT rock because I left the stove burner on. The indication of that was the blue flame shooting from the burner. I've said it before, I'm a firefighter's wet dream. I'm also a complete idiot. I admit it.

Next on the agenda of Candice blows at life today, is my homemade pizza cooking experiment. I was browning my ground meat and all was well in the world right up until it was time to add the seasonings. I grabbed my Costco size jug of Italian seasoning and realized that I opened the wrong fucking side of the lid. That was pretty apparent because I essentially tossed a metric ass load of the contents of the bottle on top of my meat! I was pissed! It looked as though I had a giant pile of fucking lawn clippings with a small side of meat. I used a spoon to try and scoop the majority of that crap off, but it wasn't going well. then I figured that maybe the Italian seasoning would be less noticeable ON the pizza itself since the other flavors would possibly cover up the overwhelming taste of the lawn clippings. Well, I started this post after I put my pizza in the oven. Things must cook really fast at 450 degrees, or I take too damn long to blog because my pizza is a little on extra crispy side. So NOW maybe the burnt pizza taste will cover up the massive amount of Italian seasoning on my pizza. Then again, Domino's might be able to help out with that as well.

Good news. It's time to tuck the kids in to bed for the night. I'm almost to the point where I can tuck myself in and hopefully wake up tomorrow less stupid. It remains to be seen!




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Tuesday Tribute - Something a little different

Jay and Deb have come up with Tuesday's Tribute. It's basically a way to talk about something other than yourself for a change, and frankly I'm tired of myself, so I think it's a damn fine idea. Besides, you can only bitch about tooth extractions, per rectum medication, and nausea for so long before people begin to lose interest. I don't know if I'll do it every Tuesday, because to be honest that's a lot like commitment, but I thought this Tuesday would be a perfect opportunity to talk about my late Grandfather.

I always had a special bond with my Grandpa, or Papa as I referred to him. He was a gruff old man with a rough exterior, and he frequently told people exactly what was on his mind whether or not anyone wanted to hear it. He had an opinion about everything, and by God you were going to know what it was. My Grandparents lived in Louisiana for the majority of my childhood, so we would mostly travel there to see them. I remember getting pissed off when they would speak in French all of the time because I thought they were talking about me. Sort of how I get pissed now when I go and have my nails done at the salon, but this isn't about me now is it? Moving on.

Eventually my Grandparents moved to my hometown in West Texas and I took full advantage of having them nearby. I would go and visit them every day after school. Many times I would bake cookies especially for them. My Papa loved chocolate chip cookies and I loved seeing the smile on his face when I walked through the door with them. During my visits we would talk about the day, the weather, the news, the cute news anchorwoman with "bedroom eyes", etc. I had to steer clear of anything political though because the horns would come out of his head at that point. Papa was a little on the Democratic side of things, but I loved the hell out of him anyway.

Not only was this man stubborn, opinionated, and grouchy, but he was absolutely hilarious and hard of hearing as well. We basically had to yell when we talked to him. I remember one day when my sister asked him what he thought of the Saint's game, and he went off on this gigantic wild ass tangent about Saddam Husein like you've never witnessed before in your life. As you may imagine, this questioning about the football game was during the Gulf War.

She said "What did you think about the Saints game?"

He heard "What do you think about Saddam Husein?"

Yeah, I can totally see that. We laughed until we cried because it was just that damn funny. After he paused enough to catch a breath we were all like "NOOOO. The S-A-I-N-T-S GAAAAME!"

Then there was the time he was overly concerned with my brother's sexual safety, and went on to ask if he was using those "condominiums".

We had so many good times during our visits. So many laughs. And every time I would get up to leave the house he would always say "Well Candice, you've got time." It didn't matter how long I had been there. It was always the same thing. He would also never say goodbye. It was always good luck.

I was always told that I had a way with my Grandpa that nobody else did. If he was usually pissed about something, I could typically have a chat with him and bring him back around. He never scared me. He never intimidated me. I just saw a big teddy bear under the scowl and tough exterior that I thought was all for show. All I could see was his heart and a tenderness that I figured he was apparently afraid to express for one reason or another.

Papa wasn't exactly a healthy man. He had COPD and emphysema, apparently from smoking one too many packs of unfiltered Lucky Strikes 20 years earlier. So it probably shouldn't have been a surprise when I accompanied him and my Grandma to his doctor appointment where he was given grave news about a "large spot" on his lungs. Chemo wasn't even on his radar. He never once considered it. I remember being so angry that he wasn't even going to try to save himself. How could he do that to us? To me? He was just going to up and leave us like that without a fight? Of course I was only 19 at the time so I was naive to the fact that he didn't stand a chance of surviving even with chemotherapy. His grand plan was to move back to Louisiana, where he had spent the majority of his life, to die.

His Doctor told him that he had 3 months at most, to live, so the move back to Louisiana happened within days of his diagnosis. I remember wrapping my arms around him and telling him good luck, then watching the U-haul trailer drive out of sight. My plan was to see him again, but I never did.

My mom would travel to Louisiana to help take care of him, and when she came home she would mention the decline in his health, the weight loss, etc. I think that's when I shut down. My plans to visit him again all faded away because I was too much of a coward to see him ill. I talked to him on the phone, and I wrote him letters, but I couldn't even go and see him. It didn't even register at the time that it would be the one thing in life that I would regret most to this day. The one thing that I could NEVER go back and change.

So about 11 months after they moved back to Louisiana, we got the call that he had passed away. I remember that my mother had just returned only a day or so earlier from visiting him. I never even cried when I heard the news. I drove all the way to Louisiana oblivious as though I was driving to a family reunion. Everything was so surreal. The floodgates didn't open until I saw him again one last time at the funeral home. The finality of everything hit at that point and I cried until I could cry no more.

I mourned for him, I mourned my decision not to be with him until the end like I should have, I mourned for my Grandmother, and I mourned for the future that we would no longer have with him in it. I also prayed that he would forgive me for being so weak. I just wanted so badly to tell him all of the things that I had left unspoken. How much he meant to me. How much I loved him. How I so enjoyed our visits together. Just everything.

This January 17th will be twelve years that he's been gone. I still think about him often, and I miss him so much. I'm so thankful that he was in my life for the time that he was, and I hope that he's proud of me and what I've done with my life.

One of my favorite things to look at is the beautiful Texas sunset. I can't help but think that he's out there and he knows that I'm watching. I think that he definitely has got the best view in the house.

So here is your tribute, Papa. Better late than never, right?

Good luck!


Humor-Blogs.com

Dear Diary.. now it all becomes clear

Dear Diary..

The last 3 days have pretty much been sucked harder than a tube steak starved Richard Simmons, and I'm living proof of that. I know, I know, I had some teeth pulled. Get the fuck over it, right? There are other people in the world that are much worse off than I am, right? Well no! Fuck that! This is my diary and it's going to be all about me!

First of all, It was a slap in the face to come home half drugged only to realize that my lady friend, the oral surgeon thought it would be an exceptional idea to prescribe Lortab.. A crap medication that only slightly relieves pain, and then for the rest of the day left me lying comatose in bed feeling like total ASS! The truly beautiful thing is that it also has constipating effects but I'm SO not going to go into that.. Who in the hell can actually abuse that shit and be functional anyway? Freaks... Oh, and as if that weren't enough, that biotch added insult to injury by prescribing me some medifuckingcation that requires LUBE and MY ASS! Yes, I'm still totally pissed. I was actually very adamant about using it, but I was turning the corner today because I was so nauseated that I couldn't get out of bed. That's right, I'm practically fucking veal over here. I know quadriplegic's that have moved around more than I have since Friday. Seriously!

Anyway, Brent has been walking around the house all excited with that damn Phenergan at the ready.

"You ready for it yet?"

"How about now?"

"I'm happy to help."

"You REALLY look like you need that phenergan for your nausea... are you sure?"

So finally I give in and ask him if he really plans on sticking that up my ass. And if so, does he plan on using lube and how exactly does he plan on going about the insertion.

"Sure, I'll use lube and then I'll attach it to the tip of my..."

(Can you believe that shit, dear diary? What a fucking pervert... Remind me to kick him in the nuts 5 times once I feel more up to it. )

So anyway, I stopped him mid sentence and I told him that the only way I'm letting him stick Phenergan up MY ass, is if he lets me some up HIS ass. He shockingly responded by walking towards the door and said...

"Well, I can see now that this conversation is going downhill.."

But I'll use lube honey!!!!

So now I think I know why I'm so freaking nauseated. The oral surgeon could have snipped my fucking stitches a little shorter, but NOOOOOOO. Now I'm sitting here gagging because it feels as though I have a mouth full of pubes. Jesus, I mean, she may enjoy the sensation of pubes in HER mouth, but I do NOT!

So Dear Diary, do I stick that that medication in my ass and feel better, or do I sit here and gag all night on my too long stitches that feel like pubes? Or will it even matter anyway?

It's a tough decision...

By the way Dear Diary, I'm watching the Golden Globes and Cameron Diaz looks like a man. I think I saw an outline of her penis through her dress. Okay, I feel better now.

Until next time.

Humor-Blogs.com

It liiiiives

So I'm back to the world of the living minus my wisdom and it's been a blast, let me tell you.

Now the procedure itself wasn't bad. I don't even really remember the IV being placed because they had me on Nitrous oxide prior to that. Loved that stuff! I'm also fairly certain that I asked for a bottle to take home. Anyway, the next thing I knew I was waking up with a mouth full of gauze. Then all of the sudden Brent appeared like magic. I overheard the nurse going over all of my prescriptions with him and I vaguely heard her say Phenergan and I loudly say "Awww yeah! Now I get to see what all of hype is about over this shit!" People in the ER request this stuff all the time, so I was stoked to finally get some firsthand experience with this drug.

The nurse continued to go over my "rules" to expedite my healing and some of those rules shockingly included no sucking or spitting. Naturally, I had lots of questions about this particular rule once I was able to stop all of the high as a kite giggling. I was also curious if blowing, licking, and swallowing would be allowed. I looked up at this point and Brent was giving me "the look". Then I figured fuck it, I'm already past the point of no return, so I decided to share my disappointment at the fact that I didn't wake up with new breasts and a brand new flat stomach. The nurse began to ignore me (bitch) and told Brent that she thought it would be a good idea for him to drive his truck around back to pick me up. While Brent was playing valet driver, the nurse stuffed my mouth with more gauze in an attempt to shut me up if I were guessing. Probably also had a little bit to do with stopping the bleeding from the 4 new craters that were now in my mouth.

The ride home was a blur, but Brent was able to get me home in one piece and get me into bed where I promptly passed out. Story of his life... Then he was off to get my prescriptions filled because I knew that the pain medicine was going to be imperative since I was already in pain and my jaw was still basically numb. Not a good sign. So he comes home and one by one puts a medicine bottle on the nightstand.

"One bottle of Hydrocodone.."

"One bottle of Clindamycin.."

"One bottle of Phenergan suppositories"

and then I went bat-shit-crazy....

"WHA DA FUG?" remember I had a mouth full of gauze "Aa yuu fuging serus, Bent?"

"I wish I were kidding" he said calmly

"Gib me dat fuging boddle!" I said snatching it from his hands. "I. be. a. Mudder FUGGER!!!"

rant begins....

"Y in da fug did she pescibe sumting to go up my fuging ADD (ass!). Suupid fuging addhole! Oh my GAWD! Caw her! Caw her now and asd her why she pescibe dat to go up my add. I not sigging dat up my add! Heww no!"

Brent- "It's no big deal baby, I'll be glad to help insert the medication."

"FUG YOU BENT! Id no fuddy! You stigg it up YOU add and see how dat feel! No fugging dignity in dat shit! Unfugging beliebable! Whatdafug eber. Just gib me 2 Lortab and leabe me alone!"

So I eventually got over my suppository rage, but I WILL be inquiring about that shit on Monday at my follow up appointment. Trust me.

All in all, the recovery hasn't been that hellish and that's mainly because I have a wonderful husband that has been catering to my every need. I also think I've lost 7 pounds in 2 days. Of course Lortab and water doesn't have many calories from what I understand, so what can I say.

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T - Minus 12 hours and counting before the torture begins

I'm so overcome with excitement I can hardly contain myself. Tomorrow I will find myself lying supine in a drug induced haze as my oral surgeon (who may or may not be a lesbian, but that's besides the point) pulls four teeth from my head. Three of which will be wisdom teeth, and the other is a failed root canal that some incompetent Endodontist in Virginia can claim as his own. So yeah, that "I'm so excited" line was a bunch of bullshit as if you were unaware.

Frankly I'm pissed off. . . I want to send a little letter to that fucktard in Va and give him a little piece of my mind. You see, I went to that bastard twice for root canal work. Now at this point I'd like to address an issue because I'd imagine that you are thinking, "Wow, this bitch has issues with her teeth. Does she brush and floss, or is she some yuck mouthed whore?" I'll answer that. I brush and floss daily. I think I'm just stricken with shitty genetics. Oh, and I also like gummy bears and other types of sweet goodness. Sue me. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I was at the point of my fantasy where I send a really vile letter to my Endodontist friend, but you know, that's really boring, so I'm switching shit up. I really want to fly there and take a scalpel and that little hook shaped torture device thing that the dentists use, and go to town on his balls. That seems fair to me and I know I would feel much better about tomorrow if I had the chance to go ape shit on his junk. I would probably also get arrested and that would delay tomorrow's events, which sounds damn good to me.

I've actually been through this before. Remember that last failed root canal? Well, that one had to be ripped out, and to be honest it wasn't a bad experience. I went in the procedure room where they started an IV in order to push a wonderful drug called Versed. They began to push the drug slowly and at this point I was chit chatting the oral surgeon up the whole time, and then I remembered thinking to myself "I'm totally going to see how loooooooooong...." and then the next thing I knew I was waking up with one less tooth.

Then apparently the party began. I was spouting all kinds inappropriate things to the staff, my husband, and basically to anyone else that would listen. It was apparently Candice comedy hour at Dr. Diamond's office, and unfortunately I wasn't really "there" to witness any of it. I don't even remember any of it. Actually, the only thing I do remember was asking my oral surgeon as I was leaving when I would be able to smoke my left handed cigarettes again. Very odd since I didn't smoke anything. I'm also fairly certain that Brent was mortified, but I was drugged! It wasn't my fault that I was without my faculties! However, you should have seen the warm reception from the entire office staff when I went for my follow up appointment a few days later. I kept thinking what a bunch of weird freaks they all were. They acted like I was their best friend and I barely knew who they were. I'm sure they were quite unimpressed with the non-drugged version of myself.

So lucky me, I get to do this all again tomorrow, except it will be much worse because it's 4 teeth getting yanked instead of 1. Wisdom teeth freak me out. Have you seen how big those fuckers are? I made the mistake of googling images of them and they're like the size of a small child! With those long roots..... Oh God, help me! The idea of some person standing over my head with pliers in my mouth trying to rip teeth from bone just makes me want to throw up. Then there is also the little issue that I'm afraid that I'm going to say something, or many things, that should never be said and then I'll be the laughing stock of the office. I'll probably ask my Dr which way she swings and who knows what I'll say. What if I have some latent homosexual tendencies that come out under anesthesia? What if I tell the assistant that she really needs to reconsider her haircut? Even worse, what if I tell the receptionist that she should really lay off the cigs because she looks like the Crypt Keeper? I think I'll just tell Brent to cover my mouth with duct tape once I'm in the recovery area. That's when things got exciting last time apparently. . .

Oh, and I suppose I should come clean about my real weight. The medicine that I will be getting will be weight based, and I think I may have given them my weight from 1983. I sure as hell don't want to be conscious during the procedure, so it would probably behoove me to fess up about that.

Finally, I guess I should just quit being a gigantic

The bright spot in this situation? Pain meds. I didn't have to take them last go around, but I have a feeling things will be different this time.

I think I'll go cry now.

Hold me!

Humor-Blogs.com

Conversation with Taylor...

As Taylor sat at the bar in the kitchen enjoying (2) mini ice-cream sandwiches because 1 simply wasn't big enough, she let me in on an observation that she made while reading her research book at school today.

"So yeah, guess what I saw when I was reading my research book today?"

I'm now preparing myself to be flabbergasted at the sheer knowledge that is about to spew forth from my child's lips.

"What?"

"Somebody drew a penis on the picture of a guinea pig. It was even in red ink!"

At this point I refrained from making sexually transmitted guinea pig jokes and just kept them to myself. After all, she's only 9. There will be plenty of time for that in the future.

"Somebody actually drew a picture of a penis on the guinea pig?" I asked while laughing. After all, I have to set the example of maturity in our relationship because that's how I roll.

"Yep. It was probably a 5th grader or something."

Then she went on to elaborate how she told her buddy Cole how I said that the Wii Mii noses look like Penises. It's true!

"Jesus Taylor. Was that strictly necessary? I mean, seriously?"

"What!?, he thought it was funny. Not to mention I really focused on how Aidan made up the wii penis nose song anyway."



Yeah, about the Wii penis nose song... That took place over Christmas break and was Aidan's doing, but somehow it was MY fault. I like how that works. I got the stern talking to by Brent for that one. "You know, it's probably not good that he's singing a song about penises 3 days before he goes back to Kindergarten. Just so you know I will be forwarding all emails and phone calls from his teacher to YOU!"

Then Taylor suddenly felt the need to clue me in on more of her conversation with Cole.

"I also told him about that time you dropped the Costco salsa out of the refrigerator and it broke all over the floor and then you said the F word."

"How about you just stop talking about me with your friends at school before you get in trouble?"

"Cole's mom says she F word too, by the way. A lot!"

"That's comforting."

I all of the sudden hear Aidan singing "I have a peeeeeeeeeniiiiis on my faaaaaaaaace" in the other room.

"Thanks Taylor!"

"Your welcome."


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Can someone please tell me which way the Alzheimer's clinic is?

I'm not sure how this happened, but at some point, my brain became so gorged with useful, intelligent, and imperative information that there was eventually no more room for the less significant details to actually marinate and remain a part of the ol' cognitive files. At least that's my theory. This doesn't really bother me so much as it does the people I interact with on a daily basis, namely my husband.

I finally admitted the other day that perhaps I should start taking some Ginko Biloba to increase my mental alertness and end this "forgetfulness" once and for all, but then I realized that I would never remember to take this pill daily. I would also probably forget what I was taking it for anyway. On a slightly different note, who the hell names something Ginko Biloba? I mean really.. That's just dumb! Sounds like some fool trying to speak after having multiple Novocaine shots at the dentist, complete with drool dribbling down his cheek.

Anyway, when the topic of my early onset dementia came up today with Brent, he reminded me that this isn't an issue that has recently come to light. "You couldn't remember the date of our Anniversary for the first 8 years of our marriage. (Ha! I wish he was exaggerating, really I do) I had to bust out the marriage certificate to prove that our Anniversary is on Feb 27th and NOT the 28th pretty much yearly." You know what I say to that? I was one measly day off AND I knew the correct month! Get off my tip. That's what.

Then there is the issue of birthdays. I typically don't miss his actual birthday, but recently while filling out insurance paperwork at my doctor's office I had to text him the dreaded question... "When is your birthday again? March what? Oh, and the year you were born will be helpful as well. It's 1969 right, you old bastard? Oh and while you're at it, give me your social security numba" Shortly after I sent that text my phone rings.

"Hi. My name is Brent. Your husband. You may remember me?"

I think I hurt his feelings by not remembering all of his information. Just because he had my social security number memorized by our second month of courtship doesn't mean I have to return the favor. Not to mention, I really don't do well with numbers. I'm serious! You may remember when I had to take my constipated child to the ER? Well, the girl from registration that was taking all of my info surely thought I was smoking crack because I didn't know Brent's birthday, his social, and his cell phone number had totally escaped me at that time so I had to look at the number pad on my cell phone to jog my memory. As if all of that isn't bad enough, I couldn't remember our damn zip code OR my own social security number. I gave her a mixture of our old Virginia area code, part of Brent's cell number, and I was able to spit out the last 4 digits of my SS #. So once again I had to call Brent for all of that info. His commentary about my ability to NOT remember my own information was quite comical, but I don't recall what he said. Shocking, right? Anyway, to remedy this little issue I think he should make me a cute laminated (preferably pink) card with all of this information on it. Then I can place it in my wallet since it seems to be shit that I evidently need to know.

To be completely honest it's not only numbers that I'm bad with. Pretty much anything having to do with the English language is also at risk to go in one ear and out the other, never to be recalled again unless repeatedly reminded. Brent knows by now that if there is important information that I really need to know, he will make sure he has my full attention complete with total eye contact. He then begins to speak slowly as though I'm deaf or reallllly stupid. This is my sign that I need to grab a pen and some paper to write something down and then staple it to my forehead for future reference.

So, basically all of those cool gadgets they have on the late night infomercials for the elderly folks that can't remember shit.. yeah, I could totally make good use of them. Like this one for example

Yeah, that bad boy would have really come in handy that day I was walking around the mall parking lot for an hour trying to locate my freaking vehicle. I'm also fairly certain that I was able to remember every curse word in the book that day. I also believe that I made up a few of my own for good measure.

So, I guess I really want to hear firsthand from someone who has used Dildo Sedona... Gecko Melanoma.. or whatever the hell it's called, for memory loss. Did it work for you, and do you possibly think it may work for me? Or maybe I need something more invasive, like a lobotomy?

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So I have a little confession to make...

You know my last post where I was wallowing in self-pity about having the great plague of 2009? Yeah, well that same night I went out to a bar and had a few drinks to celebrate my co-workers birthday. Trust me, I could have easily stayed in bed and continued my feeble attempt to graft my own skin into the bed sheets but I had plans prior to being infected, so sick or not, I was going to be there. Not to mention, I figured a stiff drink might clear the ol' sinus passages.

I guess I failed to mention that the "bar" I went to was an establishment that catered to the good ol' folks who enjoy their meat fried with a little Willie on the side. And when I say Willie, what I really mean is Willie Nelson. To put it bluntly, this was a damn Country bar. Now I'm an open minded girl so I was down for anything. Despite living in Texas most of my life, I never acquired a taste for Country music. I've never owned a Country CD (or tape for that matter), and I've never owned a pair of boots. Well, not of the Country girl variety anyway. In fact, I can only tolerate Country music in very small doses, and it needs to be the kind of shit that they play on the top 40, which by definition, isn't "real" Country music according to a Country music connoisseur.

Now I figured that the more booze I consumed, the less the hick music would bother me, but I was wrong about that. To be honest I don't think I could get that drunk. I was also slightly afraid to fully indulge in the ETOH because my last go round with booze at the ER Christmas party involved me departing the party approximately 2 hours after I arrived, staggering to my friends car, and enjoying the rest of the ride home with my face buried in a zip-loc bag. Then there was also the little issue about mixing alcohol with antihistamines and other various medications that I was taking to rid myself of the plague.

So eventually the party moved from the restaurant side of the establishment to the dancing side. This is where I began to have my fun. I loathe Country music, but I HEART people watching!! We all had a table with a birds eye view of the dance floor. Think 50 yard line at the Super Bowl and you'll see where I'm heading with this. It was perfect. There was actually a live band playing bad Country music at this point, but they were actually pretty good in the sense that they could sing and play bad music well. See, I can even give a shitty compliment from time to time. Anyway, I could not get enough of watching all of these people two stepping their tight Wrangler jeans wearing asses off! I knew at that moment that I would NEVER be caught dead two stepping for as long as I live. Really, as sick as I was with the plague at the time, I felt the end was neigh anyway so the point was moot.

How 'bout an observation from ya girl? The two step is the most ridiculous dance that I've ever witnessed in all of my life. No wonder black people say that white people can't dance. Seriously, they have a fucking point. Do you think anyone with an ounce of rhythm in their bones would have come up with the two step? The mentally fucking challenged can come up with something better than that! So I did a little research to see which bald white man was the inventor of this shiteous style of dancing, but was surprised to find out that the two step has roots in European and Mexican dance history that dates back to the 1800's. I sure as hell wish I could have been around back then to see the dance in its infancy. I mean, it's practically comedy now. I can only imagine that I would have busted a gut from laughing so hard and died from dysentery back in the 1800's.

Anyway, from my observations it was evident that there are a multitude of ways of perform the two step. The gentleman in the lead position could hold his arm straight out with his lady's hand cupped in his like he's doing the tango for the entire song. Or as I like to call it, the douchebag deluxe maneuver. Then there was the style of dancing where the lady would practically bury her face into her beaus chest and he would sort of scoot her around somewhat like he was scooting around a corpse. All last dance with Mary Jane and whatnot. Then you had the show off couple that enjoyed the twirling action. Twirl twirl twirl.... and boy was it exciting! Uh, actually it wasn't. It really made me want to hurl just watching it. One lady twirled so good she busted her ass... right in front of our table even! If you think that we didn't laugh then you would be correct. We laughed our ASSES off. Anyway, then you had the style where the dude would do this funny thing with his legs when he would take his forward steps. I kept imagining that he had a corn cob shoved up his ass and he was trying to keep it from coming out and shooting across the dance floor. I mean really, that's what it looked like. Or perhaps mama took him out of his leg braces way too soon as a child. Regardless, it made for good conversation.

So finally just when I thought I could take no more, the band left the stage and the DJ played your customary 4 songs of hip hop that included some lame ass electric slide dance (which I did NOT partake in) and some other decent songs to which I was then motivated to shake my money maker to. All in all, I had a good time despite my grave health condition. And I only thought that I sounded like a cross between a drag queen, Barry White and Melissa Ethridge prior to my night out. When I left that joint I sounded more like a female version of Kermit the frog that had won first place at a week long froggy dong sucking convention. In other words.. CROAK

So being the braniac that I am, I took advantage of barely having a voice to work with and I called Brent on my way home around midnight. I thought it would be a good time to pull a Candice style practical joke on his bitch ass. So when he picked up the phone the conversation went a little something like this...

Brent- "hello"

Me- "Hi dramatic pause... I need you to pick me up."

Brent- "Where are you at exactly?"

Me- "In jail."

Brent- "In WHAT?!?!?!?"

Me- laughing "I only have one phone call so quit fucking around!"

Brent- "You are seriously in JAIL?!?! What happened??"

At this point I couldn't stop laughing so my prank sort of folded in on itself. Not to mention I had to ask him to make me something to eat so that it would be ready when I got home. I was HONGRY. I figured he would be so relieved that I wasn't in the pokey that he would totally cook me up something fit to eat without bitching about it.

Brent- "How is it that every time you go out drinking with your friends, I have to turn into Alice (Brady Bunch maid reference for those unaware) prior to your return?"

Well, I was almost right...

Finally, I have a question for the masses. If someone says they would like to have sex (or in this case "say-ex") with you while you are wearing an animal print shirt, does that make them a proponent for bestiality?

Just checkin'.


Humor-Blogs.com

2009 has sucked balls thus far.

Why has it sucked balls you ask? Well, I essentially feel like ass that has been pounded repeatedly and not in a good way either. Wow, I've been really inappropriate twice thus far and I'm only 3 sentences into this biotch. That's got to be a record. Be proud Mom, be proud...

Anyway, some asshole gave me their gigantic cold, except this feels much worse than a cold. My head feels as though it's been stuffed with cotton, my neck has lymph nodes popping out of it to the point where I feel like some fucking freak out of the Alien movies, it's very painful to swallow (shut up) and as if that weren't bad enough I sound like a cross between a drag queen, Barry White, and Melissa Etheridge. Oh, and I'm absolutely a horrific sight to behold. Wanna know what I look like at this point? See below.

Crap.. Wrong picture. Think something along these lines.

Yep. That photo about sums it up.

As if feeling like shit isn't bad enough, I'm hit with a double whammy. Let me explain. I basically let my competitiveness get the better of me and I decided to whoop somebody's 5 year old ass (who shall remain nameless) in wii boxing before the great plague of 2009 hit. I know that I said a few posts back that I wasn't going to partake in such activity but I lied. I knew going into it that I was going to look like a complete douche boxing the thin air but I played anyway, and play I did. I was told that I was "overdoing it" and that the "game doesn't have that fast of a reaction time so I should slow my punches down." Whatever. I know sabatoge when I see it. I was flying like a butterfly and stinging like a damn bee. I was in the boxing zone. Bobbing, weaving, throwing uppercuts, left jabs, body blows, etc. I mean seriously. Fuck with me and I'll bit your damn ear off! I'm theriouth!

I overheard Brent say from the kitchen "You're going to be feeling that tomorrow...."

HA! That's a joke coming from him. You see, his idea of a good workout is wiping his ass after a bowel movement. What did he know about MY physical fitness level? Not a damn thing. That's what.

So imagine my surprise when the next morning I woke up feeling like I was hit by a Mack truck. What. The. Hell???? Is this the flu? Was Brent right? Am I sore from that stupid game? How pathetic!!!! I couldn't let him know the truth. I had to hide it. I don't know what gave it away. Maybe it was all of the groaning I was doing. Or perhaps it was my facial grimacing as I tried to do my normal activities of daily living such as brushing my hair, brushing my teeth, putting my bra on, dressing myself, wiping my.. Okay, I think you get the point.

So lets recap my 2009 so far. I have the plague. I look like female version of Nick Nolte. I sound like a dude. I can't move anything from the waste up without experiencing pain. And I've realized that I'm apparently in worse shape than I ever imagined because a stupid video game has kicked my ass.

Anybody have Dr. Kavorkian's digits?

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